Unclean

by A. M. Manay

  “Westan sails by week’s end,” Kiven replied.

  Silas whistled. “Seems awfully hasty. Her Grace is barely fifteen.”

  “I think she is frightened,” Kiven said. “She fears she cannot hold her throne, a girl alone. And if she marries, she can dispense with having a regent. She mistrusts Mosspeak. She’s had his wife arrested by the grey-robes.”

  “She’d be able to hold her throne just fine if she hadn’t locked me up in here, and Shiloh in the Citadel,” Silas muttered. “No offense to you, Kiven.”

  “None taken,” the gruff man replied. “I’ve told her as much myself, though not so directly.”

  Silas drank down his weak tea. “Whom do I have to thank for the memento of my wife?” he asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Kiven asked, head cocked to the side.

  “Someone brought me her hair. Shiloh’s hair. They must have clipped it when she got to the Citadel,” Silas explained, his voice dangerously even. “Someone means to taunt me.”

  “I’ve no idea,” Kiven replied, eyes wide.

  “I would be grateful it if you would let me know, should the culprit reveal himself,” Silas told him. “So that someday, I may show him my . . . appreciation.”

  Kiven nodded. “Perhaps I should take a lock of it. So I can try to see how she fares.”

  Silas nodded. Farsight could be unreliable, but Silas supposed it was worth a try. “Have you heard anything useful of the Patriarch’s plans?”

  Kiven shook his head. “Only that His Holiness has named Fenroh Grand Purifier, to lead the purge of any Reforming elements in the kingdom, along with anyone who has ever looked at Esta the wrong way.”

  Silas winced. “That loon?”

  “Yes, that loon.” Kiven sighed.

  “Gods preserve us.”

  Shiloh’s hand shook as the guards strapped her arms to the chair. Please, Gods, don’t let me faint or vomit.

  On the other side of a great desk sat Brother Fenroh, the Grand Purifier. Off in a corner sat a scribe, and behind her back Shiloh could hear the breathing and clanking of two guards.

  “Please, gentlemen,” Fenroh protested when he at last pulled his eyes from the papers before him. “The restraints are unnecessary. Miss Teethborn has been cooperative thus far. I assume that cooperation will continue?”

  Shiloh swallowed. “Of course, honored brother,” she managed. A guard unbuckled the leather straps. Shiloh placed her hand in her lap and clutched her hook.

  “Now, Miss Teethborn, how are you adjusting to life here in the Citadel?” Fenroh began, friendly as you please.

  “I . . . I enjoy the meditation of the work, but I miss the Academy,” she confessed.

  He looked slightly disappointed, as though he had expected better of her. “I suppose that is understandable,” he allowed. “I expect you must have grown accustomed to the luxuries of life at court.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that, honored brother. I was never very comfortable with that. I miss the books,” she explained, not sure why she bothered to try to make him understand.

  At that, he nearly smiled. “We do have books here, you know,” he countered. “Perhaps you will be able to earn access to them. There have been no complaints, thus far, about your actions or deportment, which speaks well of you.”

  Unsure how to react, she simply replied, “I am glad to hear it, honored brother.”

  “Miss Teethborn, how well do you know Brother Charls Rangeborn?” Fenroh asked, getting down to business.

  “He was my confessor. He supervised my work in the Temple, after I was brought to the Academy,” Shiloh answered. Remember what Bluebell told you. No lies, and no gifts of information. He will know if you lie. He is going to ask you questions he already knows the answers to. Don’t give him reason to suspect you of anything.

  “Did you ever discuss church politics?” Fenroh asked. His eyes focused unblinkingly upon his subject.

  Shiloh shook her head.

  “Answer verbally, child,” Fenroh scolded gently. “He cannot record a nod.”

  “No, sir, we did not discuss church governance,” Shiloh obediently replied.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “He advised me about getting on at court. He comforted me when I was homesick or sad. He came to visit me in the infirmary when I was ill.”

  “And how did he come to be at Northgate Castle, where he was arrested?” Fenroh asked.

