[Inside the Phantom and his Mourner's Palace. . .]
"His name is Mourner Behedet."
Behedet. . . Why do I feel like I've heard that name before. . .
Emory shook off the feeling and advanced alone. He saw Francine and Siole waiting by the entrance, nervously rubbing their arms.
The castle interior was made of cold white tile and thick walls. A majestic, spiraling staircase dominated the center, with numerous hallways branching off from it to the side.
The butleress said calmly, "The castle has six levels. The first five belong to the Mourners, and the highest level belongs to the Phantom."
"The Phantom is here? Right now?"
She shook her head. "Only in spirit. His physical body resides in an unknown land. Only the Mourners are permitted to visit him. We, the commoners, may only bathe in his blessed blood."
So the blood in the fountains is the Phantom's? How vast must his body be?
As they walked, Emory asked, "Do you know what the Mourners will ask me?"
"No."
"Do you know if they let people leave this place? You know, for personal reasons."
"One may leave, but only on Specter-related business. You have not yet heard yours, so you will not be permitted to exit the Mandate."
"There's no persuasion? No begging?"
"No."
"When will I hear my Specter?"
"At seventeen. The same as everyone."
"Oh."
The conversation ended as they reached an immense door. A low moan, like the sound of the dead, seemed to ooze from the wood, making Emory's ears tremble.
The butleress knocked. "Fifth Mourner Elocien, Fourth Mourner Behedet, Emory Vaughan has arrived. May he come in?"
A firm voice came from within. "Of course."
She opened the door slowly and stepped aside. "Don't die in there."
"Don't die. . ?"
Her body vanished from view.
Emory reluctantly stepped into a room twice the size of his own. It held no bed, no furniture, nothing to make it feel like a living space.
It was a vast, crystalline space. A single chair stood at the far end, occupied by a man. Another man stood beside him, arms held behind his back.
The seated man beckoned. "Don't be shy."
Emory walked forward, his footsteps echoing on the white tile. "Hello..."
The seated Mourner's face came into focus. He had long black hair that fell past his shoulders, ghostly pale eyes, and thin lips. He was handsome in a severe, meditative way.
"I am Elocien, Fifth Mourner to the Phantom. A pleasure." He placed a hand on his chest. He wore a short thobe that ended where his legs should have been; his lower body was ethereal, composed of shifting smoke and steam.
The standing Mourner was his opposite. His robe was cut off at the sleeves, revealing powerful muscles. A bow and quiver were strapped to his back, and his hair fell in thick, wavelike locks.
"Behedet, Fourth Mourner to the Phantom." The aura rubbing off of Behedet was something Emory felt a hint of familiarity to.
"How may I be of service?" Emory bowed.
Elocien laughed. "So formal! I like it. We see little formality here, especially from the children."
Behedet was not amused. "Kneel."
"H-Huh?"
"Kneel. You are in the presence of two Mourners."
Emory dropped to his knees. Elocien's expression remained placid. "Always so stern, Behedet." He waved a dismissive hand. "You were summoned because you are different from the others."
Different? I hate being different. . .
Elocien stood—or for better usage, floated—to Emory. He paced around the boy a couple of times, "Mm"-ing and "Ah"-ing as he did. "Lie down on the tile."
"Okay. . ."
This reminds me of being with Mirielis. . . Is she alright? And what was Contrivance? She kept screaming that word. . .
". . ."
"Alright, Mr. Vaughan. If you answer these next few questions correctly for us. . ."
"To our liking," Behedet cut in. "There is no single correct answer."
"Yes, that. If you please us, you may go. You are lying down so we may sense any falsehoods through your Spirit and nascent Specter."
"Alright. . ."
Elocien floated above him. "Ahem. Question one! Do you know what the Vizier Squads are? If yes, where do we find them?"
Emory racked his memory but found nothing. "I don't know."
Elocien glanced at Behedet, who gave a slight nod.
"No problem. Next question: What do you feel when I say the words 'Great Sacrificial Era'?"
Great Sacrificial Era? I've never heard of it. "Uh... A time of surrender? Offering? I didn't feel anything when you said it."
"Adequate," Behedet muttered. Elocien smiled.
"How many Mandates are you familiar with?"
"Just one. This."
"Last two. What do you know about an Entity named Contrivance?"
Emory paused. Contrivance? "The military people in my city. . . they said they were checking me for taint from Contrivance. I didn't understand what they meant, though."
"Is that all?" Behedet's voice hardened.
"Yes."
"Liar!" he shouted. Only a sharp look from Elocien restrained him. Behedet said in a lowered voice, "What are you hiding?"
"Nothing! I swear! I don't know anything about Contrivance!"
