staircase.
The room they entered destroyed any doubt the estate held religious significance. Twisting marble columns lined the cavernous room, their tops rising higher than the floating light spheres that bathed everything in an orange glow. Two broad transepts opened like great, arched tunnels on either side of a recessed apse at the far end of the room. A golden altar stood at the center of the apse.
Nicolas couldn’t believe he’d stumbled across a baroque cathedral in the middle of an alien world. He wanted to study the place to see how far the similarities went. Why would a civilization build a place like this without any of the religious inspirations and symbolism of his own western civilization?
He wanted to dig. Was there a crypt? Was there an older structure underneath, like at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome? Was this estate part of a larger underground complex or city? What was it about the shape of a cross—formed by transepts, apse and nave—that spanned two worlds?
His questions would have to wait. Mujahid was already leaving through a large golden archway.
They emerged into a room that was smaller, yet vast by any standard.
Golden-framed portraits of men and women wearing long dark-blue robes hung above wooden tables and dainty chairs. The dark-blue scapulars draping their shoulders bore the symbol of the floating person with glowing eyes.
One portrait in particular caught his attention. A bright yellow creature with an enormous head and cavernous mouth sat with webbed hands folded. Chameleon-like eyes the size of basketballs pointed in two different directions. It wore a form-fitting doublet the same color as the robes, and a dark-blue scapular with a black fringe hung to the middle of its chest.
The religious imagery didn’t stop with the architecture, it seemed. Catholic clergy back home wore scapulars as well, depending on their status.
Gold tiles and jewels formed a mosaic on the far wall. Multifaceted stones simulated magical flashes of light. Two tall skeletal warriors on the edges of the mosaic carried blades the length of a man’s arm. They stood beside two men, each wearing the same midnight blue robes as the men in the portraits. One of them looked like Mujahid, but the other was facing away. Each man held a scythe like the one wielded by the statue outside. But the main subject of the mosaic stood at its center. A cyclops, at least four times the height of the men, swung a massive black hammer. Next to it a perfect sphere floated in the air, its shiny surface reflecting the magical flashes in a cascade of gems.
“Is that what I think it is?” Nicolas asked.
“I told you it was hard won.”
“You fought off a cyclops for it?”
“An old, malevolent creature, with a long history of tormenting the people of Erindor. There aren’t many left, Arin be praised.”
“Is that other guy your brother Nuuan?”
“ Lord Nuuan, postulant. Remember that. His disposition isn’t as friendly as mine.”
“You’re the friendly one?”
Mujahid walked toward a staircase that ran up the side of the hall.
“Your quarters are on the second level. Mine is on the fourth. Training rooms are on the third.”
“Those stairs go down too.”
Mujahid turned on Nicolas. “Under no circumstances will you visit the crypts.”
“I knew this place had crypts! Can’t I just take a look?”
“I don’t care what you see, boy. Explaining the death of my postulant will be very awkward, however.”
Nicolas swallowed.
“There’ll be a penitent outside your room. If you need more food, ask him.”
“You said that before. Penitent. I know what it means, but I’ve never heard it used that way.”
“The undead serve a penance for the evil committed during their life. And so we call them penitent.”
A shiver of anxiety ran down Nicolas’s spine. The dead were among his greatest fears, and now he was stuck in a world filled with the undying.
“We’ll speak more about it,” Mujahid said.
The room they entered destroyed any doubt the estate held religious significance. Twisting marble columns lined the cavernous room, their tops rising higher than the floating light spheres that bathed everything in an orange glow. Two broad transepts opened like great, arched tunnels on either side of a recessed apse at the far end of the room. A golden altar stood at the center of the apse.
Nicolas couldn’t believe he’d stumbled across a baroque cathedral in the middle of an alien world. He wanted to study the place to see how far the similarities went. Why would a civilization build a place like this without any of the religious inspirations and symbolism of his own western civilization?
He wanted to dig. Was there a crypt? Was there an older structure underneath, like at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome? Was this estate part of a larger underground complex or city? What was it about the shape of a cross—formed by transepts, apse and nave—that spanned two worlds?
His questions would have to wait. Mujahid was already leaving through a large golden archway.
They emerged into a room that was smaller, yet vast by any standard.
Golden-framed portraits of men and women wearing long dark-blue robes hung above wooden tables and dainty chairs. The dark-blue scapulars draping their shoulders bore the symbol of the floating person with glowing eyes.
One portrait in particular caught his attention. A bright yellow creature with an enormous head and cavernous mouth sat with webbed hands folded. Chameleon-like eyes the size of basketballs pointed in two different directions. It wore a form-fitting doublet the same color as the robes, and a dark-blue scapular with a black fringe hung to the middle of its chest.
The religious imagery didn’t stop with the architecture, it seemed. Catholic clergy back home wore scapulars as well, depending on their status.
Gold tiles and jewels formed a mosaic on the far wall. Multifaceted stones simulated magical flashes of light. Two tall skeletal warriors on the edges of the mosaic carried blades the length of a man’s arm. They stood beside two men, each wearing the same midnight blue robes as the men in the portraits. One of them looked like Mujahid, but the other was facing away. Each man held a scythe like the one wielded by the statue outside. But the main subject of the mosaic stood at its center. A cyclops, at least four times the height of the men, swung a massive black hammer. Next to it a perfect sphere floated in the air, its shiny surface reflecting the magical flashes in a cascade of gems.
“Is that what I think it is?” Nicolas asked.
“I told you it was hard won.”
“You fought off a cyclops for it?”
“An old, malevolent creature, with a long history of tormenting the people of Erindor. There aren’t many left, Arin be praised.”
“Is that other guy your brother Nuuan?”
“ Lord Nuuan, postulant. Remember that. His disposition isn’t as friendly as mine.”
“You’re the friendly one?”
Mujahid walked toward a staircase that ran up the side of the hall.
“Your quarters are on the second level. Mine is on the fourth. Training rooms are on the third.”
“Those stairs go down too.”
Mujahid turned on Nicolas. “Under no circumstances will you visit the crypts.”
“I knew this place had crypts! Can’t I just take a look?”
“I don’t care what you see, boy. Explaining the death of my postulant will be very awkward, however.”
Nicolas swallowed.
“There’ll be a penitent outside your room. If you need more food, ask him.”
“You said that before. Penitent. I know what it means, but I’ve never heard it used that way.”
“The undead serve a penance for the evil committed during their life. And so we call them penitent.”
A shiver of anxiety ran down Nicolas’s spine. The dead were among his greatest fears, and now he was stuck in a world filled with the undying.
“We’ll speak more about it,” Mujahid said.
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