Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Immediately after entering the arch, Keltin was surprised by how dark it was inside this structure. He expected something similar to the Hall of the Venerates, where nearly every corner was illuminated by at least one light window. Instead, he found inside the Holy Spire that only a few sputtering torches burned along each side of a dimly-lit central corridor. A stagnant smell hung in the air here; it reminded Keltin of a wet patch of dirt that never drained properly, a place where only weeds and fungus could grow. He strained to adjust to the darkness and breathed through his mouth as much as possible to avoid the smell.

  Many archways lined this main corridor, some branching off into passages of their own, others opening into small chambers. As he passed one such chamber, Keltin turned his head to glance in and nearly slowed to a stop from the confusion of what he saw. There were a handful of men kneeling in this room, each facing towards one of the walls, all with their robes folded down above the waist. They murmured something unintelligible and in no unified rhythm, then each swung what looked like a section of rope against his back. The droning hum of their voices mixed with the sudden punctuated snap of rope against skin to form the strangest and most unsettling sound Keltin had ever heard.

  “They atone for their sins, as will you,” the Chant Leader whispered as he wrapped an arm around Keltin’s back and shoved him forward. Keltin shuddered as his cowl at last blocked the room from view, dreading what waited for him farther down this corridor. Those ropes had left a welt each time they were swung.

  “Go into the next room on the left,” the Chant Leader said a few strides later. Keltin numbly obeyed—he was too bewildered to think clearly. This chamber looked identical to the one Keltin had seen, although there was no one kneeling here. Two Servants stood in the center of the room, and approached Keltin as he entered. Before he could protest, they stripped the robe off of him and rushed out of the room. Keltin stood in just his Fieldsman’s pants, uncertain of what had just happened or what to expect next.

  “Face the wall and kneel,” the Chant Leader commanded from behind him. Keltin didn’t know which wall was the intended destination, so he looked over his shoulder in search of clarity. The Chant Leader’s eyes grew large with outrage once again, and Keltin suddenly took note of the long rope that now hung from the man’s hand. In an instant, the Chant Leader raised his arm high and snapped the rope down against Keltin’s back with agonizing speed. Keltin cried out—there were barbs on the end of that rope sharper than any thorn he had ever encountered working in the field.

  “DO NOT SHOW PAIN!” the Chant Leader yelled, and snapped the stinging rope against Keltin’s exposed back once more. A shout built in Keltin’s lungs, but he hastily suppressed it before another swing of the rope had to be endured. “Good,” the Chant Leader said. “It shows weakness of spirit if you complain during the daily cleansing. Accept your guilt and repent.”

  Keltin nodded in agreement despite the tears welling in his eyes. Panting from the effort of remaining silent, Keltin walked to the nearest wall. As he knelt, one word burned in Keltin’s thoughts more than the sting of the rope itself: "daily.” This is how I’m supposed to start every day? he wondered nervously.

  “Think now on our sins,” the Chant Leader said as he walked closer, “and atone.” The man’s hand suddenly appeared over Keltin’s left shoulder, holding a smaller version of the barbed rope. This one matched those used by the men in the other chamber, although theirs had not been adorned with nearly so many spikes. Keltin took hold of the strange implement and let the sharp end drop to the floor beneath him. He stared at it, refusing to accept that he was meant to use this thing on himself. The Chant Leader’s rope struck his back again.

  “You were cast out. The Venerates found you guilty of some sin, and therefore you must now strive for forgiveness. Think back to your Casting—are you not ashamed?” Keltin was uncertain whether he should respond or not, though another sharp strike from the Chant Leader’s rope proved that silence was not the correct answer.

  “Admit it!” the Chant Leader shouted. “Say ‘Forgive me, Venerates, for I have sinned’ and begin your life of penance.” From somewhere deep within the Holy Spire yet still close enough to be heard clearly, the Calling chimes stirred the air. The familiar sound felt distant and muted here, and while still soothing, it reminded Keltin of the life he had lost. His vision blurred as he stared down at the barbed rope in his hand. These tears weren’t the result of physical pain, though, they were an outward sign of the sudden turmoil that raged in Keltin’s mind.

