Justicar Jhee and the Cursed Abbey

by Trevol Swift

  “Sister Elkanah. She appears to have a different idea of how she should atone than her former associates.”

  The exhibit beyond this one came almost as a pleasant relief, depending on one’s feelings about flying rodents. Cheiropthys the bat-faced Lesser Maker, his symbol, the sky fox, a gigantic, bloodsucking bat which dwarfed many hounds. The sky fox hailed from one of the aboriginal isles. A more tropical equivalent of Verdale with its host of deadly plants.

  Next, came scenes of the counter inquisition’s torturers. Then the Medical Protectorate doctors whose experiments and excesses had created unfortunate programs like the berserkers. Jhee turned away. Bax’s torch swept over a scene of a physician dismembering a young man. He stifled a sob and covered his mouth in horror. She placed a tender hand on his forearm.

  “You know the other name they had for the Corrections Hall,” Raigen said. “The Halls of Torture and the Drenched. A holdover from another time when we focused on the fear of the Makers rather than the love of them. The custom was to lock young Prospectives in here to contemplate their sins.”

  Even as a learned woman, if locked in here long enough, Jhee would certainly rethink her life. This hall must have its own emergency power source. First Makers forfend these exhibits not work when you wanted to frighten prisoners or young Prospectives. Another pit of grasping hands bookended the displays. “Pleasant. Come, let’s leave this foul place as quick as possible.”

  “Agreed, Justicar.”

  The Crypts

  They found an archway at the far end with a pressure sealed gate. As Bax worked, vermin most likely crab-rats skittered in the darkness behind them. The wind outside had picked up. Loose tiles in the heights of the ceiling rattled. The blowing wind sometimes sounded like a whistle. Other times it affected the moans of the drenched.

  The pressure seal disengaged with a hiss. They entered an airlock on the other side without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Reseal it. Pyrmo said the salt air could contaminate the crypts.”

  What Jhee really wanted to do was seal herself off from the images in the hall.

  The airlock’s dim, low-level lighting made a bright white contrast to the blood reds and fiery umbers of the Corrections hall. Sea and storm air made a welcome change from the mustiness. A series of wind shafts and fans whined and groaned with every spin as they labored to keep a steady flow of air. The door out of the airlock showed more recent and frequent use likely for maintenance.

  Steps beyond the door led down into the depths of the abbey. Jhee took the vanguard with her glow torch outstretched. A fog covered the lowest steps.

  Warm, misty air tickled her cheeks. The back and forth seawater flow and air pressure gave the impression of the cave itself breathing. Jhee had a hard time focusing on the walls. Faint, cyan light emanated from the rocky strata comprising the vaults. The stony surface wavered as illumination sparkled through moisture droplets. She clutched her robes and recited statutes to her Maker within.

  “Mr. Akesheem. Mr. Pol,” she called.

  Frogs and water drips gave the only replies. They continued to call out for the missing men as they pressed forward. Dank air brought the swift return of Jhee’s headache. Their footsteps sloshed through the water. Something brushed her legs. She did not even want to think about what sorts of unseen creatures swam at their feet. They turned a corner.

  A sharp pain knifed through her esca and the back of her neck. What was it about this isle that made her head pound so? She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Open your eyes and look, her Maker within said. When Jhee opened her eyes again, she was enveloped in mist. She must have gotten turned around in the fog.

  “Bax, Raigen,” Jhee called.

  The breathing of the cave had grown louder. Caves, mineral springs, earth gases, bizarre construction. All manner of causes to trick the senses. Add in being primed to see oddities by all the rumors. No wonder rumors of the abbey’s haunted nature persisted.

  Emissary.

  The mist grew deeper. Jhee forged ahead. She reminded herself of the weirdness experienced at the mineral springs. The sigil on her arm throbbed. Jhee thought it was because of Shep for a moment. Shep made it or burn. This sensation was different.

  The bridge or the sword. Until all are one.

  Jhee’s ears rang. Her head pounded. It felt as if the world itself quaked.

