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find it easier to accept magic than the existence of angels?’
    ‘Is that what you are?’
    ‘No,’ the Archon said. ‘But that is what I have been called for centuries. Tell me, what does it feel like to be a being of pure spirit?’
    Shader looked from his spirit hands to the body of flesh lying on the floor like a wax effigy. ‘Incomplete,’ he said.
    ‘Good. A man who finally knows his place.’ The Archon drifted down to stand before Shader and placed a hand on his head. The gladius quivered slightly and seemed to sigh.
    ‘You must be whole again, Shader,’ the Archon said. ‘The Ipsissimus is coming for the final battle and he will need you.’
    Shader pulled away, drifting further back into the sanctuary. ‘I’m out of favour in Aeterna. The Ipsissimus sent the Judiciary after me. He’d rather I was dead than dissenting.’
    The Archon turned, sparing Shader the blaze from his face. ‘I’m afraid your friend Aristodeus was insistent on you leaving with the sword. Things are desperate; more desperate than you could ever know. I’ve entrusted him with this move, despite his previous failure. If we lose again, I’m not sure fate would be so forgiving a second time.’
    ‘What…?’
    The Archon held up a hand that appeared to be made from porcelain. ‘I go too far. I have already said too much. Forgive me, Deacon Shader, and grant me one thing.’ Light spilled from the edge of the hood as the Archon tilted his head to look at Shader. ‘Your faith.’
    Shader frowned. ‘That’s something I have in short supply.’
    ‘Understandably,’ the Archon said. ‘These are the times of deception. My brother must be very pleased with his progress. Even the Templum is divided, and it is no small task to keep it on the path of light. Theodore is a good man, but he will not be Ipsissimus forever.’
    Shader nodded his understanding. Everyone knew that Exemptus Silvanus was his most likely successor. The Prefect of the Judiciary was a rigid traditionalist, a hard-liner. Shader had fallen under his influence during his formation in the Elect.
The Discipline
, they’d called him on account of the punishments he’d inflict for even the slightest deviation from his particular brand of orthodoxy.
    ‘Tell me,’ the Archon interrupted his train of thought. ‘Do you believe in resurrection?’
    Shader was taken aback by the question and scrabbled about for an answer. ‘It’s mentioned in the Liber.’
    ‘Not as much as it once was,’ the Archon said, white fire flaring from his cowl. ‘The Liber has been altered, but there is still gold to be found there if you know where to look.’
    ‘But…’
    ‘Another time. Resurrection. What is it? A new life? The same life restored? The raising of a spiritual body?’ The Archon flashed a look at Shader. ‘Or is it something altogether more subtle, intangible? What would happen, I wonder, if you were to touch your own flesh? Come, try it.’
    Shader floated down to his double and knelt. The sword shifted restlessly in his grip. He bent over the body and reached out a hand. As he made contact he felt a sickening thud and found himself staring up at the ceiling. Something damp and sticky clung to his head. Reaching up he felt it was a lock of his own hair slick with congealed blood.
    ‘How do you feel?’ the Archon asked, looming over Shader. ‘Resurrected? Or something else?’
    ‘Heavy. My back hurts like the Abyss.’
    ‘Excellent. So there is no difference between how you were at the moment of your death and how you are now. You are still fully human.’
    Shader forced himself into a sitting position. The wound in his back began to seep more blood. He felt queasy and started to swoon. The Archon leaned in close and pressed down on it with his hand. Immediately, the flesh knitted together, the pain faded, and warmth flooded back into his once dead body. Sparing a quick glance at the oddly purring gladius, Shader hurriedly sheathed it and rose to his