by Drew Wagar
‘Who are you and why are you here? No lies!’ she snapped.
If the stories are true, she’ll sense any deception …
Ioric looked up at the girl.
‘I’m a traveller from Viresia,’ Ioric said, sparing a forlorn look at the muddy pool. ‘I’m on a quest.’
Ioric saw the girl’s eyes narrow. ‘A quest? What quest?’
‘I seek a girl, a guardian’s charge,’ Ioric continued, trying to keep his voice level and reassuring.
The girl reacted instantly. Ioric saw the bowstring being drawn backwards in preparedness to fire.
‘You were with them?’ the girl screeched. ‘Those who burnt the hall?’
‘Wait.’ Ioric put a tone of command into his voice as he made eye contact with her. The girl reacted as he’d hoped, she was used to discipline. It gave her pause and she stopped in surprise.
‘I mean you no harm,’ he continued, making sure he held her gaze. ‘I hoped to find you in time, but I was too late. I have followed you, true enough. But only to safeguard you from those who would do you harm, these same soldiers who would have killed me.’
The girl scrutinised him carefully for a moment. Ioric felt an odd sense of pressure around his head as she did so.
Is she …?
‘Why should I trust you?’ she demanded, staring back at him with equal intensity. Ioric could see her arms were tiring, trying to maintain the tension of the bow.
‘You can see I am a victim as much as you,’ Ioric replied. ‘Or did you think this was a friendly welcome?’ He gestured to the scattered swords and the two broken bodies.
‘You can still be a liar or a thief or a common criminal,’ the girl retorted.
Ioric tried a winning smile. ‘Yet could a criminal tell you something of your guardian?’
He saw the tip of the arrow drop as the girl gasped.
I truly have found one, after all this time. This changes everything …
‘Or … you’re going to have to kill me, in cold blood, here and now,’ Ioric said, pulling his knees up and throwing his shoulders back so she’d have an easy shot at his chest. ‘Something tells me you’re not a killer.’
For a moment she didn’t move, but then the tip of the arrow wavered again and finally dropped. Ioric let out a sigh of relief.
The girl relaxed enough to lower the bow. The big carn sat down beside her.
‘Who is my guardian?’ she demanded.
Behind them the pool of mud bubbled and stirred. The girl spared a brief, worried glance over her shoulder.
‘I will tell you, but we should leave this place,’ Ioric said. ‘The creature remains …’
‘It’s called a molossc. They’re very dangerous.’
‘So I saw.’
He tried to get to his feet only to find his ankle still wouldn’t support his weight. It was twisted, dislocated by the fall he’d taken when the creature attacked. He tried again, but the pain was too intense. He fell heavily in the mud, cursing.
‘Lie still,’ said a light snappy voice from beside him.
Ioric looked up in surprise. The girl was next to him.
Swift and light of foot too …
‘Your ankle is adrift. I’ll need to set it back. There will be pain,’ she said.
The girl took a firm grip of his ankle. She looked up.
‘Prepare,’ she said.
Ioric nodded briefly. The girl twisted the ankle deftly but sharply. Ioric yelled and bucked against her grip, but she held on tightly, rubbing his ankle in a peculiar way. Ioric could see she had her eyes closed and was murmuring something. Again he felt a slight pressure in his mind. The pain in his ankle subsided abruptly.
He looked at her in wonder.
‘How did you do that?’
She shrugged and stood up, waiting for him. Ioric slowly got to his feet, favouring his foot. It was still delicate, but he could limp effectively. He reached for his sword.
The girl’s knife was instantly in her hand.
Ioric stabbed the sword into the ground and held up his hands in frustration. ‘Peace! Let me explain little one. There is much you do not know. Then, if you are not happy with what I say, you will be free to leave, to pursue whatever course you think is best. I have food, clothes and provisions with me. I will share them. Is that fair?’
Ioric could see the girl’s face twitch at the mention of food and clothes.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, knife still poised in her hand.
