“Thank you, my dear,” the wizened old woman spoke. “An old sorceress like me needs help to get around these days.”
“Have you come to pray to the goddess?” Emma asked kindly.
“Oh, yes,” she said. She sighed as she sat down into a pew. “For love, as all Marked do this time of year. My mate has long since went on to the Great Hunting Fields. I hope this winter to join him.”
Emma frowned slightly. “But then… you will die.”
“Death is nothing to fear, my child. I have lived a good life. I long to be young again in the realm of the gods,” the woman said. She smiled at me and said, “But your journey has just now begun. You have a good mate there— I can see it in him. Enjoy the time you have together, for it doesn’t last. Before you know it, seventy years will seem like seven, and he’ll be gone.”
Emma didn’t move to correct her. She patted the old woman on her back, and the woman bowed her head to pray. As Emma moved beside me, she seemed bothered.
“She thought we were together,” Emma whispered as we left the old woman behind us.
“Let her think that. What’s the harm, anyhow?” I said.
“I guess nothing,” Emma said, and she spoke no more about it.
I knew what the harm was— for me, anyway. I couldn’t possibly allow myself to hope that Emma and I would be together one day, truly. It was too risky for her.
“This place reminds me of some elaborate Christian churches,” Emma said. “I don’t understand the style.”
“Many Malovians are simultaneously pagan and Christian,” I told her. “It sounds strange, but in our country, we follow the old ways and traditions of our ancestors, as well as Catholicism and other branches,” I said. “It’s a blending of the two religions for the new world. As such, you get things like cathedrals being built for gods, and ceremonies being held for Jesus— and so on and so forth.”
We stopped when we reached the end of the cathedral. A long casket was set out, made of gold and precious gems. The casket was surrounded by hundreds of burning candles on tall silver stands. Behind it was a large statue of a bearded man, adorned in Arcanean regalia with a tall crown. He lifted a sword to the sky and looked triumphant. A plaque was set onto the casket.Lycus Nowak, King of the Arcanea.
My father would’ve hated it. He despised pomp and circumstance, but this was our way.
“Is this your dad?” Emma asked as we approached.
“Yes,” I said. “The monument was built shortly after his death. All kings and queens of Malovia are interred here at the cathedral. A year after his death, he’ll be moved to the crypt underneath the building, to lie with the rest of our royal ancestors.”
Emma picked up an incense stick out of one of the holders. “May I?”
I nodded. I picked up an incense stick, too, and we lit them both. Emma and I put our incense holders together as we simultaneously lit the biggest candle.
Emma glanced at me as we stuck the incense holders into a sandbox to fizzle out. “You know, I think your dad would’ve been proud of you. You’re kind of a cool dude.”
Wasn’t sure of that, but I smiled back anyway. “Thanks.”
We left the cathedral. Emma removed the headscarf and said, “I think this is my new favorite place in the city. It’s so beautiful.”
“It is,” I said. “Eight hundred years of history, all in one place. I just hope it keeps standing.”
“What do you mean?” Emma asked.
“The Black Claw often targets the cathedral. It’s one of the city’s greatest treasures. If they managed to topple it, it would destabilize the region and demoralize the people,” I said. “They’d have a much easier time taking over things if the city was in despair.”
“Do these assholes regard anything as sacred?” Emma asked in disgust.
I shook my head. “No. Nothing that regards to anything except power, maybe.”
I bumped her with my shoulder. “Anyway. Let’s not talk about the Black Claw today. There are other parts of the festival I want to show you.”
We spent the day watching the different entertainers and participating in the events. There was so much food— Malovians liked to eat. There was kielbasa, cabbage rolls, dill pickle soup, and lots and lots of ale.
And pierogi. Sweet pierogi. I loved pierogi. You didn’t mess with my pierogi. I was shocked to find out that Emma didn’t know what it was. Growing up in Detroit, with a large Slavic population, she should’ve known. But I knew when I watched her take the first bite of that fried potato dumpling, she was in love.
Around dusk, I took Emma’s hand. “The ceremonies are starting. Would you like to watch?”
