Chapter Text
“Hm. Perhaps if I just…no, that won’t do,” Stede mumbled to himself.
He was perched on his knees between one pile of texts on Western politics, and another on various creatures observed throughout Carribe and what was visible of the Shadow Lands. The shelves that lined the walls of Bonnet’s Books towered above him.
Truth be told, Mary wasn’t wrong. Deciding what shelf to clear, and where, was an incredibly difficult undertaking. It wasn’t that he didn’t support Mary’s painting (though sometimes he didn’t quite understand what it was she was trying to portray; her work was quite exotic, after all), and it wasn’t that he didn’t want her to have a space to show those paintings off.
It was just that each book was so precious to him. Each story captured an adventure he would never have, each tome a life he would never lead. To some, that would have been depressing, but to Stede, the dreams captured between the pages of a book were everything.
They were often all he had.
Stede passed a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. Voices ricocheted around in his head, loud and unforgiving. From the constant disdain of his father, to the stinging disappointment of his wife, he never measured up to anyone’s expectations. He was always Stede the screw-up, clumsy Stede, boring Bonnet, and myriad other nasty names.
Despite his cheery attitude, some things cut quick and deep, just as some days were worse than others.
‘Easier if they weren’t right,’ he thought.
And Mary! Poor Mary Bonnet. He knew she wasn’t happy, that she was as uncomfortable as he was in their partnership. The district matchmaker, revered for their powers of perception, had pointed one spindly finger and declared Stede a suitable match for Mary during her Coming of Age celebration. Both had politely objected—Mary for her knowledge of Stede’s reputation, and Stede because the idea of marriage to a relative stranger gave him the oogies, and could he even be enough for a girl like her, anyway?— but the matchmaker had shushed them and stood their ground.
“You will find your way one day, Stede Bonnet,” they had said, peering at him over gold-rimmed spectacles. “And when you do, you’ll find a love that transcends time itself.”
“And you,” they continued, focus shifting to Mary, “you will be needed. The road will not be easy, but one day you will walk in his Light, rather than his shadow.”
Ten years later, the only things the unhappy couple had in common were two children and a growing distrust for said matchmaker, not to mention each other. But they held on for the family, and convenience, and on the remote chance that they would both wake up one day and their prophecy would be realized. Perhaps, some day in the not-so-distant future, they would both spring out of bed with a newly discovered love for one another. They had watched countless friends accept their matches and live content, if not happy lives, so maybe it just hadn’t happened for them yet.
But the waiting bred resentment, and no small amount of spite. And so there Stede sat, his foot in his mouth and a growing stack of books around him, trying once more to understand what she wanted from him when he had nothing more to give.
He tugged out another volume, which was wrapped in a plain cloth, from the case and moved to set it in the pile. As he did, the cloth unraveled and fell open. Stede’s curiosity got the better of him, so he delicately removed the book from its wrapping and set it in his lap to examine more closely.
The book was old. Very old. The sturdy leather binding had been dyed a deep blue, and the spine was stitched with gold thread. The front cover was heavily decorated with inset gold filigree, flush with the leather and reflecting the dim light in deep yellow tones. In the center of the filigree, the symbol of the Sun god was clearly visible, and spread beneath that were small twinkling gems scattered in a variety of neat configurations.
This was all very beautiful, and Stede admired the incredible craftsmanship that had gone into making such a book. But what really caught his attention was the small depression in the cover that was opposite the Sun’s position. It looked like a small hole, lined with metal, as if something vaguely circular had once shared a spot alongside the Sun. Four small prongs were visible in the metalwork, lending evidence to the theory that something was missing. Stede wondered what it had been, and where it had gone. After all, the book would likely have been more valuable with all its decoration.
He opened the book, and found the inside just as breathtaking as the outside. But when he realized just what he was looking at, he gasped.
The volume in his lap was filled with illuminations and neatly written passages on Carribe, as well as the world beyond it.