  In flashes of memory, he was reminded of the countless times he had either neglected or outright failed at his task in Aldhagen. The disappointment in Chief Harvester Stelam’s eyes, the pure white linwyrt forever soiled from carelessness, the cold silence of isolation after another mistake—each moment added to the weight of Keltin’s regret and pushed him closer to the answer that now screamed within his thoughts. I have sinned against the Venerates, he realized.

  “Forgive me, Venerates, for I have sinned,” Keltin whispered. He thought of the short time he spent in Locboran and of all the chaos that followed him there. In his attempt to help those trapped in the bannuc forge, he had instead shamed them and forced them into exile. They’re only in exile if they’re still alive, Keltin thought bleakly. If not, their deaths are my fault too. Each of his actions that went against the Venerates’ plan led to more pain, more loss, more regret. All the anger he had felt towards the Venerates melted away, and in its place only guilt remained. Keltin swung the strange rope over his shoulder with no further hesitation.

  Barbs dug into his bare skin once more, and he could feel small trails of blood joining with the already-flowing wounds on his back from previous encounters with the Chant Leader’s rope. This was more than atonement—this was Keltin’s opportunity to shape himself into the kind of worker he had always respected. He swung the rope again and again as he smiled through gritted teeth. At one point Keltin thought he heard the Calling chimes sound again, but he brushed past the thought and continued his penance.

  “I said that’s enough for now,” the Chant Leader commanded, grabbing Keltin’s blood-soaked rope and halting its final swing. Shaking fiercely from the pain and the exertion, Keltin looked up at the man with a weak smile. Evidently the Calling chimes had sounded after all.

  “Thank you,” Keltin breathed.

  “The first cleansing is always the most…profound,” the Chant Leader said as he released the rope. “Remember the bliss you feel in this moment, and know that it comes solely from admission of your sins. Also know that, as tired as you may be right now, the day of service is just beginning. Now get up.” Still facing the wall, Keltin stood with as much speed as he could muster, though his unsteady legs threatened to topple him throughout the process.

  “You learn quickly,” Draeden Ansund said from the entrance of the chamber. “With that kind of fervor, you won’t be called a soft-backed newcomer for long. I’ll take him from here, Belgram.” The Chant Leader’s brow furrowed as Ansund approached Keltin.

  “This isn’t right. You can’t interrupt his initial testing like this,” Belgram protested, his face growing darker with every word.

  “You’re right—I can’t. But the High Conduit can,” the Draeden replied with an intense stare that weighed down on the shorter man. An abrupt look of confusion and fear replaced the anger on the Chant Leader’s face and he hurriedly stepped aside.

  “Forgive me, Draeden,” Belgram said. “As the Venerates will, let it be so.” Ansund said nothing in response, instead shifting his focus to Keltin. He stepped forward and tossed a bundle of coarse fabric into Keltin’s arms.

  “Put on your robe and follow me,” the Draeden said with a sharp nod towards the bundle. “The High Conduit is waiting.”

  ---

  “There are things you must know before we arrive,” Ansund said quietly as he walked beside Keltin up the slowly spiraling staircase. Ten floors had passed by already, and there was no indic
ation from the Draeden’s pace that they were even close to reaching their destination. “When the High Conduit speaks, you are hearing the words of the Venerates,” Ansund continued. “Their will is conveyed through him, so to question the High Conduit is to question the Venerates themselves. Whatever he says to you, listen well. Whatever he asks of you, do it proudly. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Keltin replied. “But how do the Venerates speak through him?” The Draeden stopped and gripped Keltin’s shoulder firmly. The outline of an arch marking another hallway framed Ansund’s form as he turned to face Keltin. Faint light from the torches in the corridor beyond cast all but the Draeden’s eyes into deep shadow.

