Chapter Text
“I warned you. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Brother, please…”
The second voice was low, soft, pleading, and Trevor’s ears pricked as he turned back to the alley he’d passed.
“You did not listen to me, sir,” an older man said. Trevor crept closer, feeling his blood beginning to pump. Finally.
“Are you talking back to me?” the first voice demanded. Trevor rounded the corner in time to see a priest brandish his spear at an elderly Speaker, a second priest at his side.
“No, I’m merely talking to you,” the Speaker said, pushing the weapon away. A third priest, more gangly and slight, stepped in front of the Speaker, holding his arms out as he faced his fellows.
“No good will come from threatening others,” he said, his voice still soft. “I beg you, leave him alone—”
The priest with the spear shoved him aside. “Nobody asked your opinion, you little brat,” he snarled, and aimed the spear at the Speaker again.
“Keep walking,” Trevor said under his breath.
“What quarrel do you have with the Speakers?” the old man said. “We are not responsible for the attacks on Gresit—”
“I work within the light of God Himself,” the priest snarled. “You dabble in magic, dark words that turn people away from the church and call demons down every night to attack us!”
The small priest put himself between the spear and the Speaker again, gripping the weapon’s shaft. “You and I both know the Speakers are not responsible,” he said evenly. “Put down your weapon, brother. It is not God’s will to threaten innocent—”
The priest snarled and thrust his spear at the smaller one, who didn’t quite get out of the way in time. The blade pierced his shoulder and he cried out, a high-pitched yell that echoed off the buildings surrounding them. The Speaker leapt back, holding his arms up defensively.
Trevor had seen enough. He sighed, already knowing he was going to regret this decision.
Whip in hand, he lunged, striking the priest in the shoulder and causing him to drop his weapon with a yell of pain. His companioned turned, a blade dropping out of his sleeve.
“That’s a funny thing for a priest to be carrying,” Trevor said, re-coiling his whip and preparing to strike again. “A thief's knife? If I didn’t—”
The small priest jumped, wrapping his arms around the knife-wielder’s neck and legs around the waist. “Let go!” he hissed, wrestling the knife out of the larger man’s hand.
Trevor was stunned momentarily, not quite able to believe he was seeing the priests turn on each other, but then his hand shot forward and the whip cracked, and then the knife priest fell to his knees with a scream, clutching his face. His eye had been reduced to a jelly paste, and blood gushed from the destroyed socket.
The small priest let go and scrambled back, staring at Trevor—and then at his mauled brother—in horror.
“I don’t like priests,” Trevor said as he stepped past the one-eyed priest to look at the one he’d struck in the shoulder. “So I’ll give you one chance to leave. Go back to your church, and never bother this man or his people again.”
The priest glared at him, but staggered to his feet and gingerly took the one-eyed priest by the arm, helping him down the alley. Trevor stopped in front of the slight one, staring down at him.
He was on the unusually taller side for a man, and rather delicately boned—not quite handsome, not quite pretty, but with large eyes and arched eyebrows under a mop of mousy brown hair. He remained between Trevor and the Speaker, chin up but trembling slightly.
“You seem to be the exception,” Trevor said, and the priest relaxed. “What’s your name?”
“Father Lucian,” he replied, and his voice was still soft. “Lucian Enache. Thank you for your assistance.” He winced and put a hand to his shoulder; his robes were dark with a growing bloodstain from where he’d been struck.
There was no glow, no flash of light, no familiar tingle of magic, but in the brief space between dropping his hand and tugging the robes to cover his skin more thoroughly, Trevor could see that the wound had vanished. He arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything other than “It was nothing.”
“The violence wasn’t necessary, sir,” the Speaker said, stepping forward. “...But it is appreciated.” He gave Trevor a small smile before turning to Lucian. “Thank you for standing up to the others. It takes a great deal of bravery to go against one’s peers.”
“Or stupidity,” Trevor remarked. “No sense of self-preservation, have you? They’ll be baying for your blood by sundown.”
“I couldn’t stand by and let them intimidate this man,” Lucian said, looking away. “It isn’t right.”
Trevor gave him an appraising look before turning to the Speaker. “And you are?”
“I am the elder of the Codrii Speakers,” the man said. “Thank you for your kindness… and, I think, your restraint.”
“You’re welcome, Elder,” Trevor said, internally sighing. “Can I accompany you to your train?”
“We have settled here in Gresit, no caravans. But I would be glad of your company on the way to our lodging.” The Elder smiled as he turned to leave, and Trevor fell into step beside him, protectively. To his mild surprise, Lucian trailed after them, and he instinctively reached for his whip before remembering the small priest getting in between the Elder and the spear.