Full drawings of all manner of creatures from the Shadow Lands, all painstakingly captured and accompanied by passages naming and describing each. Details of the sea beyond the hills (what was a sea?) and the things that slept dreaming in it.
Stede settled back against one of the shelves, drawing his knees up to his chest and laying the book across them. He gave all the pages a cursory flip, but stopped when he found that a large portion of the book was blank.
Not missing, just blank.
Puzzled, he held the book out to the light and lifted a page, checking for hidden ink. Nothing stood out to him. Stede had the idea that perhaps the book had been intended as a journal of sorts, a place to continue writing about the exploits that had surely led to the creation of its source material.
A thought struck him like lightning.
If the book was real… if it were accurate and not the stuff of fiction…that meant someone had once visited the Shadow Lands…and returned.
Stede whistled softly to himself, gobsmacked at the revelation. Warning bells chimed in the back of his mind that there was no way, because surely that would be taught in schools and this wouldn’t have been tucked away between political diatribe in his own bookshop, but he allowed his brain to race with the thrill of possibility.
He thumbed through the pages again, slower this time, looking for the last written section. When he found it, Stede almost slammed the book shut in his surprise. His chest heaved with excitement, and he looked around as though waiting to be caught by someone before turning his attention back to the spread before him.
There was no mistaking it. It was definitely a portrait of the Moon god.
Onyx eyes stared out from the page with an air of malice that made the bookseller shiver. Any light that hit those eyes warped, transformed into something sinister and mysterious. Stede traced a finger over the fine details of the illumination, nail scratching gently along the tendrils of dark hair that curved around the image and framed the god artfully.
“My word. Not sure I’d like those eyes staring at me.” He murmured, not at all convincing himself of that fact. They were just fascinating.
For all that their beliefs revolved around the Sun’s eternal enemy, portraits of the Moon god were fairly rare in Carribe. Most of them were thousands and thousands of years old, and many were created by survivors of each Day of Darkest Night who could not rid themselves of his memory. There were precious few created by contemporary artists, out of a superstition that they could somehow invoke his presence if they focused on him for just a moment too long. Stede couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen a portrait like this. He didn’t think he had. He didn’t think anyone had.
A discovery like this was beyond exhilarating, both personally and financially.
After a long while, Stede shook himself from his reverie just enough to return to the front of the book and start over. Still, he kept a finger tucked between the pages where the Moon god stared out at him from amidst the inky darkness.
He had no idea how much time had passed until he was startled by the tolling of bells. Stede glanced up at the clock hung on the wall between shelves, and practically jumped out of his skin.
“Oh no. The Choosing. I’m late for The Choosing-howcanIbelateforTheChoosing?! It only happens every thousand years and I! Am! Late!”
Stede pulled himself up, shaking out his numb legs. He hovered over the mess he’d made, turning this way and that, unable to decide whether he should clean up or just go. Finally, he darted for the door, but paused with his hand on the knob.
Now that he knew about it, it couldn’t stay here, could it? Not where it could get damaged, for instance, or even stolen for the jewels in the cover. And he would never dream of handing such a priceless treasure over to a non-academic or amateur collector. No, it was definitely safer with him, tucked away in his own personal library, until he could give it due appraisal.
Hurrying back to his desk, Stede grabbed the worn leather satchel he used to transport books to and from home. He stumbled through the piles of books, knocking some over in his haste and wincing at his own ineptitude. Throwing himself back to his knees, Stede wrapped the mysterious book up in its protective cloth again and stuffed it in the satchel. He slung the bag over his shoulder as he tripped towards the door, yanked it open, and hurled himself into the sunlight.
Stede’s lungs were burning by the time he reached the East Entrance to Bardas’ city center, where he’d planned to meet Mary and the children after they left their grandparents house. He’d made good time—in contrast to early day, the streets had been practically barren—but he was still incredibly late. The noise from the crowd just beyond the ancient arched gateway almost drowned out the rushing of blood in his ears.
Almost.
