Chapter 67 – Illumination Retreats

The next few days were a heyday for rumors and all the gossips in town were having the time of their lives. Valentina sat silently in the corner of the Burning Quill, sipping her ale as she amplified the hastily whispered conversations around her with her Essence Listening.

“I swear bythe flame of the Martyr,” a market woman hissed to her neighbor, “my brother-in-law saw him. In Golden Fields! The young Boarfend galloped right past his cart, his hair wild in the wind.”

“It’s so fascinating to watch how quickly and enthusiastically people spread stories,” Vyxara murmured amusedly in Valentina’s head. “And how everyone wants their own little piece of the excitement.”

“He must have had help,” a student explained pompously to his friends at the next table. “No one could have overpowered that many guards on their own. It was a coordinated breakout, I’ll bet my entire Essence supply on it.”

Valentina hid her knowing smile behind her cup. The theories grew wilder and wilder as the week went on. Some claimed that a secret coven of Essence Weavers in league with demons had freed Faustus. Others swore they had heard him go up in smoke – which was a sure sign of demonic possession, after all.

The official announcements about Gladder’s “natural death” in his cell were met with open skepticism. Especially after word spread that the guards had found a strangely peaceful expression on his face.

“As if he was just having a nap,” whispered the jailer in the tavern late that evening. “With a smile on his face. And then that stench of sulphur…”

The Scorchpriests took no chances. They performed extensive cleansing rituals on the corpse before hastily cremating it. Rumor had it that they had found signs of demonic possession, such as Gladder having a tail and his bodywas covered in scales

Illuminator Eastwald became more restless by the day. His public appearances became spectacles of uncontrolled rage. When an Emberwarden reported that Faustus’ trail had been lost at a bend in the river, he beat the man to the ground in front of everyone.

“Incompetent fools!” his voice thundered across the marketplace. “He is ONE man! A spoiled brat! How can he escape an entire garrison?”

Valentina carefully increased her Essence Listening as she passed his quarters later. His quiet conversations with his Essence Weavers were very revealing.

“…can’t report this to Vandercourt…would cost my head…. Have to find him…”

Letters were sent in all directions. Every sheriff in the area was alerted. But the news that came back must have been devastating. A merchant from the south reported that he had seen a young nobleman of Faustus’ description far to the south on a river barge.

“He’s long gone,” commented Vyxara with satisfaction. “Your little favor paid out.”

“At least for him,” Valentina thought back. Her feelings were still ambivalent. But at least she had probably done the right thing. Even if hopefully no one but her would ever find out that it had been her.

~

The turning point came two weeks after the escape. Valentina was on her way to the dining room when a royal messenger galloped through the university gates. His blue livery was adorned with the royal coat of arms – the quartered shield uniting the three white tulips of the House of Vanderlieu with the golden lion of Clairmontine. An unmistakable sign of King Edmund’s claims.

“Look!” a student next to her called out to her friends. “A messenger straight from Vandercourt!”

The messenger was escorted directly to Eastwald’s quarters. Valentina carefully increased her Essence Listening, but even with her ability, she could only pick up snippets of the conversation.

“…the Scorchbishop himself commands…” the messenger’s voice came muffled to her, “…the university can no longer…’

Eastwald’s response was an angry growl.

When the Illuminator stepped out of his quarters an hour later, his face was ashen with suppressed anger. His hands trembled as he hastily signed a letter and handed it to a waiting Emberwarden.

“Oh, he didn’t like that at all,” Vyxara purred amusedly. “His own superior whistled him back.”

The next morning, there were far fewer Emberwarden on the streets. The remaining ones seemed tired and demoralized.

Valentina overheard several revealing conversations in the days that followed. The town council had complained about the economic impact. The University and the Essence Weaver community here – the largest in all of Sommerland – were in many ways the heart of Bridgewater – without them, the town would lose a great deal of its wealth.

“My tavern has been half empty for months!” complained Wilbur from the Burning Quill. “The students hardly dare to leave their rooms!”

The complaints of the noble families were even more damning. Fabian Montfort, the Earl of Redpool, sent a sharply worded letter on behalf of a whole group of nobles from the north, denouncing the “undue interference with the training of the young Essence Weavers of the realm”.