  A frog leaped off a most hideous green statue like those in the cloister and on the edifice. Jhee started.

  Bax and Raigen called her name.

  “Here,” Jhee answered.

  “We got separated in this labyrinth,” Raigen said, as they joined her.

  Bax clutched his thieves’ tools. “Blessed Makers, places such as this are favored by bogglies and swamp goblins.”

  “It’s just a statue. The hall we just went through should provide proof enough there are things far scarier than bogglies or swamp goblins.”

  Peculiar statues in shades from white-green jade to brightest emerald lined the passage. Unlike those on the edifice and in the cloister, these appeared more malformed or half-formed and melted. They moved further along. Raigen, who now led the way, gulped.

  “Maker’s Mark, that’s disgusting.” She glanced around the passage her color turning ashen then covered her mouth as if choking back vomit.

  “What is it now?” Jhee snapped.

  “These aren’t statues.”

  Jhee stepped in front of her. A placard which read “Saheli” hung above an alcove. The former abbess’s body sat propped up on a pedestal, her mouth a rictus. Bits of skull poked through the face. Glittering, green coral and barnacles had grown over parts of her. In places, patchy fur and pale brown skin shown where the creatures had yet to take hold. Within a few more months or years, her mortal remains would be grown over as solid as the other residents. “The ‘honored dead.’”

  Bile rose in Jhee’s throat. She recited more statutes to remain composed in front of the Raigen and Bax. She set her jaw and cleared her throat. A chest Jhee presumed contained Saheli’s belongings rested at the foot of the corpse. A mix of live and dead barnacles covered it. “Bax, open this if you would.”

  Bax gave her a wide-eyed stare but broke open the chest anyway. He scampered away. Jhee pulled out Saheli’s scrolls, paintings, and crafts, one of which appeared a companion piece to the work outside Lady Bathsheba’s chamber. Something nagged at her about the pieces, yet she could not quite place it. Opened eyes.

  “Look at this etching. Do the cat’s pupils strike you as particularly large?” Jhee asked.

  For the pupils to be that large, the etching had to have been painted somewhere dark and not the top a spire in the afternoon unless something else caused them to dilate. She gave a last look at Saheli’s semi-encrusted corpse. The process appeared patchy and uneven as if a morbid piece of rock candy. By reflex, her hand went to her bruised head. Sights, smells, and sounds associated with her attack flooded back to her.

  “You were right, Raigen. Saheli was murdered. We’ve had our audience with the mother who bears the secret of the depths. Now we need one with the mother who bears the secrets of the spires. We’ll leave by the main entrance and drop off these troublesome items.”

  “My poem? You insisted we come here. Now we’re leaving? What about Mr. Akesheem and Mr. Pol?”

  She rolled up the scroll with the sermon and account of Saheli’s transcendence and replaced them in the small chest. She shook out a handkerchief. Jhee averted her face as she collected a handful of the dead barnacles. She grabbed her glow torch as she hurriedly led them out the main entrance to the crypts. “There is nothing more we can learn here. I had thought Ms. Hethyr would have brought them here or the Corrections Hall as they are the only places forbidden to all. I assure you we will find them.”

  Bax and Raigen stared at her oddly.

  “Your esca?” Bax said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s silver,” Raigen said.

  “What? I do
n’t know. I must have been exposed to something in the crypts.”

  “Ours are fine.”

  Jhee took a moment to examine her sigil. Its color had changed too, having become silver and iridescent. She quickly covered it back up. “Problem for another time.”

  Her mind contemplated the geometric nature of the abbey again. This crystallizing embalming process sought to use the spirits of the dead to protect the abbey. The crystal coral may have explained why it felt so odd to cypher here. Were they atop some giant spirit battery? If so, what it feed or power? Was this abomination Doombringer or Baqairu witchery?

  They headed back to the room. Jhee dropped off Saheli’s chest while ignoring the reactions to her esca.

  Mirrei forced a smile. The one Jhee returned was equally forced. She had thought time off the yacht would do her good. Instead, Mirrei appeared to have gotten worse. Had this been her doing? Was the trip to the climate-controlled archives or exposing her to substances in the agri-pods too much for her delicate constitution?

