by Trevol Swift
The spinning hoops made Jhee dizzy. She stilled them by reaching out, then flopped back down on the bed. “I have asked you.”
Mr. Zane sat beside her feet. “Justicar, may I talk candidly to you?”
“By the Makers, it’s time more did.”
“I imagine your position has you hear a great many shocking things?”
“On occasion.”
“I couldn’t help but notice your household arrangement. Mr. Anshu has drawn more attention than Hethyr’s. I have found that I am fond of him as well, a fondness I believe he returns. An awkward situation has developed between Hethyr, Anshu, and myself. The fondness between Anshu and I has drawn Hethyr’s notice to the detriment of her behavior.”
“Oh.” Jhee rubbed her hands against her thighs to give herself a moment to think about this new dimension.
“Hethyr is not the first of my admirers. They all, however, have been women. This affection for Anshu has upended me. I suppose for branch Drakists who’ll take no mortal lovers of a different gender, there is no scandal. Although for the celibates here who take no mortal companionship at all, both paths make a widow of the life mate the Path Maker intended for me. I had never supposed a situation like this would arise outside of a household.”
Jhee cleared her throat. Of all those to consult in affairs of the heart, Mr. Zane had chosen the poorest of experts. She should have excused herself and made an instant bid to leave. Yet, he had sought her counsel, and she owed him some answer. “Give it some time, and perhaps the feelings will pass. A string of admirers suggests dissatisfaction with each. Mr. Anshu presents an element of mystery and the unknown.”
“You suggest perhaps my affection stems from routine and a desire for something new.” Mr. Zane placed a hand on Jhee’s forearm. He glanced down as he brushed her robes then up again at her. “Perhaps the attentions of a more established, smarter woman might snap me out of it.”
And wealthier. Jhee had no doubt which trait of hers interested him most. “Even if the affection lingers, you must find your own path.”
“You wouldn’t find it a hindrance to my obtaining a proper place in a household. Say, yours, for instance.”
Jhee removed Mr. Zane’s hand from her robes and placed it demurely with his other. “I have no doubt of your resourcefulness to find a situation befitting whatever path your preferences dictate. My advice, being something of a traditionalist, would be wholly traditional and not as befitting the free-spirited nature to which you are accustomed. These cannot be matched to the mutual bonds within a household which are born of deep affection and a commitment to child-rearing. However, the law has minimal judgment to render on the mutual affections of informed adults. Now if I may, might you point me in the direction of Mr. Anshu.”
Jhee hoped she had made seeking a placement with her sound suitably dull and proper.
Mr. Zane smirked and squared his shoulders at Jhee’s uncomfortable reaction. “I thank you for your most learned counsel. Second door down. I would prefer it he not know what I confided.”
“You can count on my discretion, young sir.”
Jhee removed her head wrap and tucked it under her arm. She owed her continued health this evening to the young and love-struck. They had proved her the foolish one many times for discounting them. She had a duty to her constituency. One she had neglected too long. This made her all too cognizant of the trade-offs Mirrei and Kanto made to join such a household as hers.
Jhee had to do better by all those who depended on her, from the forgotten young men to the members of her household. She would uncover whatever unscrupulous behavior was going on at this abbey. She would deliver Mirrei and Kanto to the capital where they can reach their full potential and spread their wings and fly. Then she and Shep would return to licking their wounds together.
She made haste to the hall where she enacted a mild healing on her head injuries.
The Animal Handler
Jhee scanned her surroundings and kept constant watch about her as she went to Mr. Anshu’s room. Due to the abbey’s odd acoustics, every drip and scrape echoed and magnified, assaulting her hearing from every angle. She kept her hand on the knife up her sleeve. Some fiend had caught her unawares once. There would not be a second time.
No light came from Mr. Anshu’s door. She knocked anyway. Her patience was thin, and she meant to have answers from someone, anyone tonight. “Mr. Anshu, this is the Justicar. I wish to speak with you.”
Shuffling came from within followed by an unintelligible moan or grunt. Jhee took that as leave to enter. The room smelled of animal musk. The bed lay empty and undisturbed.