The bookseller staggered to the nearest structure that could hold him up while recovered. When he could breathe with relative ease again, he looked around.
A few stragglers were streaming through the gate, and he received some sneers from the Protectorate guards posted at the entrance. But that was all.
Stede wasn’t surprised that Mary and the children hadn’t waited for him (he wished he’d known ahead of time- he could’ve saved himself some of the trip and gone in through the North Entrance), but he resolved to find them inside so they could experience the Choosing together. It was a once in a lifetime event, after all.
Taking a deep breath, he joined the last few people heading in.
The city center was a large clearing shaped like the sun. At its center was an open circular area divided into two rings, and the rays of the sun spread out around those, arranged like the points of a compass rose. The entire population of Bardas filled the outer ring. The inner ring remained empty. A single, small sun symbol decorated its exact center.
All the rays except the southernmost ray terminated in a large arching gateway. The southernmost ray led to several wide, but short stone steps, and a platform raised slightly above the rest of the clearing. The platform usually held benches for resting, and a dazzling garden display, but today those things had been cleared away. A small podum had taken up residence in the middle, facing the crowd. To the left was a beautiful golden bowl, sitting atop its own pedastal. The rest of the space was taken up by members of the priesthood, and a few Protectorate guards.
Stede craned his neck, scanning what faces he could make out as he shuffled along. He’d never seen the entire city gathered in the same place- not even for their yearly celebrations. Attendance for those was optional; attending the Choosing was not.
As he reached the outer ring, he started to break away from the mass of bodies he’d filed in with, and began moving through the already restless crowd. He peered over shoulders and spun strangers around by their shoulders, dropped down and crawled between legs, all the while calling out for his wife and children. Finally, he spotted them (or, at least, it looked like them from this far away), on the opposite side of the ring. He stood up, the two closest people nearby falling back in surprise, and started waving to them. They ignored him. He could see Mary sag a bit, but their spat would have to wait to be resolved until after the ceremony.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd. Stede’s attention snapped to the southern platform, where the head priest had taken his place at the podium.
The priest started speaking, but Stede was focused on reaching his family and only heard bits and pieces as he wiggled through and around people with small murmurs of apology.
“Ten thousand years of tradition,” he made out over the sound of his own mumbling. Stede poked his head up; nearly halfway there.
“...this, the greatest honor any citizen of the Light can hope for…” the bookseller really wished he could stop and listen properly for a moment. He’d always wanted to know how The Choosing worked. That was something known only to the priests until the Day came.
Almost. Just a little further.
He was closing in on Mary and the children when he saw the priests all raise their arms to the sky. They began to chant something slow and rhythmic, swaying side to side in time. Stede slid up one layer of bodies, skirting just behind the people in the front row. That way, he could keep an eye on what was going on out in front.
“...we call forth your most holy Messenger! Deliver us your chosen! Deliver us from our greatest enemy!”
The chanting got faster and faster as Stede drew nearer and nearer to his goal. He got stuck briefly, wedged between a wide man and a tall woman, but broke free by pushing with his legs. He shot forward in the crowd, and found to his relief he was one person over from Mary and the children.
The chanting had reached a fever pitch, it seemed. Stede’s head buzzed with the sound. Steeling himself for what might start another fight, he slid sideways to fill the gap beside his wife…
…just as someone shoved him hard from behind.
He stumbled with a yelp, wheeling past a couple bodies and tripping over himself into open space. Stede landed on his hands and knees, eyes screwed shut against pain that wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The bookseller stayed like that for a moment, face towards the ground, catching his breath. He could practically feel the sobering glare his wife was sure to be fixing him with for making yet another embarrassing mistake.
When he felt ready, Stede opened one eye into a cautious squint.
It wasn’t just Mary and the children looking at him.
Everyone was looking at him.
It was then that he realized the chanting had stopped.
