The Greatest Sin

Mikhail Alash re-read his note. Thirteen more aeronautics engineers are coming to you: These ones are ex-Rancais Nationale Aeroflotte.

In four days, Iliyal had brought him twenty men. Now more?

Mikhail wanted his empty workshop back. He got back to redrawing another design for the rifle. Something was missing.

Ilwin sat in his cell. Olympiada, Lower Prison. It was a small room, with a bed and a desk, two chairs, and grey walls. The place was made to hold Divines, the walls were reinforced with thin webs of silver and steel, the ceiling and door were stupidly high. Even the bed was oversized.

He had seen Olympiada from the plane, an awe-inspiring mountain trying to reach the stars. All gold and marble at its huge peak, which spanned like a small coastal town overlooking the sea of clouds below it. The air was colder here, the sun harsher, and it was silent.

If there was one word for Olympiada, that’s the word he would choose. When the plane he was finally on landed, he was greeted to a silent assembly of heavily armed men in unadorned armour. When he was marched through the corridors, maids would turn their heads and pretend not to look. When his guards gave him off to the dashing golden caped soldiers standing watch over the prison, it was done in silence. When they had stripped him of his clothes and given him the grey overalls of prisoners, it was done in silence.

For four days, he had barely spoken a word to anyone out there.

Ilwin crossed his arms and smiled and as he returned to meditating. Boredom was a tactic to interrogate humans with, not elves.

An hour passed.

Another.

And so on.

Ilwin was pulled back into the world of the living from a knock on his door. He thought about remaining silent for a moment, and then decided against it. The boredom was in fact getting to him. “Come in.” The door opened and for the second time this week, Ilwin stood before the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Her height: that was it. She was taller. Taller than him. Taller than Ilwin. If there was anyone to compare her to, it would be Arascus. She stood there for a few silent moments as her pale-golden eyes watched Ilwin. Golden hair cascaded down past her hips and she wore a dress that could have been of woven snow, all clinging but yet still somehow modest. Ilwin inclined his head almost on instinct, a person so perfect had no right to exist, but now that they did, Ilwin had no right to stand before them.

And then she spoke, even her voice was a warm wind on a wintry morning. “I am Allasaria, Goddess of Light.” She said promptly and then extended one of those long arms to the chair. “Sit, your name?”

“Ilwin.” Ilwin said and the woman nodded.

“Now, I am sure you know who I am already.” Ilwin nodded, how could he not? The names of the White Pantheon were taught to children as they were learning to remember the months. “And you have happened to land yourself in some rather serious trouble.” Ilwin nodded again, he tried to hide the sheepish smile growing on his face. It was like he was being talked down to by a teacher.

Then again, a Divine against an elf? Wasn’t that even worse than a teacher and a student?

“I will leave you with this.” Allasaria pulled out a notebook and pen from within her dress. “Frankly, I don’t have the time, nor the peace of mind to run an interrogation. We will go like this: Maisara wishes to interrogate you, then Helenna. Elassa is ambivalent on it but she’ll be after Helenna. Once they decide you have nothing to offer, I will come and execute you.”

Ilwin sat there and stared at Allasaria. Was this it? Just a threat? Was he supposed to be scared? He croaked and forced an answer out. “I don’t even know why I’m here.” Allasaria stayed motionless but gave a reply immediately.

“You’re here because Leona believes that you’re not a follower of Anarchia. I’ve talked to your men, they’re obviously not Anarchians either, and you’ve picked them out well.”

“They don’t know anything.”

“No, we’ve already confirmed that.” Allasaria said. She took a sigh, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “You obviously know what you’re doing. You’re not panicking before a Divine, either you’re stupidly confident, confidently stupid or you have experience with one of us before.” Those golden eyes weighed Ilwin again. “The amount of planning and organisation in what happened also begs a question: why?” Allasaria idly picked at her fingers. “And there’s also: Astangrad Central, Tress Ceremonial and the Tushev-Malkov Airport. Are they related?” Ilwin shrugged.

“You tell me.” Allasaria sniffed the air with some humour and continued.

“Obviously they are. So the question is, for what?” Allasaria said the words nonchalantly, as if the answer did not bother her whatsoever. It almost made Ilwin want to spill all his secrets to see the woman’s shocked response. Allasaria eventually shrugged and merely wagged her finger at Ilwin. “I can see your memory isn’t working all that well today. I’ll leave you be. If you remember anything, write it in that notebook and give it to me next time I come round.”

“When will that happen?”

“When I have time.” Allasaria cooed. “Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, you have Maisara visiting.”

“And, should I be scared of her?” Ilwin asked.

“Oh no.” Allasaria said, her voice rife with sarcasm. “She is only the Goddess of Order, nothing else.”

“Then we’ll see.” Ilwin pulled every last drop of resolution he had in himself to answer back to the Goddess.

“We will see.” Allasaria said and sighed. “There are four ways this will end, just so you know.”

“And those are?”

“One, Leona will figure out everything we need to know, in which case you’re simply wasting your time here.” Allasaria lifted a two delicate fingers. “Two, Maisara beats the truth out of you.” Another finger went up. “Three, Helenna tricks it out of you.” And the fourth. “Or four, you and me help each other.”

“There is nothing you can help me with.”

“Maybe the Goddess of Order will change your mind.”