Chapter 10: Nine

Past the last row of cottages by the riverside, the group soon came across the fork in the river. Here, the air was fresh of soot and horses; the sweet floral scent of wild herbs in the wind was heavier. 

“We’re nearly there,” Sister Cyrillne said, nodding at the cathedral across the river. “Please wait here, I'll prepare a ferry for us to cross in a moment.” 

While she excused herself and headed towards a small wooden pier on the bank, Rasputina gazed up at the cathedral’s magnificent gothic façade bathed in sunlight. Even from how far away they stood, she could make out vivid, intricate statues of angels accompanied by strixes embellishing the heavy granite walls. Marble gargoyles and chimaeras perched atop the flying buttresses, their stone eyes watching her back unblinkingly. 

“Amazing that someone would build a magnificent cathedral of this scale in a place like this,” Anastasia breathed, admiring its architecture as well. 

“That’s because this cathedral is originally intended to house a collection of rare relics owned by King Cetheri I,” Nightingale said quietly. “The late King intentionally chose a remote location for the cathedral to guard his relics as safely as possible.” 

“Huh…” Rasputina started, but then Sister Cyrillne rejoined them in a hurry. 

“I pray the long wait did not offend you, dear guests,” she apologised and gestured towards a boat by the pier, which was helmed by another, rather stern-looking nun. “Sister Isidorea will ferry us across the river.” 

The children had already gone ahead of them, clambering into the boat in an excited yet orderly manner. Without further ado, they also boarded the boat, which rocked ever so gently on the glassy water. There was barely enough space for everyone; Sister Cyrillne sat on the stern, while Sister Isidorea perched on the bow rowing with a single oar. Fortunately, the journey took only half a minute before they reached the opposite bank. 

“Follow Sister Isidorea to the refectory,” Sister Cyrillne instructed the children. “And don’t give her any unnecessary trouble, alright?” 

“Yes, Sister Cyrillne!” 

Anastasia glanced at Sister Cyrillne. “Those children…” 

“Orphans,” Sister Cyrillne said, somewhat soberly. “Missionaries saved them from savages in Constantinople, and the Covent has sheltered them since.” She smiled at Anastasia. “Don’t worry, Your Highness, they are all in good hands here. Shall we head to the nave now?” 

“Oh, yes,” Anastasia replied with a concurring nod. “Please lead the way, Sister.” 

Rasputina turned to follow them, but stopped when she noticed Nightingale wasn’t following after them. “Miss Nightingale?” 

Nightingale hesitated, shifting her gaze almost reluctantly from the leaving children to the cathedral walls before meeting Rasputina’s eyes with a slight smile. “Pardon me, let’s catch up with Her Highness now.” 

A weathered cobblestone path sloping up from the bank brought them before a set of large double doors. Though the doors looked solid and heavy, Sister Cyrillne easily opened them with a push. 

“We ought not to make too much noise, Your Highness and distinguished guests,” she whispered before they entered. 

Her reminder proved unnecessary, however, for they were all stunned silent by the ecclesiastical grandeur before their eyes. Sunlight filtered into the cathedral hall through rows of majestic stained glass windows along the nave walls, suffusing the interior with vivid colours of the rainbow. Fanning out high above them was a beautiful vaulted ceiling entirely covered with richly-detailed frescoes. The smells of old wood and frankincense wafted past as Sister Cyrillne led the way down the nave-aisle. 

“Rasputina, those murals,” Anastasia said, uncharacteristically hushed while her eyes were fixated on the frescoes. “Do you know what they are?” 

“I’m a Saintess, not an art connoisseur,” she murmured. Though, anyone could tell from the celestial landscapes and various mythical creatures painted on each rib of the vaulted ceiling that they depicted something related to the heavens—which technically falls under her area of expertise, she noted wryly. 

“Ayrı Dünyalar.” Nightingale must have overheard them, because she gave a little cough and tilted her head up. Rasputina silently thanked her for her timely help. “Translated to the Empire’s language, it means ‘Worlds Apart’ or ‘Separate Worlds’.” 

“Worlds…” 

“That’s the name for the series of murals you see above us, Your Highness. It is also the largest relic housed in this cathedral.” 

“I’m impressed that you know about the Canterbury relics, Miss Nightingale,” Sister Cyrillne remarked. “You must be well-read.” 

“You give me too much credit, Sister. I’m just an ordinary nurse with a slight interest in literature,” Nightingale replied smoothly. “Please tell us more about the relics, if you may.” 

Nodding her head, she explained, “Ayrı Dünyalar consists of seven partitions, or commandments as described in Ottoski tradition. According to some legends, it was a gift from the Enlightened Padishah to Prince Cetheri as a prophecy for his long and fruitful reign.” 

Rasputina looked at the vaulted ceiling and frowned. “Seven? But there’s only…” 

“Six,” Nightingale said, glancing at Sister Cyrillne. “The seventh and last vaulted ceiling is blank.” 

“Yes, it indeed appears so.” She turned and continued walking down the aisle towards the chancel. “Miss Nightingale got one detail incorrect in her earlier introduction. Strictly speaking, what you see on the ceiling is not the Ayrı Dünyalar, but rather the impression left during the reign of each Cetheri ruler.”  

She paused before three curving marble steps leading up to a white altar, which Rasputina noticed was strangely empty—save for a seven-branched candelabrum standing in the centre, with six of its seven tapers burning brightly. 