“Coming with us, then, eh?” he said, giving Lucian an appraising glance. Now that he had time to think—now that the adrenaline had worn off—there was something about that slight build, the too-delicate features, the low voice coupled with that scream of pain…
Lucian nodded. “I would like to make sure the other Speakers are faring well… if that’s all right.”
“We would be honoured to host you both,” the Elder said as they took a turn. “May I know your name, sir?”
“It’s Trevor,” he said, and with a wary glance at Lucian, decided to take the plunge. “Belmont. I’m just passing through.”
He noted that Lucian’s eyes widened, but the priest otherwise didn’t react. Interesting.
“I suppose it was rather lucky for the both of us that you were, then,” the Elder said.
“How many are you?” Trevor asked.
“Eleven… though I insist we be counted as twelve,” the Elder said, folding his hands inside his sleeves. “One of us is missing, you see.”
“The church’s doing?” Lucian asked, fists clenching. “They’ve been paranoid of newcomers to the city, but their treatment of the Speakers has been—”
“No, not the church,” the Elder said. “It is a little more complicated than that.” He gestured at a run-down house when it came into view. “This is where we live. Please—come inside. Meet my people.”
Trevor glanced down at Lucian, who looked very uncertain by everything that was happening. He sighed, clapped the priest’s shoulder, and moved to follow the Elder.
The Elder pushed open the doors, and they were immediately greeted by a small swarm of anxious Speakers.
“Elder, where were you?” one of them asked, gripping his arms. “We were worried about you! I told you it was too soon to go outdoors!”
“And I told you it was necessary to offer aid to the people,” the Elder said, gently disentangling himself.
“What’s he doing here?” the younger Speaker spat, letting go to glare at Lucian, who shrank away. Trevor stepped between them, not yet reaching for his whip but ready to grab it at a moment’s notice.
“I was ambushed by some of the priests,” the Elder said. “But I’m alright, thanks to these men.” He sighed. “Though I fear there may be some trouble ahead because of it.”
Lucian looked away. “My brothers have been… unsympathetic to the people. I worry that they ignore God’s will to care for the weak.”
Trevor snorted. “That’s very noble of you,” he said. “Considering I had to defend both you and the Elder here while you were trying to play peacekeeper.”
He was rewarded with a small flash of anger across Lucian’s face.
“You used violence?” the younger Speaker demanded, face contorting.
“The younger people believe that words can speak louder than actions,” the Elder said, smiling apologetically.
“Well, you’re Speakers,” Trevor said, rolling his eyes. “Words are what you do.”
“You know of us?”
“My family’s always been on good terms with the Speakers, although my father once got into a fight with one,” Trevor said, going to the window. He leaned against the sill, tilting his face into the soft breeze that blew through the opening.
“True Speakers do not fight,” the younger one said, and Trevor could just picture his frown. He suppressed a smirk and turned back.
“He tried to convince a Speaker to have your oral history transcribed onto paper,” Trevor said, and was gratified by the look of shock on the younger Speaker’s face.
“Ah, yes,” the Elder said, moving between his kinsman and Trevor—much to the latter’s disappointment. “We are quite protective of our ways. History is a living thing. Paper is dead. Would you like something to eat?”
Trevor spread his hands. “I’d prefer something to drink.”
“Arn, bring our friends some water—”
“Ah—never mind, then,” Trevor interrupted, biting back a sigh.
“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary. Thank you,” Lucian said, voice still infuriatingly soft. Trevor grit his teeth, forced himself to relax, and turned toward the priest, straightening up.
“Tell me, are the other priests so hostile to you because they’re aware there’s a woman in their midst, or is it just your infuriatingly calm personality?”
The hut went so silent Trevor could hear the rustling of their robes from the wind that snuck in through the cracks in the walls.
“I’m sorry?” Lucian asked, but from the way her eyes flickered to the door, Trevor knew she was panicking.
He took a casual step to the side, placing himself between her and easy escape. Lucian’s gaze met his, and he smirked.
“No secrets among us,” he said. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”
He saw the set of Lucian’s jaw, but then she bowed her head. “You’re no friend of the clergy,” she murmured. “I trust you won’t tell them of this.”
“You’re already kind of fucked, defending a Speaker against your own so-called brothers,” Trevor pointed out, and Lucian flinched. “What else do you have to lose?”
“Please, do not fight,” the Elder said, stepping between them. “Regardless of the circumstances of one’s birth, this is a place of sanctuary for all.”
