Death After Death

As the day drew closer, Simon did all of the rites that had been mentioned for the fictitious Silent Saint, no matter how trivial. These were carried out as faithfully as the text allowed, even though he wasn’t sure that anyone was actually watching him. He took a vow of silence for the winter, dressed in harsh sackcloth robes, and fasted for the week leading up to the feast, abstaining from everything besides water and, strangely enough, beer.

In times such as these, it was apparently all the monks were allowed to drink. He supposed it made sense from a caloric perspective, but even so, it felt strange to be drinking that much after going so long without any alcohol.

He even prayed to a Goddess that he didn’t believe in every morning, just to cover all of his bases, though he wasn’t sure that was strictly necessary. The few friends and acquaintances he’d made during his time in the city drifted away during all of this, but they weren’t important in the grand scheme of things. Not compared to the Unspoken and their secrets. The only thing that might have been enough to shake him free of this goal now that he’d set it would be a lead on his evil twin, and that didn’t seem likely.

So, after all of those preparations were made, on the night of the new moon that occurred just after the start of spring, he made the long, cold walk to the Temple of Hypaltia. This was a holy day for the saint because it was the hungriest time of the year. Everyone had survived the winter, and the planting of fields had started, but the fruits of the harvest were still a long way off.

The symbolism was interesting. Simon didn’t know exactly how it was supposed to translate to fighting the evils of witchcraft exactly, but he pondered it as he walked down the empty dawn streets toward his destination.

Unlike some of the grander temples in the city of Darndelle, it was a small building that was barely more than a shrine with four walls and a roof. It was made of local sandstone instead of imported marble.

Unlike everyone else, that, at least, made sense to him. Winter wasn’t nearly as sexy a concept to sell to prospective worshipers as war, prophecy, or disease. Famine and harvest weren’t even ascribed to this Goddess either, so there was no mortal dread to convince people to worship her beyond the endless cold of her season. As a result, the Gods and Goddesses of those things all had much cooler temples and shrines.

When he arrived, he found the place empty, except for a few flickering candles on the altar. That didn’t discourage him. If this was a wild goose chase, there would be nobody here this time of day. On the other hand, if this was a test, and he really had been following a trail hidden across dozens of books and a handful of libraries, well… He hadn’t seen anyone else studying feverishly next to him in the library, so he doubted very much that there would be two people attending the Feast of Paupers.

Simon knelt on the cold stone and prayed. Well, he mouthed the words to the prayers he’d memorized about the cleansing nature of winter and how it would sweep away pestilence and strengthen the hearts of men and all that, but there was no belief behind those words. He had to repeat them several times until the candles had burned out and the thin light of dawn was creeping through the door. That was when someone finally came for him.