Chapter 3 – The Tower of All Saints Marching
It was once known as the Tower of Dorecao, back in the time of the emperors when Dorecao, then Deus de Tudo, God of All, was worshipped as such. Now, the Tower of All Saints Marching, or a Torre de Todos os Santos Marchando, in the Old Tongue, was an ecumenical establishment, though in practice, both Dorecao and Santa Dominica were the two primary religions of Viscano. The coupling of those two deities had formed a northern denomination known as “All Saints Marching.” All the other Miradan Gods and Goddesses, however—Cominata, Destinado, and Lorena—had their small chapels within. It reminded Sonata of the establishment that she had visited in Sagano when she had needed access to the Channels to find Guilherme Cavaco. But that’s where the similarities ended. The Tower of All Saints Marching was a state-run facility, and as such, its layers of security were numerous. Moedas placed in palms at the door found their way up to the duke himself, whose own administrative tower and living quarters were not far away.
She went as a worshipper of Santa Dominica, wearing a thin white robe with green epaulettes that she stole from a clothier en route to the tower. She left her swords and satchel in her room. She felt uncomfortable not having them, the swords especially, but it was best to appear as a simple woman with a simple desire to worship. She brought Fellfang with her, however, though like in Sagano, he was not allowed in the tower itself. She pressed to have him wait in the foyer of the east entrance. The estudante of Dorecao that guarded the door was hesitant to allow such a large beast to linger there, but an additional moeda in his hand gained his cooperation. Three further layers of security later, Sonata’s purse of coins was running dangerously low. But the additional bribes brought her to the person she needed to convince.
“With your permission, doce senhora, I request access to the Channels.”
The priestess of Santa Dominica stared at her as if she were mad. “A girl like you cannot weather the Channels. I thought you wanted to worship our savior.”
“I do, doce senhora,” Sonata said, looking up at the very tall woman as if she were Santa Dominica herself, “but first, I must try to contact my wizard friend. He is ill, and in grave danger. I must find him in the Channels.”
Sonata could see the priestess struggle with the request. “I need access only for a short while. I promise, doce senhora, I will be in and out quickly.”
She made sure the priestess saw her most sincere and innocent face, and the bag of diminishing coins on her belt. A woman at the level of this priestess was unlikely to be swayed with such emotional and physical bribery, but it was worth a try.
Finally, the priestess relented, on one condition. “Very well, menina, but I must go in with you.”
It was customary for civilians who desired access to the Channels to be escorted in by a priest, a priestess, or a wizard. It was a way to improve the connection with the Channels and to ensure the psychological welfare of the civilian. The Channels were no place for the weak of mind. Sonata was by no means weak of mind. Not anymore, at least. But what could she do? She could not refuse the priestess and hope to gain the kind of access she needed.
The priestess took her into a small antechamber off the Santa Dominica chapel. They knelt at a railing before an altar affixed with small gifts to Santa Dominica, bits of bone, winter flowers, tiny drawings, and prayer scribblings. Sonata did not like being in the midst of so much religiosity. Regardless of who her father was, who he could be, and who she could be as a result, she did not like religion. Not a single denomination represented in this chapel had given her mother one scrap of bread while she and Sonata had been starving on the streets of Cragsport. Only a cantankerous, wise-ass wizard had shown any mercy at all.
“Concentrate now, menina,” the priestess said in a soft, soothing whisper. She lay her hand on Sonata’s back and ran her fingers gently up and down her spine. Sonata’s flesh tingled, and for a moment, she felt like falling asleep. The priestess’s voice and touch was enchanting. It felt good after so many months of not feeling anyone else’s touch. “Say your friend’s name aloud in your mind. Say it clearly, again and again.”
“Guilherme Cavaco.”
The last time she had been looking for Cavaco in the Channels, he had been unknown to her, just a name that Uncle Galo had uttered near death. But now the Pontaboro wizard was her one true friend still remaining in the world. Could he help her now? She did not know. Would he help her? That question was the most important.
She said his name over and over, like the priestess suggested, but she got no response. Her voice sounded funny in the Channels, like an echo in a cave, or in a room stripped bare. Her vision was foggy as well, as if she was staring into the oncoming morning fog of Adriana’s Breath as it billowed up from the crashing foam of the nearby falls. She glided through the haze like a bird. She both enjoyed and hated the sensation; it was like the calm before a storm, luring you into thinking that all would be fine, that the Channels were safe and comforting, and indeed, some places inside were. But Sonata was no priest, no priestess, no wizard. Regardless of her new powers, she was not welcome here.
“Guilherme Cavaco!” She said his name again, louder this time, as the fog dissipated and was replaced by a long, bright corridor with doors. Scores of them. Hundreds. Behind one of them was Cavaco. Which one? She did not have time to search them all. He had to come out, to reveal himself before the priestess beside her decided that it was time to leave.
“Come out now, old man,” she said. “I do not have time for games. My uncle is gone, and I need your help.”
Sonata did not know how much to say in front of the priestess. It was unclear just how much the woman could hear, given the fact that she was busy trying to keep Sonata psychically safe in the Channels. How much of her energy was spent just keeping the connection? How much spent eavesdropping?