Trevor shot a disdainful look at Lucian, but shrugged. “Not my place to go around ratting people out.”
“You could have fooled me,” Lucian said coolly. “After outing me to a group of strangers—”
“Strangers who are just as persecuted by the church as you would be,” Trevor said, waving a dismissive hand. “You put yourself between the Elder and that priest’s blade. You might be a priest, but you’re more decent than most folk I’ve met, so thanks for that.”
Lucian’s cheeks went a blotchy red. “You’ve got a funny way of showing gratitude.”
“Who said I was grateful?” Trevor shot back. “I could have handled it—better if you hadn’t got in my way.”
Lucian folded her arms. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I see somebody in need of help,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just stand off to the side while they’re bullied into submission—”
“That’s enough,” the Elder said, and Lucian immediately straightened like she’d been slapped. “You both made sacrifices today; do not ruin it by fighting with each other.”
Trevor scoffed and turned away from Lucian—dismissive, uncaring. “You’re awfully quick to defend a member of the church after they were so ready to blame you for the demon attacks.”
“They need to divert people from the truth,” the Elder said, folding his hands in front of him. “How the church brought down Dracula’s wrath on the land.”
Trevor paused and gave the Elder an appraising look. “Really.”
“There were Speakers in Targoviste a year ago,” the Elder said. “The church burned Dracula’s wife at the stake as a witch.”
“ ...Shit.”
“That is indeed one way of putting it.”
Lucian went pale. “I heard talk from the Bishop about it, but I hadn’t realised—”
“So you just thought you’d sit back and idly let the church burn innocents without regard for who they were?” Trevor snarled, reaching for his whip. “You’d let them move in and take over villages and towns and cities without standing up to their tyranny? You would let them chase out so-called heretics without regard for if they were actually ridding the land of those who would dare speak out against them, those who fought monsters for the sake of the common folk and were declared black magicians and devil-worshipers for it?!”
“I wasn’t responsible for that,” Lucian said, and it didn’t escape Trevor’s notice how her hands clenched around the robes that draped by her sides. “If I’d known—but that wouldn’t matter to you, would it? We’re all the same, in your eyes.”
The Elder stepped between them. “Please, do not fight,” he said. “I will not make that request again. You both stood up against the priests to defend me, and for that, I am grateful.”
Trevor snorted, but relaxed his grip on his weapon. “You should get out of here,” he said. “Not all of the priests are as nice as she is.”
Lucian glowered at him, and Trevor returned the look, brows drawing together.
“We cannot leave these people in their time of need,” the Elder said stubbornly.
The younger Speaker cleared his throat. “You may as well tell him the rest,” he said, and the Elder sighed.
“In Speaker history, there is an old story. A legend, probably.”
“I like stories,” Trevor said, planting his hands on his hips. A faint smile played around the corners of his mouth.
“The story says that a saviour sleeps under Gresit, a great hero who sleeps until he is needed, until there is a darkness upon the land.”
Trevor tilted his head. “Oh, I’ve heard that one,” he said, recalling the comments of the people he’d talked to earlier that morning. “The sleeping soldier. It’s a local legend.”
“One the church has tried to stamp out,” Lucian said, and Trevor shot a look at her. “They think the people see him as a Christ figure, and in their eyes—”
“It’s hearsay,” Trevor finished. “Charming. I suppose you feel the same.”
Lucian drew herself up to her full height, which was surprisingly taller than Trevor expected. “Just because I wear the vestments does not necessarily mean I share the same views,” she said, a sharp edge to her voice. “I would not presume to know you just because you carry the Belmont name; I would ask you to do the same for me.”
Despite himself, Trevor reluctantly felt a grudging respect for this girl. Woman? It was hard to tell. But she spoke plainly, without malice, and to be frank she was unlike any other priest he’d met before, all self-righteous and holier-than-thou. It was a refreshing change of pace.
“Fine,” he said curtly, and gave a sarcastic bow. “Who am I to deny the will of God?”
Lucian threw a glower in his direction, which he returned with a smirk.
The Elder looked between them and sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sorry, Elder,” Lucian said, bowing to him. “We are ignoring your hospitality. I think there was something you wanted to share with us?”
“Yes,” the Elder said after a moment. “Though I must first ask how much you know about my people.”
Trevor glanced sidelong at Lucian, who flushed with embarrassment. “Admittedly, not much that isn’t propaganda,” she said. “The most I know that I think is true is that you’re a nomadic people who share stories with each other to preserve them through the generations.”
“That’s true enough, alright,” Trevor said. “I’m surprised you didn’t include the accusations of witchcraft and devil-worship in your description.”
