by Aaron Bunce
Tanea took another deep breath, and held it. She counted silently, until her lungs burned, and then released the breath slowly, reciting the fifth decree. In the quiet moment between breaths, when the world around her fell into that peaceful and serene calm, she focused on the soft and rhythmic beat of her heart. Her thoughts instantly shifted and her focus broke. She felt a part of her start to drift away, floating across the expanses, to wherever Julian was.
She gathered her thoughts once more and drew another breath, repeating each step of the process while seeking the peace of order and balance. The sixth decree slid silently from her tongue, exhaled on a breath that caught suddenly in her throat.
It was another whisper of cold breeze, yet the candles on the desk did not flicker or sway. The Chapterhouse was a cold, drafty place, but there was something about the gust that caught her attention. Perhaps it was an odor?
Tanea’s head snapped up in an instant. Her heart instantly started to pound in her chest, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt him next to her then, as keenly as if they stood pressed against one another.
“Julian…” she whispered and waved her hand through the air.
More than just cold, early morning air passed over and around her fingers. The air shimmered and wavered, like the heat rolling off hot coals. In the span between heartbeats, when everything inside her became still and quiet, she heard a voice. It was as low and subtle as a distant thunderstorm, but she knew it instantly. He was yelling her name.
Tanea was up and running, the soles of her shoes slapping a raucous cadence as she desperately chased the invisible phantom. She threw open her door and slammed into the wall in the hallway, disregarding her own body as a stab of panic clenched at her insides. She ran out into the sanctuary, passing pews and benches, pushing aside any who did not immediately get out of her way.
Tanea threw her weight against the oversized doors before the young pledge could even shift his weight from the stool. His feet thrashed violently about as he lifted his hands, completely taken off guard by her appearance, yet helpless to do little more than cry out.
Tanea wasn’t listening. She wasn’t concerned with anything beyond the horrific sensation flooding through her body at that moment. The host of gut-wrenching emotions felt as intimate and close as if they were her own, yet disembodied and eroded, like a mist struck by a strong morning sunrise.
She pulled down on the polished handle, only faintly aware of the metallic click as the lock released overhead. With a gentle hiss and groan of the massive hinges the doors eased apart. As soon as the crack between the cherry wood portals was wide enough, Tanea slipped through.
The wind cut against her, biting at her exposed skin and piercing through the porous fabric of her simple cotton shirt. She became temporarily lost as she stepped out into the snow, trapped between the bitter cold mountain air and the swirling, fading tide of emotions.
Tanea heard the young pledge call out to her from the doorway, but his voice faded away, like the stringy notes of distance crickets.
The wind pushed against her in raging torrents, surging like frigid waves, desperate to hold her back. A sudden and powerful surge of emotion washed through her. She felt her heart race, but then it fluttered precariously, sending her sprawling onto her hands and knees in the snow. Tanea lifted her head into the wind, overcome by a mixture of her own loneliness and despair, and Julian’s mysterious presence.
With a heavy heart, Tanea turned and trudged back through the snow to the Chapterhouse. The pledge had disappeared back into the warmth, but the door was still ajar, allowing her just enough space to slip back inside.
“What’s gotten into ya? Are you stricken?” the pledge gasped, his voice strangled as he pushed the door closed behind her.
Tanea clutched her arms defensively, her body wracked by shivers from more than just the cold. She heard the boy slide the lock back into place and then the scrape of wood against stone.
“Here…why don’t you sit for a moment and collect yourself,” he said and tried to pull her over toward his stool, but Tanea brushed him away.
With a fierce determination, Tanea moved forward. She ignored those that had gathered around, content to gawk, frown, or mumble under their breath.
She pushed through the ring of commoners and clerics without a word. She was not one to cow down to fickle mobs, least of all those of her own order. She knew Julian was out there somewhere, hurting, captured or alone, but still alive.
