Out of desperation and panic, Yoko did something she would never have done with a clear head. It was quite one thing to march into Temple with Dragon Guards at her back and bully her way past unsuspecting temple guards; and a different thing entirely to use magic to break the sanctity of a holy house for her own ends. Those were the actions of a criminal, plain and simple, and the consequences would be dire if she were caught at it. Consequences were the least of her worries. Forced marriage to a man she had come to resent and even hate held a far more prominent place. And she had no one to talk to, to spill out her fears. No one to protect her if father were on the Prophet's side. And the only man who would have was in the cellars beneath the temple, in dire predicament himself. She needed to see him. To talk with him. It was a driving desire that had her at the steps of the temple in blind recklessness, before she knew quite what she was about.
It was then that some reason began to seep back into her brain. Basilica guards stood outside the doors, watching the passage of the worshippers into the temple. They were a new fixture on the steps of the temple, since the advent of the Prophet's demonic prisoner. There was no safe entrance that way. She veered back onto the street, walking with head down and arms crossed over her breast around to the side of the great building. The main doors would all be watched. But there were unobtrusive, little used portals that might provide entrance. To the very back of the temple, where the traffic was little or none, in an alley with refuge was stacked for the street cleaners to take away. There was a plain door in the midst of the garbage. There was no handle on the outside. It didn't matter, she knew a spell of unlocking. It was not exactly a spell designed with illegal entry in mind, and the priest who taught it to her would be aghast to know to what use she put it, but beggars certainly couldn't be choosers. She laid fingers on the door and silently mouthed the words of opening. Felt the small amount of power it took to perform such a simple spell flow into her, through her fingers and into the door. Something quietly clicked. She took a breath and gently pushed at the door. It swung inwards with hardly a creak.
A narrow dark hall, lined with crates and boxes. She shut the door behind her and slipped down the passage. She was not familiar with the temple as she was with the cathedral she had grown up in. She hesitated at doors, listening for the sounds of people behind them. She heard the clamor of the kitchen, kitchen sounds could not be mistaken for anything else, and hurried past that door. She found finally, after a great deal of frustration, an opening that led to the great naive of the temple. She stood in the shadowed doorway and got her bearings. Across the way was the passage that would lead her to the stairs to the basement levels. Across a temple scattered with people praying, with priests passing among them, giving blessing. With guards at the entryway and no doubt more watching the door to the cellars. She wished for a spell of invisibility, but knew none. What she did recall was an incantation for inconsequence. A spell that might allow the caster to blend in with the background. She had heard Gara use it once. It was most certainly not a holy spell -- not if it was fashioned by assassins, but it might be the thing she needed to achieve her goal.
She leaned into the shadows behind the naive and mouthed the words of the spell, praying that she remembered them correctly. It wouldn't work, Gara had said, if anyone was actually looking for you. It would only allow the caster to escape their notice if their minds were on something else.
She said the words twice over and felt a shiver pass her body. She did not know if it were her own apprehension or the spell taking effect. She had no notion if it had worked or not. As quietly as she could, she slipped behind the alter, clinging close to the wall, and began to circle the room. No one looked up from their devotions. No priest chanced to glance towards the naive and call out to ask her what she did there. She reached the door and opened it only wide enough to slip through, then crept down the hall. There were guards by the door to the cellars. They sat at a small table, talking quietly among themselves. She froze, back pressed against the wall, breath caught in her throat. They did not look up. One suggested a game of cards. The other worried that the captain might catch them at it and report it to His Holiness. They muttered at the injustice of the duty. She silently slid along the wall. The goddess and all her kindred must have been smiling down on her, for the door to the cellar was slightly ajar, all she needed do was turn her body sideways and slip through the opening, the door moving hardly an inch in her passage. Then she was down the cold stairs, mindless of the dark, hands feeling at the stone of the walls to find her way. Dare she call a light? She heard no voices down here. No guards lurked in the pitch darkness. Maybe just a little one. A tiny speck of illumination that she could squash if need arose.