  “He appeared one day with a letter from my hus—from Silas Hatch,” she corrected herself with a pang.

  “And why did he stay and take up ministry there?”

  “Master Hatch directed me to keep him on,” Shiloh replied warily. She felt as though she were walking along a precipice.

  “Speaking of Master Hatch, did Brother Charls perform your illegal and blasphemous wedding?” Fenroh asked, his tone perfectly friendly but his eyes cold as ice.

  “Yes, honored brother,” she admitted, her heart sinking as Fenroh bent his head to make a note.

  “I see,” Fenroh murmured. “I see. Were you pleased about the wedding when you learned of the arrangement, Miss Teethborn?”

  “No, honored brother,” she admitted. He’s going to turn this all back on Silas and Charls, she silently despaired.

  “It must have been quite a shock,” Fenroh said with a show of sympathy.

  “Yes, honored brother, it was,” she replied. She felt as though he was trying to draw her out, and she willed herself not to offer him any more rope.

  “Why do you suppose the king ordered the marriage?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “I can’t pretend to know the king’s mind, honored brother. I’m just a girl from the Teeth.”

  “No, of course you can’t,” Fenroh allowed with a crocodile’s smile. “Tell me, did you consider running away?”

  “I did, yes,” she confessed, pressing her lips together.

  “Where did you think you might go?” he asked.

  Shiloh shrugged. “I thought of Mount Tarwin,” she replied. “Perhaps Estany. But I know no one there.”

  “Did anyone talk you into staying, into going through with it?” Fenroh asked.

  Shiloh’s heart fell as she realized where the Purifier was headed. Slowly, she nodded. “Master Hatch said they would hunt me down if I ran. And Brother Charls advised that perhaps I would be safer as Hatch’s wife than as a target of his suspicion.”

  “Ah,” Fenroh replied, scratching something onto the page. “Your instincts told you the marriage was improper, and yet Charls advised you to go along with that insult to divine law . . . That is a pity. Few sins are as heartbreaking as that of a trusted priest leading a young girl astray.”

  Shiloh opened her mouth to protest but had trouble finding the words. “Perhaps he feared for my safety, honored brother,” she finally managed.

  “Ah, but the safety of your immortal soul is more important, child,” Fenroh chided, “which Charls, at least, should well have known. Prior to the marriage, were you intending to take holy orders?”

  Shiloh nodded. “Yes, honored brother. I always assumed I would, if I lived to adulthood and any order would have me.”

  “Now, back to the wedding. Was the marriage consummated?”

  Shiloh’s face flushed hot. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And you were a virgin?”

  “Of course, honored brother,” she managed. She felt a humiliated tear slide down her cheek.

  Fenroh clucked his tongue. “Poor child,” he intoned, then handed her a pristine handkerchief, folded into a perfect square. “Now that is very serious, indeed. For Charls to place you in the bed of such a man, a known thug, heretic, and fornicator, knowing the marriage was blasphemous, and for Hatch to so debase an innocent girl, outside of proper wedlock . . .” He shook his head sadly. “Shocking, even to my jaded ears.”

  Shiloh felt sick as she swiped the tear away. She knew he was making terrible use of everything she said, and she felt helpless to stop him.
<
br />   Her dismay must have shown on her face, for Fenroh was moved to comment, “Your sympathy for them is kind, but it is misplaced. We already had more than enough evidence to execute Charls for heresy and blasphemy. His own words, in writing, condemned him months ago.”

  “Then why put me through this exercise, honored brother?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “Oh, we do like to be thorough,” he replied with a dangerous smile. “And I wanted to see if you would lie. To your credit, you have not. Now, on to your own sins. Whose idea was it for you to heal the Deadlands?”

  “Mine, honored brother,” she said softly. She felt as though she could barely breathe. She prayed that Fenroh didn’t know of Jonn’s interest in the topic. The Academy’s healing professor had set her down the path to find the proper spell to undo the damage the civil war had left on the land.

  “Why did you want to do so?”

  “I just . . . I wanted to fix them,” she replied honestly.

