Spirits of the Deep
“Let me see if I understand,” Father Limor said slowly, “you want me to absolve you of a crime – without knowing exactly what that crime is or if you'll commit such an act again?”
Thurston shook his head, exasperated. That wasn't what he'd told the young sanctum assistant, and he had no illusions that any of the Fathers would be willing to do such a thing. It was simply more proof that nothing was going to go right for him anytime soon.
“No,” he said shortly. “I want to know how much money it will take for you to throw me a prayer of forgiveness.”
Limor's eyes widened in mock horror, but Thurston had been in the city long enough to know that most of the religious institutions were short on cash and that their masters willing to accept a donation so long as the terms were favorable.
“My son,” the fat man spoke as he bowed his head, “I cannot in good conscience offer such a prayer, even for – how much did you say it was?”
Thurston hadn't, but Limor knew that full well. “Sixty thousand credits.”
The supposedly ascetic man made a choking noise as he heard the amount and tried to remain still in his seat. Though he made an attempt to keep his private office moderately furnished and less than opulent, Thurston had been in the luxury trade for long enough to spot fine Alterran wood in the desk and chairs along with a Venne tapestry that could easily sell for five thousand to the right buyer. Limor obviously loved his things – and sixty thousand would be enough to get him quite a few more.
“My son,” the clergyman said, still trying to appear peaceful, “such an amount is substantial. What crime have you committed that you feel such a donation is appropriate?”
Sighing, Thurston leaned forward in his chair and grabbed Limor by the hair, forcing his head back and his eyes to pop open. “I murdered someone this morning, Father. Someone I cared a great deal about, and I did it because a Spirit of the Deep told me to.”
Limor make a choking noise and then sucked in a deep breath, but Thurston slapped his free hand over the wide mouth and shook his head. “No, Father – don't do that. You can still come out ahead if you pay attention and don't ask any more stupid questions.” After a long moment Limor nodded, and Thurston went on, though he didn't move either of his hands. Prudence would get him much farther than undeserved trust.
“The Spirit appeared to me two days ago. It told me I'd been purchased, that my soul had been forfeit thanks to a ritual performed by a another.” Thurston struggled to keep his voice under control. “It went on to explain, in detail, how my brother had given himself entirely to the Deep over the course of ten years and when the Lost finally came to claim his soul, he bargained for mine instead. We're twins,” he went on, “and Preston had uncovered an ancient passage that allowed one to sacrifice for the other under certain conditions. In this case, those conditions were that he donate his entire fortune to operations of the Lost here on Tallia, and provide them with my body and soul.”
Limor struggled, pointing to his mouth and Thurston stepped back with a warning glare. Speaking, he would permit but at the first sign of trouble...he pulled a small knife from his belt and laid it on the clergyman's desk. The sanctum's security needed work.
“You murdered your brother!” Limor hissed. “How can I possibly forgive such a sin?” His eyes were hungry though his words were pious – he was looking for a way to do just that.
“You can do it for credits, or you can do it because you feel some measure of compassion!” Thurston's patience finally ran out. “Don't you see? I did what I had to – Preston or I had to die or the Lost would claim us both. Murdering him appeased the Spirit sent for me, though it required very specific acts to make the soul viable, but now the Lost knows who I am. It seeks me, Father – I can feel it, even here. Your absolution under a false god protects me, makes me invisible once again.” His voice was hoarse and his hands began to shake; he was running out of time. “You get sixty thousand for speaking a few words. Please,” he begged, “don't let them find me.”
“Excellent,” Limor said, rising, and Thurston felt confusion flood over him. What was going on?
“I had my suspicions when I first saw you, but now you have confirmed it.” The fat man's face spread into a wide grin. “The Found is merciful, sending you here – especially given my guise as a man of less than scrupulous morals. You are fortunate, young Thurston,” Limor snapped his fingers and the door to his chambers burst open, admitting four men in battle armor, tech-swords at the ready. “You have found the Legion's home.”
“What?” The world began to spin and Thurston grabbed the arms of his chair for support. The Legion was a fantasy, an impossible lie told by those who wanted to believe in noble men striking down agents of the Lost.
“Silence, my child,” Limor said sternly. “You will learn all in good time. For now, you need to know only that you have been recruited – your absolution with come through service to our cause. That the Lost knows you is superb; you will provide exactly what we need to strike a blow against our ancient enemy. Welcome to our ranks. Welcome to the Legion.”
- D
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