Lucian’s cheeks somehow managed to go even more red and blotchy. “I try not to listen to those accusations,” she said. “It is only God’s place to judge, so what right do we as humans have to do so?”
“A priest with a conscience,” Trevor snorted. “How original.”
“If you two could stop bickering for five seconds and listen,” the younger Speaker snapped, “You’d know our Elder’s grandchild went to find the soldier and has gone missing!”
“...Oh, hell,” Trevor said, dragging a hand down his face. “And let me guess: you’re not leaving the city until you’ve got the body.”
“It’s not our way to leave our dead unattended to!”
“Quiet, Arn,” the Elder said, but Arn pressed on.
“We can’t just give up hope so quickly!”
“We’re not just staying for my grandchild,” the Elder said, “but for the people of Gresit. We came to offer them our aid.”
“Somehow, I don’t think they want your help,” Trevor snapped. “I talked to some of the people before I ran into you—they’re planning on giving you the torches-and-pitchforks treatment tonight if you don’t get out of here.”
“We are not going to turn our backs on people in need,” the Elder said stubbornly.
Trevor itched to punch something—the Elder, a wall, maybe the priest—but he turned on his heel, stalking to the window. His jaw set as he looked outside, estimating how much daylight he had left.
“If I go and recover your kid’s body, will you please leave?” he said, shoulders tensing. “Wait outside the city, give your aid to the survivors when the Night Horde finally just rips through this place.”
“You would do that for us?” Arn said, a touch skeptical.
“Look,” Trevor said, turning back. “I know what it’s like to be persecuted by your own country for the accident of your birth. It’s gonna be a pogrom tonight, and none of you are going to make it out alive—and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s a little hard to give your aid to the good people if you’re dead.” He looked at the Elder. “If I find your grandchild, will you leave this city before nightfall?”
The Elder hung his head. “If that is the condition of your recovery, then… yes.”
“Great,” Trevor said, and cracked his knuckles. “Where’d they go?”
“The catacombs, under the mausoleum west of the church.”
“I know the one,” Lucian said. She turned to Trevor. “I can show you the way.”
Trevor rolled his eyes, but strode to the door, snatching an apple out of a Speaker’s hands as he passed. “I’m leaving now,” he said, and took a bite. “Don’t go walkabouts looking for people to give support to. Stay right here.”
“Belmont.”
He suppressed a groan before turning back to look at the Elder.
“It is not the dying that frightens us,” the Elder said softly. “It’s living without ever having done our best.”
“I don’t care.” Trevor stepped outside, not bothering to hold the door open for Lucian. “Lead the way, O holy one,” he said around a mouthful of apple.
Lucian nodded, pulled the hood of her robe over her ears against the chilly wind, and set off, Trevor following close behind.
“How does a woman enter the service of the church, anyway?” Trevor asked. Annoyed though he was by her presence, he had to admit he was curious.
Lucian was quiet for a moment, and it didn’t escape him that her eyes automatically flickered sideways, looking for an escape.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Sorry, I’m just not used to discussing this,” Lucian said, lowering her voice as they passed a group of women. “My father died when I was a babe—my mother named me as a male heir so we would be allowed to keep the house. She pledged me to the church’s service and I became an altar boy when I turned five.”
“And you kept your secret all those years?” Trevor asked skeptically. “When I figured it out in, what, ten minutes?”
He was gratified to see her cheeks go pale pink. “The priests see what they want to see,” Lucian said. “And what they want to see is a small, weak, easily cowed child who never managed to grow a beard.”
Trevor smirked. “So far, I’m not seeing anything to prove them otherwise.”
Lucian stopped dead, and Trevor nearly ran into her. She turned to face him, lifting her chin. “I’m helping you because what they’re doing is evil,” she said. “The Speakers did nothing to deserve this treatment; it’s the least I can do to try and right the wrongs perpetuated by the church.”
“How very noble of you,” Trevor said, already bored. “Keep walking, we’re wasting time.”
Lucian grit her teeth, but turned down a side alley, taking Trevor through back routes that would keep them out of the way of prying eyes.
She would have to figure out what she would do next. Defending the Speaker had been a stupid move, she knew, and helping a Belmont even more so—but she had nothing left to lose, no family left to think about. What did she care if she got excommunicated after her actions that day?
“Here we are,” she said, stopping at the end of the alley. Trevor discarded the apple core and pushed past her to stride across the churchyard, making a beeline for the mausoleum that was flanked by twisted, dead trees. Lucian glanced around, drew her vestments closer to her (like that would make any difference to their recognisability), and scurried after him.