"Illumina ." She whispered the summons. A glow no larger than a plum flared to life before her eyes. She waved a hand downwards to direct it towards the floor, where it might be less noticed. It hovered just before her as she wove through the boxes of the storage level. Then she found the steps leading down to the lower, more dreadful sub-basement. That door was locked. She opened it with a spell, feeling a bit of strain at the use of three spells simultaneously.
With a swell of satisfaction she pelted down the stairs, down the hall to the cell where Schneider had been, only to find the door open and the cell devoid of occupant. She stepped inside, saw the pile of blankets she had brought to him, rumpled and unused in a corner. She let out a little whimper of frustration, for the moment devoid of purpose. What if he was being held in the castle dungeon? She could never get past there. What if he were dead? No. Not dead. She would know it. She knew she would. And Sheela had said he was in the Temple. Another cell then. There were many doors along this passage. Closer to the stairs? No, further. As far as they could get him from escape and warmth and light. She went down the hall until it narrowed and sloped downward. The walls were rougher, hewn from stone and not yet smoothly finished. The doors were further apart, thick and metal. She went to the furthest one and pressed her hand against it. Murmured the opening spell and pushed it open. Nothing. Water puddled in a dip against the far wall. The smell of mold was overpowering. She shut the door with a shudder. Moved to the next. Pressed hand and ear against it and thought -- no. It's not this one. The next and she felt a stirring. She caught her breath and magiced it open.
The little ball of light proceeded her inside. He lay against the wall, as if it were his only solace, wrists fastened by thick chain to a ring four feet from the floor. He uncurled at the intrusion of light, made to push himself to his knees and she cried out inarticulately and rushed forward, skidding to her own knees on the stone before him, throwing her arms about him before he had the chance to fully gain his balance. He went over, caught the chains to prevent the topple to the floor and could not quite hold his weight and hers. She ended up on top of him, tangled in the chains, sobbing his name against his neck.
His fingers grasped after her hair, pulling her back enough so that he could see her face. His own was haggard and bruised. But his eyes were sharp.
"How did you get here? Did they let you come?"
She shook her head, sniffing back tears. "No, I snuck past."
"You used magic." He accused harshly and she blinked at him, bewildered to have him censure her, of all people.
"Yes .... but ..."
"I could feel it. If I could feel it then HE could."
"He?" she shook her head at him, not understanding. "I had to come. Oh, Goddess, everything is going so badly. I don't know what to do."
"Get out of here is what you do." He pushed her away, wildness in his face. She fell backwards, and he struggled up, holding to the chain for support.
"But -- I don't understand."
"Yoko, get out before he finds you!"
"I'm afraid it's too late for that."
The gentle, smooth voice of the Prophet echoed in the tiny confines of the cell. Schneider snarled. She cried out in dismay, staring up at the tall figure of the Prophet from her sprawled position on the floor. The large figure of captain Sinakha stood behind him, green eyes aglow in the illumination of her witchlight.
"Yoko, I am very, very disappointed in you." The Prophet stared mournfully down at her. "I had such high hopes for you, my dear."
Under his gaze, she rose guiltily to her feet, held her chin high and met his stare. "I demand that you cease this, at once. It's not moral or holy."
He reached out, gripped her shoulders and his fingers bit down into her flesh so hard she winced. "You may demand nothing, girl. You've given up that right." He shook her once, hard enough that her head snapped back painfully.
"Don't touch her!" Schneider hissed, lunging forward, only to be brought up short by the chain that fastened him to the wall.
Angelo looked past her at Schneider, lifted a brow caustically and said. "It is time Yoko had discipline in her life. It is time she learned to pay for her mistakes."
A dozen foul names spewed from Schneider's lips. Yoko blanched, suddenly afraid of the hate in this room. Schneider's, The Prophets -- goddess save her -- her own. The Prophet thrust her into the hands of Sinakha.
"Take the young lady to my chambers. I will deal with this trespass there shortly." He smiled. He smiled when he should have been frowning darkly at her transgression and that scared her more than anything else.