Scrambling up from the cobblestone, Stede cast his eyes around in bewilderment. He found himself standing inside the inner ring, alone and in full view of the priests on the platform. To his mounting horror, the head priest had his arms outstretched towards him, while all of the others had their arms raised to the sky. He felt the murmuring take up around him, people pointing and staring as though he were some foreign animal that had been brought out for public gawking.
Stede clapped his hands together nervously and bowed at the waist, keeping his gaze fixed on the head priest all the while.
“Well! So sorry about that! So sorry….to have, ah…interrupted. My apologies, please continue with the, ah…the proceedings,” he stuttered, trying to back up into the crowd again and failing.
The bookseller chanced a look over at Mary and the children. If her jaw had been any more slack, it would have been on the ground. There was something on her face, sliding around as her features twitched, which unsettled him more than his own incompetence. He swallowed heavily, wishing he could rewind time.
The head priest drew a breath.
“Thank you, O wonderful and benevolent Sun god, for delivering to us your most holy messenger. Our savior of a thousand years walks among us!” He bellowed. Stede flinched, scrunching his face at the sudden sound before he realized what was being said.
Straightening up on taut marionette strings, he pointed toward himself with a trembling hand.
“Do you…you mean… me ?!”
As if in answer, the crowd erupted into raucous cheers. Stede felt his eardrums pop and crackle, and he swayed with the sudden disorientation. He turned with the intent to run back into the crowd, where he belonged, but two Protectorate guards materialized by his arms. Taking him firmly by the elbows, they escorted him across the inner ring towards the platform. Stede squirmed, kicking and dragging his feet while trying to keep some semblance of dignity. He felt his shoe scuff against the different tiles that made up the sun in the center of the ring,
“No, you don’t understand, there has been some mistake! I wasn’t guided by the Sun! I tripped! I bumped into someone and stumbled! I’m no messenger! I’m not the chosen one! I’m just a bookseller! A bad one, at that! Can we talk this through like gentlemen, please ?!”
His words fell on deaf ears as he stumbled up the steps, propelled awkwardly by the guards beginning to bruise his biceps. They brought him to a staggering halt in front of the head priest, who bowed reverently several times in his direction before grabbing him by the elbow and pressing various ancient medallions into his palms.
The blood drained from Stede’s face as he looked out over the crowd, and the reality of his situation crashed into him.
It was all a mistake. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t.
He could feel himself talking—babbling, most likely—but sounded to himself as though he were underwater. The guards had let him go; he sank forward to his knees, only to be adorned with flower chains and a shimmering cape lined with gold thread by the lesser priests on the platform.
“Please? Please listen. I’m not the one you want. I’m not the messenger. I just tripped, that’s all.” He protested weakly as the head priest stepped away from him. The holy man cast a glance over his shoulder.
“The Sun god works in mysterious ways. You say you tripped. Perhaps destiny says otherwise.” With that, the priest turned back and began to move his hands in a mysterious fashion over the golden bowl on the pedestal in front of them both.
Stede trembled, feeling silly and sick all at the same time. The lower ranking priests were chanting again, but the rhythm was slightly different than before. Their arms were linked at the elbows, and they seemed to move as one being in a slow, methodical dance.
The head priest and two helpers mixed multiple herbs, tonics and potions into the golden vessel. Stede wasn’t sure he recognized anything except the small demijohn of liquid light that was poured in last. The helpers stirred with a large golden stick, passing it back and forth, as the priest shook his hands over the mouth of the bowl. Sparkles rose up from the rim and caught the sun like small diamonds in the air.
Fascinated as he was, Stede took the opportunity to start sliding towards the edge of the platform on his knees. Inch by inch, he slithered away from the group. Perhaps he could roll of the edge and disappear into the crowd before they could catch him. Perhaps he would leave Bardas, and escape to the miles and miles of rural countryside of Carribe. Surely the priest would see sense soon enough and find the real messenger. It was a matter of life and death, after all.
He had made it a little less than a foot from the edge when he was grabbed from behind. Stede yelped as he was dragged back into place by the same guards that had escorted him from the crowd. He swatted at the hands that held him, but to no avail. Resigning himself to his position, he looked out at his family again.