Trevor cracked the doors open and strode inside, taking a moment to glance at the statues that had been erected as memorials to the deceased.
“Don’t like this place,” Lucian murmured as they moved deeper inside. “Gives me the creeps.”
“Afraid of the dead, are you?” Trevor said, not bothering to hide the taunting edge in his voice.
“No,” Lucian said, shooting him a glower. “The statues. The weird shadows they throw. I would have to dust in here as punishment growing up—”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Trevor muttered, heading for the back wall. A gap in the brickwork caught his eye, and he smirked, going over to a statue and scaling it to reach the gap. He turned back, not expecting Lucian to keep up, but to his surprise she’d used her belt sash to hike her robes up to her knees and was climbing after him.
So the little priest wasn’t totally useless after all. Interesting.
They slid down the slope behind the gap, and Trevor straightened up, squinting into the dim room.
A soft glow emanated from shoulder level, and he turned to see Lucian lifting a hand, a ball of light balanced on her palm. Trevor’s eyebrows went up at that; it was unlike any type of magic he’d ever encountered.
“Never seen a priest able to do that before,” he remarked.
“I don’t think it’s a common skill,” Lucian said dryly, and Trevor inclined his head.
“Well, you’re not wrong there,” he muttered. Shooting another look at her, he went to one of the torches he spotted ensconced on the walls, pulling it down to sniff. “Fresh oil…” He set the torch against the wall and used the blade of his dagger to strike sparks, igniting it. “Anybody home?” he called, lifting the torch.
“Don’t just shout out like that,” Lucian hissed, and the light in her hand instantly vanished.
Trevor turned to look at her, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “What are you so afraid to find down here? A sleeping soldier to bring down the wrath of your God?”
Lucian’s face contorted. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just know that anyone who comes down here never comes back up. I know you’re a Belmont and all, but I still worry…”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Trevor snorted. He glanced around, and spying a metal pipe affixed to the wall, went to investigate. “Hm.” He rapped the back of his knuckles against it. “Warm. That’s weird.”
“Why are you doing this, anyway?” Lucian asked from by his shoulder, and he whirled, wondering how she’d moved so quietly.
“Didn’t you say it yourself?” he said sarcastically. “I’m a Belmont. This is what we do.”
“You didn’t seem so enthused about the prospect before,” Lucian pressed, and Trevor bit back a groan.
“Listen, I’m about as thrilled as you are by this whole stupid quest,” he said. “I’d much rather just get myself some food and drink, find a nice, tall tree, and watch tonight’s carnage before moving on.”
“And yet, here we are,” Lucian said, stepping around a pile of rubble. “Why?”
“Because I must be insane,” Trevor muttered. He suddenly threw an arm out, stopping her in her tracks. “Wait.”
There was a cracking noise, and then the floor beneath them crumbled. Trevor yelled, and Lucian screamed uncomfortably close to his ear as they fell to the next floor down. Trevor landed on his feet; Lucian landed flat on her stomach, wheezing out a sharp breath.
“Ha!” Trevor said. “Reflexes like a cat.”
The floor collapsed and they found themselves falling again. Trevor slammed into the flagstones with a grunt, and then a gasp when Lucian crashed down on top of him.
“Thanks for breaking my fall,” she choked out, rolling off him.
“No problem,” Trevor said, his voice strained.
Lucian raised an illuminated hand again, but it soon proved to be unnecessary; glass lanterns bolted to the walls hummed to life, crackling with trapped lightning. Trevor lifted a hand, shielding his eyes from the sudden glare.
“What the…?” Lucian murmured, extinguishing her light.
The lanterns turned on one by one as they looked around the room, strange shadows thrown off the pillars and broken statues. In the middle of the room stood the statue of a Speaker, robe blown back by an intangible gust of wind, mouth open in a silent scream.
Trevor drew his sword and approached, gently rapping the flat of the blade on the statue’s head. “Either someone left a statue of a Speaker down here, or…”
A loud growl from behind them made them whirl, and Lucian gasped in horror, grabbing the back of Trevor’s cloak as she hid behind him. He groaned as the monster stomped closer, a great mass of walking stone whose footsteps shook the ground.
“Cyclops,” he hissed, and threw Lucian out of the way as the beast’s single eye glowed, an instant before a beam of energy blasted the spot where they’d been standing a moment before.
Trevor didn’t know what happened to Lucian after that, nor did he particularly care. He ducked behind a pillar and flattened himself against it. “Stone-eye cyclops,” he muttered to himself. “Right out of the family bestiary. God shits in my dinner once again. Don’t let that beam hit you!” he called, raising his voice. “You’ll turn to stone if you do!”
