‘Archer circled us as we ascended, and I found myself hanging onto the rails with a white-knuckle grip. I’d never climbed anything so high. Instead of looking down, I turned my eyes up, to a place I thought could exist only in a children’s tale. A monastery in the sky.
‘“Scared of heights, Peasant?” Aaron sneered.
‘I glanced at the blonde lad, my grip tightening. “Leave off, de Coste.”
‘“You cling to that railing like to your mother’s tits.”
‘“I’m actually picturing your mama’s tits. Though I’m told you favour your sister’s?”
‘Greyhand growled at us both to simmer down. De Coste kept his tongue behind his teeth, glaring at me the rest of the ride. But I couldn’t really bring myself to care. After three weeks of being treated like something Aaron had found smeared on his boot, I was finding this highborn prick’s company about as pleasant as a case of crotch lice.
‘Our platform creaked to a halt. To our left, a toothy fellow in black leathers manned the winch house. His hair was long and greasy, and I noted no silver on his hands.
‘“Fairdawn, Keeper Logan,” Greyhand nodded.
‘The thin man bowed, spoke in a heavy Ossway brogue. “Godmorrow, good Frère.”
‘Gazing down, I guessed we were near five hundred feet off the grey valley floor. Master Greyhand simply glowered at me until I prised my fingers from the railing.
‘“No fear, Little Lion.”
‘“Not if I don’t look down,” I said, trying to conjure a grin.
‘“Look forward instead, boy.”
‘I dragged the windswept hair from my eyes and sighed. “Now there’s a sight …”
‘Before us loomed a cathedral – the first I’d ever seen in my life. Our tiny chapel in Lorson had seemed a palace to my young eyes, but this – this was a true house of God. A great circular fist of black granite with spires that bled the sky. In its courtyard stood a fountain of pale stone set with a ring of angels. Chiara, the blind Angel of Mercy. Raphael, Angel of Wisdom. Sanael, the Angel of Blood, and his twin, my namesake, Gabriel, Angel of Fire. The Cathedral’s stonework was crumbling, some of the windows boarded over, but still, I’d never seen anything so grand. Workmen crawled over it like ticks on a fallen log, and gargoyles grinned atop the eaves. Huge double doors were set in its east and west faces, and in the stone above the dawndoors was a magnificent window of stained glass.
‘It was fashioned like a sevenstar, each point depicting the tale of one of the Seven Martyrs: San Antoine parting the Eversea, San Cleyland guarding the gates to hell, San Guillaume burning the faithless on their pyres. And, of course, San Michon and her silver chalice, all flaxen hair and fierce eyes, staring into my very soul.
‘A man awaited us atop the eastern stairs, dressed in the greatcoat of a silversaint. He was Sūdhaemi born; his skin dark as polished mahogany, his eyes a pale green rimmed with kohl. He was older than Greyhand, black hair knotted in long, winding braids. A vicious horizontal scar cut deep through both cheeks, twisting his mouth into a permanent, humourless smirk, and there were beautiful silver tattoos atop his hands. He was broad-shouldered like my papa, but he radiated a gravitas that my papa and his fists never did.
‘This, I thought to myself, is a leader of men.
‘Greyhand bowed low before him, as did de Coste.
‘“Welcome home, Brothers. We’ve missed you at mass.” The mighty man turned to me, his voice deep as cello song. “And welcome to you also, young paleblood. My name is Khalid, High Abbot of the Ordo Argent. I know you have travelled long to be here. And this life may not be what you imagined for yourself. But it is your life now. You have been both blessed and accursed, called by Almighty God to this holy task. You must not shirk. You cannot fall. For if you do, so shall all we know and love.”
‘I bowed to him. I didn’t know what else to do. “Abbot.”
‘“Until you take your vows as a full-blooded frère of the Order, you will look to your master for guidance. Initiates are not permitted to leave Barracks after evebells, nor may they visit the Great Library’s forbidden section. Duskmass will be held tonight, and you’ll have your maiden taste of silver. On the morrow, your training begins.” Khalid glanced towards Greyhand. “If I might have a word, good Frère?”
‘“By the Blood, Abbot. De Coste, show our Little Lion the grounds.”
‘“By the Blood, Master.” Aaron glanced at me and growled, “Follow.”
‘Leaving Greyhand and Khalid to confer, de Coste led me across one of the broad stone walkways. I realized all seven pillars must have been naturally connected once, but the hands of time had brought most of those bridges low, replaced now with long spans of rope and wood. Instead of looking to the dizzying fall, I gazed to the skyline, at the beautiful, ancient buildings around us and the men crawling the walls.
‘“What are all the cranes for? The workmen?”
‘“You will refer to me by the title of Initiate, Peasant,” de Coste replied, not even looking at me. “When Frère Greyhand is absent, I am senior member of this company.”
‘I bit my tongue. I was well and truly sick of Aaron’s shit. But he did outrank me.
‘“In answer to your question, the Silver Order has only recently gained patronage of Emperor Alexandre. This monastery stood for centuries before that, and for long years, these buildings were let run to rot. Not always have we enjoyed the favour we hold now.”
‘I chewed on that for a moment, gazing with a peasant boy’s eyes at the buildings about us. They were dark stone, grim and stately in design, arrayed on towering spires above the Mère Valley like the crowns of ancient kings. I wasn’t certain what I’d been expecting to find here among this hallowed order of monster slayers, but even rundown and crumbling, San Michon was the most wondrous place I’d ever been in my life.
‘Aaron motioned to the building behind us. “The Cathedral is the heart of San Michon. The brethren meet for mass twice daily, dusk and dawn. If you miss mass, you’ll find yourself missing testicles shortly after.”
‘De Coste waved northwest, at a many-windowed structure in modest repair.
‘“The Barracks, where we lay our heads. The refectory is on its lower level, as are the privies and washhouse. Silversaints spend much of their lives on the Hunt, so I’d usually advise you to take advantage of the baths while you may. But I doubt a lowborn maggot like you would know a lump of soap if it hit you in the teeth.”
‘I rolled my eyes as de Coste nodded to the southmost structure – a circular building with blood-red banners embroidered with the sevenstar fluttering on the walls.
‘“The Gauntlet. While staying in San Michon, you’ll spend much of your time training there. In the star, you’ll be taught bladework. Unarmed combat. Marksmanship. The Gauntlet is the furnace where silversaints are forged.”
‘My jaw clenched at that, and thinking of my sister, I nodded.
‘“I’m ready.”
‘Aaron scoffed. “If you last more than two weeks in there, I’ll send a personal missive to the Grand Pontifex, proclaiming it a miracle.” De Coste nodded to another building, round and roofless. “To the north is the Breadbasket. The kingdom of good Frère Alber. There, we keep our food stores and henhouses, the glasshome where we grow our herbs. To the northeast is the Priory, where the Sisterhood sleep.”