He was on his feet, pulling at the chains in a rage to get at the object of his rancor. The hate welled so strong inside him, he felt disjointed and out of control. Angelo merely watched him, just out of reach, that infuriating smile on his narrow lips. And Schneider raged and threatened and promised horrible, horrible vengeance if the man laid so much as a finger upon Yoko.
"A finger?" The Prophet said, lifting a brow. "Didn't you know. Her father and the king have consented that I take her as bride. A finger will be the least of the things I lay on her."
He roared his rage, yanking against the chains until he felt the flesh bruise and tear at his wrists. "I'll kill you. I'll turn every ounce of your stinking flesh into ash. Goddamn you!!"
"I've told you not to take the name of god in vain." Angelo's lashes fluttered down. He whispered a word and force slammed into Schneider's body, racked him with a pain too brief for it to be one of Angelo's tortures, then snapped back into the Prophet, taking every bit of strength Schneider possessed with it. His legs gave way, rubbery useless things, and he collapsed to the floor in a jumble of limbs he had no energy to straighten. He hardly had the will to breath, to blink his eyes to clear them of reflexive tears.
Something changed in Angelo then, the intrinsic benevolence that he always wore in his guise of Prophet evaporated, to be replaced by a cold and calculating maliciousness. The door the cell slammed shut behind him, as if by a strong gust of wind. The light from the lantern outside in the hall that they had brought with them was obliterated, and a new, harsh light grew about the Prophet. He crouched over Schneider, twining silver hair in his fist, eyes gleaming in a madness that was usually so very deeply hidden. It roared like a blast furnace now.
"Why do you continue to deny ME?!!" He screamed down, spittle flying from his lips. "It's for the greater good of all men. How can you not break?"
Schneider's lips wouldn't move to utter all the things he wanted to fling back into Angelo's face. All he could do was lay there under the weight that shifted over him and endure.
"You will regret it, I tell you. You will pay for this insolence. I have marked the things you love in this world. I have. Before you ever even came back from hell, I marked that which you held dear. That girl. The Assassin. The dark elf. The Ice Lord. You were nothing before They called you out of the eather. Nothing!! And yet you thought you were so much better than the rest of us mortal creatures. You took what was rightfully mine!! Ansasla chose you, when I had been promised that honor. They promised me, damn you!! Then you murdered it. You killed it, when for so long I had waited for it to be reborn and to choose me for its purposes."
Tears streamed down the Prophet's cheeks, fell onto Schneider's face. He wanted to cringe away from them. Wanted to scream back at the madman that what he had wanted so badly, what had been thrust upon Schneider all those centuries ago had cost him 400 hundred years of free will. Had cost him any goal but the destruction that Ansasla thirsted for. He would have gladly given that honor to Angelo.
"Liar!!" Angelo screamed and slapped him. Schneider stared in helpless shock. The man had pulled the thoughts right from his mind. Of course he had. No matter what powers he held now, first and foremost he had been a telepath, able to read men's souls. Schneider was just surprised that he had been able to get past his own, not unimpressive, mental barriers. Had he become that weak?
Fine. Let him pull the scorn from his thoughts. Let him know how unchanged he was from the Devin Angelino of the old world, who got off on cowing people, on holding power over the weak and subtly causing them misery. Only now it wasn't so subtle.
The Prophet laughed, framing Schneider's face with his hands, bending close to whisper. "Maybe you're right. Perhaps I do. We all have our weaknesses. You gained power by force of magic and war, while I chose a more subtle path. I was more successful at it. People beg to worship me. They speak your name to frighten their children into good behavior. I will shatter you. Into a thousand little pieces that all beg to please me. It's only a matter of time. I already own your body ---"
One hand drifted down to caress the length of Schneider's body, then back up to tap a hard nail against his temple. "--It's only your mind I need to break. And if I can't do it by pain alone, then perhaps I will find those things you love and destroy them. Yoko will be mine in short order. I'll let you imagine the wedding night. Do you know she sent a messenger to bring the Ninja Master here. Your salvation, she thought. Pretty young man, that messenger. I believe you knew him. He won't reach Gara. I'm afraid he's passed to another realm. Gara would have, if he'd come. And that pretty, pretty little half elf. I'll find them both sooner or later. And the Ice Lord. I had thought to take him for my next host before you were so kind as to return and offer me a better choice. I had already begun to work my way into his mind. He's prone to nightmares, you know. People prone to nightmares are easy to shatter when you get under the layer of conscious thought. If I do have to kill you, I'll have him. But I'll hurt him first, I promise you that."
