Before the Crow

by Aaron Bunce

  Tanea leaned back against the wall, her hand instinctually coming to rest over her heart.

  “Where are you, Julian?” she whispered, and closed her eyes. Her heart beat strong and fast, but after a moment, it slowed. She focused on the soft, steady beat accompanying it.

  If you can’t tell me, show me… guide me, she thought, trying to make sense of the strange connection. Then it struck her. The connection was forged when she used her healing touch on him. Perhaps, if she tapped into that same energy, she could replicate it somehow, or strengthen the bond. Just a glimpse, show me where to start looking! She thought.

  Closing her eyes, Tanea focused on the opening of her prayer. “White Lady, hear my plea,” she said, a warmth filling her almost instantly.

  “Hey, what are you doing? Here put this on,” El’bryliz said, appearing suddenly through the door.

  Tanea jumped, taken off guard by his sudden appearance, but collecting herself quickly. She accepted the heavy brown robe and pulled it over her head. It smelled of musty wool and dust.

  “It probably smells. Sorry for that. I nicked it from Arteso. He doesn’t bathe very often.”

  “It’s alright,” Tanea said. She took a deep breath, trying to master the fluttering in her chest. She couldn’t immediately tell if it was because she was scared, or something was happening to Julian. She hoped it was just her nerves.

  “Pull the hood down. Fold your hands into the sleeves, and walk slowly. No one will notice. Trust me, I know,” El’bryliz said, reaching up and pulling the massive hood over his head. Tanea did the same and followed him out into the hall.

  The corridor was empty, but she heard voices before they turned the corner. A group of clerics walked ahead of them, their heads pulled together in quiet conversation.

  Tanea lowered her head, keeping her gaze on her feet and the path before them. Don’t let them see your face, she thought. They passed the clerics without a word and walked out into the sanctuary.

  Tanea lifted the heavy cowl and braved a glance. The massive chamber was strangely empty. There was no line of pilgrims waiting to pay homage to the statue, and stranger yet, there was no one waiting to be seen by a healer. Several prefect minors walked amongst the columns, discarding spent candles and replacing them with fresh ones from leather satchels.

  Tanea felt a squirming start in her belly, like butterflies had been set loose. In all her winter thaws at the Chapterhouse, she had never seen it so empty.

  They passed the statue and approached the front door. The stool was empty, the door attendant now oddly vacant. El’bryliz stepped before her, pulled the door mechanism and pushed.

  “Damn! It’s stuck. It won’t open,” he said without turning.

  The fluttering in Tanea’s belly grew stronger, and a crawling sensation worked its way up her back. Her chest tightened and she fought the urge to turn and run.

  “Hey, you there!” someone called out behind them.

  El’bryliz turned, moving forward and positioning himself between Tanea and the person walking their way. “Why is the door locked?” he asked.

  “Haven’t you heard? The elder priests have sealed the Chapterhouse. They have declared that no one will leave. They say they have an announcement, something of great importance. We are all to meet in the dining hall.”

  “Thank you, we will head there at once,” El’bryliz said.

  Tanea edged sideways, catching a glimpse of brown, leather shoes and the bottom of a cleric’s tunic. She didn’t dare look up.

  “Appreciations. Please, pass along the news if you come across anyone else. They are very adamant that everyone attend.”

  The cleric walked away, the padding of their shoes barely perceptible over the hammering of her heart.

  “Let’s go,” El’bryliz said, tugging her forward.

  “Wait, you don’t mean to…” she hissed, her throat clenching.

  “I don’t…well, let me think,” he whispered back.

  They walked slowly out of the sanctuary, joining several groups coming down from the opposite hall. They fell into step with a group of clerics. Tanea listened to their hushed conversation.

  “What is happening?” a spindly-legged young man asked.

  “I said I don’t know! That hasn’t changed since you asked me a few moments ago,” a young woman snapped back. Tanea recognized her from her impatient, nasally voice.

  Piper, she thought, frowning. She wasn’t pleasant at the best of times, and worse, she regularly reported misdeeds to the priests. More than a few clerics had been punished on her account.

