《The Murdered Sun》 Chapter 1 The streetlamps flared brighter. ¡°Stay away!¡± ¡°Please, you''re going to be alright,¡± Nicolas crept closer. With each step the air grew dramatically hotter, until his throat was dry and his skin felt like parchment. ¡°Y-you don¡¯t understand. There¡¯s a fire inside me.¡± Her pupils trembled. Nicolas wiped a bead of sweat off his brow and took another step. Best to keep her grounded. ¡°What church do you belong to?¡± Hopefully it was a church; he thought he already purged the last traces of cult activity from Port Stephen. She gave a broken laugh. ¡°Please, for your own good, just stay away from me.¡± His skin was reddening, now, against the burning air. ¡°I can help you. I¡¯ve seen this before.¡± Nicolas tried not to think of how many he¡¯d seen succumb to spiritual corruption. A Mantle was a heavy burden to bear. The temperature suddenly dropped to a bearable level. ¡°You have?¡± Nicolas dipped into his aura of authority. ¡°Of course; I¡¯m Mantled, just as you are. Can you tell me which church you belong to?¡± The shadows sharpened in the harsh flare of the streetlamp. ¡°Mantled? What the hell is that?¡± Well fuck. He filed that away for later, and his voice turned gentle. ¡°It¡¯s what¡¯s causing all this. Listen to me. It¡¯s not your fault.¡± She squeezed out a tear, and it immediately started sizzling. He reached into one of his coat pockets. ¡°Drinking this will help calm your Mantle, and then we can talk about how to solve this, alright?¡± He held out the blue vial, suppressing any thought of how much he had paid his Alchemist for it. Her face untwisted and hope dawned in her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± Nicolas smiled. ¡°I¡¯m certain.¡± His fingers blistered as she took the potion, and he absentmindedly siphoned the pain into an Infliction spell. For luck, he made a sign at the Moon and mouthed a quick prayer. Lady of the Heavens, the sky is your throne and your shape is mercury. Your light falls far; I invite your intervention. The potion was already sizzling when she unstoppered the vial. It boiled as she poured, and it evaporated against her tongue. Intuition screaming at him, Nicolas leapt back. A shriek of frustration erupted as the woman¡¯s hope turned to vapor before her eyes and she finally lost control. Her flesh turned to fire, her eyes into burning torches, and her heart into a furnace. The cobblestones blackened around her and the heat rolled off in waves. She¡ªno, it¡ªroared and staggered and shook as if casting loose the last blackened remnants of humanity. The creature took one look at Nicolas and the flames intensified. He spoke. ¡°Inflict.¡± All the pain he had gathered in the past week¡ªfrom bludgeoning fists, hungry knives, rabid kicks, bar stools, bottle shards, shivs, nails, fangs¡ªhell, even a stubbed toe¡ªlashed out at the creature. It very conspicuously did not fall to the ground writhing in pain. Nicolas turned and ran. His blood pounded in his ears as tore down the street. The burning beast¡¯s reflection glowed at him from the dark glass storefronts and windows of parked carriages. He felt the heat on his back as he dashed through the back-alleys, leading the blazing monster farther from the heart of the city. A Magistrate was linked inextricably with their territory, and Nicolas had spent ten damned months in Port Stephen hunting down every wretched smuggler, thief, and cultist he could find. By now the sense of surroundings granted by his Mantle had developed to where he could tell where every citizen was in an area of four blocks. Right now, it warned him that a group of revelers were exiting a pub ahead. Nicolas skidded to a stop and rattled a doorknob. Locked. He took a breath, and: ¡°Open.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The door slammed open. So did every other door on the street, along with the windows, and the cabinets, and pantries and dressers and¡­ Nicolas winced. He felt the citizens rousing from their sleep¡ªboth from the sudden noise and from their eyelids snapping open. Best to finish quickly. He didn¡¯t want the actual, legitimate authorities after him. Inside was a wax museum. Ignoring the rising temperature, Nicolas sprinted past a line of drooping Dalkan monarchs and chanced a look behind. The shifting mass of fire still followed. One moment it looked like a lion, the next a blazing wheel. Tongues of flame lashed out angrily. The Great Philosopher Marcellus already looked like a man-sized candle, and the rest of the wax figures were likewise melting past all recognition. Nicolas dashed away into a corridor, navigating by way of his area-sense. He burst through the exit and slammed the door behind him. ¡°Seal,¡± he commanded. It wouldn¡¯t last for long against the living inferno, but it would buy him precious seconds. Ahead lay the river that snaked through Port Stephen from the sea. He ran for the bridge, heedless of the sudden crash and roar of flames behind. His breath came fast and shallow, and as soon as he set foot on the other side he gasped out: ¡°Crossing the bridge is Prohibited.