"Don't -- touch -- him." He got the words out, a trembling, furious whisper that could not hide the panic that grew inside him. "Leave -- them -- alone -- you -- bastard."
Angelo smiled at the dread he saw in Schneider's eyes, that he pulled out of his mind. The first sign of true fear he had been able to invoke. Schneider hated himself for the weakness, for giving the man the lever he needed to hurt him more than any physical torture ever would. Tears of helpless fury trailed down his temples. Angelo wiped them away with his thumb, leaned down and kissed the corner of Schneider's lips.
"One way or another." He whispered, then worked a magic that cast Schneider into utter, senseless black.
She sat curled in a chair within the confines of the Prophet's own private chambers. She could see his bedroom just through the doors to the left and shuddered, wrapping her arms tighter about her drawn up knees. Sinakha was outside, blocking her escape. She wished, oh she wished so very much, that they would send someone to get her father, so that both he and the Prophet might berate her. She dreaded being alone with Angelo. He was a fanatic, she told herself. A man obsessed with religious stricture, but he was not a monster. She was being a fool to imagine herself in peril from him. The man wanted to marry her for the Goddess' sake. He wouldn't hurt her. But he could wound her with his censure, with the power of his words. His words could sway thousands.
What was taking him so long? Goddess please don't let Rushie fall deeper in trouble because of her misdeed. Oh, what had she been thinking to do this? To so blatantly disregard their strict orders. She had not helped herself nor Rushie. All she had done was make things worse.
Finally, after what seemed forever, Angelo came. He walked in, pulling off his outer, formal robe. There were dirt stains on the knees of it. She made to rise and he waved a hand at her to stay.
"Sit."
Yoko sank back into the chair, back straight, hands clutching the smooth wooden arms. She watched him go to a panel on a bookshelf where a tray of liquor sat. He poured himself a glass, offering her none. With his back to her, he took a sip, stood that way for a moment before turning to face her. His face was lined with stern disapproval. She swallowed and turned her gaze elsewhere.
"Do you have an explanation for your actions, Tia Note Yoko? For breaking the sanctity of the temple with the usage of dark magics?"
How did he know? Rushie had said he would know, but how? The Prophet, other than the miraculous displays of covenant with the High God, had never admitted to the practice of magic. She had no answer for him. If he wanted apology she couldn't give that either. She was not sorry she had come. She was sorry she had been caught at it.
"The king will hear of this. Your father will. Neither will grant you clemency this time. Your punishment will be given over to me. As will, as I'm sure your father has informed you, your hand in marriage."
Her eyes snapped to him. She shook her head to deny it, but he held up a sharp finger to silence her. "Geo Note will be relieved that I still desire to take you in matrimony even after this debacle. I shall strive to overlook it. I shall strive to teach you the error of your ways. You will come in penance for the next score of days. You will begin this very night, on your knees you will pray before me, begging the High God for forgiveness."
"But, I have not declared my faith to the High God." She argued. He stalked towards her, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up out of the chair. Again, in one night he laid hands to her. She glared this time, defiant of his attempts to make her cringe. "I am not one of your faithful, your holiness. I'll take my penance in the Cathedral, if I must."
"You have not offended the goddess or her brethren, girl. You have offended ME." He glared down at her, eyes boring into her own. The defiance trembled, curled up and ran with its tail between its legs. All from that stare. He let her go and stabbed an imperious finger at the small alter against the wall of the room. "Kneel and pray."
She trembled, afraid of this man, almost took a step to do his bidding, when the door opened and Sinakha stepped into the room. The Prophet's face twisted in irritation.