  Tanea sunk back, putting as much distance between her and the group as she could. El’bryliz grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off to the side. He kicked over a bucket of water that sat just inside a doorway.

  Tanea stood there for a moment, confused, until he looked up.

  “The mop!” he whispered.

  Tanea jumped and hastily grabbed the worn, wooden handle. She hunched over and slapped the mop back and forth, as El’bryliz dropped to his knees, mopping up the spilled water with a rag.

  The crowd of people walked on by, affording them only an occasional and uninterested glance. She played the part until the hallway quieted and El’bryliz stuck his head out, peering in both directions.

  “I know another way, but we need to be quick, and quiet,” he said, motioning her to follow.

  Tanea broke out in a run, her cowl falling off of her head. El’bryliz was quick, and she struggled to keep up. He ducked around a corner, the passageway beyond bathed in rich color from the stained glass windows. He turned left, then right, before unlocking a door with a key from his pocket and disappearing into the gloom of the stairwell.

  She followed him down, her braids bouncing wildly about her face. They stepped down into the cellar. Stringers of garlic and other cured foods hung from the ceiling. Racks lined both walls, each shelf burden by sacks or crates. She passed a closet on her right, its wall lined with mops, brooms, and an assortment of tools.

  “I’ve never been down here,” Tanea hissed.

  “You wouldn’t,” El’bryliz replied over his shoulder, “only servants and kitchen staff are allowed. The priests would lead everyone to believe it doesn’t exist. For the same reasons they insist we complete most of our duties at night, or while everyone is in meditation. The Chapterhouse cleans itself, the candles never burn out, and the food appears out of thin air. The magic they are trying to sell here is false. It pales in comparison to what you all really do, and what you could be.”

  “What we could be?” Tanea asked.

  El’bryliz chuckled quietly as he unlocked another door and waited for her to follow, before locking it again behind him. “People see me, but they only see what they want to, an Ishmandi boy. A servant. To them, I will never be anything else. Just like you. The priests fear what you could become, and what that would mean for their religion, and their place in the world.”

  “The Bond?” Tanea asked.

  El’bryliz nodded. “Even with all of their texts and scrolls, they don’t know what it really means. Only that it is something significant. Perhaps it will bring about change, or knowledge, or an appearance by Mani herself. They fear the possibilities, and are willing to kill to ensure it is never revealed outside the church.”

  Tanea nodded, her body feeling suddenly very heavy. The implications of it all felt enormous. Well beyond anything she felt prepared to handle.

  “It must be a horrible burden. The idea of it, but don’t worry yourself with it now. My employer has knowledge, found in texts even the priests don’t have. Let’s tackle one ravine at a time. First, get you out of this building. Second, the city, and then I will take you to see her,” he said.

  “Her?” she asked, but shook her head and said, “You’re right. First thing’s first.”

  “Beyond this door is the cold room. They store meat and other spoilable foods in there. There is a stair beyond that that leads directly to the kitchen, and beyond tha
t, a door to the Chapterhouse garden. We will have to scale a rock wall, but it isn’t too terribly tall. I will help you.”

  “Thank you, El’bryliz. For everything!” Tanea said, gratefully. Without him, she would be dead.

  “Please, call me El, and thank me when I’ve gotten you out of here,” he said, his forehead and dark eyebrows wrinkling as he smiled.

  Tanea nodded, taking a deep breath and adjusting her robe. It did smell horrible, but she couldn’t imagine braving the mountain wind in only her cotton shirt and tunic.

  The door opened and she followed El’bryliz through. It was dark, and very cold. The aromas of fish, and damp stone hung heavily in the air. She clung to the back of his robe, but stumbled several times as her shoes snagged on a table leg, or crate.

  “Watch the birds!”

  Tanea, confused, raised her head to speak, but caught a face full of feathers as a partridge bounced off of her head. Birds…got it, she thought, embarrassed.

  They navigated the rest of the dark room, pausing only to open the heavy door. The air, although still chilly, felt blessedly warm in the stairwell. She climbed the stairs slowly, the smell of fish and damp clinging to her already pungent robe.

