Unclean

by A. M. Manay

  “We’ve also got about a dozen priests and some guards who survived, though, and they’re a bit battered. Our fellow prisoners took out their frustrations on them before Hana managed to get the mob under control. She convinced them to wait for your determination about what to do with the gray-robes. Opening up the wine stores helped make them amenable.”

  “My determination? Why would they listen to me?” Shiloh demanded.

  “You’re kidding, right? They just watched you lay waste to the Citadel and free them from their captivity. Not to mention healing the Deadlands right under their feet. Some of them are claiming you even healed wounds they carried from years ago. As far as they’re concerned, you might as well be queen. Some of them are calling you ‘Reverend Mother,’” Hana said.

  “Oh, Gods help me,” Shiloh prayed.

  “It could be a good thing, in the short term. Better than a power vacuum, at any rate,” Keelie asserted. “They’ve been prisoners for months, most of them. They need someone to tell them what to do, at least for a bit.”

  And who’s going to tell me what to do?

  “How many people did I kill?” Shiloh asked. She braced herself.

  “A hundred and fifty, give or take. All on the other side. A handful of priests and guards managed to get away in the uproar,” Bluebell replied. Shiloh shuddered at the toll, but she wept no tears for them.

  “The Patriarch? The Vestals?” Shiloh continued.

  “Dead,” Bluebell answered. “I can see them, crushed inside a stairwell.”

  “Thank the Gods for small favors,” Hana muttered.

  “We found Veena’s body. She was thrown clear from her bed when the Tower collapsed,” Bluebell continued.

  “She needs to be buried properly,” Shiloh insisted. “She wasn’t like the others.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Bluebell promised.

  “Fenroh?” Shiloh ventured.

  Bluebell heaved a sigh and shook her head. “He slipped away, somehow. I see him on the road, making his way northward. He shall be a problem.”

  “Mother preserve us,” Shiloh prayed.

  “What do we do with the priests and guards?” Keelie asked. “Wine won’t protect them from the mob forever.”

  Shiloh thought a long moment. She wondered what Silas would do, what Edmun would do, what her mother would do. They’d kill every one of them and not give it another thought.

  “See if there are any among us who can vouch for them having shown kindness or mercy while we were locked away, and, conversely, if any of them committed atrocities against penitents. Those who helped us can be spared if they renounce the Order and the Purification. Those who showed only cruelty, we execute at dawn. Agreed?” Shiloh looked to each of her conspirators for reassurance that she judged wisely.

  Hana nodded, then Bluebell, then Keelie.

  “And what of us? Where do we go when the sun comes up? For, surely, we cannot stay here long,” Bluebell pointed out.

  “Those who wish can come with me and make for Fountain Bluff. I hope to find my husband there,” Keelie replied. “He would welcome us, if he has not been arrested. After that, I do not know.”

  Shiloh nodded. “Penn, the dowager queen, is there, too, and she is a friend to me. I will likely make for the Teeth from there. It might be safer for the common people to scatter. The queen will send people after me once she knows what I’ve done to Vinsen. I don’t wish to endanger anyone else.”

  “You’ll have to allow folks to make that decision for themselves,” Bluebell told her. “Some may insist on following you.”

  Shiloh nodded. “Fair enough. But how do we prepare for such a journey? Even in the warmth of summer, we are none of us dressed for it. And summer ends.”

  “We found the storerooms where they kept many of our possessions after we were arrested, to hold them for sale. I’ll organize distribution of clothes and boots in the morning,” Hana offered. “And there was no damage to the stables and carts belonging to the Order. They were all stored in the second ring.”

  “Did you find the wand shop?” Shiloh asked.

  “Not yet. We’re still looking,” Hana replied.

  “Very good. At any rate, I cannot immediately set off southward. If you can’t wait, you’ll have to start without me, and I’ll catch up,” Shiloh declared.

  “You’re going after Hatch,” Hana concluded.

  “Indeed. Bluebell, where are they holding him now? Do you know?” Shiloh asked.