He was rewarded with another blast from the thing’s eye, and had to bolt for new cover to avoid being hit. He took shelter behind another pillar and heard Lucian’s voice when the light died.
“How do we fight this thing?”
“We? ” Trevor yelled back incredulously, peering around the pillar to try and get a look at his foe. “You stay out of the way, let me handle this!”
A massive stone hand closed over his head. Trevor’s yell was muffled as he was lifted into the air, neck straining from supporting his entire weight. The cyclops hurled him at the wall, and he hit it with a dull thud before crumpling to the ground. Pain shot through his body, and he clutched his ribs, biting back a groan.
And then Lucian was there, darting between the beast’s legs to grab his shoulders.
“Stay out of my way!” Trevor snarled, and coughed up blood. Not good.
There was no glow, just like earlier that day in the alley. Lucian’s hands found his chest, and he felt his breathing ease, his ribs shifting back into place.
The fuck—?
“Move!” he yelled, and the pair scattered to avoid an eye beam that gouged a small trench where they’d been crouching.
Trevor ducked behind another pillar, shifted the sword so he was holding it in a reverse grip, and hurled it at the cyclops, snarling when it embedded in the beast’s chest, rather than the eye where he’d been aiming.
“Come on, come on!” Trevor yelled in frustration. “Stop and notice you’re dead!”
Another blast, and Trevor barely made it behind a pillar in time. The hem of his cloak became heavy, and he smashed the stone edge against the pillar to break it off.
“Bastard!”
Lucian, noticing the cyclops was distracted by Trevor, crept out from her hiding spot, heart in her mouth. She wanted to scream, to run away and hide. Coming down here had been a terrible mistake. But Trevor—damn him, much as she resented his hatred of her—needed her help.
She had no idea what the hell she was doing, but she had to try.
Her palms glowed, and she slapped her hands around the cyclops’ ankle, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes when she felt the thing’s leg become brittle and weak. It roared and jerked its foot, and she was sent flying to slam against a wall. She hit it with a nasty crunching noise and fell to the floor with a groan.
Had to heal. Had to get up to help Trevor.
Trevor was prepared to scream at the girl when he saw what her touch had done to the cyclops. Its ankle began to crack when it took another step, and he realised he had the advantage. It stumbled forward, and with the precision of over a decade of practice, his whip shot forward to wrap around the hilt of the sword. He yanked it free, and the cyclops roared; Trevor sprinted forward, vaulted off the stone Speaker’s head, and kicked the sword into the cyclops’ eye.
The monster fell to its knees before collapsing in a heap on the floor.
Behind him came the crackle of magic, and Trevor turned to catch the petrified Speaker in his arms before stone became flesh once more. An odd look passed over her face, and Trevor quickly let go so she could whirl away from him and expel the contents of her stomach.
“You did it,” Lucian rasped, staggering to her feet. Blood dripped from her mouth, but she put a ginger hand to her chest, and when she let go, she straightened up, hacking one last glob of blood on the floor.
“Damn right I did,” Trevor said, planting his hands on his hips while he watched the Speaker be sick. “Granddaughter, then, is it?” He went to retrieve his sword, yanking it free of the cyclops’ eye. “I wish Speakers wouldn’t do that.”
“What?” the Speaker asked, wiping her mouth.
“Dress the girls like boys.”
“It’s safer when we travel,” the Speaker said, straightening up. “What happened?”
“Your grandfather sent us,” Lucian said. “He and the rest of the Speakers are worried about you.”
“Sent me, more like,” Trevor muttered.
“Well, if we’re being honest, nobody sent us, we came looking on our own,” Lucian said. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” the Speaker said. “Thank you for the rescue, I would have—hang on.” She squinted at Trevor. “Did you climb on me?”
“A bit.”
“That was rude,” the Speaker said, folding her arms.
“He saved your life,” Lucian pointed out.
The Speaker turned to her, eyes going wide when she took in the priest’s vestments. “What are you doing here?”
“Mostly attempting to save your life,” Lucian said. “Trevor did most of the work.”
“At least you acknowledge it,” Trevor muttered. “We came down to recover your remains, but seeing as you’re still alive—no thanks to that cyclops—you can leave the city with the others.”
“What?” the Speaker gasped.
“The city’s planning on running everyone out tonight,” Lucian said softly. “Or just killing them. Your grandfather wouldn’t leave without your body.”
“But the Sleeping Warrior is still down here,” the Speaker protested.