¡± He spun to see the writhing bonfire slam into an invisible barrier. He paused to see if his decree would hold, and let out the manic laugh of a man who cannot believe he is alive. The creature paced angrily from side to side, but seemed incapable or unwilling to cross the water. Hands trembling from adrenaline, Nicolas breathed in relief and made a sign of thanks to the Moon. Closing his eyes to compose himself, Nicolas drew upon his full power. ¡°You are guilty of arson. Disturbing the peace. Trespassing.¡± With each crime he named, his Mantle, the Magistrate, grew more insistent even as it filled him with power. ¡°Destruction of property.¡± The urge to pronounce justice, to judge, pressed against his soul. Not yet. He needed more if he hoped to sentence a spirit such as this. A sudden absence bloomed in his area-sense. Nicolas snapped his gaze to the bridge, but there lay only darkness. His shadow sharpened in the flare of the streetlamp, and Nicolas dove out of the way just in time for the living inferno to burst out of the streetlamp and consume the air where he¡¯d been standing a moment before. Glass shards tinkled against the cobblestone street. ¡°Resisting arrest!¡± he barked, and ducked under a whip of fire. His Mantle¡¯s whispering grew louder, but Nicolas knew he needed a fraction more. The creature wheeled into the shape of a bull, and Nicolas flung himself to the left just a fraction too slow to avoid its charge. His right side felt as if he had been dipped in the surface of the sun. Nicolas lurched and gathered the pain as best he could. If only he could Inflict it on a purely spiritual monster. ¡°Assaulting an officer of the law,¡± he hissed out, and that tipped him over the edge. ¡°Sentence: Confinement.¡± Silver shackles materialized from the moonlight clasped around the flaming beast. Gleaming chains sprang out and wrapped around and around until the monster fell to the ground with an almost anticlimactic clank, its fires dimmed to embers. Nicolas heaved. ¡°Fuck.¡± It was just his luck that an arson investigation ended up like this. Most of the time he dealt with mortals or Low-Mantled; a substantially powerful Mantled like this one succumbing to spiritual corruption was the business of the Churches. He¡¯d leave it to them, next time. With a start, Nicholas noticed the spirit monster straining against its chains. The silver shackles held, but they buckled dangerously. It wouldn¡¯t hold for long. He cursed and grabbed a chain, the metal branding his skin black where he grasped it. With the help of his Mantle Nicolas ignored the pain and staggered toward the river, dragging the bound spirit behind him. It flared fiercely, almost melting its chains, but he heaved with all his might. They toppled over the edge. In an instant Nicolas was plunged in the icy cold. Through the shock he kept his eyes open just long enough to see the spirit extinguish in a hiss of steam that sounded almost like a scream. He let out a sigh in a stream of bubbles. It was over. With the threat vanquished, his body relaxed for the first time since confronting the suspected arsonist. With monumental effort, Nicolas shook off the lethargy and swam up to the surface. He gasped as he broke into the cold night air. His hands found a ladder and laboriously pulled his body out of the waters. He lay there on his back, heaving, for a while, and pulled himself back together. He was burnt, he was bloody, he was exhausted¡ªbut above it all, he was alive. When he stood, the final remnant of the woman and her Mantle floated lazily in the air, a lick of flame. Nicolas drew a vial out his sodden coat and bottled the soul fragment¡ªhe was no expert, but it would likely fetch a pretty price. At his whistle, a bat fluttered down from the night and clung to his finger. Nicolas unrolled the strip of parchment fastened to its leg and pulled out a fortunately waterproof pen. He paused to remember the correct cipher, and wrote the good news. His Mantle, exhausted as it was, hung greater than ever on his soul. He was at the peak of Magistrate; ready for his fourth step of ascension. He hesitated, but made sure to mention the wake of destruction the chase had wrought. Obviously supernatural disasters were investigated and mitigated by the Churches, and the more his superiors knew, the better they could shield him from the consequences. Nicolas let out a soft chuckle at how sinister that sounded. Through his area-sense, Nicolas felt the citizens wake one by one. Best to escape while he still could. He staggered away as the morning melted away the darkness. Chapter 2 Nicolas whistled and walked under the bright afternoon sky. His first ascension, to Watchman, had halved the hours he needed to sleep. His second, Detective, vastly accelerated his healing whilst asleep, and now that he was a Magistrate those abilities had only strengthened. Where last night his flesh had melted, it now looked smooth as a baby¡¯s. At the sight of his destination, Nicolas couldn¡¯t help but smile. Port Stephen¡¯s train station was small and hopelessly ugly, but ten months¡ªalmost a year!