A shadow rose beside her. She turned, glow orb and knife at the ready. Pale eyes peered out from a dark corner. Too pale to be folk. Itzil, the imposing bull hound from the feast performance, crept forward with a low growl. The buckles on her harness clanked on every motion.
She reached for the door. Itzil raised up on her haunches and loomed over her. Its bulk filled the entire space between her and the door. She growled in warning. A rudimentary attempt to soothsay it with Earth also elicited a warning bark. She closed her eyes and focused on projecting a calm voice.
“Easy, Itzil. Easy.” Her voice came out calm and disappointingly normal, without a trace of reverb. She tried again. Pain shot down her spine. She saw stars. The blow she took must have activated the anti-tampering protocols.
Jhee hazarded a glance behind her. A driftwood wardrobe stood open. Discretion being the better part of valor, she ducked inside. Through the sword-shaped openings carved in the doors, she watched Itzil. She returned to all fours. She curled up in front of the wardrobe doors and blocked Jhee in.
Any movement she made, the bull hound barked or snarled. The moment she squatted down, Itzil became quiescent.
She must have drifted off to sleep because she awoke to the sound of jingling bells. She peered through the wardrobe openings.
Mr. Anshu entered the room. He jingled the bells at Itzil who sat up and panted. “Good girl.”
Mr. Anshu took a seat at the dressing table and turned on the lamp. He took up the nearby towel and wiped down his face and muzzle. He removed his hairpiece and placed it on a wig stand. He unbuckled the straps on his armor to remove his cuirass and pauldrons. He scratched his scalp then dug at his golden, sparkling esca. Part of it came off in his fingers. Jhee fought back the bile rising in her throat.
Itzil growled at her movement. Mr. Anshu grabbed a knife and faced the wardrobe. No blood or fluids dripped from the esca. It was intact. Except now it showed its actual shape, the divoted star of a woman. Mr. Anshu appeared not to be a mister.
“Pardon me... ma’am.”
“Who’s that?”
“The justicar. I’d appreciate it if you called off your companion.”
“Itzil, go.”
The bull hound bounded to its bedding in the far corner. The animal handler opened the wardrobe. Jhee let out her breath. “Makers’ blessings upon you, madam. Or should I still address you as sir?”
“The clothes are the lie, not my body. Please, explain your presence in my wardrobe.”
“It was the safest place I fear from your companion’s wrath. I barely made it with my life.”
“If Itzil meant you true harm, I assure you would not have. She must have liked your smell or was otherwise feeling playful.”
“That was playful?”
“You are still intact, aren’t you?” The animal handler leaned in and sniffed. “Minty. A raw undertone. Do you own pets?”
“A shark dog.”
“Shark dog musk. That must be it. Itzil is very docile with respect to other hounds, especially sharks and—” The animal handler’s eyes brightened. “The man at breakfast. Your husband?”
Jhee nodded then sought to change the subject, “Perhaps I would have done well to bring some shark nip with me.”
“Be lucky you didn’t. Itzil detests shark nip. You still have not explained why you’re here.”
&n
bsp; Jhee pointed at the knife the animal handler still held. “If you would. I have a few questions I wish to ask.”
The animal handler lowered the knife but did not put it away. This close and without all her gear on Jhee again noted the similarity of fur color and ear shape to her glimpse of Mr. Akesheem. “You are some relation to Mr. Pol and his son?”
“I’d pity anyone with that bottom feeder as a father. I am Djet Anshula from Ebbingsisle. Aki is my brother, Djet Akesheem. Mr. Pol is no one’s father least of all ours. Astute guess.”
“The calibrations or alignments are the key. Alignments: You carry yourselves similar. Coloring. Ear shape. The unique shade of your eyes. Calibration: At the performance, also, Akesheem expressed no distress over Itzil’s appearance. Yet, terror at every brush of Ms. Hethyr’s flames.”
Ms. Anshula fondled Itzil’s chin and scratched her chin while she secured her harness to the wall. “My brother’s met Itzil before. You had other questions?”
