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The description definitely fit the Temple District, where all manner of interesting religions and beliefs were practiced, but it could have applied to almost any of the worship houses.
Tella passed towering tabernacles, antique missions, and fresh young bathhouses where visitors could wash themselves in holy spirits—or at least those were the claims.
On Trisda, religion was unornamented and simple. People prayed to specific saints for what they wanted and asked priests for forgiveness by writing their sins on paper that the holy women and men would burn. But here, Tella wasn’t sure if people were actually worshipping or performing.
She’d heard people could practice whatever faith they wanted as long as they remained within the district borders. But only a few of the religions looked as if they were true faiths in higher powers. Many of the spiritual practices Tella observed looked more like shows meant to thrill and tantalize tourists into willingly emptying their pockets.
Before arriving she’d been told there was even a Church of Legend, which seemed like the most obvious place to search for the next clue. Unfortunately, the Church of Legend was hidden from plain view. Finding it was supposed to be like a game. Tella might not have minded if she’d been at her full strength, but her legs were shakier than they should have been, and her breath was a little shallow.
As she searched street after street, Tella saw churches dedicated to each element. The fire worshippers were her favorite; they danced in front of their temple with sticks made of flames. Next door was a church formed of waterfalls, which flowed over statues of mermen and mermaids that people threw shells before as offerings. From there Tella passed a row of tabernacles dedicated to the various Fates. These crumbling structures looked older than the rest. Some were merely ruins, remnants of the days when the Fates still ruled. Few people currently worshipped the Fates, though there was a large group gathered in front of Mistress Luck’s Shrine, all of them dressed in elaborate green-feathered caps and voluminous capes.
But no matter how hard Tella searched, she saw no symbols of Caraval. No roses—other than those in the sky. No black hearts. No top hats. Although there were people in costume—or “religious garments,” as she’d heard others call them. As Tella pushed her tired limbs to keep going, she spied horned helmets for those who honored ancient warrior gods, and necklaces made of bones for those who worshipped Death. She didn’t know if she needed different attire for her destination, but it seemed whatever she didn’t own could be bought from one of the carts on the street.
“Would you like a ghost hood?” someone called. “Keeps away the demons. Only three coppers.”
“Or if you’d prefer to meet the demons, we have beads of depravity!” called his partner. “Only one copper.”
“What makes you think I’m interested in demons?” Tella teased.
The vendor flashed a grin of missing teeth. “You’re here. People claim they search these streets looking for saviors, but that’s rarely what they find.”
“Then I suppose it’s good the man I’m looking for has never claimed to be a savior.” Tella blew the vendor a kiss and delved farther into the crush of eager tourists, greedy traders, and enthusiastic Valendans participating in Caraval.
The people on the streets were thicker than maggots on death, except for on the stretch of ivory road in front of the Temple of the Stars.
Tella’s legs slowed a little. She knew she couldn’t stop, but it was distressingly tempting. This was by far the prettiest of the temples. A bastion of stones as white as goddess robes and innocent sacrifices. But Tella knew the temple’s insides were far from pure or holy.
The stars supposedly walked on earth long before the Fates, so long ago that they were more legends than anything else. But people whispered with true belief that no matter how they looked up in the skies, the stars were not angelic creatures made of light and angel dust. Some said the stars were the ones who’d created the Fates, which many claimed made the stars the most vicious beings of all.
Yet, there were still those who willingly joined the congregation believing someday the stars would return and richly reward all those who followed them. Tella had heard the richest of people tithed things like their free will, their beauty, and their firstborn children for a chance to become members.
“If you want to enter you’ll need the right clothes!” someone called from across the way. “We sell acolyte sheaths for only five coppers.”
“You don’t want to join that temple, not when I can offer you something better at a lower price!” another merchant cried. His voice was familiar.
Tella turned and promptly wished she hadn’t.
Julian, dressed in alexandrite-green traders’ robes, stood with his arms spread wide, drawing Tella’s stunned attention to a series of altars with men tied to them, chilled smiles on their moon-white lips, and eyes on the ruby skies as if they were the most willing of sacrifices.
“Julian, what—what are you doing?” Tella stammered.
“My apologies, lovely miss, have we met before?” He studied her as if he’d never seen her.
Tella knew he was playing the role he’d been assigned for Caraval. But it was still disturbing to watch his gaze turn greedy, as if she were a lamb he wanted to shepherd down the wrong path.
“I don’t remember you,” he purred, “but you’re pretty so I’ll give you a deal. You can feel the same ecstasy as my tied-up friends for only four coppers!”
“Or you can atone for your sins for free.” A woman in a dazzling white cowl drew Tella’s attention away from this alarming version of Julian, and toward another unnerving site. She motioned to a series of cages and stocks, reeking of sweat and regret and unwashed bodies. These people didn’t look quite so willing as Julian’s sky-worshipping sacrifices. And Tella wasn’t looking for redemption or atonement; she wanted to find Legend.
“You probably shouldn’t stare, or they’ll take it as a yes and shove you in one of those prisons as well.”
Tella turned to see Dante, standing across from a Bleeding Throne fountain.
He leaned one jacketed elbow against a tarnished silver door, the color of disillusioned dreams and bad decisions. Or maybe he was the one who looked like a bad decision.
In Decks of Destiny, Fallen Stars were always pictured as deceptive gods or goddesses in twinkling golden capes and thin white sheaths. But as Tella looked at Dante, covered in ink-dark shades of black that blended in with the night, she imagined the pictures on the cards could have been mistaken. Gold shimmered no matter what, but few people could make darkness glitter the way he did.
“You need to quit following me,” Tella said.