  “That is not for us to know,” Ansund said sharply. He pulled Keltin towards the archway, still staring at him even as they continued to walk in silence. “We’re here. Remember what I’ve told you,” the Draeden said as they approached a pair of large closed doors on the left side of the passage. Ansund knocked twice loudly, then stepped back. Keltin moved back with him, not knowing what else to do.

  “Enter,” a man’s voice called from the room within, and at that command the doors creaked inward. Ansund ushered Keltin forward as soon as the doors were open wide enough to allow them to pass side by side. The brightness of this room was momentarily blinding after the relative gloom of the staircase and corridors, but once Keltin’s eyes adjusted he was immediately startled to find a Protector watching him closely from behind either door. They both stared at him with hollow, sunken eyes that seemed to never blink; he wondered what horrors a person had to witness for such a transformation to take place. Keltin looked away from them quickly as he walked past and was stunned when he at last focused on the room before him.

  A long stone table, seemingly carved from a single immense grey boulder, stretched the length of the space and was lined with a row of stone benches on either side. Elaborate sconces with light directors shone from the corners, their beams combining to illuminate an enormous sheet of woven linwyrt on the far wall beyond the table. There were hundreds of sinuous lines covering the sheet, each with small words and numbers in close proximity. One word in particular stood out as Keltin’s eyes scanned the strange drawing: in the very center was a circle with the word “Aldhagen” written within its boundaries. Just as Keltin was beginning to study the smaller details near the circle, it was abruptly blocked from view as a bald man wearing a silvery robe stepped in front of the linwyrt sheet.

  “Bow,” Ansund hissed from the floor, and Keltin quickly followed the instruction.

  “Venerates smile upon you, Ansund,” the man said as he approached.

  “And you, High Conduit,” the Draeden responded.

  Keltin’s palms began to sweat despite the cold of the floor. The man standing in front of him represented the Venerates, and after less than a day Keltin had already gained his notice. Why did he ask for me? Did I make another mistake? Keltin’s worries multiplied with each passing second.

  “Please rise, both of you,” the High Conduit said calmly. His voice was nothing like the Venerates; instead it carried with it the feeling of recent laughter and an air of openness. Keltin stood, and was not surprised to find this man smiling at him. “And you are Keltin, yes?” the High Conduit asked. Keltin was at a momentary loss for words when he met the man’s eyes. Their grey-blue color and depth reminded Keltin of a clear morning sky just after harvest—calm and constant, yet infinitely vast.

  “Yes, High Conduit,” Keltin said at last, torn between fascination and the lingering sensation that he was about to be corrected for some overlooked mistake. The High Conduit slowly tilted his head to one side and then smiled broadly.

  “Welcome to Dism Slyde, then, Keltin,” the High Conduit said. "If the stains on the back of your robe are any indication of your character, you will do very well here.”

  Keltin hesitated, uncertain how to respond or if he even should. “Thank you, High Conduit,” he stammered.

  “No thanks needed—it’s the truth,” the High Conduit continued, shaking his bald head and turning to rest his hands on the long stone table. He stared at the left wall of the room as he spoke, his white brows furrowing. “It gives me hope, and that is a resource in desperately short supply of late. We need people with devotion and drive if Dism Slyde is to endure the trials we seem to be facing almost every day now. Those Cynmeren threaten to cripple our supply lines to and from Aldhagen with their incessant raids, and I know if we don’t put a stop to them once and for all they will soon push to the very gates of Dism Slyde itself.” The High Conduit’s clenched fist shuddered against the table as he spoke, but otherwise he looked and sounded completely calm.

  “That is why I asked you here,” he said, relaxing his hand and turning to lock eyes with Keltin again. “On the wall behind me is a map that shows Dism Slyde’s location with respect to Aldhagen, the Plateau Desert, and all of the other significant landmarks nearby. Can you show me where the Cynmeren attacked you?”

  Keltin finally saw the sheet on the wall for what it truly was—this map captured with incredible detail the strange world into which he had been flung days earlier. His mind reeled at how small Aldhagen looked within the bounds of the map. The large patch of nothingness labeled “Plateau Desert” made sense based on his recollection of its vastness, as did the jagged rows of mountains near the top of the sheet that bordered the valley of Dism Slyde. It was so large, so intricate, that it was difficult for Keltin to stay focused on any one area.

