The latter half or third of the sixth chapter

Basilio Quito had lived a long and full life.

He remained unmarried and without children, but that was hardly an issue when one had a half-dozen younger siblings to carry on both name and bloodline. Neither had he accumulated overseership over any estates or townships, as was the prerogative of the Romalian clergy.

Basilio did not begrudge his once-peers these things. When the Aldafaðr, Hœnir, and Lóðurr shaped man and woman, they placed these desires in their hearts. It was a sin to seek them to excess or in an improper manner, but desire itself was not wrong. And practically speaking, Basilio could attest to how much simpler it was to deal with fellow members of the clergy, even if their positions were in all truth hereditary, than it was to deal with lay nobles and commoners.

That just hadn’t been the life for him. Basilio would’ve liked to think it was because it distracted from his duty to God and Founder, but he was too old now for those kinds of lies. He wasn’t a talented enough vessel for the Lord’s power to mediate with the spirits of the old world, nor did he have the tongue or stomach for holding sermons for the masses.  His talent had always been for numbers and administration, certainly not a glorious role, but just as necessary as any other.

But the time for such humble duties was over, for him at least. Now he had a new role, different, but no less important. For it was in the children of the nobility that the future of Brimir’s folk rested, and he was proud to serve some small role in showing them the way.

The generous hours, decent pay, and sizable office certainly didn’t hurt either.

A pulse went up his spine, his body tensed.

Basilio resisted the temptation to force power through his eyes, to look over the room to try and see what sort of spirit had passed the simple barrier he’d erected around his workspace. It was a simple piece of magic, the type even an adept at a monastery would be expected to master within a few months. Potent enough to keep out the least of spirits, little more than beasts absent body, but no more than an alarm for anything more significant.

The fact that the spirit could pass meant that it bore the capacity to threaten him. The fact that the spirit was willing to pass through the barrier without announcement or introduction indicated either arrogance, ignorance, or surety of purpose.

Before Basilio could do anything to address the matter though, a knock resounded on the door to his office. For a split second, the priest debated telling whoever was there to come back another time, but decided to err on the side of caution. If the spirit was hostile to him in particular, it might hesitate with another witness in the room. And if the spirit wasn’t hostile, there was no point in causing a panic over what turned out to be a harmless misunderstanding.

“Come in, come in, and leave the door open, will you? Air’s getting a bit stale.”

The door opened as a familiar voice answered.

“Very well, Professor.”

Basilio was not particularly acquainted with the youngest scion of the Vallière line. He had nothing against the girl herself, as much as some of his colleagues might assume he did. There simply wasn’t much need for a retired priest to speak to a young lady already well-versed in the Church’s doctrine. His attention was more useful turned towards the more troubled and lost youth...even if some of them seemed to be lost causes.

“Ah, Ms. Vallière, I can’t say I was expecting you. Please, take a seat.” He waved towards the chair tucked into the opposite side of his desk.

The blonde, though her hair seemed almost pink in Sól’s light, took the seat without objection.

“Thank you Professor. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, nothing urgent anyway. Even so, I must admit I’m at a loss for why you’re here.”

It was plain to Basilio that Louise had just made her way to his office from the Academy’s baths; her hair was damp and even sitting across from her he could faintly smell the soaps and perfumes provided there. Given the disruption to the Academy’s normal classes, it was understandable that the students would be taking advantage of the facilities made available to them, even if it was at odd hours.

More importantly though, Vallière had already shown herself to be fully instructed in the matters of God and Founder, as much as any layperson need be anyway, and so had been exempted from his own class after her first year. Given then that he was no longer her instructor, the only reason he could think of for her to be present was...

“On the first day of your class, you said your doors would always be open to those who wish to know the Founder’s wisdom. I didn’t think that would change just because I passed your class.”

There was something about having his own words thrown back at him that made Basilio happy he’d never had children. There wasn’t even any malice in it, and yet the phantom of what could have been pained him all the same.

“You’re quite right Ms. Vallière, my apologies. Put simply, I didn’t think you’d ever find yourself in a situation where this humble man’s understanding might be useful, to one so well versed.”

A light blush was on her cheeks now, but she answered with a remarkably even tone “I’d have agreed with you, this morning. But the Nornir seem to find my path more interesting than might be desired.”

‘In other words, she’s screwed up and wants advice.’

“Well, you were right, my door is still open to you...as your current position would suggest. Now, before we begin, I would ask of you one question for my peace of mind. Once it is answered, I will be happy to advise you.”

“I will answer, if the question is fair and without ill-intent.” The blonde replied, eyes narrowed.

A sensible precaution. God was as much a trickster as a guide.

“Where is your familiar, the firstborn you’ve invited into this place?” He did his best to keep his tone as even as hers, but given the frown on the girl’s lips he’d guess he’d failed.

“Off looking for some commoner maid, probably hoping she’ll get more free food.”

That...was actually fairly comforting. If the familiar was off busying itself elsewhere, then the spirit intruding on his barrier was probably one of its vassals, sent to guard the Vallière girl in its place.

“Ah, very good then. And my apologies for any offense, I would be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

She didn’t reply right away, visibly thinking things over. Eventually though, Louise spoke her mind.

“Professor…what can you tell me about curses?”