  Kanto double-glanced at Jhee but gave his seat to her without question. She picked up Mirrei’s practically untouched kale and fennel salad. “You really must eat something,” Jhee said.

  Mirrei averted her head from the forkful of salad Jhee held out. Even Jhee blenched at the sickly-sweet licorice scent of the fennel. Mirrei managed a few sips from the cup of wine Shep handed over. A quick aroma of peach identified it as Tranquility Gold.

  Mirrei licked her lips. “I input that I was sick out into the system, and the Makers implemented my design. I’ll be fine. I feel stronger already.”

  Jhee patted the young woman’s arm. She caught the smell of the fennel again. Jhee’s hand went to her bruised head.

  “Foolish. Foolish. Foolish,” Jhee said. She hurried from the room. Bax and Raigen caught up to her. She swept across the hall and through the north courtyard. “I’ve had too many voices in my ear since I arrived.”

  “What?” Raigen asked. “Justicar, please.”

  “I allowed myself to be pulled into the deacons’ drama and missed the obvious. I predicated my investigation on a false assumption. Namely, whoever killed the Prospectives killed Saheli, and whoever killed Saheli must have killed the Prospectives. Ms. Hethyr and Mr. Pol might have free access to the Prospectives, but even an abbess as open and friendly as she would be cautious of them. Only someone Saheli trusted, with access to her food, and who knew her habit of communing with spirits in the spire could have killed her. It had to be a member of the senior clergy. Many of whom I mistakenly eliminated based on alibis for the Prospectives’ deaths.”

  “Saheli died in front of many witnesses.”

  “Poison knows no hour.” Jhee paused at the top of the Prime spire to catch her breath from the anger-fueled pace she had set to reach here. Once she had composed herself, she banged on Pyrmo’s door.

  22 Secrets of the Spires

  The High Chamber

  Pyrmo opened the servant’s door with a look of astonishment. “Ah, Justicar? Raigen? Why have you arrived via this entrance?”

  “We’ve been to the crypts where we’ve searched Saheli’s burial items and seen her corpse. I’m here to inform you of my current progress in the investigation and make an accusation.”

  “I suppose you better come in. I was deciding if I should have some tea.” Pyrmo wandered away from the open door to make herself comfortable in her chair. A tea service and the box of black orchid tea sat on the lacquer table beside the chair. After she waved away some steam, she sniffed it deeply. “Almost perfect. Now, what are you going on about?”

  Jhee set her conch to record at the most space-conserving setting possible and handed it to Bax. “We’ve come to make you answer for your crimes. These two shall act as witnesses.”

  “Witnesses? Crimes? You’ll have to elaborate.”

  “I have concluded my investigation into the death of Saheli. I’m here to hear your defense against the charge you murdered your predecessor, Saheli. Do you deny it?”

  The trial in extremis was a few of the responsibilities of rural magistrates such as herself who needed to travel the Outer Reaches. She did have to record and send her records back to the capital for the legal archives.

  “Who accuses me of such?’

  “I do. Do you deny the charge?”

  Pyrmo winced as she picked up her cup and spoon. “It’s best if I drink this before it gets cold. I’ll have to make sure to drink every drop, so I don’t leave a mess.”

  “You also stand guilty of the crime of assault against an imperial official. It was you that struck me the blow to my head.”

  “Blow to your head? Where are my manners?” Pyrmo offered Jhee some tea.

  Jhee refused. “Do you deny these charges? Do you deny you are the Mist Abbess?”

  Pyrmo took a sip of her tea. “I assume you have proof. Or is it your habit to go about spewing slanderous claims?”

  “The matter of the Prospectives remains an open question. I shall lay out my case if you wish. My primary concern is the location of Mr. Akesheem, who has gone missing along with your confederate, Mr. Pol. I shall show leniency provided we find him quickly and unharmed. You and Mr. Pol conspired to traffic folk and illicit goods, namely skimming and counterfeiting Drakist wines.”

