In the Name of the Mother (2)
Even after emerging from the dusty archive, Dominica stood rooted in place for a long while.
The rough texture of the parchment still lingered vividly on her fingertips.
"…."
Saint.
The word refused to leave her mind.
"…Impossible."
She kept murmuring softly under her breath, but these weren't words denying the hypothesis.
Finally, she forced her feet to move—from the dim underground archive into the cathedral corridor.
Light filtered through the high ceiling's glass panes, casting shadows on the floor. Even in broad daylight, the interior remained dim. It was so quiet that her footsteps echoed sharply.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
With each step, her thoughts grew more tangled.
Should she report it?
No, not yet.
No evidence.
But… if it were true.
"…."
The face of the man laughing in the garden.
And the voice saying he had learned to live sharing love with the people.
Dominica halted. She couldn't quite grasp what she was thinking.
"…What am I even agonizing over right now?"
What was she feeling from someone who should be the subject of a Heretic Inquisitor's interrogation?
It was absurd.
The moment she tried to resume walking—
Someone approached from the opposite direction.
Slow footsteps.
The sharp tap of a cane striking the floor.
"Dominica?"
She looked up to see an elderly priest with neatly combed silver hair. Golden embroidery gleamed subtly on his red robes.
One of the highest-ranking priests in the cathedral.
And… her mentor, Severian.
"…Mentor."
He gazed at her for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.
"You don't look well."
Dominica couldn't respond immediately.
He approached slowly.
"I heard you returned from your mission. But… standing in the middle of the corridor with that expression? Anyone would know something's wrong."
His tone was light, but his insight was razor-sharp.
He had counseled countless believers and trained numerous priests… so in a way, it was only natural.
Dominica knew she couldn't evade him.
Yet…
"…It's nothing."
"A lie."
Instant rebuttal.
"You've clenched your left fist first whenever you're troubled since you were a child. You're doing it now, too."
Only then did she realize her fist was unconsciously balled.
She slowly unclenched it.
"…."
Should she tell him?
Or not?
This wasn't something to bring up lightly. A hypothesis spun from her own thoughts alone… especially words tied directly to the Goddess. If this was just her delusion…
It could shake one person's fate—or perhaps the entire church.
But…
She trusted this man.
He had watched over her from the day she first gripped a sword, to the moment she became an inquisitor.
As if sensing her resolve, he tilted his head.
"…Not a conversation for here, it seems."
Then he turned naturally.
"Follow me."
"…Mentor."
Her voice grew a little quieter.
"It's a hypothesis."
He nodded silently.
"If someone… matches the definition of the 'Saint' recorded in doctrine."
Severian's eyes narrowed at her words. But she couldn't read his thoughts in that gaze—approval or denial?
Regardless, Dominica pressed on.
"I heard it directly from him."
She chose her words carefully.
"He said he once suffered from an incurable disease. Called… Rakein Degeneration."
In that instant, Severian's expression twisted slightly. Perhaps a flicker of doubt. He knew better than anyone what that illness meant.
Dominica continued slowly, as if dredging up memories.
"One day, suddenly, light enveloped him. Warm… and the pain vanished."
She paused to catch her breath.
"When he opened his eyes, the disease was completely gone."
After finishing, she couldn't lift her head.
"…He didn't call it a miracle."
She added quietly, just one more phrase.
"He described it like sheer good luck."
Dominica's hand slowly clenched again.
"But I know."
Her voice grew steadily louder.
"…What that description means."
"…."
And finally, she voiced her conclusion.
"It matches the records… far too closely."
Silence filled the room after Dominica finished.
The elderly priest didn't react right away. He stared at her for a long moment before slowly speaking.
"An ordinary person wouldn't believe that tale."
Dominica's fingertips trembled faintly, laced with a touch of fear.
He continued matter-of-factly.
"But you're different."
"…."
"I know what kind of person you are."
Trust.
He stroked his chin, deep in thought.
"…A saint, eh."
In that moment—
Dominica cut him off sharply.
"It's not certain yet."
Firm.
Unwavering denial.
"Just a possibility. A hypothesis at best. I don't want to conclude without evidence."
"…."
A faint smile ghosted across the elderly priest's lips.
"Indeed."
He nodded.
"That's why I trust you."
Their private conversation seemed to conclude there.
For the moment.
It was the next morning.
The central cathedral's atmosphere seemed as usual.
When the bells rang, priests offered prayers. Scribes organized records.
On the surface, nothing was amiss.
…On the surface.
Dominica sensed something off from a trivial change.
Sealed documents stamped with the Heretic Inquisition's mark were being moved in numbers.
"…?"
She stopped in her tracks.
A familiar sensation—not reason, but instinctual unease. Something was twisting.
Something was stirring. From above.
Dominica's brow furrowed.
After a brief hesitation, she changed direction.
One destination.
Severian's office.
Standing before the door, her breath caught for a moment.
She drew a deep breath and—
Two sharp knocks.
"…Come in."
As she opened the door, the elderly priest flipped through documents without even looking up, as if he'd known.
Dominica spoke immediately.
"…What's happening?"
The rustle of pages stopped. He slowly raised his head.
"You've noticed."
Her suspicion hardened into certainty.
"…You've reported it."
No denial.
The elderly priest nodded calmly.
"Yes."
Dominica's hand clenched slowly.
"Why."
Her emotions were restrained, but her trembling voice betrayed their intensity.
"Why would you…? Didn't you say you trusted me?"
The elderly priest exhaled like a sigh.
Then he spoke again.
"That's precisely why I reported it."
"…."
"A true saint…"
He gazed out the window.
"…cannot remain hidden forever."
His voice was quiet.
Not persuasive, nor an excuse.
Just the words of someone who had lived long and seen much.
"If real, it will come to light eventually."
He continued flatly.
"Even if fake, people will always ascribe meaning to it."
Dominica fell silent.
"So we must verify."
He turned his gaze back.
"Whether he's genuine or not."
Dominica bowed her head deeply.
"…You deceived me."
Bitter.
Or betrayal? Her insides twisted.
The elderly priest offered no denial even then.
After watching her a moment, he said very softly,
"That's how it is."
"That's how it is."
White and gold uniforms blended seamlessly. Impeccably disciplined bearing. Boots spotless despite the long journey. Clearly envoys dispatched from the Lustia Holy Kingdom.
The man at the center stepped forward.
"Are you Ellian of Brunel Village?"
He called the name as if confirming, scanning him up and down. Evaluating eyes. Not those of one beholding a person.
Yet Ellian responded without reaction.
"Yes."
Short and true.
The envoy paused as if choosing words, then spoke.
"We are the investigation team dispatched by order of the Holy Kingdom. Numerous incidents have been reported in this village recently… with you at the center."
He glanced down briefly, then back at Ellian.
"Above all, intelligence arrived that you're masquerading as a saint, leading a heretical flock. Thus, the Holy Kingdom sent us to confirm if you're a true saint."
"I've… never done such a thing."
The envoy replied flatly to his words.
"Only the Goddess knows the truth."