It took a moment for it to register in his mind, at which point he couldn’t help but raise a brow.

“That is an, uh, odd question, coming from you…to be clear though, you mean curses of the spirits, not of men, correct?”

“Yes, professor.”

His eyes narrowed, as he started “You haven’t been-“

The student seemed surprised, for all of a second, then she was just glaring at him. Though the look lacked the heat he’d have expected from her reputation.

“No, I have not been cursed. I simply…” she trailed off for a moment, brow furrowing before smoothing over as she almost smirked in triumph “-I was reading about one of the Iberian secessionist kingdoms, and the author made mention of a peculiar curse that afflicted the royal line, and I was hoping you could clarify something for me.”

Basilio remained silent for a few moments, processing what his former student had said with a frown on his lips and his brow furrowed.

It wasn’t…inherently implausible, what Louise was claiming. But the old priest couldn’t really square the girl he remembered with the one who’d actually need to ask that sort of question. If nothing else, he’d have expected her to just lock herself in the library until she found the right tome or one of the librarians removed her from the premises.

Still, nothing was to be gained from a priest refusing to offer counsel, confession or no. It wasn’t as if a confession to him would help if it was as he was beginning to think.

“You’ve heard of the Braganaças of Callaeci, right?”

Most priests wouldn’t have, but he did have a second cousin from southern Gallia he’d been introduced to as a child, and stayed in contact with till a decade or so back. It still took him a few good moments of thought to recall.

“Unless I’ve been misinformed, they were the petty kings who seceded from Gallia a few centuries ago, till the royal family unseated them and placed their relatives the d’Aviz in their place, no?”

Louise looked like she wanted to correct him, her mouth opening slightly and her brow furrowed in thought. But the girl bit her tongue and nodded with a frown.

‘Hm, what could tha…hah, I really am letting it all slip through my fingers.’

Even as he chuckled internally, he bowed his head slightly.

“Forgive this man for his forgetfulness, Miss. Age wears away at the mind, and millenia become centuries without much thought.” She looked pleased at that. Which was a bit clumsy, given his own admission, but such was the prerogative of the young.  “Still, curses? I can’t say I recall the de Gallia ever petitioning the Church, or even any of the great temples, for such an injunction on that dead line…which could only mean…”

Louise nodded with a slight smile, as if she were relieved the conversation was going back towards what she’d been expecting.

“That they were cursed by one of the vættir, yes. At least, that’s what the author suggested. I suppose it could’ve been a punishment from the gods. But then-”

“No, you’re quite right Miss Valière. If the ása-gods had seen fit to lay low a noble house in such a manner, it would’ve been made quite obvious. Their wrath is fierce, but not so fierce as to allow the innocent to be caught up in it without due warning.”

The young noblewoman nodded her head at that, though it did not escape Quito’s notice then, that there was an ever-so-slight frown upon her lips, and that her gaze was dark and stormy. But the moment passed and Louise’s expression cleared.

“Yes, of course. But anyway, the author made mention of an apocryphal folktale-

~ ~ ~
Points that would probably be in the fina version

-Have Quito request a reminder of the Brag.’s curse
-Between Louise and Quito, cover the general elements of the Braganaças; the king took a sacred weapon/god’s arm on a hunt, killed a spirit, and was cursed.
- Have Quito either directly state or through comparison to mythic figures imply that Louise should go before the gods and seek to have her sin judged and cleansed
-Quito has his weird shadow-spirit pop up and sends it off with a message for the pope.
~ ~ ~
Events referenced

3274 AR: King Karloman XXVIII of Gallia perishes in battle against the warriors of the Álfkynja Bálørindi, Syniréla, and Haldablóm outside the walls of Nýrbær, bringing an end to the 18th Crusade for the Holy Land of Brimir’s folk.

3275 AR, Month ?: The Princes Pippin, Lothar, Astolf and Adalgis return to Gallia with the remnants of the Crusader host, and call for a krúnaþingi, mediated by the Pope in Romalia, to elect a new King of Gallia and Emperor of the Markey.

3275 AR, Month ?+3: The krúnaþingi drags on, until Prince Astolf strikes Pippin dead, the assembly breaking and the sons of Karloman electing to win the crown by force of arms. João de Braganaças, Duk de Callaeci flees back to his estate, where he gathers his own vassals and assembles a host.

3276 AR. Month 7: King João de Braganaças defeats Prince Lothar at the battle of Coria, maiming the Prince and taking him, his wife and two sons hostage. To avoid the embarrassment of allowing their brother to be defeated and slain by a mere nobleman, the princes of Gallia agree to pay a ransom for their brother, and agree to twenty years of peace between the Duchy of Callaeci and the Kingdom of Gallia.

To celebrate his independence from Gallia, João organizes a grand hunt dedicated to Odin. During this hunt, he strays into the sanctuary of the chief of the land-wights within his lands, and with the bow Læhrami, entrusted to him by the deceased King Karl, unknowingly strikes the son of the wight, in the form of a stag, dead. In retaliation, the chief of the land-wights curses his line, such that no first-son or daughter of his line will survive to take his throne. Nonetheless, it would take two hundred years for his dynasty to finally succubumb to the curse, perishing in a war against one of the semi-regular Gallian Reconquests