  “In the Dark Tower,” Bluebell replied, “as before.”

  Shiloh smiled. “And the queen is on Summer Progress?”

  “Yes, in the Vine, close to the northern border,” Bluebell answered. “The lords are with her, so they will not be able to lead men against us here for at least a fortnight.”

  “Excellent. They’ll be short-staffed at Greenhill, then,” Shiloh surmised. “I can fetch Silas and hopefully get more information about Lord Mosspeak and what we might find in the Southlands.”

  “Are you sure it’s wise to venture to the City?” Keelie fretted. “You won’t be able to set foot on the grounds without being caught.”

  “Oh, I’ve no intention of setting foot anywhere,” Shiloh replied. “I have a better idea.”

  Shiloh looked at the ragged pile of humanity before her. They wore the same shackles that Shiloh had opened that afternoon. A number of large men Shiloh had deputized as bailiffs stood behind them to prevent trouble, sticks in hand. Standing on the wooden stage that sat in the village square, the once guards and priests of the Citadel looked warily out at the crowd of their former prisoners.

  Shiloh dreaded her role as judge but saw no way out of it. If she refused, she feared they would all be killed, and cruelly at that, whether they deserved such a death or no. The mob muttered angrily until Shiloh held up her wand, bringing them to quiet.

  “We’re not murderers, so we’re giving these men and women a trial,” she declared. She held up her hands and opened the proceedings with prayer. Every head in the crowd bowed.

  When she was finished begging the Gods for justice and wisdom, she went down the line one at a time, and the freed prisoners came forward to testify on behalf of or against their former captors—mostly against. After they were condemned, bailiffs led each one back to the barn in which they were being held.

  A handful of them were pardoned. A number of people spoke on behalf of the healer, Sister Riah, for example. She agreed to renounce the Order and the Purification, and she pledged to treat any injuries among their number. Someone threw her a set of black robes, and without hesitation, she stripped off her gray and donned the black.

  At last, only three priests remained on the stage: Brother Serben, Brother Rikkoh, and Brother Jivan. Jivan’s eyes were wide with fear, and his hair was matted with blood. Rikkoh’s face was stunned. Serben hid his fear behind anger, but Shiloh could see it nonetheless. She had to admit, it was satisfying to see the cruel creature brought low.

  Hana rose to testify. “Jivan helped me after Rikkoh raped and beat me. He took me to the infirmary, and he snuck me food nearly every day.” Her voice rang out clearly, and others nodded agreement.

  “He helped me, too,” someone else called out. “Gave me medicine, and snuck me out a letter.”

  “Me, too!”

  “And he’s just a boy!”

  Shiloh was relieved that the crowd had found some mercy for old Redwood’s bastard. She set him loose, and he shucked his gray garb in a flash.

  “And that leaves Brothers Serben and Rikkoh, here,” Shiloh announced. “Anyone?”

  A litany of the men’s cruelties rang out. Rikkoh began weeping. Serben tried to charge at Shiloh before the testimony was even complete. The bailiffs struggled to control him, and Shiloh coldly leveled a curse at Serben’s chest. When the screaming had finished, and he’d collapsed to the ground, helpless, Shiloh bent to whisper in his ear.

  “You should never have spat on me, you worthless pig.”

  The weight of
it was nothing much, or so Shiloh thought. After all, she had managed to hold back a collapsed tower that had grazed the heavens. Making her new mount comfortable enough to use took a little more doing. Luckily, the steel responded to her wand like the smoothest of clay, and she easily formed a back on which to ride, reins to grasp, and loops in which to hook her feet. She fashioned another pair of footrests for Silas, a little larger. She stole a cushion from someone’s parlor and strapped it tightly with bands of steel to spare her seat on the journey. At last, assessing her creation with her head cocked to the side, Shiloh was satisfied with her work. A steel horse. You don’t see that every day.

  “You’re going to fly that thing to the City?” Hana asked, brows skeptical. “Truly?” Shiloh turned to find Hana and Bluebell had followed her and witnessed the last few minutes of her work.