Trevor snorted disdainfully. “There is no sleeping warrior, just a cyclops waiting for people stupid enough to go looking. It’s a trap for gullible Speakers; you’re not popular around here.”
“The old wisdom says the tomb is guarded—” the Speaker began, but Trevor waved a dismissive hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Come on—time to go home. Your people think you’re dead, the least you can do is set that old man’s mind to rest.”
The Speaker bit her lip. “He… thinks I’m dead?”
“He wasn’t much wrong,” Trevor said. “Killing a cyclops is the only way to restore a victim—didn’t think I’d manage it.”
“You were brilliant,” Lucian said. Trevor bit back a sigh, wondering where she thought flattery would get her. “The way you kicked that sword—”
“It was sloppy at best,” he said. “Would have had an easier time of it if you weren’t getting underfoot.”
Lucian opened her mouth, and Trevor crossed his arms.
She closed her mouth.
Trevor smiled.
“Who… are you?” the Speaker asked.
“Trevor,” he said, and glanced at her. “...Belmont.” He’d already told the other Speakers, so it would be a waste of time to be coy with her.
“But the Belmonts fight monsters,” the Speaker protested, and Trevor immediately began reconsidering his decision.
“I’m out of practice,” he said sharply. “Let’s show you to your grandfather, and then you can come down here and get killed again. Deal?”
The Speaker scoffed. “Very well. I’m Sypha Belnades—”
“I don’t care,” Trevor said, wondering when people would learn how to take a fucking hint.
“Lucian,” she said, moving closer to Sypha. “Enache. I’m glad you’re alright.”
Sypha softened a little at that. “You helped him?”
“Got in the way, screamed a lot, and needed me to save her sorry ass, more like,” Trevor muttered under his breath.
“I did not,” Lucian said. “...Scream, anyway. Much.”
“But you did get in my way.”
“You are rude,” Sypha decided.
A crackle of magic ran around the room, and they all turned to look as the rest of the statues—previous victims of the cyclops, broken and smashed from age and abuse—returned to flesh. Sypha bit back a gasp when blood gushed from the shattered limbs, the corpses slumping over from where they’d been frozen in time.
“You’re lucky that wasn’t you,” Trevor said bluntly. “Which way did you come in? I’m afraid the ceiling collapsed when we came to rescue you.”
“...and just last year, I was ordained by the church,” Lucian said as they approached the hut where the Speakers were living.
Sypha laughed. “Can you imagine the looks on their faces if they ever knew the truth?”
Lucian didn’t laugh. “I’d rather not,” she said. “I’m rather a fan of staying alive.”
Trevor sighed to himself. The two hadn’t shut up once on their journey out of the catacombs, chattering away like a pair of magpies. It was giving him a headache, and one that needed to be resolved with some good, strong beer at that. “We’re here,” he said, pushing open the door.
The Speakers inside turned at the sound of the door opening, and Trevor stepped aside to reveal Sypha, a bit dusty but otherwise no worse for wear.
The Elder gasped, and Sypha ran into his arms, hugging him tightly.
“Thank you,” the Elder said. His face was buried against Sypha’s shoulder, but Trevor wasn’t about to spoil their moment of happiness.
“Mhm. You’re welcome,” he said, a flicker of envy burning in his chest at the sight of their embrace. How long had it been since he was last held like that?
“I failed to find the Sleeper, I’m sorry,” Sypha said, voice muffled by her grandfather’s robes.
The Elder gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length to study her. “Oh, hush, my angel,” he said, cupping her chin. “I’m just glad you’ve returned to us alive.”
“I doubt there’s anyone down there,” Trevor said, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. “It’s probably a booby-trapped legend.”
“I had no idea there was a cyclops down there,” Lucian said, wringing her hands. “I’ve never heard of the other priests speak of anything like that—if I’d known, I swear I would have—”
“Oh, save your breath,” Trevor said, shooting her a look. “You’re sorry, we get it. What’s done is done; apologies won’t help anyone now. Just another rumour to lure gullible folk into the monster’s lair.”
“But what if it was down there because there’s something so important it needs guarding?” Sypha insisted as she pulled away from her grandfather.
“Your Messiah isn’t down there,” Trevor said. His patience was beginning to wear thin.
Sypha took several steps forward until she was standing in front of Trevor, looking up at him with a fire in her eyes. “And what makes you so sure?”