“First, how did your brother come to be here without you and in the care of one you describe as a bottom feeder?”
“Akesheem, in despair over a matter of the heart, left home. He struck up a friendship with Mr. Pol, who agreed to transport him to the capital and get him proper work papers without our parents’ permission. If not work, then he would find him a wife or other accommodation. I understand his impulse. Our family is poor. Both our leaving provides relief to our family. More for our siblings’ dowry. We could not afford dowries for them to marry.”
“Dowry? Rather than boon exchange?”
“Things are becoming hard in the Outer Reaches.”
Boon exchange was more common among those not well off. Despair over a matter of the heart. Jhee understood that kind of despair all too well, though.
Jhee rubbed her muzzle. Her thoughts went to Kanto and Mirrei. “This disguise?”
“Recruiters came to our isle offering work grants. The work grant was only for men who could already artifice. My parents could only afford teaching for me. My primaries are Earth and Water. A helpful recruiter suggested I disguise myself to participate in the free work exchanges where I could get advanced training with drawing to work on the wall. She got another recruitment bounty. While I assumed one of my other brothers’ identities to support myself during my search.”
“Earth and Water. Hence your rapport with Itzil.”
“That and some early volunteer work with veterans. Itzil and I traveled, moving from work camp to work camp. I hired myself out as a drawer until I joined the troupe. There Itzil could be part of my act. I soon learned my brother had resolved to take vows.”
“You asked the troupe owners to visit because you are of a mind to talk him out of it.”
“If I can. To look after him, if I cannot. There is also the matter of a recruitment fee Mr. Pol paid my family. My parents wanted to make sure they would not have to give back the money if Aki took vows.”
“So many amateur investigators running about, I feel I am redundant. Two by chance. One here for her mother. One here for her brother.”
Ms. Anshula smiled. “The poetess. My brother’s reaction to her has bolstered my hope of dissuading him from celibacy. A fact I just discussed with her.”
“Feh. Celibacy. Does no actual meditation and contemplation take place at this abbey? What of Ms. Hethyr?”
Ms. Anshula snorted. “Hethyr? That brute. You won’t find her here. I have seen Mr. Zane’s ‘love bites.’ It requires much restraint on my part when I am in her presence. Just as well she has kept her distance from me.”
Jhee tucked her hands in her sleeves. Then Ms. Hethyr had an independent desire to visit the abbey.
A knock came at the door. Raigen burst in trailed by Mr. Zane and Bax before Ms. Anshula responded. Itzil perked up.
“Itzil, down.”
Raigen spoke, “Forgive my rudeness. We are looking for the justicar.”
Mr. Zane stopped short at Ms. Anshula’s appearance.
“It appears your dilemma has answered itself, Mr. Zane. So much for your attempts to scandalize me.”
“Pity. I had begun to warm to the idea of something different.”
“Off with you and your pretense of decadence and sophistication. It grows tiresome. Now, what has happened to put you in such a state?”
“Sister Elkanah has accused Sister Serra of heresy and wants to call the Invocation. The whole abbey is in an uproar. She has cited you as a witness.”
“Me? Forge my patience in flames. This woman.”
18 The Accusation
The Unmaker’s Work
When Jhee entered the main hall, the abbess registered a mix of shock and relief at her arrival. Jhee took a position off to the side.
Sister Elkanah held the floor. “Serra is from Verdale where they still practice the blasphemous worship of those such as the Maye King and Maye Queen or their so-called Deep Makers. Here are some of her indecent effigies.”
“Toki dolls. You plant them in the field for a good harvest,” Sister Serra said.
“Profaneness and heathenism.”
“It’s no secret the Maker selection and exclusion process was largely political. I didn’t know what else to do. I went with what I knew. The fertility rituals of my childhood isle. Maker geld and effigies and buried toki shell figures. Yes, I borrowed a few of Sister Elkanah’s texts and researched a few more rituals. I figured what could it hurt. Ceremonies and sacrifices to honor the Maye King and Queen and the Warrior of Pain.”
“Virgin sacrifices?”
“Yes.”
“You see Abbess and Justicar? She admits participation in vile blood rites.”