‘I am Prince Ioric of Viresia, son of King Marek,’ Ioric said, looking into the girl’s widening brown eyes. ‘These were indeed the King’s guards. As you can see, all is not well with the kingdom.’
The girl looked poised to flee, but she held her ground. Ioric could see she was trembling. Then she crouched low in the mud in front of him, cowed but still wary, the knife clenched in her hand.
Ioric limped forward and gently took hold of her chin, raising her to look at him. She defiantly stared back. Raga growled softly from beside her.
‘I’d know your name, little one,’ Ioric said, quietly.
‘Zoella, your Highness. Of Tarq’s hall.’
‘Tarq’s hall,’ Ioric echoed thoughtfully after the briefest of pauses. ‘No longer, I fear.’
Zoella slowly nodded her head.
‘Come. I spied a stream not far from here. We will make camp, talk and see if we can work a way out of this predicament we find ourselves in.’
Ioric picked up his sword, cleaned it on a tuft of green and then sheathed it back into the scabbard buckled at his belt.
‘Yes?’ he queried. Zoella hadn’t moved.
Zoella slowly put her knife away and nodded. ‘Yes.’
A capital city, tall and grand, built into the cliffs at the end of a valley, basked in the light of Lacaille. In a hall within, a strange tableaux unfolded. High Lords and Ladies, the elite of Scallia took their parts in a sombre masquerade ceremony.
At some pre-arranged and invisible signal a trumpet sounded. Conversation abruptly faded away. Two guards came in first, dressed in the armour of the Scallian army. Behind them, in two rows, came young women and girls.
They were dressed in white loose-fitting robes, almost like sleeping robes. Their heads were bowed and they did not look up as they followed the guards. Two rows of ten.
The twenty …
Two more guards followed at the rear, their boots clumping heavily on the stone floor in marked contrast to the soft leathers worn by the girls.
The people within the hall backed aside to let the entourage pass through, hiding behind their ornate masks, none said a word.
The two foremost guards reached the base of the king’s throne and stopped, stamping their feet and then bowing, before stepping aside. The girls formed themselves into two rows and knelt at his feet. The final pair of guards side-stepped neatly into place with their colleagues.
The king rose, unsteadily, to his feet.
‘As guardian and ruler of this kingdom,’ the King began. ‘It falls to me to keep our lands safe and our borders protected. Long ago, a tithe was promised to Drayden in exchange for peace and tranquillity here in Scallia. That promise was kept, is kept and will always be kept …’
One girl sobbed, but it was quickly stifled.
‘… in rounds past I would have made this tithe myself. Age wearies me and the rounds condemn. In the absence of his brother, this tithe will be taken by my son, Prince Torin.’
A man stepped forward out of the crowd, standing beside the King and then bowing to the assembly.
‘These daughters of Scallia go with my blessing and the wishes of all our people, so to be our guarantee of peace and tranquillity for all time.’
There was no cheering, not even the hum of conversation, just an empty silence punctuated by the occasional scuff of a shoe. Only the rapid breathing and smothered distress of the girls broke the stillness.
CHAPTER TEN
Daine, Capital of Drayden
Round 23
06, Second Pass
‘Here you are miss.’
Kiri stared in astonishment at the servant. ‘This is my room? All of it, just me?’
The servant nodded, ‘If it be pleasing, miss,’ he said, bowing low. ‘It’s a nice view over to the forest.’
A place to myself?
She had expected a bed in the corner of a dormitory at best. Even that would have been an indulgence compared with sleeping huddled in dark corners in the slums of the city streets. She’d stayed in the rooms of healing for a full pass, regaining her strength under the healing skills of the priestesses.
She’d learnt that they specialised in different vocations. Many were warriors, the type she’d often seen outside the temple, others worked in healing or music, some were teachers, others spent their time with ledgers and accounts organising the realm.
Her injuries had mended far faster than she would have believed. The healers employed bindings which held her firmly, and salves made of strange and exotic herbs and spices, some with acrid smells and stinging sensations when they were applied. They gave her food of types she’d never come across before. Simple and plain to start with, but then increasingly more outlandish. Within a few stretches she noticed her muscles returning and her body filling out to match her frame.