  El’bryliz led her through a half-door and into the kitchens. It wasn’t entirely abandoned as she had hoped.

  “Oi! Boy! What you doin’ skulkin’ around?” A tall, boney kitchen maid yelled, her hands entwined in a massive mound of dough.

  “Hardena told me to run out and fetch some eggs from the chicken coup. Be just a moment,” El’bryliz yelled back, never stopping.

  “An’ who is she? Of all the. Nonsense! Only one here. Making bread, then what? Am I to finish the roast and peel the potatoes too…” the salty maid groused, manhandling the dough into a complicated braid. “Don’t understand it. Not one bit. Need a helper to fetch eggs now, heh? And a lady friend at that! Of all the…more work. Priests coming through here, fetching folks, pulling them all away. But nope, I’m still here. Piss and shit!”

  “Come on. Ignore Agatha, she’s always like that.”

  Tanea followed him back through the kitchen, the red-faced kitchen maid continuing her rant. It made her feel uneasy at the very least. What if the woman called attention to them? That was the last thing they needed.

  El’bryliz led Tanea past the ovens, the air going from warm to stifling in just a few short paces. She smelled baking bread, mincemeat, and roasting meat. A narrow hall stretched beyond the ovens, both sides of the passageway lined with stoppered barrels.

  “It’s just beyond the garden. Go quickly!” he said, flipping the latch on the door and pushing it open.

  Tanea followed El’bryliz into the winter air, the starchy breeze biting her hands and making her eyes water. He was barely free of the door when something knocked him aside. Tanea cried out, lurching forward as the two figures rolled to the ground.

  “Get off of me,” El’bryliz yelled.

  Silver flashed, a familiar dagger glinting in the sunlight. She recognized it, the withered hand clutching it, but mostly, Father Pallum’s wrinkled face as the wind blew his hood down.

  Tanea threw herself onto the old priest’s back, wrapping her left arm around his neck and grasping for the dagger with her right. Father Pallum tried to drive the dagger down and into El’bryliz’s chest, but Tanea wrapped her arm under his armpit, and held on for dear life.

  “No! Stop…stop! I won’t let…you…hurt…him,” she grunted as the older man twisted and flexed, trying to throw her clear.

  Father Pallum wrenched violently and then back in the opposite direction. She saw his elbow swing and then felt her head knocked back. Tanea felt the cold snow all around her and tasted blood in her mouth, but she didn’t immediately understand why.

  A voice screamed out in her head, blasting through the cobwebs marring her thoughts. It could have been Julian, or Mani herself, she didn’t rightly know, but it grounded her. She stood, dark blood falling in heavy droplets and staining the white snow.

  “Piss and shit! What’s all the racket?” Agatha said, appearing in the doorway behind her.

  Tanea spun, catching sight of Father Pallum and El’bryliz grappling, the shiny dagger flashing dangerously, but then came to rest on the flour coated kitchen utensil in the maid’s hand.

  Lurching forward, Tanea grabbed the rolling pin, not pausing to ask for permission. The tall, slender woman’s face screwed up in a snarl, and came forward, slapping the air and kicking snow angrily.

  El’bryliz cried out as Tanea swung around. She jumped forward, the heavy rolling pin squirming in her snow-covered hands. She reared back and swung, but the wood shifted again and she almost lost her grip entirely. The pin struck the ground in front of the priest.

  She pulled the makeshift weapon back, ready for another go as Father Pallum turned, his face contorted, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging freakishly. The look on his face was startling.

  “You can’t…” he said, but Tanea grunted, swinging the rolling pin across, striking the old man between the shoulder blades.

  “Ohhh,” Father Pallum growled, sprawling face first into the snow.

  El’bryliz rolled away as the aged priest thrashed, driving the dagger into the snow again and again. He spun toward Tanea, growling madly, froth collecting in the corners of his mouth.

  “Run!” she yelled, swinging the rolling pin as hard as she could.

  The makeshift club connected with the old man’s arm with a crack and knocked him sideways into the snow. Tanea’s legs carried her forward, her shoes slipping and sliding in the powdery snow. El’bryliz’s robe flapped wildly in the wind before her as he cut between empty tomato cages and raised planter beds.