  “It’ll be faster than riding,” Shiloh replied. “And much easier to retrieve my husband by air. They’re keeping him high in the Dark Tower.”

  “It’ll be cold up there,” Bluebell warned.

  Hana grinned. “I’ve got that covered,” she declared, then stepped aside to reveal a hand cart piled with purple clothes. “I figured these purple Teethtrash rags must have been yours,” Hana teased.

  Shiloh’s face lit up. They still had my things! Her heavy, fur-lined cloak was there, her boots, her battle leathers in the style of the mountains. Even her headscarf remained, and her travel prayer altar. Oh, thank the Gods!

  “I’m shocked they didn’t burn the lot,” Shiloh exclaimed. She darted a glance around to be sure she and her friends were alone, then quickly stripped off the gray sack she’d been wearing for months. Hana helped when she fumbled one-handed with the buttons and buckles on her own garments, out of practice after the months in the Citadel.

  “There. Now you look like a Knight of St. Stex again,” Hana judged. “I mean, ghastly color aside.”

  “Thank you,” Shiloh replied, grinning.

  “You could change the purple, you know. I mean, you killed the Patriarch. I don’t think breaking the Cleanliness Laws is something to fret about at this point,” Hana pointed out.

  “I know I could. But I refuse to be ashamed of what I am,” Shiloh insisted. She looked up at the sky. “It’s well past midnight. I’d best be off if I am to be safely away with Silas while it is still dark. You’re sure you can handle the executions without me?”

  “We have plenty of volunteers to do the deed, I assure you,” Hana replied. She bared her teeth like a wolf. “I am especially enthusiastic to officiate. Oh, and here is a fire wand for Silas, just in case. Plus water and a little food. Good luck.”

  A fierce hug ensued, and Shiloh returned it. Who would have predicted this? she thought. Hana and me, friends. An embrace with Bluebell followed.

  Shiloh mounted her steel horse, locked her boots and hook into place, and drew her wand.

  Hold on, Silas. I’m on my way.

  Husband

  There were only eight of them left by the time Alissa’s men had the Patriarch’s marauders captured. A half dozen of their companions lay dead in the dirt, their wands crumbling in their lifeless hands. It had taken three dozen of the queen’s best men to do the job, a mix of Keegan’s Ferals and Alissa’s most gifted and trustworthy troops.

  Silas ran his eyes over the survivors with grim satisfaction. These men had gone after innocents, women and children in their beds. They had butchered whole villages. Not content with burning crops to keep them out of Alissa’s hands, they had purposely killed the earth that none might ever grow there again. After months of terrorizing soldier and civilian alike, they had been defeated.

  Silas found the one he was looking for. While his men slumped in defeat, Fenroh stood tall and haughty, his shoulders thrown back, no acknowledgement in his posture of his defeat or his guilt.

  “That’s him,” Silas told the captain of their expedition, pointing at Fenroh. “That’s the Patriarch’s son.”

  “Tie him up,” the captain ordered, and one of the men rushed to obey. “Not too gently, either.”

  In moments, Fenroh had been tightly bound and hauled away from his men, several new bruises blooming on his face.

  “March to the road,” the captain ordered, and the defeated men obeyed, walking in front of their captors.

  Soon, they came to a crossroads. The captain held up a hand to stop his own troops, then raised his wand and, without warning, killed Fenroh’s comrades with a loud curse. Fenroh screamed as they fell to the earth, his eyes burning with rage.

  “Hang them up, so everyone sees what happens to such scoundrels,” the captain ordered. “Put up a sign detailing their crimes. Let the people see that their Patriarch has betrayed them.”

  “Blasphemer!” Fenroh screamed. “You are the traitors! His Holiness is infallible, and his church shall reign forever! Everything we have done is righteous in the eyes of the Gods, and—”

  It was then that Silas lost his patience. Drawing his wand, he sent Fenroh tumbling, screeching in pain, into the mud alongside the road. The other men laughed.

  Silas did not.

