In a World without God

Raghad restlessly drummed his fingers on his thighs as he sat at the table. It felt like a heavy stone was weighing on his ribs, and his eyes were dark-rimmed from days of no sleep.

“I heard you’ve been having trouble focusing on your training lately.”

The voice was soft, but the hairs on the back of Raghad’s neck stood on end as if he’d heard a dragon snore.

“I’m ashamed of myself, my Lord.”

“Here, take your tea.”

Raghad’s fingers trembled as he picked up the teacup. Seated before him was the Duke Kindatu, patriarch of House Le Fay. His eyebrows were arched upward like blazing flames, and his nose was as sharp as the beak of a bird of prey. Though he spoke gently, his temper was notoriously unforgiving.

Duke Kindatu was the Chancellor of the Kingdom of Astania. He was usually too busy handling royal affairs to spend time alone with the youngest member of his family. He invited Raghad to his office for tea because the Festival of Saints was an important event for the Le Fay family, and Raghad was an important part of it.

“What makes you falter? Do you feel the weight of people’s expectations on you? Do you have something you want but can’t bring yourself to say? Or perhaps, have you fallen in love with a village maiden?”

Raghad didn’t utter a word.

“Be honest with me. I can solve any problem you may have.”

“My Lord, it’s my father, Ashur…,” Raghad paused, unsure if he should voice his true thoughts. He took a deep breath. “My father Ashur is committing treason.”

Raghad felt tears in his tired eyes. Kindatu had executed his cousin for taking a bribe. He would never let Ashur off the hook for treason just because he was his brother. Nevertheless, Raghad knew he had to speak up.

Raghad had been raised as a descendant of the hero Bosha. Whether or not Ed bathed in white Magick, he still held doubt in his heart. Should a descendant of a hero who fought witches and saved the people be allowed to pretend he didn’t see his father’s corruption? A descendant of a hero must tell the truth. Only after telling the truth should one ask for forgiveness.

Forgiveness for not killing his own father.

“My brother? Committing treason?”

“Yes. My father burned the books in the library. He erased the record of the existence of a book from the library ledger. The Astanian Racial Dictionary. I know it was a grave mistake.”

“Hmm,” Kindatu stroked his beard and sipped his tea. “And why is that wrong?”

Raghad’s head snapped up. Kindatu’s response was not what he had been expecting.

“Didn’t the Lady of Le Fay say that books are a valuable asset, a barrier that keeps the truth from being trapped and clouded by fog? The Le Fay family library is a Citadel of Truth.”

Ashur had broken down the walls of the Citadel of Truth. It was a great sin. At least, hat’s what Raghad had believed.

“The truth. What do you think the truth is, Raghad?”

Kindatu sat calmly, watching Raghad, a playful but slightly menacing smirk plastered across his lips.

“Truth is… something bright and unchanging, like the light of the Goddess Lutea.”

“You’re a fool, Raghad. You’re fifteen years old, and you’re talking so naively! Is it worth the truth to accuse your father, to have him executed, leaving you alone as the child of a sinner, an outcast from your family?”

Raghad’s heart was pounding. He was afraid of Kindatu. A moment ago, he’d feared he would kill his father. Now, it seemed he could bring his entire world crashing down. Everything Raghad believed in.

“Truth is nothing more than a collection of ideas everyone hopes to be true. We must uphold that truth. Our fulfillment of that duty leads to happiness for all. Your father, Ashur, has only fulfilled that duty. And yet you wish to accuse him of wrongdoing?”

Raghad was dumbfounded. That was not the value of truth in Raghad’s eyes.

“Lord Kindatu, the Goddess Lutea is watching us. With eyes that pierce the truth.”

“I know. Lutea blesses us. For we are making so many people comfortable with the truth.”

Raghad’s gaze shifted to the portrait behind Kindatu. The ‘Portrait of a Goddess’ covered the entire wall and showed the Goddess Lutea dispelling the darkness with her bright light.

“So, my Lord, is that painting true?”

“Yes, it is. It is the truth. One that we, the Le Fay, must uphold.”

Raghad dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. He realized a considerable gap existed between what he believed and what Kindatu said.

In the painting, purportedly by Limousin Le Fay, the founder of House Le Fay, the Goddess Lutea whips her black hair around and stares at Raghad with ebony eyes.

***

Limousin Le Fey was said to have met the Goddess in person and painted it after seeing her in action. It was said that Goddess Lutea personally blessed the Le Fay family, which was why all descendants in the Le Fay family have the same hair and eye color as Lutea.

It’s a story Raghad had loved. It filled him with pride as a descendant of a hero blessed by a Goddess.

But now he knew it was all a lie.

Late at night, after his meeting with Duke Kindatu and his world had come crashing down, Raghad slipped out of his bedroom and ran. The Duke Kindatu, strict and just, and his father Ashur, kind and caring—they were not who he thought so they were. So, who was he?

He had been pacing in his room, his mind reeling between thoughts. Then he remembered Ed, the pure white light he had emitted, and the words he had spoken:

“Ygraine is the name of the body I took to defeat the witch Granadilla.”

Raghad decided to leave his room and try to find Ed. He ran through the grounds of the Le Fay manor, arriving at the mansion at the western end of the estate. It was there that an incredible sight greeted him.

“What in the world?!”

Six silver-haired boys and girls stood in the clearing in front of the wooden building. They held swords that curved like a crescent moon. The arc of their swords caught the moonlight and shimmered. Their footsteps were like waterfowl shooting across the water.

Are they the offspring of witches? Does this beauty really belong to a witch?

