Orion steps closer, frowning. With his fingernails, he scrapes away a strip of grime that I’d missed, revealing small print just underneath the photograph.
“‘From left to right,’” he reads aloud. “‘Samuel Covenant, Florence Grace, Walter Mercy, Martha Pope, Alfred Bishop, Mabel Parish, Percy Shepherd, Louise Vicar, Ellis Dean, Fannie Church, Ernest Creed, Agnes Divine…’”
My breath catches in my chest, and it’s difficult to exhale or get my lungs to move at all. Because each of those last names is deeply familiar to every soul on Trinity.
Herald Covenant.
Herald Grace.
Herald Mercy.
Herald Pope.
We memorize them before we learn to read. We can spell their names before we can spell our own.
Herald Bishop.
Herald Parish.
Herald Shepherd.
Herald Vicar.
They loom over every aspect of our lives, skyliner and duster alike. Each continent carries one of them as their patron.
Herald Dean.
Herald Church.
Herald Creed.
Herald Divine.
I stare at the blurry, black-and-white face of Samuel Covenant, trying to match it to the versions I’ve seen of him in stained glass chapel windows and artistic depictions on the dailies. There are similarities, but also the man in this picture looks so different, so human, in a way that Herald Covenant never has. His hair is receding; his face is aged, creased with lines as he smiles; and there’s a softness to the frame of his body. Herald Covenant is always depicted young and strong, with full, flowing hair, a sternly benevolent expression, and a muscular, broad-shouldered figure, like he is both god and warrior.
“That’s only twelve,” I say. My voice is barely more than a murmur, but the three of us are clustered together, our faces so close that Orion and Dani have no trouble hearing me. “It saysthirteen founders, so who is this, on the other side of Heral—Agnes Divine?”
The person is slightly taller than the others, with light skin and short, light hair that’s swept back from his forehead. His smile is subtle, but confident, his gaze staring out from the photograph like a challenge.
Orion shakes his head, running his fingers over the tiny text. “I don’t know. Everything after ‘Agnes Divine’ has been gouged out.”
Dani edges closer, her chest pressing against my shoulder. “This means what I think it means, right? The Heralds…”
“Yeah.” Orion straightens from examining the plaque, a sigh slipping from his mouth. “It looks like they were just regular-ass people. Like us.”
“And somehow they were transformed into gods.” I turn my back to the plaque, glancing up through a gap in the roof at the curve of the Gate above us. “Just like saints are being transformed into Archangels.”
“This is what the tablet meant,” Orion says softly. “The one in the Aaldenberg knot from Samuel Covenant. He saidfind me at the gate, and here he is.”
Dani scoffs, folding her arms. “He couldn’t have left a little more than this photograph? There areone or two gapsin the story still that would be helpful to know.”
Orion bends down eye level with the plaque again, staring intently at it, muttering to himself.
“What is it?” I take a step or two closer to him. “You see something else?”
“Not exactly. It’s just…” He taps on the plaque’s metal surface, turning his head to listen. “The Book of Signs.”
I sigh. “Not that again.”