Behedet's hand locked around Emory's throat. It was horrible. Emory flailed, his lungs burning for air as the Mourner squeezed.
"You have spoken with Contrivance. . ."
"I–cough–I didn't, sir! If I did, I don't remember! I promise, I don't know!"
I only know about Sylphossia, but she's a servant to Contrivance, not the Entity himself. Would that count? Probably not. . . Emory thought. Why am I so scared of telling them about her? Why can't I say the words?
"Behedet, the boy tells no lie." Elocien gripped Behedet's wrist. "We have one question left, let's not end on a sour note. Remember, this is my questioning period. Don't go out of line."
Behedet reluctantly released Emory and stepped back. "Understood."
Elocien's manner became soothing again. "Sah! Now, for the final question. My apologies for Behedet's. . . fervor. Contrivance is a sensitive subject. We revere that Entity, but we also fear it. He is utterly unpredictable."
Emory gulped a lump in his throat. I just want to leave. . .
"There is a name that should not be spoken in this Era. His descendants have warred with the Mandates for centuries. His very existence is a threat to the Phantom. A vile piece of scum, truly. Have you heard the name. . ."
They waited anxiously.
"Julius Bersebus?"
Emory opened his mouth to answer. . .
. . . .
When Emory didn't answer, Elocien stepped forward, a deathly scythe materializing in his hand. "Speak, child. Your silence will be your death."
Emory's eyes swirled violently. His body twitched and convulsed. Behedet loosed an arrow aimed at the boy's leg, but it went wide.
Emory wasn't lying down anymore!
The Mourners snapped into fighting stances, spreading apart. "Find him!" Behedet roared.
Elocien's eyes darted around the room, sweat beading on his forehead. "The ceiling!"
Like a spider, Emory scuttled across the glacial ceiling, his face twisted into a manic grin. A peal of insane laughter burst from him.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha!"
Soon, the walls formed mouths and did the same. The floor. The ceiling. The door. Everything in the room erupted in hysterical chortle! Horrifying!
The two Mourners froze. Then they dropped to their knees, clasping their hands in supplication. Emory dropped from the ceiling, landing silently. His eyes were no longer red.
They were brown.
His face was no longer a child's. It was an adult's face. Beautiful. Perfect. Uncanny.
She's here. Now? Phantom, you knew! You could have warned us! Elocien's thoughts spun in terror."Th-Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Second Servant of Contrivance, Wishbringer of Sustenance..."
"Emory" chuckled. "From you, I prefer 'Retainer to the All-King.' It has more gravitas, don't you think?"
Elocien and Behedet pressed their foreheads to the floor. "Of course! Thank you for your mercy, Retainer to the All-King!"
"Emory" paced around the prostrated Mourners. "You see, my Master has grown fond of this vessel. Consequently, you are forbidden from laying your filthy hands on him." Sylphossia tilted Emory's head and smiled. "Understand?"
"Yes, we understand!"
She looked at Elocien. "Good. Now explain this interrogation."
Behedet began to speak, but she cut him off with a gesture. "Hide your face. Your ugly mug is staining my vision."
"Yes. . . I deeply apologize, Lady Sylphossia."
Elocien whimpered, "Of all the future Hierarchs, his Spirit and Specter were the only ones we could not read."
He pressed himself lower. "We suspected the involvement of a higher power. A Liege."
A throne materialized, and "Emory" sat upon it. "A good assumption! My, the Abolition Mandate is all wit and critical thinking. Perhaps you'll rival the Sagacity Mandate."
She rested her head on her hand. "You are correct. A higher power was involved. In fact, several. Many Lieges have taken an interest in the boy."
"Emory" counted on her fingers. "My Master, Maisedes, Geronim, Rothias, Baman, Esther. . . the list is long. Heh. Even Empress Aspasia has noticed him!"
Behedet twitched. The Almighty Empress Aspasia Gerea knows this boy?! I sensed an Almighty's presence when I forced him to recite the Chronicle years ago. Was it her? He fought down a wave of pure terror.
Sylphossia's tone darkened. "And with that attention came the interest of a wretched man."
Elocien's muffled voice came from the floor. "Julius Bersebus..."
"Yes. You will not approach Emory again. Let the boy climb the ranks. When he reaches the top, he will be delivered to my Master, and the Bersebus line will be extinguished forever."
Sylphossia snickered. "Their strongest are Aulus, Clovia, Odelles, and that bastard Gallio. Plus, they have the Houtis Military, including a sorceress named Constance Wales. They are foes you are not yet ready to face. Grow stronger, Mourners. Make my Master proud. Surpass his other Mandates."
"Yes, Retainer to the All-King! Thank you, Lady Sylphossia!"