As Raghad stood dumbfounded, watching the drill, he saw Ed standing off to one side and approached him. Ed turned to greet him, but Raghad stopped him.

“If you’re a Saint, then who am I?”

“That is a question you must find the answer to.”

Raghad shook his head.

“A black-haired, black-eyed race does not exist in Astania. The elders of the House are hiding this fact and don’t care what the truth is. But how can that be when the descendants of Ygraine are oppressed for life? We’re killing innocent people?!”

Raghad sank to the floor, tears of frustration springing to his eyes.

Why do these kids like to kneel so much?

Even as he thought this, Ed realized he liked Raghad. He was not corrupt, and he at least knew what the truth was worth.

Ed put his hand on Raghad’s shoulder and asked him what he had seen and heard. Raghad recounted everything that had happened as if he were confessing a sin.

Ed listened until a detail Raghad mentioned caught his attention.

“Wait, the portrait of the Goddess painted by Limousin Le Fay, you still have it?”

“Yes?”

Ed had seen the Portrait of the Goddess in his life as Bosha. At the time, the painting was locked away in the Le Fay family warehouse, and Ygraine didn’t want to show it to anyone. When Bosha snuck into the warehouse to see the painting for himself, he realized it was Ygraine who was in the painting, not the Goddess Lutea. It was a beautiful image that stirred his faith in Ygraine even more.

If Ed were trying to cover up the truth, he would have destroyed it immediately, but it was still there.

“He has probably painted over her hair and eyes,” Ed muttered.

“Who has?”

Raghad’s voice was pensive. A roadside bum would look more cheerful and hopeful than Raghad right now. Ed, on the other hand, twitched the corners of his mouth as if he’d thought of something funny.

“Aruru, are you asleep?”

Something rustled in the breast pocket of Ed’s shirt, and then Aruru poked his tiny head out.

“I was just,” Aruru yawned. “Resting my eyes!”

“You told me you were good at picking locks and stealing?”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m doing something bad! I only stole from the Le Fay for revenge!”

“Good. Why don’t you come with me to see a painting?”

“A painting? I don’t know anything about paintings!”

“That’s okay, it’ll be fun.”

Raghad’s eyes widened.

“Are you serious? It’s in Duke Kindatu’s personal office! There’s no way you’ll get in there. He has a security watch outside all day and all night. You’ll be caught and…”

Aruru let out a loud, angry snort.

“Descendant of lies, are you insulting me?!”

***

Laotou was the goddess of laughter, but she was also the goddess of art. Before paper was made, people drew pictures on tightly interwoven fibers and wove them into their clothes for decoration.

As the goddess of art, Laotou was a genius at discerning the authenticity of an artwork. She often took great pleasure in educating Bosha about his art collection.

“Laotou, are you blind?! How can you say this is a fake?! I received this painting from the Royal Family of the Ur Empire!”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?! The Uru Empire is almost entirely grassland, but this red dye is made from the dried entrails of the Kashiba Desert Scorpion, as evidenced by its distinctive rough pattern. But it was made in Uru? Uru has plenty of red sorghum for dye, so why use scorpion entrails?”

Bosha looked from the painting to Laotou and back again in shock.

“Damn it! A royal family scamming mercenaries? How do I get revenge on these bastards?”

“Putting revenge aside for now, why don’t we go to the market and buy some pottery? There are many earthenware pieces used by Astania’s first royalty lying around. They’d be worth a fortune if we sold them.”

“Is that right? Come on, show me this pottery, and I’ll buy a drink.”

“Only one?”

Bosha laughed.

“As many as you want!”

“That’s the spirit.”

There had been dozens of times when they’d gone out together like that. Of course, most of the time, it landed them in trouble with Ygraine.

“Laotou! Get a grip! Have you forgotten who you are?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lady Ygraine.”

“Bosha! Please stop giving Laotou alcohol!”

After hanging out with Laotou for so long, Bosha became knowledgeable about art. He never thought he’d get to use that knowledge for anything meaningful.

And now Ed planned on putting it to excellent use.

***

It was the day of the Festival of Saint. The morning was still early, and a cool air settled across the amphitheater. The building was generally used for athletic events, plays, and speeches.

More than a thousand people had gathered. Considering there were less than two hundred members of the Le Fay family, it was a large proportion of the general public. As the descendants of a hero, the attention the Le Fay family received was enormous.

The Festival of Saints began with a prayer to the Goddess. Lord Kinatu presents the Portrait of the Goddess, a painting normally kept away from prying eyes in his office, to the crowd and all pray to it

People knelt around the Portrait of the Goddess. The House of Le Fay members knelt in the front row, followed by the citizens of Vaidor.

Ed, having fasted for two days to portray the crucified figure, had hidden himself amongst the crowd.

Duke Kindatu rose to speak.

“The Goddess Lutea personally manifested herself on this earth to save humans and defeat the darkness. We gather here to repay her for her great mercy, courage, and love. Citizens of Vaidor, people of Astania. Give thanks with all your hearts and give thanks again.”

But the atmosphere was strange. People began to stir, especially those close to the Portrait of the Goddess. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“The painting!”

“What’s happened to the painting?”

“That’s…!”

On hearing the commotion, Duke Kindatu spun around to see what everyone was making a fuss about. His jaw dropped in surprise.

In the painting, the black dye that covered the hair and eyes of the figure in the painting was melting away. Like soot from a chimney in the rain, the black dye was dripping downward. The Goddess’s true form was revealed.

With silver hair and silver eyes, the Goddess looked exactly like Ygraine.