  Pyrmo pushed her tea aside. She took out a flask and had a long drink. “Mr. Pol is a procurer. He lures innocent young people to the city with the promise of work. Then he sells them to any willing to pay. Artificers. Wealthy patrons. Middle Pillarists.... Medical Protectorate.”

  “For you as well?”

  “Those were wicked boys who engaged in the most sinful of acts on this sacred isle,” Pyrmo yelled.

  Flecks of spittle flew from her mouth. She wiped it away with a sleeve.

  “With this Mist Abbess or a senior member of the clergy.”

  “Malign practices and the lustful abound. It is their fault for having succumbed to the material temptations of the world, it was their duty to resist. If they had not indulged in such wickedness, they would still be alive.”

  “What of yourself and your love of drink and relics? It was your duty, your responsibility to care for them. The protection of all under this roof is your responsibility.”

  The abbess returned to drinking her moonshine with more speed and vehemence. “Celibacy and chastity keep the essence pure. I see no use to waste it on relations with the wicked. I may have failed much and not been as devout in my adherence to all the Drakist tenets, but I hold our vow of chastity most sacred. It is the fount from which the others derive. I heard some of the acts these boys were alleged to have engaged in. I assure you I would never sully myself in such a way. We even had to lock the towers to prevent their misbehavior. Disgusting. Wickedness, though, reaped its own harvest.”

  “Where are Misters Akesheem and Pol?”

  “I’m afraid I have no answers to give on that subject. So comfortable.” Pyrmo nestled into her chair and drank her flask slower. “I’m still waiting to hear why you believe it is I who has knowledge of these transgressions.”

  “Once I realized you were the one who tried to kill me, the rest fell into place. I was confused by the smell you see. The odor of the smudging stick and spike leaf ointment dogged me since the night of the feast even though I did not realize it. A similar odor I smelled once more when I was struck. Both you and Sister Serra reek of them. In my various interviews with you, I kept noticing it. However, because Sister Serra and the previous Abbess were both in the habit of taking ‘seed of enlightenment,’ it made their scent sharper and more pungent and them like giant pest repellents. You, on the other hand, with your licorice moonshine and mints to cover the scent of your drinking, had a sickly-sweet smell. Much beloved by the insects. When you called me into the office post-trial, it was the only time I have smelled you in isolation without my poultice. The poultice I used for my headache masked the scent most of the time. The same dressing saved my life from your murderous strike.”

&
nbsp; Pyrmo’s cap clinked against the flask as she continued to drink. “I failed to see how that connects me to the murder of Saheli. My, this tea is delicious. It was a good idea to drink it. How could I have killed Saheli in front of the senior clergy without a hint of violence?”

  “Here is where you were most clever. Saheli was not some frail, old woman with one foot in the grave as you tried to get me to believe. She daily climbed to the top of the Bridge spire to paint and meditate. Having done it myself, I know the climb is indeed arduous. Anyone who was to spend any time up there, especially in warm weather might like to have a pitcher of refreshments with them. You also knew of her habit of taking brightshade. You knew she would bring something to quench her thirst while she did her crafts and surveyed the isle. You spiked her fruit beer with the similar, yet deadly ordeal oil or nightmare blight extracted from the infected crops. Among its effects is dehydration. To be sure she was quite thirsty, you also adjusted one of the solar panels to point at the tower. The warmer it got, the more she drank. The more she drank, the thirstier she got. Unfortunately for you, a sudden storm blew in. The horticulturist and prioress checked on her and found her alive with her cat lapping at her spilled fruit beer. She passed out but survived due to a combination of her good health and being on conflicting courses of treatment from the physician and the horticulturist. One treatment caused her to retain water, and the other acted as an antidote. I imagined you must have been shocked when Saheli came down from the spire and summoned the senior clergy into a meeting. You must have thought she was on to you, so you set about covering your tracks. You returned the volatile chemicals you used to concoct your deadly brew in the storehouse then ran out to the solar array to return the errant panel to its original position.”