The Decan, previously intimidated by Eastwald’s presence, cautiously began to reassert his authority and ordered the first cautious openings on his own accord.

The final surrender took place at a meeting in the university courtyard.

“The active phase of the investigation is complete,” the Illuminator announced in a cutting voice. “The Emberwardens will withdraw – at least…” – his gaze turned cold – “for the time being.”

He made one of his dramatic pauses.

“But make no mistake. Should new evidence emerge, new signs of corruption or demonic influence…” His hand clenched into a fist. “Then we will return. And then our response will be… even more thorough.”

His eyes swept over the crowd. When he fixed his gaze on Valentina, she felt an icy tingle on the back of her neck. Did he know something? Or did he just suspect?

The moment passed. Eastwald turned away and gave the signal to leave. The Emberwardens formed into an impressive procession in burgundy.

Crispin joined her and Innogen, his face unusually serious. “Do you really think that’s it? After everything we’ve seen?”

“Maybe not,” Valentina said quietly. “But at least we can take a deep breath for today.”

~

The university slowly awoke from its torpor. Like a patient taking the first tentative steps after a long illness, life was returning to the old walls. Valentina could feel the change everywhere – in the revitalized corridors, in the bustling library, in the now less tense faces of her fellow students.

Professor Emberfell was the first to resume her normal lessons. “We have to make up for lost time,” she announced resolutely as she made them practice complicated Weave patterns over and over. “And the exams won’t wait.”

Her words elicited a collective groan, but Valentina noticed the hidden smiles on the faces of the other students. The return to normality, even if it was exhausting, felt like a victory.

The Decan organized a simple memorial service for Professor Greycloak and the other members of the university who had died during the plague – it was a unanimous wish to remember the dead with dignity once more, without the Illuminator, who had used their deaths and funeral service to preach his wild sermons. Students and professors gathered in the university courtyard in the evening, their faces serious in the flickering light of candles and torches. “May the martyr have taken their souls to himself and brought them peace,” the Decan spoke quietly, and held a moment of silence with the crowd.

The nights also became livelier again. Although the students had not yet fully ventured out of their shells, here and there groups could be seen scurrying through the alleyways on their way to secret meetings or forbidden rendezvous.

Valentina also resumed her nocturnal activities. Her first visit to Violet Delights after the end of the investigation felt strangely normal. Madame Dolorosa greeted her with her usual elegant reserve.

“Lily, my dear,” she said quietly. “Some of our regular guests have been asking about you.”

Valentina didn’t exactly need to work there anymore – her savings were now considerable and there was no longer any need to spy on anyone. But to her own surprise, she realized that she enjoyed the independence and the opportunity to be herself while being someone else.

Meanwhile, the academic demands became ever more intense. The professors desperately tried to catch up on the lost material.

“One essay each analyzing all the interactions betweenpatterns combining different Essence typesby tomorrow!” announced Professor Veilford. “And no excuses!”

The library became their second home again. Valentina, Innogen and Crispin occupied a table in a quiet corner, surrounded by piles of books and notes.

“If I see one more formula, my head will explode,” moaned Crispin one evening, dropping his head onto a particularly thick book.

“Better than Emberwardens outside the door,” Innogen replied dryly as she corrected a complicated Essence calculation.

Valentina watched her friends over the edge of her own book. Crispin had become more serious in recent weeks, his gaze more intense. He now attended the services in the Burning Tower every day. Innogen, on the other hand, hardly seemed to have changed – only sometimes, when she felt unobserved, she looked at Valentina for a long time and a shadow flitted across her face.

Librarian Matilda Ravencroft walked between the shelves and extinguished Essence lamps. “Half an hour more, then we’ll close,” she announced.

“We should hurry,” Valentina said, marking an important passage in her text. “I have a practical test in healing applications tomorrow.”

Later, as they walked through the dark corridors back to their quarters, Valentina stretched tiredly and caught herself thinking again that the exams might soon be over.

~

When the three of them were finally back at the Burning Quill for the first time, the place was packed.The students and townsfolkwere beating a path to old Wilbur’s Burning Quill. The fire in the fireplace was crackling comfortably, the smell of roasting meat and spiced ale was delicious in the air and the atmosphere was exuberant. Valentina, Innogen and Crispin had taken their usual table in the corner where they could talk undisturbed.