For too long Tanea allowed her feelings to fester in silent bubbles of regret and indecision. Fear had stayed her hand, and made her question everything she felt and believed. It gave her pause when she could ill afford it.
To deny the feelings overtaking her would be to reject the surging, vibrant pulse of the magic beating in her chest, the gift that had been bestowed upon her. It frightened her that she didn’t know what it all meant, or why, but some part of her knew that it was significant, and she couldn’t deny it any longer.
Tanea no longer feared the repercussions if she admitted what she felt, and more so, what Julian meant to her, because deep down inside, she felt a greater hand at work. With cold feet and a determined step, she set off through the warren of hallways.
A levy broke apart inside her, and the mass of fears, doubts, and questions bled away. It was replaced by a single, profound sense of determination. She knew then, with absolute clarity and resolve, that she would declare herself to her elder priest. To admit, honestly, the Divine Bond linking her to Julian. To hope that he, above all others, would see the hand of divinity at work, and help her. She hoped that he would have answers for the questions she was most terrified to ask. She hoped that he could tell her why it happened, but most importantly, ultimately, what it meant.
A quick glance at the tapered candles burning within the wall sconce told her all that she needed to know. The bubbling wax cylinders were almost half-gone. They were changed out and lit each morning at sunrise, so it was now just past mid-day. Knowing that, Tanea also knew that her elder-priest would be alone in his chambers, deep in his period of personal reflection.
Tanea took off down the hallway, breaking into a run. She pushed past an ancient looking priest as he made his solemn and pained procession in the opposite direction. She reached the end of the hallway, and placed her hand on the wall to follow the corner around, but jerked to a stop.
Tanea slowly stepped backwards, letting her fingers glide over the chiseled stone of the wall until she reached the spot she had passed. As her hand came to rest, Tanea put her full weight against the wall, pressing her palm flat and closing her eyes.
She felt it first on the surface of the stone, and then as a gentle reverberation down her wrist and arm. It was barely perceptible at first, and she marveled at how she had been able to feel it while moving so quickly. There was a gentle vibration in the stone, accentuated by a deep pulse, almost too subtle to discern.
Tanea slid down until her knees came to rest against the ground. She slid her hand onto the floor. Then, slowly, looked up and down both directions of the hall, and for reasons beyond her understanding, laid her ear against the ground.
She could hear the rhythm of the stone, the deep vibrations barely perceptible by touch. Tanea held her breath and closed her eyes, and for an instant, caught in those tender moments of silence between heartbeats, she could hear something moving. It sounded oddly like someone tapping against the stone.
“Are you quite okay?” someone asked suddenly.
Tanea gasped, and pushed off of the ground and jumped to her feet. A young man stood just a few paces away, his clasped hands covered by his heavy brown robe.
“Yes, thank you…” Tanea whispered. “I was,” she started to say, but paused, trying to decide how to continue. “Listening.”
“Oh? Listening?” the young man chuckled, “to the stone? What did it say?”
Tanea shrugged, already embarrassed by the attention.
“Can I hel
p you with something, cleric?” the young man asked. He reached up and pulled his hood back, letting the light of the hallway fall upon his dark brown hair. His skin was darker than hers, as if often kissed by the hot summer sun, and his eyes were a rich, chocolate brown. He wore the simple, heavy brown robe of a manservant.
“No…thank you,” Tanea said, and turned away. She made her way down the hallway, conscious of the young man’s eyes on her back, and turned down the Antechamber of Elders.
The passage was round, and lined with doors on either side. A single statue stood at the far end, carved to match the one standing in the Chapterhouse’s sanctuary.
Tanea passed several doors, the rich, dark wood adorned by wreathes crafted of black ivy and bright mountain flowers. The decorations were crafted by a select few clerics, and handed to each priest as they attained elder status. The flowers took on a touch of the select’s soul, and only upon their death, would they wilt.
She walked straight ahead, to the door at the back of the antechamber. The wreath hanging on the door was slightly larger than all the rest. Its flowers seemed to shift, moving as if tracking her approach.