“Should you wish me to explain further, Her Grace and Miss Nightingale will have to vacate the cathedral hall,” Sister Cyrillne said, meeting their eyes. “Since they are not related to the Cetheri bloodline.”

Anastasia quickly asked, “Sister Cyrillne, can’t you make an, uh, exception? I’d love for my companions to stay with me.” 

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She remained quiet for a moment before nodding at the rightmost unlit taper. “Light the candle while conveying your request, Your Highness. We must await the bishop’s response.”

Exchanging a confused glance with Rasputina, Anastasia carefully ascended the steps to the altar. Picking up the unlit taper, she lowered it into the blue flame and ignited it.

The six flames on the candelabrum wavered despite the still air in the cathedral hall. It suddenly became hard to breathe, and for a brief moment, Rasputina felt like the air was being squeezed out of her lungs. She instinctively coughed and gasped for breath. 

“What just…” She shook her head, struggling to reorient herself, and blinked at the impossible sight before her. “…wh-huh?”

In the split second that she had taken her eyes off the altar, a resplendent vaulted hall spanning wide and deep beyond the width of the cathedral now appeared in its place. Slender granite columns supported the dome-shaped ceiling above, from which hung rows of giant chandeliers that softly illuminated the space. In the centre was a raised marble platform; a magnificent painting was suspended over it, radiating an iridescent splendour that was nothing short of otherworldly.

She stared wide-eyed at Sister Cyrillne. “Sister, what is the meaning of this?” 

“The bishop has granted Her Highness permission to enter the sanctuary,” she said in an unusually deep voice, as if someone else was speaking through her. “Only Her Grace may also enter, if she wishes to.”

Snapping out of her shock, she ran forward up the steps. “Anastasia, are you alright?!” 

“I…” Anastasia stumbled on her feet, rubbing one hand against her forehead. The taper in her other hand flickered in and out. “W-what was that…eh? Where did this hall come from?”

She shook her head. “It just materialised out of nowhere, like…like magic.” 

“An astute observation, Your Grace.” Sister Cyrillne, speaking in the same disembodied voice, walked ahead of them into the hall. “The Enlightened Padishah consecrated the land this cathedral stands on with sihr, which is analogous to the concept of ‘magic’ that you may be familiar with. Sihr is deeply intertwined with Ayrı Dünyalar too. And it is here in the sanctuary, where sihr flows the strongest, that Ayrı Dünyalar reveals itself.” 

“This is the second time that ‘Enlightened Padishah’ guy has come up,” Rasputina muttered to herself. “I should ask Theo about it—”

“Amīr al-Muʾminīn,” Anastasia whispered. “The last and greatest Caliph of the Ottoski Caliphate before his execution by order of the first Cetheri King.”  

She abruptly paused, levelling a blank stare at the princess. “Pardon?” 

“Mhm?” Anastasia looked at her weirdly, then blinked. “Wait, strange, how do I know that? Huh??”

“Sihr has granted you the memories of your forefathers,” Sister Cyrillne explained. “It deems that necessary for you to fully appreciate what you shall see next.” 

They stopped before the painting. Just like the ceiling murals, it depicted a grand celestial landscape. Around a black moon rimmed with pure white fire, hundreds of angels were gathered in concentric circles. Those in the inner circles were youthful, with golden skin. Whereas the outer angels had lost their radiance, their features shrivelled and grim. It seemed to depict some sort of empyrean cycle of birth and death, but the more Rasputina tried to understand the painting, the more details that eluded her. Or perhaps the painting was preventing her from seeing the full picture, she realised with a jolt, as the angels seemingly glared back at her. For a moment their luminous faces began to spin on her, circle upon circle, until she was so dizzy she had to slam her eyes shut.

“…tina…” 

“…Rasputina?” 

A hand shook her shoulders hard, causing her to snap her eyes open in a panic. “A-Anastasia?” 

“So you finally decided to wake up,” Anastasia said, a teasing smile on her lips. “You were acting like a zombie throughout the tour, were you daydreaming this whole time?”

“Daydreaming?” Rasputina suddenly noticed that they were walking down the nave-aisle back to the entrance. A few steps ahead of them, Nightingale and Sister Cyrillne were leading the way, smiling and amicably chatting away. 

She giggled. “Look at the shock on your face, you were obviously daydreaming!” 

Bewildered, she began to protest. “I-I wasn’t—” 

“Thank you very much for your visit, Your Highness and distinguished guests,” Sister Cyrillne interrupted, opening the double doors for them and stepping aside. “May your journeys from here be smooth-sailing.” 

“No, we should be the ones thanking you for your gracious hospitality,” Nightingale replied with a grateful smile.

Anastasia turned to smile at her too. “Thank you for showing us around this wonderful cathedral, Sister Cyrillne.”

Rasputina merely stared at her wide-eyed, but Sister Cyrillne didn’t seem to notice. “It’s an honour for me to have met you, Saintess of Kievsta. Please do come back to Canterbury if you can in the future.” 

“…my pleasure,” she mumbled, shaking her head while she stepped past the doorway—when all of a sudden, she felt Sister Cyrillne press something into her palm while leaning close into her. Her neck instantly pricked up with goosebumps. 

“A gift from the bishop,” the Sister whispered from behind. “It’ll only reveal itself when you are alone. Use it wisely, conman Xavier.”

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