¡ªwas far too long to stay in one place. If it hadn¡¯t been essential to his Mantle¡¯s development, he¡¯d have left a long time ago. The platform was busier than he expected, no doubt from all the summer tourists that finally decided they were sick of the place. Nicolas walked to the ticket sta¡ªwithout deciding to, he abruptly turned and walked to the right. His hand came down on a boy¡¯s shoulder in an iron grip. The boy flinched and dropped the rock with which he had been scratching his name into a bench. Nicolas felt his Mantle press down and gave an inward sigh before acquiescing. ¡°Vandalism is against the law, young man.¡± The boy jerked his shoulder, but failed to dislodge the hand, and spat, ¡°Get yer fuckin hand off me.¡± ¡°You broke the law,¡± Nicolas¡¯s lips said. ¡°Help! A stranger-man is touchin me!¡± Nicolas blocked out his Mantle¡¯s urgings and took his hand off the boy, but not before the station constable had started moving. He sighed, outwardly this time. ¡°What¡¯s this, now?¡± The constable eyed him suspiciously. Nicolas plastered on a smile. ¡°This young man,¡± he gestured at the boy, ¡°was defacing city property. I was gently reprimanding him¡­¡± ¡°I see. He won¡¯t do it again, right, boy?¡± A sullen nod. ¡°Good enough for you?¡± ¡°I just think the law is important, is all¡­¡± ¡°Right. Well, I appreciate the help, but we¡¯re very diligent in enforcing these things, here.¡± Nicolas ignored his Mantle telling him those were both lies. Really, he wouldn¡¯t mind compulsively enforcing the rules if it wasn¡¯t just so awkward every time. Give him a killer over a litterer any day of the week. Back when he was a Detective, the insatiable curiosity had been just as troublesome. He prayed his next ascension wouldn¡¯t revolve around something strange. ~~~ Nicolas stepped off the train to meet the evening in New Raldon, capital of the Dalkan Empire. The sun glared red through the smoke and pollutants, as if it were bleeding into the sky. Soot-smeared faces flowed like one organism through the streets, smokestacks looming over them like watchtowers. Smiling, Nicolas joined the crowd like an old friend. If his superiors hadn¡¯t deemed it too dangerous to operate in the capital with a Low-Mantle, he would have gladly stayed. Despite its many, many failings, New Raldon was his home. By the time Nicolas reached the Cathedral of the Lady Moon, he had turned in two pickpockets. He had even, with his Watchman¡¯s eye, caught a glimpse of someone with the Thief Mantle, but they had fled, likely informed of his notice by one of their own boons. The cathedral was octagonal, boasting eight spires. The moon had eight phases, eight angels, eight curses¡ªit was a sacred number to the Church. Bat-winged gargoyles and the faces of wolves snarled out from the stonework. One of Nicolas¡¯s friends in the Luminaries had told him the carvings could come to life to defend the Cathedral; he still wasn¡¯t sure if they had been pulling his leg. When he passed the threshold, an aura of serenity descended upon him; the lines on his face eased and his shoulders relaxed. He walked through the narthex, past the sanctuary, and with a small silver key descended into the crypt below. He passed through the maze-like corridors, ignoring the silent sepulchers, and came to a certain door. He knocked eight times in a certain pattern and whispered a certain phrase with eight words. Came the reply in a voice like falling silver coins, ¡°What is right, and left when water freezes?¡± ¡°Fuck off Catherine, you know I hate riddles.¡± Laughter like bells, and the door swung open. ¡°You know, I think I liked you better as Detective,¡± smiled the Gatekeeper, bringing her wheelchair next to Nicolas as he walked into the Luminaries¡¯ space of operations.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The desolate moon hung in the sky like it had dropped down a dark well, ringed by uncaring stars scattered by an immortal hand. Their half-light fell upon the stone walls of an endless labyrinth. It was roofless, open to the sweet night air, and entirely shadowed except for the intermittent glow of soft white lamps in the rooms and corridors where Luminaries did their work. Without Catherine¡¯s approval, anyone else would open the door to find nothing but a stone wall behind it; the Gatekeeper Mantles controlled all access to the private dimension. ¡°So how¡¯s the mortal plane?¡± She tilted her head. Nicolas snorted at ¡®mortal plane.¡¯ Catherine liked to pretend the outside world was beneath her, but Nicolas didn''t begrudge her for it¡ªshe likely hadn¡¯t seen the real world for years. Every Mantle had its sacrifices. ¡°Busy. Big. We¡¯ve a drought at the moment¡ªhottest summer in over half a century. What have you been dealing with?