Tanea stopped just before the door, and as she lifted her hand to knock, she took in the pungent notes of the flowers. A stab of doubt coursed through her. She felt the weight of the decision looming before her, and understood that her life was about to change forever.
The door felt solid against her knuckles. Far more solid than she expected. The room beyond was quiet for a moment. She held her breath to listen, her hand hovering just above the raised grain. Tanea flinched when the silence broke.
“Enter,” a deep voice resonated from within the room.
Tanea released the catch and pushed into the room. Several columns of light streamed in, each one capturing glimmering particles of dust, but despite the brilliant pillars of light the room was quite dark. Sparsely decorated, the room contained a simple, wood framed bed, a shelf lined with old tomes, and a wide washbasin. In the room’s center, lying half-in, and half-out of the light, was a solitary, kneeling figure.
“Father Pallum,” Tanea said tentatively.
“What is so urgent that you would interrupt my reflection time, my child?” the elder priest said quietly. He didn’t look up, or move. He looked like a dark, motionless statue.
Tanea walked into the room, until she stood only paces from Father Pallum. She tried to swallow, but a large, hard lump had formed in her throat.
“There is,” she started, and her voice broke. “There is a matter…an urgent one, which I need to speak with you about.”
With a soft groan, and the clicking of aged-knees, Father Pallum rose. He straightened his robes, and walked over to the shelf along the wall. He knelt with a grunt, and rifled through a small chest.
“Important things should never be discussed in the dark,” the older man said, as a bright light flared.
Father Pallum lit several candles, letting the small tinder stick burn down to his fingers, before lifting it to his lips and blowing it out. With a small intake of breath he turned, a small, crooked smile cresting his ancient, weathered face.
“Now, what is it that we need to discuss?” He grunted, settling his weight back down upon the simple bench next to the wall.
Tanea took a few steps closer, suddenly feeling very exposed in the warm candle light. She took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and set her feet.
“Something has happened. When I was tending a soldier, after the first attack, I felt something strange, something not normal during the healing touch,” Tanea forged forward, before she could second-guess her decision. Father Pallum cupped his chin in his hands, and let his dark eyes slide towards the ground.
“Strange? Were you not able to tend to this…individual? Did your healing touch fail?” Father Pallum pressed quietly.
“Well, yes…I mean no. I could help him. I took away some of his pain, but I treated him later, here, in the Chapterhouse, to heal what I could not before.”
“Slow down, my child. A healer’s touch is not absolute. We cannot take away all pain. We cannot heal all wounds, those of the flesh, or those of the spirit. You’re so very young and still have many winter thaws left before you reach your full potential as a healer,” Father Pallum offered, cutting her off.
“It’s not that. There was something deeper, something within the touch. It filled me with warmth and light…I felt Mani, Father, in a way I have never experienced before,” Tanea explained, and Father Pallum listened intently. “When it was all over, our hearts…well, they beat as one.”
As Tanea finished, Father Pallum sat up, the wrinkled skin around his eyes growing very tight.
“Wait, my child. What did you say? Your hearts…”
“They beat together, as if they are one and the same,” Tanea said hurriedly, finishing the older man’s sentence.
Father Pallum’s eyes went wide, and he was suddenly standing. He pulled at a thread sticking out of his sleeve, pacing for a few labored moments. He didn’t make eye contact with Tanea, and part of her was glad of it.
“What has happened since this time?” Father Pallum asked, but before Tanea could answer, he continued, unbidden. “Nothing, I imagine, nothing. It is unlikely. It is improbable.”
Tanea watched the older man sheepishly…the truth perched like a silent bird on her tongue. Her elder paced so fervently now that he made the candle flames flicker to and fro. He stopped and looked at her, and then dropped his gaze to the floor, and resumed pacing.