  She ran as fast as she could, her arms pumping wildly beside her. The rolling pin was gone. She didn’t even remember dropping it.

  El’bryliz skidded to a stop before the rock wall enclosing the garden and waved at her frantically. He crouched over, preparing to boost her up, his hands held down around his knees.

  Tanea’s lungs burned as she struggled in the slippery snow. Her lungs screamed and she struggled for breath, but she refused to stop.

  “Up!” El’bryliz yelled.

  She kicked her foot up into his hands and scrambled against the wall as he propelled her up. Tanea’s hands, cold and numb from the snow, scrabbled over the smooth stones as she grasped for the top lip.

  Reach it, just a little…she begged silently, her right foot finding purchase on a jutting stone. She pushed up, the muscles knotting in her leg, just as her fingers curled around the top edge.

  She found a foothold with her left and heaved herself up again. She managed to get her whole arm over, and then her right leg.

  “Hurry…take my hand!” Tanea gasped, reaching down the wall.

  El’bryliz scrabbled up the wall behind her, his body pressed tightly against the stone as he expertly fished for handholds and leverage. A black blur appeared out of the garden, the priest staggering and slipping in the snow.

  “Come on! Faster! He’s coming, please hurry!” Tanea begged, letting her weight shift so she could stretch further down the wall.

  El’bryliz slipped, his foot sliding off a rock, but he caught his fall and reached up. Their fingertips brushed against each other. Tanea shifted even more, her legs protesting as she fought to straddle the cold stone. Her weight tipped dangerously, but she refused to let go.

  His hand pressed a bit higher and their fingers locked. Tanea pulled as hard as she could, but her perch on the wall afforded her almost no leverage.

  “I got you,” she said, but his eyes went wide, and he jerked back. The priest was below them, pulling on the young man’s robes.

  Their fingers started to pull apart. Tanea struggled, walking her numb fingers forward, trying to prize a stronger grip on the young man’s hand.

  “Go…just, go!” he gasped.

  “No!” Tanea screamed as their hands broke apart.

  She saw him fall bac
k, Father Pallum’s dark figure falling over him as she slid over the other side of the wall.

  * * * *

  El’bryliz hit the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. A shadow fell over him, but he could just see Tanea slide over the wall and disappear.

  He could hardly believe it. I did it!

  The priest wrestled El’bryliz up from the ground and pushed his back into the wall.

  “Where is she going?” Father Pallum snarled, his twisted hand digging into El’bryliz’s sternum.

  He choked and sputtered, finally managing to pull some air into his lungs. Father Pallum dug his fingernails into El’bryliz’s cheeks and maneuvered his gaze so they could lock eyes.

  Father Pallum pressed the dagger tip against El’bryliz’s belly. “Where is the girl going? Where did you send her?”

  “She’s gone. Safe from you, murderer,” El’bryliz said, his face cracking in a nervous smile.

  The dagger pushed forward but stopped, the elderly priest’s eyebrows rising suddenly. “Walk!”

  El’bryliz stumbled away from the wall, the priest taking a fistful of the back of his robe. He pushed him forward, back towards the garden and the Chapterhouse.

  “You’re going to tell me where she is going, or I am going to make you bleed!” Father Pallum hissed threateningly.

  El’bryliz shook his head, which elicited a kick to his rear end. The hard part of his assignment was over, find the Blessed One, the Jo’dane, and escape the Chapterhouse before she disappeared, like the others.

  “No one is going to miss you. They’ll never even notice you’re gone. Think about that.”

  “You can’t hurt her, murderer. She is free of you! Mani’s promise can be fulfilled now!” El’bryliz said, arching his neck to look back at the old man.

  Father Pallum stopped and smiled. It was a horrible look on the old man’s face, like he was wearing a mask that couldn’t quite conceal the wickedness inside.

  “No, boy. There is so much you don’t understand. Like how many of us there really are. We will find her, and we will make it right once again,” Father Pallum said quietly, and then pushed El’bryliz with surprising force.