  “But why? To curry favor? To show off your gifts?” Fenroh demanded.

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. I . . . I thought it was what the Gods would want me to do, if I could. I just . . . I thought that if I could heal those places, then maybe . . . maybe my suffering was worth something after all. Maybe it would mean there was a reason I’ve had to live with the consequences of my mother’s sins. Maybe it would help make up for my own sins. I don’t know.”

  “I see . . . and you had the approval of the king?”

  “Yes, honored brother,” she replied.

  “And Brother Charls raised no theological objections?” Fenroh asked. “Not at Greenhill Palace nor when he was in residence at Northgate Castle?”

  “No, honored brother,” she replied wearily. “Not that I recall.”

  “And your tutor, Jonn Gateborn? What did he think of your little project?” Fenroh asked, a gleam in his eye. “What help did he give you?”

  Oh, Gods. Not Master Jonn, too.

  “He . . . he only gave me an article to read,” Shiloh admitted, struggling to find some way to minimize Jonn’s culpability without lying outright.

  “Oh, I think his interest went a little beyond that, didn’t it?” Fenroh prodded.

  “He just wanted to help people,” Shiloh whispered.

  Fenroh let her stew for a moment before offering a reprieve of sorts. “Brother Jonn has always been a compassionate man. He tended my wounds after I was released from a prisoner-of-war camp years ago. Not much of a theologian, though. And very poor taste in friends. I think a bit of time spent in contemplation shall do his soul some good. And once some . . . negative influences have been removed, I anticipate he could return to his former duties.”

  They’ve already taken Jonn. Because of Silas, she realized with mingled dread and relief.

  “Now, what did you think about the king’s so-called Reforms?” Fenroh inquired.

  Shiloh reeled at the change in subject. “I was only a child when they happened, honored brother,” she protested.

  He smiled. “Come now, Miss Teethborn. Surely you developed an opinion, in time.”

  Shiloh felt as though she were falling. “I will not lie and pretend that it wasn’t a relief for me, not having to follow the Cleanliness Laws,” she answered. “They are . . . painful.”

  “Commendable honesty, Miss Teethborn. But you must understand that those laws are for your own good. Any suffering they cause you in your mortal life will only bring you closer to the Gods and to the church.”

  “Yes, honored brother,” she said when he stared at her, awaiting a response.

  “Did you ever discuss religion with King Rischar?” he asked.

  Shiloh suppressed a shiver. Who else was there that night? she asked herself, trying desperately to swallow her panic. “Once, that I remember,” she finally managed to reply.

  Fenroh steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “Tell me about that.”

  “He . . . His Grace wanted help interpreting a dream, and Master Hatch was not available. So, he sent for me.”

  “Why you?”

  “It was shortly after I saved the royal family from an assassin, at the Dedication of Princess Loor,” she explained. “He took a liking to me, I suppose. I think His Grace found me . . . novel.”

  “And?” Fenroh pressed on.

  “And . . . I tried to tell him what I thought he wanted to hear,” Shiloh answered. Namely that the Patriarch was an idiot, she recalled.

  “Which was?”

  “He was worried about his children. He wanted to be reassured that the Gods smiled upon him,” she replied. “Why he thought I would know, I can’t tell you, not understanding it myself.”

  “So, you had an opportunity to turn him back to the Patriarch and the One True Faith and away from the sin of adultery, and you did not take it?” Fenroh asked, eyebrows raised.

  Shiloh looked down at her lap. “I suppose you’re right, honored brother. At the time, I was too frightened of him to think clearly.”

  “Thankfully, the Gods are forgiving to the penitant,” Fenroh assured her silkily, “as is His Holiness. If, during the course of your sentence, you show sincere repentance, I am confident that you will be offered a place in service of the church and the Lords of Heaven.”

  “My sentence?” she asked. She could feel dizziness closing in on her, as though the walls thrummed against her, or her skin were the head of a drum. “You told me I was here as a witness, not that I was under arrest.”