Mary had that same inscrutable expression- he could just see it if he squinted. Alma and Louis, his children, looked on with eyes as wide as saucers. They all looked rooted to the spot.
The head priest hefted the bowl to the sky.
“O lord of Light, bless your most holy messenger with but a fraction of your immense power. Provide us with the key to our salvation, as you have promised and delivered for millennia. Bless us and save us from our eternal enemy!”
Stede looked up at the priest, who turned to face him. He lowered the bowl back to the pedestal and dipped a golden chalice, brought out by a helper, into it.
“May his Light guide you always.” The priest intoned, staring down his beaklike nose at the man huddled on the platform. He held out the filled chalice- Stede took it reflexively.
A moment passed. The bookseller grew increasingly uncomfortable- he wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Well, go on. Drink it.” The priest encouraged him.
Stede’s mind fizzed out for a moment before realizing what was said.
“Drink, what, this? No, thank you, I’m quite all right. I’m not thirsty, you see.” He tried to hand back the chalice. The priest sighed.
He moved as though he were going to take the chalice, and Stede felt a surge of elation. The man had come to his senses! Stede had visions of driving a little cart out of the city with some of his books and most prized possessions. He’d go somewhere he could start a new life- with Mary and the children too, of course. He smiled, feeling relief wash over him.
Without warning, Stede’s head was yanked back by his hair. He opened his mouth to protest in pain, but the priest tipped the contents of the chalice forward in a flash. The glowing liquid poured into Stede’s mouth and down his throat. He coughed and spluttered, swallowing without meaning to. Whatever the ritual concoction was, it was pungent and unassuming, all at the same time. He didn’t know whether to lick his lips or retch.
Stede’s head was released when the chalice was empty. He lurched forward, hacking and breathing heavily. The smell of sunlight, like a summer’s day, wafted up from around him and on his clothes where some of the chalice’s contents had ended up. It was sticky, and the stains would probably never come out.
“What the hell was that?!” He squawked at the priest. The priest looked at him expectantly.
“How do you feel?” He replied, excited like a child receiving a gift.
Stede rose to his feet; no one moved to stop him this time. He marched up to the priest and made a show of straightening himself out, peacocking to hide his nerves.
“How do I feel? I feel just…just awful! That was disgusting! You dragged me up here, made a spectacle of me and made a mockery of my family, then you force feed me some…some liquid mumbo-jumbo and then you ask me how I feel?”
By the end of his tirade, Stede had turned a rather unbecoming shade of red. He had his finger in the priest’s face, almost up his nose. He was outraged and mortified, not to mention concerned about the after effects of drinking such a concoction. The priest, for his part, had gone from looking unabashedly curious to slightly concerned. He grabbed Stede’s outstretched hand and brought it down by his side.
“So you don’t feel anything?”
Stede blanched.
“Why? Should I? What should I be feeling? Should something be happening?”
The priest shrugged.
“I don’t know. Honestly I was hoping for something a little more….extravagant. But hey. The Gods are unknowable and all that, yeah? It’s fine. I think.”
Stede gaped like a fish, lips snapping open and closed as he worked out what was happening.
“But don’t you see!? I’m not the messenger! Shouldn’t something, I don’t know, miraculous be happening if I was?”
The priest shrugged again.
“It’s been a thousand years since anyone witnessed this. They didn’t keep great records back then. Do you think I do this all the time? I just follow the instructions,” he whispered against Stede’s ear, then nudged him forward to the edge of the platform, raising the wrist he still held trapped between his thick fingers.
“Behold! Your messenger has the power of Light! Here is your savior! Here is our beloved sacrifice! The Choosing is complete!”
Stede winced. He’d had enough of people yelling and strangely luminous cocktails for one day. Standing at the edge of the platform like a prizefighter after the match, his world narrowed to a single thought, and everything else fell away.
Sacrifice.
Stede was going to die.
And there was precious little he could do about it.