Finally, a face came to her, faint and distant at first, and then it was right up on her, appearing out of a small flash of light. Cavaco’s ethereal face hovered before her, detached from his body. He did not have a body. He was just a face. A face and a voice, which echoed in her head like her own voice.
Is it wise, Sonata, to come here looking for me?
“Happy to see you too, Cavaco. How’s the weather in Sagano?”
Pleasant, as always, if you are actually referring to the weather.
Sonata shook her head. “I am not, but I have following ears. Can you assist?”
Cavaco turned his floating head toward the presence of the Dominica priestess. She did not have a face in the Channels, just a presence, which floated beside Sonata like a wisp of smoke. The priestess suddenly tried to sever the link, to bring them out of the Channels. Cavaco struck her with a bolt of lightning.
Nausea consumed Sonata as the priestess’s link to her was severed. She felt like throwing up. But she resisted and soon felt much better, as Cavaco’s link to her was established. His was even stronger than the priestess’s.
I’ve knocked her cold, Sonata, but she won’t stay that way for long. When she wakes up, she isn’t going to be happy. We don’t have much time.
“Then let’s get to it. How’s the weather?”
Fair, but clouds are forming. Word out of Viscano says that Duke Ernesto is preparing for war. Queen Mariana is a good girl; she’s brave, and I believe that in time, she will become a good leader. But she is inexperienced and easily manipulated, and the men who advise her have convinced her to do the same.
“Mariana would never start a war with Viscano.”
She may have no choice if your stubborn duke decides to attack or decides to form an alliance with any of the kingdoms above the Sorrow Sea.
“Then you have to alter the situation,” Sonata said. “You have powers enough. Get in the thick of it and change her mind.”
Cavaco huffed. It sounded silly in the Channels, more like a sneeze than a laugh. I’m neither a politician, Sonata, nor an advisor. My goal in life is to live on my yacht in blissful peace until I die.
“You’ve a new boat?” That pleased her.
I do, and this one won’t be destroyed by you.
“I didn’t destroy the first one, you goon. But let’s not get distracted, Cavaco. This is serious business. We’ve a war to stop, and the first step is to find my uncle.”
She told him everything that she didn’t tell him on their first meeting in Sagano. Perhaps it was unwise to speak so openly in the Channels, but she didn’t have time for secrets. Cavaco was right about that.
After she finished, the wizard said, He could be anywhere, Sonata. Borshen was despised universally.
“I’m aware of his social standing. I need to find him nonetheless. Is there any indication that he’s been taken south, into Pontaboro or further?”
Cavaco paused. His image in the cloud wavered as if he were popping in and out of the Channels to deal with issues in the physical world. Then he reappeared in full, and said, No, nothing from here, and I would know if so. No one has snatched him from Sagano. He may still be in Cragsport. He may have been taken above the Sorrow Sea.
Sonata nodded. “The only way to know for sure is to seek out those who have taken him.” She paused, swallowed, dreading the next words. “The only way to do that is to enter the Catacombs.”
Are you insane?
Cavaco’s mood changed. Sonata could feel the chill in the stale air of the Channels. The temperature dropped. Has Sacudente do Mundo gone to your head?
Yes, it has, she said to herself, but did not share aloud. “It’s the only way. I buried my uncle well, Cavaco. The potion I used was strong and can only be reversed by strong sorcery. He may not have been revived yet, if they intend on reviving him at all. But whoever took him had the assistance of a sorcerer, and they reside in the Catacombs.”
I cannot protect you there, Sonata. I can get you in, but there are entities in the Catacombs that have been there since the beginning of time. Dark, powerful entities. Entities that do not care that you are Sacudente do Mundo. They will break you.
“You underestimate my powers, Cavaco.”
Are you able to control World-Shaker now?
“More and more every day.”
It was a lie, but one that she had to tell. Did Cavaco believe her? Probably not, but she stood her ground and held her gaze on his smoky face, unwavering.
Cavaco blinked. No. I’m sorry, Sonata, but I cannot take you there. It’s too much of a risk.
“Look,” she said, growing annoyed by Cavaco’s intransigence. “Uncle Galo, for all his faults, is my blood. He’s the only family I’ve got left.”
What about Fellfang?
She knew what Cavaco meant. He wasn’t so stupid as to be suggesting that she and a dog were related by blood, nor was he making light of the situation. Cavaco had seen first-hand what she and Fellfang had gone through, and when you’d been through that kind of turmoil together, you just inherently became family. On that score, she considered Cavaco family as well; a more mild-mannered version of her uncle.
“Fellfang will always be family,” she said, “but he wants Borshen back even more than I. The poor boy misses his master terribly. Please, Cavaco, help me save him. Or, at least, find out what happened to him. I’m begging you. My uncle may be the only person who truly knows what I am becoming, what Sacudente do Mundo is doing to me.”
Cavaco paused, sighed, then said, Okay, Sonata. I’ll get you in, but I’m telling you, I won’t be able to protect you if you make trouble. You’re on your own in there.
“Just get me in,” she said, her mood improving, “and while I’m there, see what you can do to keep our doce senhora sleeping. This may take a while.”