Her Red City (WattyAwards2013 entry- new version)

Her Red City-Chapter Two, 'Many Souls'. Part 4

We entered, and I gasped. From inside, it seemed even bigger, with wooden pews, endless aisles, all facing up to a huge glass window as if in awe. It was a depiction of a ruby egg, surrounded by swirling, glittering black tendrils of mist. A cough sputtered from the elderly man, and with a weathered, croaky voice he, gesturing to the stained glass, explained the image before us.

‘Some say the All came from that egg, Majesty. When it cracked, before time began, all of creation spilled out of it and just... Filled the night.’

Our footsteps echoed off the stone walls as we walked, drawing closer to the centre of the chamber.

‘Why does everyone call me ‘Majesty?’’ I asked, only half expecting a sensible answer. He chuckled,

‘Well. What do you prefer to be called?’

‘Kateline. Kat. Call me Kat. What’s your name?’ I looked up to him, as he was about a head taller than me, to see him scratching his stubbly blue chin.

‘Rennley, m’am. But I’ll have to address you as Kateline, I’m afraid. We’ve got some funny rules, here.’ He looked a little sad then, and all at once I felt closer to this man, Rennley, than I had to anyone in a long time. There was something about his craggy face, his shuffling steps and his slow, wise speech that made me feel at ease. My heart felt a little lighter.

‘You could call me Kat when no one’s there to tell you not to. And I’ll call you Renn, how about that?’ He smiled at the idea, and the corners of his wizened mouth spread to touch the base of his curling ram’s horns.

‘That would be-’

‘Rennley! Stop your ambling, his Majesty is waiting!’ For a second I looked around in shock, for we seemed to be alone, when a snake’s head popped up over a pew and flicked its tongue at us. Renn’s head fell in shame.

‘Yes Abbie. Sorry Abbie.’

‘Telling her tales, too, no doubt!’ the snake said, and as it spoke grew and changed into a grass-green woman with the same uniform as Rennley’s. Her sharp, high voice repeated around us, and even while it did so she said, snatching my hand and leading me away,

‘You mustn’t listen to that old fool. All he knows is tales, myths, poppycock legends. Don’t be taken in by any of that, it’s not real. What is, is.’ She was leading me to a room to the left of the large window, and before we went through the doorway I looked over my shoulder to see Rennley, still stood staring at the floor.

Through the door was a small space with a confession box, and to our left again was a narrow, carpeted staircase winding upwards. The woman, Abbie, led me up, grasping too tightly to my wrist with a dry, cold hand. Occasionally we passed small gaps in the walls which let light in, and through them I watched us as we climbed to a dizzying height, soon we had risen above half of the tallest structures, until at last we reached the exit. We'd come to a balcony which over-looked an indoor labyrinth of corridors and rooms. Abbie let go of my hand and looked at me.

'Welcome to your new home, dear.' Her voice became softer, and less grating. She looked on me briefly with a strange pity I had seen in the eyes of others, and then seemed to shake herself, bringing out a large ring of keys and swiftly descending a set of stairs which led down from the balcony. I followed.

We took so many turns that I soon lost count, passing no one, and all the while she flicked through her keys, some of them old and crooked and some seemingly crafted by gifted silversmiths. We slowed as we came to a long corridor, almost like those found in hotels, and stopped at the room at the end, just as Abbie came to the last of her keys, carved from wood. She put it in the keyhole and twisted it, then stood aside. I couldn't help but hesitate.

'Well, go on! In with you!' she said, shooing me into the room. I raised my eyebrows and took a deep breath, then pushed open the door.