  He hauled Fenroh out of the ditch and declared, “I’m going to give you a little advice, honored brother. One of these days, you’re going to have to stop being loyal to a monster of a father who doesn’t love you back. Now march and keep your trap shut.”

  The Dark Tower had been too quiet since Esta and her husband left on Summer Progress. Kiven and Daved had departed with her retinue, leaving Silas with no friendly visitors. At least Kiven had finally consented to learn some mirror magic so he and Silas could continue to communicate at set intervals.

  The food was worse than ever. He’d read all his books a half-dozen times, and the Gernish guards who now brought his meager meals refused to bring him more to read. He couldn’t even exchange words with them. They spoke no Brynish. They just laughed in his face and spat in his food when they bothered to open the door. Otherwise they simply shoved the tray through a gap beneath it.

  Silas sneezed. There had been a bit of an earthquake earlier in the day, and it had shaken the dust loose from the rafters.

  “At least something happened today,” he muttered.

  His nightmares were getting worse and more frequent, the longer he was left alone. It was enough to make him dread the sleep that provided the only respite from his boredom. They were of the war, of course, nearly always of the war. Edmun and Alissa were alive and well by night, and old battles raged the length and breadth of the kingdom. Impossibly, Shiloh was there, too, inevitably dying some horrible death, usually because of Silas’s mistakes.

  “This is how people go mad in dungeons. The isolation. But I’m stronger than that,” he insisted aloud, pacing his chamber, then stood still. “Of course, I am speaking out loud to myself, and that isn’t a particularly good sign.”

  He resumed his pacing. “Shiloh has it worse, I fear. Fenroh is a madman. A zealot. He makes me look like a saint. And her health must be suffering,” he despaired.

  “I hope he isn’t keeping her locked up alone. I hope she’s found friends there. Gods, what if he breaks her?” Silas said. “He could make her do such terrible things. And she would do them so well.

  “He won’t,” he countered to himself. “She’s strong. Stronger than I am. And good. How is she so good? How did Edmun not wring all the good out of her, like he did me? Oh, who am I kidding? I was never good. He didn’t have to turn me bad.

  “She’ll outwit him, somehow. Vanquish the little swine. She will. Won’t she? Or will the goodness get in her way? Goodness has an irritating tendency to get in the way.”

  He continued to pace and rant for hours, until he had exhausted himself enough to venture an attempt at sleep. Just as he was drifting off, his prison shook for the second time that day.

  Silas leapt to his feet, hand to his chest, only to realize that the shaking wasn’t another earthquake at all. The enormous, bricked-over window next to his cot was now open from sill to ceiling.<
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  And, hovering just outside it, riding a mangled mount of metal, was his Shiloh.

  Silas covered his mouth with his hand, lest his hysterical laughter escape.

  Shiloh grinned at him, eyes tired but bright, cheeks flushed from cold and wind, her spiked, pink hair glowing in the moonlight.

  “I do hope you aren’t afraid of heights, Lord Northgate.”

  Shiloh landed on the floor of Silas’s cell, and she carefully set down her flying steed before climbing off the unwieldy creation.

  “Are you real?” Silas whispered. He reached out a hand toward her face but didn’t quite manage to touch her. Shiloh had never known him to be so tentative about anything. It broke her heart to see his spirit so withered.

  She reached out her own hand and touched his wild hair, which had started to turn gray at the temples since last she’d seen him. “I think so,” she replied. She gave him a crooked smile.

  That seemed enough to weaken the spell captivity had cast over her husband, and he seized her in his arms and buried his head against the crook of her neck. She squeezed him back, then urged him, “We’d best get out of here. Is there anything you need to bring with you?”

  He shook his head. “What little I have left of value I carry in my jacket,” he replied as he straightened the threadbare garment. She handed him a wand, and he held it for a long moment before putting it in his pocket.

  “On you go, then,” she declared, and he settled behind her, arms around her waist.

  “I expect to hear the story of this thing,” he informed her. He almost sounded like himself.

  She turned to grin at him over her shoulder. “Certainly. Assuming we live long enough.”