Hobkin winked at Valentina as he lightened the wallets of a noisy group of craft boys with card tricks. She returned his smile fleetingly, but her attention was focused on Crispin, who had seemed noticeably depressed in recent days.

“I was at the Burning Tower again today,” he said as he turned his tankard, lost in thought. “The morning service was very interesting. You should come by sometime.Helps me make sense of it all.”

“Make sense ofwhat exactly?” asked Valentina cautiously.

“What we saw. What Gladder was. What he did.” Crispin leaned forward, his voice becoming insistent. “This wasn’t just some corruption or something. This was evil itself, in its purest form. That’s what the Martyr’s sacrifice is protecting us from.”

Innogen gave Valentina a worried look. “Crispin…”

“No, listen to me,” he interrupted her with unaccustomed vehemence. “The Illumination may crack down hard, yes. But after what we’ve seen – how can we criticize it? We need them. They stand between us and forces we can barely comprehend.”

“The melted Emberwarden has really gottento him,” Vyxara purred amusedly in Valentina’s head.

“And that justifies all the things they do?” Valentina asked quietly. “The torture? The public humiliation? The arbitrary arrests?”

“Well – yes. Kind of.” Crispin’s face had hardened. “The price of our safety…”

“That price is too high,” Valentina interrupted him. “We saw how Eastwald humiliated a student and sentenced her to caning because she wore her hair down. What exactly does that protect us from? You saw for yourself how he interrogated people for days until they collapsed. That’s not about safety, that’s…”

“Maybe it’s necessary?” Crispin’s voice grew louder. Some of the guests at the neighboring tables turned around. “You saw what Gladder was! What he could do! What he did! Who’s to say that without strict vigilance, demonic corruption wouldn’t truly overrun our world?”

Valentina felt Vyxara’s presence in her mind, warm and alert. She forced herself to calm down.

“And where do we draw the line?” she asked. “When does vigilance become tyranny? When does caution become paranoia?”

“Perhaps,” Innogen interjected, mediating, “the truth lies somewhere in the middle? The danger is real, yes. But the methods of the Illumination…”

“Maybe they’re the only ones that work,” Crispin insisted. “Or are you going to deny what we’ve seen? This… this creature that used to be a cat? Those disgusting Essence patterns? Those poor,ruined humans who got in Gladder’s way?”

Valentina was silent for a moment. The memory of that night was not exactly a nice one.

“No,” she finally said. “That was real. That was evil. But does that mean we have to become evil ourselves to fight it?”

A tense silence spread between them. In the background, the craftsmen jeered at a crude joke.

Innogen sighed deeply and beckoned Wilbur over. “Bring us a round of Fire Tongues,” she ordered, “We need something stronger.”

He nodded knowingly and returned shortly afterwards with three steaming mugs. The pungent spice of the hot drink burned pleasantly in Valentina’s throat.

“Here’s to us,” said Innogen, raising her cup. “That we survived this. Together.”

“Together,” Valentina and Crispin echoed. Some of the tension left Crispin’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to… It’s just…” He faltered. “Sometimes I wake up at night and see these distorted faces in front of me. Hear those inhuman screams. The Martyr… knowing that the Martyr protects us helps me not to go mad.”

“I understand that,” Valentina said softly. “I really do. And I respect your faith, Crispin. But…”

“But the Illumination is not the Martyr,” Innogen completed the sentence. “And not everything they do serves his will.”

Crispin rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Maybe… maybe you’re right. At least in part. What Eastwald did to Avie… that was too much. That was cruel.”

“And what Gladder did was horrific,” Valentina admitted. “Pure evil.”

They drank in silence. The fire crackled in the fireplace and the cheerful singing of drunken students drifted over to them.

“You know what?” Innogen finally said. “We don’t have to agree on everything. The important thing is that we stand by each other and help each other out. Then we’ll get through anything. No matter what comes.”

“No matter what,” Crispin echoed with a faint smile.

Valentina squeezed his hand. “No matter what.”

They sat for a long time, talking about less gloomy things, sharing another round of Fire Tongues. But Innogen and Valentina still exchanged a worried glance. The experiences of that terrible night seemed to have affected Crispin more than they would have thought.