  “It all makes sense, but…I don’t see where we were attacked,” Keltin said, still mesmerized by the map.

  “I need to know as much as you can remember about your journey here,” the High Conduit said with a stern but understanding frown. “Perhaps if you recount the events that led up to the attack it will help us identify a precise location. Any detail, no matter how minor, could prove vital in our fight against those creatures.”

  Keltin nodded as he collected his thoughts. “I don’t remember the fall from Aldhagen,” he began, “but the pain that came afterwards is something I’ll never forget….”

  ---

  The High Conduit raised an eyebrow skeptically when Keltin finished explaining how he arrived in Dism Slyde. There was a stifling silence that followed as the High Conduit studied Keltin intently from one of the benches by the table. “You guided the nysks here, by yourself, while Tir was unconscious?” the High Conduit asked, at last ending the uncomfortable quiet. He and the Draeden both watched Keltin now from their seats.

  “Yes, High Conduit,” Keltin replied, still standing beneath the massive map.

  “Why?”

  The question caught Keltin by surprise, so he was slow to form an answer. “Tir was hurt, and this was the only place I thought I could go to find help.”

  The High Conduit stared at Keltin for an instant more, then looked to the Draeden as the man stood to approach the map. Ansund’s eyes followed a path slowly upwards until he touched his finger to a pair of small jagged lines.

  “This is the canyon he described,” the Draeden said, “which means the first encounter with the Cynmeren occurred roughly here.” He slid his finger to a bare patch of desert south and west of the canyon.

  “A full Hunting Watch that far west is concerning,” the High Conduit said, “and poses a serious threat to our supply lines. What is your recommendation, Draeden?”

  “We will send out additional escorts and use the armored transport carts. It will slow down our deliveries to and from Aldhagen, but until we can clean this filth out of our path, it is the only option that I see.”

  “I agree,” the High Conduit said with a nod. “Though it is troubling news, at least we know now to be prepared.” He stood from the bench and walked closer to Keltin. “You’ve helped us a great deal, Keltin, and for that I thank you. But you neglected to share one important element of your story—why were you cast out in the first place? What was your sin?”

  Panic suddenly gripped Keltin’s bo
dy. I knew this was going to lead to punishment! he thought. It was time to atone once more. “I failed at my task,” Keltin said quietly.

  “Were those the exact words used by the Venerates?” the High Conduit asked as he loomed over Keltin.

  “No, High Conduit. They told me I no longer had a purpose in Aldhagen.” The words stung to admit out loud, but the High Conduit’s expression was one of fascination, not the disgust that Keltin expected to see.

  “And, so, the Venerates are correct once more,” the High Conduit said as he stared absently into the shadows of the chamber. Then he took note of Keltin’s ashamed expression. “But this is a blessing, Keltin, for Dism Slyde and for you. Don’t you see it? The Venerates, in their wisdom, cast you out not as a punishment but as an opportunity for you to serve a greater cause. Let me be clear—we are at war with the Cynmeren. The closer they push to Aldhagen, the harder we must fight back. You will soon join the ranks of the Penitent Faithful, and as such you will learn what it means to truly sacrifice everything in service to the Venerates. We need you here, Keltin, along with anyone else the Venerates choose to send to us, because we are Aldhagen’s only defense. You no longer have a purpose in Aldhagen, that is true, but that is because your purpose is now here.”

  Keltin took a moment to process everything the High Conduit had just explained to him. The idea of war, of conflict in general, was unfamiliar, but after witnessing firsthand the destruction brought by the Cynmeren, Keltin knew how dire the situation truly was. Thinking back to the Venerate’s words he began to view things as the High Conduit did—it wasn’t that the Venerates were done using Keltin, it’s that they urgently needed him somewhere other than Aldhagen. He would not fail them, not ever again.