“You say this started when you were applying your healing touch. That you felt a deeper than normal connection, and that, even now, your hearts beat in tandem?” Father Pallum asked, but Tanea was unsure if he was asking her, or simply working over what she had already told him, out loud.
“Is it as they say? The joining of souls in the ‘Divine Bond’, Mani’s blessed gift upon the devout?” Tanea asked, watching the older man carefully.
“The ‘Jo’dane’?! None alive have ever seen it firsthand. For all we know, it is just another story, a bedtime tale told to young clerics and priests. There is no sense wrapping your head up in such stories, it will only muddle you, and distract you from your duties. Better that you return to your prayers and forget it ever happened,” Father Pallum said with quiet finality.
Tanea studied the old man’s face for a moment. She searched for the words to respond, but felt the resolve that had driven her thus far, dissipate. Quietly Tanea clasped her hands, and turned, thinking to leave, but as her feet started to move, a deep and profound weariness stabbed into her chest. “Julian!” she gasped, and dropped to a knee. She felt his fear and pain wash up inside, galloping into her veins upon a tide of horrible darkness.
“Tanea!” Father Pallum gasped, and lunged for her as she wobbled and almost fell. She felt the old man’s hands clamp around her arms. The moment their skin made contact something happened. It bit at her skin, and flashed hot, then immediately cold. Her heart, bolstered by the tandem beat of Julian’s, accelerated in a crescendo.
Tanea looked up into Father Pallum’s face. His skin, pale and wrinkled from his countless winter thaws away from the sun, sagged. The old man held her with surprising strength. She looked into his crystal, blue eyes, and knew that he felt it too.
Father Pallum pulled her up. His grip grew tighter around her arms, until his hands started to shake. He was so close that she could smell the sage and hemp smoke wafting off of his robes.
He spoke after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “I…I feel it. Like a glorious light, warming you from the inside. So, it is true…it has to be true. The Jo’dane! You are blessed.”
Tanea nodded, and exhaled slowly as the old man finally released his grip of her arms. She retreated back a step as Father Pallum turned on the spot and strode away. She rubbed the tender spots on her arms, where the skin still showed the impression left by his grip. The sensation lingered, even after the man had walked away.
It was not
the warmth she had become accustomed to since her first contact with Julian. It unsettled her, yet she could not immediately determine why. The priest turned toward her, his hand absently pinching the skin on the end of his chin, and then he nodded, as if he had just won a silent debate with someone unseen.
“This is a revelation, Tanea, a revelation. There is something I must show you. It is an ancient tome. It holds knowledge that might provide us the answers…to your situation,” he said calmly. He then swept passed her, “Follow me,” he added without turning.
Father Pallum swept out into the Antechamber, and stopped only to swing his door closed, and locked it using a heavy iron key he fished out of his robes. He led her down the hall at a healthy clip. Tanea had to bounce along behind him, breaking into a jog just to keep up.
They turned a corner and Tanea had to jump to the side to keep from tripping over someone working on their hands and knees. She recognized the simple brown robes of the young man she had met in the hall before. He looked up as she passed, pausing only slightly as he worked to clean the smooth stone.
Father Pallum led Tanea out into the sanctuary, and pushed through a heavily banded door, nestled next to an enormous tapestry of red linen and gold thread. Tanea stepped into a dark hallway lit only by a series of small windows perched up against the ceiling.
“I have never been back here,” she said quietly, taking in the dark stretch of barren passageway. A thick coating of dust lay upon the floor, and massive, stringing bands of cobwebs hung overhead.
“Most your age wouldn’t, not since the Council’s first edict. I admit, I was a younger man the last time I used this passageway,” Father Pallum offered with a small chuckle.
“Edict?”
“Yes…one of the Council’s first decrees after ousting the King was to seal the Chapter’s libraries. We barred the doors on their orders, and have not opened them since.”
Tanea followed the priest down the passage. One glance to the ground told her that someone else had walked down this passage recently. Several pairs of prints had already disturbed the thick layer of dust.