They conducted rituals, leading her through exercises of chanting, concentration and meditation, all focussed on helping her to sense her own body and become more conscious of it. At the end of the pass, only the fading welts of cuts remained and she was stronger and fitter than she’d ever been.
Kiri walked further in. It wasn’t large, but there were actually two rooms. First was a bedroom with a bed against one wall, a small basin cut into the stone and a curious contraption consisting of a series of wooden flaps operated by two ropes. She was confused by it until the servant pulled on one rope and a stream of water flooded out of the ceiling. It was a shower, the water heated by the warmth of Lacaille.
To be clean and to always be able to stay that way, how wonderful!
She caught the scent of a sweet-smelling candle and the tang of aroma from a bunch of flowers in a vase. She brushed her hands against a small wooden table, feeling the smoothly polished surface glide under her fingertips. On top some fruit had been left, along with clothes, towels and a mix of utensils including a brush. Through an arch was a second room with a large glass door on one side. There was a desk, chair and a bookshelf, with ink, quills, more candles and parchment waiting patiently on the top. Kiri spun around in delight, smiling to herself.
Like a priestess.
A doorway led out to a small landing outside her room, surrounded by a rail. Outside was another chair, but Kiri ignored it, running straight to the railing. The landing was on the east side of the cloister, looking out over the temple and the city towards the forest. It was a beautiful day, with a gentle breeze, warm across her skin. Kiri went back inside.
A place to be alone without being disturbed by anyone.
Slowly she wandered around the room, touching the bed, the walls and then gazing out of the window, hardly able to believe she was actually here. She’d often gazed up at the temple from afar and the cloisters that surrounded it, with no thought that she might end up there.
‘Are things to your liking, miss?’ the servant queried, patiently.
‘What?’ Kiri replied. She’d forgotten the servant was there. ‘Yes, everything is fine.’
‘The practice will start at the eighth chime, miss,’ the servant added. ‘Sure to be a wonder with so many, if you pardon my presumption.’
‘The practice?’
‘Yes miss.’
‘And what’s that?’
The servant seemed bemused. He bowed almost every other word. Kiri noticed that he wouldn’t hold her eye contact at all.
Kiri glowered at him. ‘No one tells me anything.’
The servant backed up a step at her sharp tone. ‘Begging your pardon, miss.’ He spoke rapidly, stuttering over the words. ‘But it’s the practice … It’s a rehearsal for the choosing ceremony … when the high-priestess chooses which candids she wants to be acolytes.’
‘The high-priestess? Nerina?’
The servant shook his head. ‘No, miss. Launa …’
‘What happens in the choosing then?’ Kiri demanded.
‘There is a big celebration in the temple,’ the servant replied. ‘There is a battle too.’
A battle?
The servant stopped at the look on Kiri’s face.
‘It’s not really a battle, just pretend. You have your kai, yes?’
Kiri shook her head, the servant’s expression dropped in surprise.
‘A what?’
‘You’ve never used a kai?’
Kiri glared back, exasperated. ‘No, I’ve never used a kai! What’s a kai?’
‘It’s the first weapon of the priestess,’ the servant answered, retreating against the wall. ‘A staff, ten hands long, furler wood for practice, metal when you become a priestess. You must have seen them. They’ll give you one for the practice. All the priestesses learn to use one.’
Kiri did recall some of the priestesses holding staffs, but hadn’t made the connection. The guards had them too …
Another thing I don’t know!
‘And then what?’ Kiri insisted. She could tell she was scaring the servant, but she didn’t care. The servant continued to gabber.
‘The candids from all the regions are lined up and the high priestess inspects them. She selects whom she wants to train. Sometimes all of them are picked, sometimes none. Usually there are some at least.’
‘And how does she pick? Why do some get chosen and others not?’
The servant shook her head. ‘I don’t know, miss.’
‘What happens to the ones who aren’t chosen?’ Kiri pressed.