¡± Nicolas took a turn, relying on his Detective¡¯s memory to navigate the maze. Catherine wheeled next to him. ¡°You might have heard this, but the Church of the Storm Prince had a bishop succumb to spiritual corruption; the sea-serpent wrecked half of the Dalkan Armada ships that were docked at Craysaw, and the Crown wants reparations.¡± ¡°Ah, politics. Any other news?¡± ¡°Oi, I¡¯m not your gazette,¡± Catherine mock-glared, ¡°More necromancy in Erebon, but when is there not? Ooh, and Ash has this conspiracy theory you¡¯ll love. Something about the recent outbreak of spontaneous combustion.¡± Nicolas stilled. ¡°Outbreak? Tell me more.¡± ¡°The Churches have reported more and more people¡­ you know, bursting into flames. Ash thinks it¡¯s got to do with this ancient religion that died out centuries ago.¡± ¡°And what is it actually?¡± ¡°The Cult of the Coming Blaze, we think. They resurge every fifty years or so, but apparently they¡¯re usually stamped out pretty quickly. Fire-worshippers aren¡¯t very subtle as a rule.¡± ¡°What are they doing?¡± ¡°Woah, no need for an interrogation, Nick,¡± she smiled teasingly, ¡°No idea, but whatever it is, it''s messy. Why, did you have a run-in with them?¡± ¡°Maybe. I went after someone I thought was an arsonist, but she turned out to be Mantled, and already halfway corrupted.¡± ¡°Which Mantle?¡± ¡°Something fire-related, not one I¡¯ve seen before. She succumbed, and I killed the spirit.¡± ¡°There aren¡¯t any fire-related Mantles, what would that even be? Pyromaniac?¡± She laughed and tucked an errant wisp of hair behind her ear, ¡°Even the Cult of the Coming Blaze only has Conspirators, Warriors, and Spirit Callers.¡± Nicolas shook his head, ¡°My path of ascension started with Watchman, I know what a Mantle looks like.¡± ¡°I know, I¡¯m not disparaging your skill, but there are fourteen paths of ascension, and none of them have anything to do with fire.¡± She pondered for a moment, ¡°There are fire spirits; maybe they¡¯re trying to incubate them in mortal souls? That might look similar to a Mantle, while explaining the spontaneous combustions.¡± ¡°Hmm, maybe,¡± Nicolas shrugged. He knew what he¡¯d seen. ¡°You¡¯d know better than I would, I¡¯m just the muscle.¡± ¡°Hey, no self-deprecation on my watch! It¡¯s great that you brought it to my attention.¡± Catherine closed her eyes, ¡°Wait just a moment, someone is at the door.¡± Nicolas stopped and waited. The night was stiflingly empty. If it weren¡¯t for Catherine¡¯s Mantle fluctuating slowly at the edges of her soul, he would have thought she had fallen asleep. Her silver-blonde hair hung in the air like a halo, and Nicolas realized suddenly he knew nothing about her. Not her family, not her past, not her dreams. Even when he was a Detective, she had always deftly dodged his curiosity. All he knew was her Mantle, all she was to him was her Mantle. The same with Ash, and the Archbishop, and all the other Luminaries¡ªhell, everyone he knew. With each step of ascension, he¡¯d left behind more of the mortal world. If Mantles added to who you were, then why did it feel as if they had all had some crucial part of them carved away? All that was left was the climb. ¡°Right, let¡¯s go,¡± Catherine opened her eyes, bright. Nicolas shivered. He had forgotten how cold and dark the Luminaries¡¯ realm was. He needed to finish his business and leave as quickly as possible. ¡°Yes, let¡¯s.¡± ¡°...So, peak Magistrate already?¡± ¡°I am,¡± Nicolas nodded, ¡°Do you know my next ascension?¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t even know we could raise someone past Magistrate. Of course, you¡¯re an abnormal case.¡± ¡°Abnormal?¡± An impish grin, ¡°Sorry, extraordinary.¡± ¡°In what way?¡± She scoffed, ¡°Come now, you¡¯ve consistently achieved better results than anyone else we¡¯ve raised on the same path of ascension. You¡¯re obviously very well suited to your Mantle.¡± ¡°I suppose¡­¡± ¡°Suppose nothing. Not every Watchman becomes a Detective. And not every Detective becomes a Magistrate.¡± ¡°But I¡¯ve met other Magistrates, with more experience; why does the Archbishop want me?¡± ¡°How long did it take you to reach peak Magistrate?¡± ¡°Ten months.¡± ¡°That¡¯s incredible for the third step. The Archbishop is betting that you, no one else, can take the fourth,¡± she laughed, ¡°No pressure, right?¡± ¡°Right.¡± She saw his pensive look. ¡°Listen, raising someone to the third step is a big investment. If the ascension fails,¡± they shared a shudder, ¡°...the effort is wasted. That the Archbishop chose you is proof she thinks you can do it.¡± Lost in thought, Nicolas took a right turn. ¡°You don¡¯t want to turn left here?¡± Catherine slowed. He shrugged, ¡°That¡¯s a much longer route. See, the Archbishop¡¯s area is just over there.¡± ¡°Ah, you¡¯re right. Talk to you later, then,¡± she looked almost disappointed. ¡°See you later, Catherine.¡± His ascension awaited.