"Your Holiness. Forgive me. But a messenger has come from the King begging immediate audience."
"Now? What does he want?"
Sinakha shrugged blandly. "The messenger did not say. He only implied the urgency."
Angelo waved a hand. "Fine. I'll come immediately. And you --" He fixed Yoko with his gaze. "--Have not gotten off so easily. The king will hear of this tonight, I assure you. Come tomorrow to the temple for penance, if you value your soul."
She ran through the darkened streets toward the palace for as long as her breath and her legs would allow, then she stumbled on, holding her side against the pain. She did not go to her rooms, but to the kitchen where she knew many of the maids. She found the girl who was assigned Princess Sheela's suite, and implored her to carry a message to the princess. She sat in the kitchen by the fire, shivering until the maid came back, with the news that the princess had agreed.
She bolted from the kitchen then, and through the dusk shadowed gardens towards the Cathedral. Into its welcoming, soothing sanctuary, with its great stained glass windows behind the naive. With its aura of peace and comfort. How could anyone forsake it for the Temple of the High God? How could anyone choose the harsh doctrines of the High God over the gentle teaches of the Goddess? She entered the small, private shrine and knelt before the alter, waited there with tense expectation for perhaps half of an hour, before the soft rustle of silk announced the arrival of another worshipper. Silently, Sheela moved into the room. Lowered herself to the cushion on the floor, and bowed her head in prayer. When they'd knelt there for a while undisturbed, the Princess finally whispered.
"What happened?"
"I was stupid. I snuck in to see him and I got caught."
"Is he all right?"
Yoko took a breath. "I don't know. I was hardly there a moment before the Prophet dragged me away."
"The Prophet himself!"
"That's not the worst of it. He's asked my father for my hand. Can you believe it?" Her voice rose in her dismay. Sheela turned dark eyes her way, astounded.
"He didn't."
"He did. And the worst part is -- I think that half of it is to hurt Rushie."
"Why would you think that? Why would the Prophet go to such lengths?"
"I don't know. I just -- it's just a feeling I have. He hates Rushie."
"He hates what he thinks he is."
"No it's more than that. I'm certain of it now. And -- and I think he may have magic too."
"That's ridiculous. I hate what he's doing to Schneider too, but I can't make the Prophet out as evil because of it."
"I don't know what to think of him anymore. I know I won't marry him. I know we've got to get Rushie out of there."
"Us?"
"Who else? I can't wait for Gara to come. I want to get him out of Meta-Rikan."
"Even if we could -- Larz, the Prophet's men, would be after him."
"Then we run fast and far. We get to Gara, if we can."
The Princess turned back to the alter, eyes frightened, hands clasped before her breast.
"You've made risks for him before." Yoko said.
"Yes. But, I've more to think about than myself now."
Yoko stared and comprehension dawned. "Your baby?"
"My baby. The heir to Judas and Meta-Rikan."
Yoko bowed her head, frustrated in the knowledge that she could not argue with the Princess' need to protect an unborn child. "You're right. You can't risk it."
Silence. They both sat under the watchful eye of the Goddess. Sheela lifted her eyes. "But, with the heir to two kingdoms in my womb, they would not dare to censure me. They will take the greatest care no matter what insanity I discharge. And I am allowed into the Temple freely, even if you are not."
Yoko bit her lip, thinking she ought to discourage a pregnant woman from such risks, yet unable to utter the words. Instead her mind whirled with strategy. "And you are always accompanied by ladies in waiting."
"Always. And I have very faithful guards."
"There will have to be a distraction." Yoko said.
Sheela bent her head towards her, eyes alight with conspiracy. "What shall it be?"
"Well, we can't use magic. The Prophet is sensitive to that. It's how he discovered me in the first place. We'll have to get a key somehow, to the door and the manacles."
"Guards mingle. They dice, even in the temple. An adept enough hand and a ring of keys might be lifted long enough to make an impression for copy."
"You have the mind of a brigand, Princess." Yoko grinned. "I never noticed before."
"I never had anything denied me."
The two of them stayed at prayer for a very long time.