  “Yes, child, I remember. But during the course of our investigation, it has come to light that you would benefit from some time to reflect upon your life thus far, and upon your future in the service of the church. I’ve sentenced you to five years easy labor for your penance for crimes against Holy Mother Church and the Lords of Heaven,” Fenroh replied pleasantly. “It’s a very light sentence, in recognition of your youth and the vile influences that have surrounded you in your formative years. If, before that time expires, you take holy orders, the remainder of your sentence will be forgiven. It may even be that you are invited into our own Elder’s Order, a rare honor for a woman.”

  Shiloh wanted to laugh and cry at once. Five years. In this hellhole? A light sentence? That might as well be forever. And castles will fly before I join these monsters.

  Instead, she swallowed her hysteria long enough to reply, “You are most generous, honored brother.”

  “Well then, off you go, Miss Teethborn. I may have more questions for you later.” Fenroh dismissed her. “The workday is over, so hurry back to your room so you don’t miss supper.”

  “Yes, honored brother.”

  Shiloh rose unsteadily, bowed, and stumbled out into the hall. She made it just to the door of her cell before she collapsed.

  Save Your Soul

  “Do you think the Gods hate me, Master?” little Shiloh asked. Blood had finally stopped pouring out of her nose. The river had shrunk to a trickle after ten minutes of chanting by Brother Edmun.

  He interrupted his countercurse and raised an eyebrow. “Of course not,” he replied. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  Shiloh came as close as she ever did to rolling her eyes at her teacher and pointed at the bucket half-full of blood beneath her face. Edmun’s eyes grew sad.

  “Your affliction is not a punishment from the Gods. It is the unfortunate consequence of your mother’s mistakes. That is all.”

  “But it isn’t fair,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. She rarely complained, even when her most painful and frightening attacks came upon her. But for some reason, that night, she had had more than she could take.

  “No. It isn’t fair in the least. But the strength it will give you will come in handy someday, I wager.” The old man bent down, kissed her on the crown of her head, and squeezed her pale, shaking hand.

  “Now be quiet so I can chant. There’s blood coming out of your ear.”

  “Is she going to die?” Hana whispered. Her voice rang loud in
Shiloh’s pounding head.

  “I doubt it,” Bluebell replied. “She’s made it this far. This is hardly the first time her condition has reared its head.”

  “But doesn’t she need a healer or something?” Hana asked.

  “Do they even let us see healers?” Bluebell asked.

  “Someone patched me up after Master Rikkoh . . . I think she was a healer,” Hana replied, a hitch in her voice. “They’re cruel to us, but they don’t want us to actually die, I don’t think. Not like the ones in the Pit.”

  “What’s the mark?” Shiloh asked, forcing her eyes open.

  “Gods!” Hana cried, leaping back in shock. “I thought you were out cold.”

  “If only,” Shiloh rasped. “There’s a mark blooming, on my back. I can feel it burning. What curse is it for?”

  Bluebell helped Shiloh sit up to pull her dress over her head. The hexmark was livid enough to be visible through Shiloh’s linen.

  “How in the world am I supposed to know?” Hana demanded, panic in her voice.

  If Hana’s that upset over me, I must look really bad, Shiloh realized.

  “Can you tell me what it looks like?” Shiloh asked patiently. “They usually look like drawings, or symbols. Sometimes a few letters superimposed over one another, or numbers. Just tell me what you see.”

  “Um . . . it looks kind of like a mountain? Like the kind with a crater?” Hana described, her voice tentative.

  “You mean a volcano? Like they have in the far north, in Gerne?” Shiloh asked, hope withering.

  “Yes! Like that! I saw a painting once,” Hana confirmed, sounding much relieved to be off the hook. “Wait, why do you look so scared, Shiloh?”

  “Because it’s Dravlaw’s Hex,” Bluebell explained.

  “What does that do?” Hana demanded. “Master Jonn never taught us about that one!”

  “It burns people alive.” Shiloh sighed. “Didn’t you ever learn about the Battle of Devil’s Mountain?”

  “Holy maiden,” Hana breathed, eyes wide.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t actually die,” Shiloh assured her. “I’ll just wish I would.”