Sister Serra cleared her throat. “Not that kind of sacrifice.”
The physician suppressed a chuckle.
“Oh,” Jhee said.
“It is the Unmaker’s work,” Sister Elkanah said. “You shall not profane this holy place with such infernal practices. No wonder the abbey has been plagued by death and demonic forces. I call upon the Invocation of Xendatia to cleanse this holy place.”
Everyone gasped. Professed and Prospective alike whispered amongst themselves, even the remaining senior clergy. The physician began to rock back and forth in her chair, shaking her head. Jhee had an accountability chain: audits, review boards, Chief Justicar councils. The Invokers did not. They worked by patronage. Once invited in, the Invokers would not stop.
Pyrmo stood. “Silence. I’m sure, Sister Elkanah, you did not mean that.”
“This is not a laughing matter or a matter for play. You do not invoke the Unraveler on this sacred isle.”
Pyrmo shook her head. “A member has called for the Invocation of Xendatia. I will retire to consider the matter.”
“What is to consider? These fiends invoked the Unmaker on our isle. We must have a cleansing.”
“You are not the abbess here, Elkanah.”
“Perhaps I should be. I once thought your leadership would bring about a return to tradition and decency. Yet, the Unraveler’s influence continues to rise. Perhaps I was wrong to support you.”
“What of your sins, Sister Elkanah?” Jhee asked.
“My sins?” Sister Elkanah sputtered. “My-my sins are not at issue here.”
“Unraveler? An interesting choice of appellation for the Unmaker. One I believe favored by the anarchist wing of the Pillarists. Whom I seem to remember you called the Doombearers instead of the more common term Doombringers.”
The archivist’s eyes went wide, turning a dark umber in the process. “How dare you?”
“How dare you, Elkanah?” Sister Serra said. “Everyone knows how jealously you guard the archives. Care to explain how I could have gained access to the archives under your watch?”
“Upon occasion, I had need to counsel one of my assistants. One evening after our conversation and prayers, I returned to find the archives had been breached.”
“Conversation? Is that what you call it? In your chambers, no doubt,” Sister Serra
said.
“I am not on trial here.”
“Perhaps you should be.”
“I admit to one night having succumbed to the affections of one of these wicked, wicked men.”
“Who?” Jhee asked.
“Prospective Yaou. I later realized someone had taken relics from the archives. My activities with the Doombringers were misguided. My sins, though, are not why we’re here.”
“All our sins are,” Sister Serra spat. “The land suffers for our sins. The constant storms are drowning the fields, poisoning the crops and sea life. You’d know that if you poked your head out of the archives long enough to experience the world around you.”
“I’ve experienced the ills of this world aplenty. This is about you and your shameful, wicked ways. If you had perhaps stayed on the true path instead of these false ones, the Makers would see fit to reward our isle with an abundance of something other than misery.”
“Idolaters. You with your lust for relics and false piety. You’ve sown the soil with fallowness. The Makers want us to make, to produce. Yet you worship relics of the dead and practice celibacy. Then we threw up that blasted shield. And the land withered. Archives, relics, crypts, are about death. The fields, the orchards are life.”
Pyrmo’s hands shook, and her eyes smoldered almost orange. “Must I remind everyone final authority to start an invocation rests in my hands alone? I will give the Justicar some time to find out more before we have the whole isle crawling with Invokers and go staking people out to be godsparked. Most of us have seen enough death. Before we invite more, we must see what else there may be behind these deaths. The Justicar assures me there is no evidence of Unmakers and that what has happened was solely a mundane matter. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Pyrmo left via the clerical door and jerked her head for Jhee to follow. Once inside the abbess’s office, Jhee closed the door firmly behind them. Pyrmo collapsed in her chair. “I need a drink.”
Jhee stepped forward.
Pyrmo tucked her shaking hands into her sleeves. “That’s far enough. I’ve been true to my word and haven’t touched any since you caught me. Please, if there is anything you can do to avoid our having to call the Invokers or the exorcists. I will not have them running through here, causing hysteria amongst the clergy. Have you made any progress?”