The servant shook his head again, he was on the verge of tears. ‘I don’t know that either, miss. I’m sorry …’
‘You don’t know much, do you?’ Kiri snapped. She saw the servant flinch back and look away.
Why didn’t Nerina or Charis tell me about all this?
Kiri turned her attention back to the servant. He was shorter than her, rotund, with a decidedly crumpled expression on his face. His hair was cropped short on his head with the exception of a braid which ran down his right side to shoulder length.
‘Listen, just tell me what you know,’ Kiri began, making an effort to soften her voice. ‘How many of these … these candids are there?’
The servant brightened immediately, ‘Oh there are dozens. They come from all across Drayden and the surrounding lands. We have five from Daine this time, oh and you of course.’
‘Do you know any of the others?’
‘I wouldn’t be so forward as to say I knew them, miss. I’ve met our candids here in the cloisters. We’ll see the others at the eighth chime.’
‘Tell me about the other five here,’ Kiri said. ‘Their names. The ones you know. I’m new here you see …’
‘I know miss, quite the talk you are …’ The servant looked suddenly mortified. ‘Oh please, I’m sorry. My mouth gabbers away in such a frightful way! Don’t tell on me, you won’t will you? Charis will have my hide …’
‘What’s your name?’ Kiri asked.
‘Pootle, miss.’
‘Pootle?’ Kiri blinked in surprise, looking him over again. He was dressed in a nondescript brown tunic that fell to his knees, finished off with a pair of rough sandals.
‘Pootle Morgrave, miss. If it be pleasing.’
‘I’ll be pleased if you tell me what people are saying, I won’t tell on you. Fair?’
‘Oh miss, I shouldn’t …’
She glared at him
‘Miss, I mustn’t …’
‘But you will,’ Kiri said, her eyes narrowing, ‘That’s an order.’
Pootle nodded briefly.
‘I didn’t hear much,’ he said, his voice quick and nervous. ‘Just the others talking. They’v
e been studying for many passes now, preparing themselves for the choosing and the casting. They didn’t seem too happy about you joining them, saying it was only the high-born. Charis told them to mind their thoughts and words, saying she had ordained it and so it was. That’s the truth of it, isn’t it?’
Kiri nodded.
The other candids have been training for ages? How am I supposed to keep up with them? I can’t use this kai of theirs. I can’t even read. A girl from the slums in their high society? No wonder they aren’t happy. Why would the high priestess choose me above them? This is foolish …
‘Names,’ Kiri managed to say. ‘Tell me their names.’
‘There’s five like I said,’ Pootle bubbled. ‘Joyce and Jessie. Twins. Scholars in the main I think, always carrying books around at any rate. Snooty, if you’ll forgive me for saying. They’ll be administrators that’s for sure. Then there’s Tasha and Sahria. Tasha’s silent for the most part, tall, strong, she’s a warrior and no mistake! Sahria now, she’s a real beauty, but I hear tell she’s not so clever, definitely a birther. Don’t tell anyone I said that!’
‘You said five,’ Kiri said. ‘That’s only four.’
Pootle looked cowed. ‘There’s Rihanna. You can’t miss her. She is tall and strong with bright red hair. Got the strongest gift, so they say. She’s Nerina’s favourite, another warrior for sure. Folks say she could be a high priestess. That’s what her mother wants anyway.’
She’s Nerina’s favourite?
‘Her … her mother?’ Kiri managed to stutter, her thoughts awhirl.
‘You must have seen her. Priestess Merrin?’
Kiri recalled the double-chinned woman with the sharp voice who had been talking to Charis, the look of disapproval on her face when she’d first met Kiri and the smug satisfaction that had preceded the Quisition.
Priestess Merrin! She wanted me to be found guilty and killed. And now Merrin’s daughter is a candid? This just gets better.
‘And what are they saying about me?’ Kiri demanded.
‘They want to know what you did to persuade Nerina to bring you in as a candid, it’s never happened before. Some say you killed Handella’s boy. Did you?’
‘We fought, he slipped and fell. It wasn’t my fault. What else?’