Trevor met her gaze, a heavy weight settling in his chest. “You Speakers carry information down through the generations,” he said, stepping aside. He looked away, gathering his thoughts. He’d been turning the day’s information over in his mind, and there was only one horrible conclusion he kept coming back to. “We Belmonts pass things down as well. Do you remember what we saw down there? Metal veins pumping hot liquid, torches that light by themselves that exactly fit descriptions written down by my great-grandfather?” He looked at Sypha, any last traces of humour gone. “Descriptions of the inside of Dracula’s castle.”
Sypha’s mouth fell open. Lucian gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth.
“Are you sure?” the priest asked through her fingers, and Trevor levelled a glare at her. She flinched, but didn’t back down. She lowered her hands slightly, looking horrified. “I-I mean, what if you’re wrong? What if there’s… I don’t know, someone else using his techniques down there? Dracula? In Gresit? Surely the city would have fallen by now?”
“It won’t last another day, the rate things are going,” Trevor pointed out. “Dracula’s castle can move; it wouldn’t surprise me if he set up some little base from which to launch his attacks. I don’t know what’s down there, but it’s not a Messiah.” He stalked towards the door. “I’ll leave you all to it.”
“No—no, nonsense,” the Elder said, and Trevor bit back a groan of frustration. “Please, stay with us for as long as you like. I cannot begin to repay what I owe you.”
God, he needed a drink right now.
“You’re leaving tonight, remember?” Trevor said, stopping in front of the door. “Take the priest girl with you, she’ll be needing protection after what she did for you. I’ll come back later. See if you can’t find some beer,” he added under his breath as he left.
Sypha watched the door close behind him before scoffing. “I could pee in a bucket and tell him it’s beer,” she said.
“Sypha!” the Elder scolded. “He saved your life!”
“What?” Sypha said defensively. “He’s rude.”
“He’s… rough around the edges,” Lucian said. She picked a spot against the wall and settled on the floor, tucking her robes around her legs for warmth. “I think he’s a good person, just… not a very nice one.”
“He risked his life to save you,” the Elder added, and Sypha rolled her eyes.
“Gang up on me, why not,” she said. “I came back from the dead to be treated like this from my rescuer? I don’t think so!”
Lucian tentatively raised a hand.
“Not you,” Sypha said. “You have manners.”
The hand went down. Sypha sighed and went to sit next to her.
“I do appreciate it,” she said, nudging Lucian with her shoulder. “I don’t know how long I would have been down there if it wasn’t for you two.”
“Probably a while,” Lucian said sheepishly. “I’ve tended the catacombs, but I had no idea just how deep under the city they extended… I’m glad you’re alright.”
“What do you think?” Sypha asked. “About the legend?”
Lucian was quiet for a moment. She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, frowning at the wall. “I’m not sure,” she finally said. “I think there’s a kernel of truth in there, that there’s something beneath the catacombs, but after what we saw today, I don’t know if I want to know what it is.”
Something small and warm crept into her hand, and she looked down to see Sypha give her fingers a gentle squeeze.
“I think he’s real,” she said. “We Speakers have to separate fact from fiction all the time in our line of work. The stories seem too fantastic to be true, but they have to be real.”
“What makes you so sure?” Lucian asked.
“There are some stories passed down through the generations,” the Elder said. He approached with a pair of rough-hewn cups filled with water, which he pressed into their hands. Lucian took an appreciative sip; she hadn’t realised how dry her mouth was. “Most of them from the past. But… there are some legends that are said to come from the future.”
Lucian wrapped her hands around the cup. “The Sleeping Soldier being one of them?”
“Indeed,” the Elder said.
“Seems a bit fantastic to me,” Lucian said, and the Elder smiled.
“Do you not put your faith in a series of stories penned by mankind said to be inspired by the divine?”
Lucian hesitated. Although she was among friends, it still felt wrong to admit to her beliefs. “I know God is real,” she finally said. “We’ve got proof—the holy water, blessings, consecrated items. There’s proof of the divine, just not in the written texts. I’ve studied the Bible all my life, but between all the murder and rape endorsed by a supposedly benevolent being, it’s hard to have any faith in it.”
Sypha laughed. “You know, I hear that’s considered blasphemy,” she teased. Lucian didn’t crack a smile. “Oh, come on, that was funny. You have to admit it’s funny, a priest who doesn’t believe in the Bible.”
Lucian looked away.
“For what it’s worth, we Speakers don’t exactly hold Him to very high expectations, either,” Sypha said, and nudged her again. “We can both be heretics together.”
Despite herself, Lucian felt the corners of her mouth twitch up in a smile.
“There we go,” Sypha said. She gave Lucian’s hand one last squeeze before letting go to sip at her water. “God is overrated if you ask me, anyway.”