Holy Sister

by Mark Lawrence

  What followed was a long, blind nightmare of stabbing, straining, and slipping. Nona had no idea how many minutes or hours she laboured at it, how many times she slid back, how many times she cursed the Ancestor. She even called upon her father’s ghost for help.

  “I can’t . . .” She hung on the ice wall, so steep it was near vertical. The strength had left her arms and although she could no longer feel her grip on either knife she knew that it was weakening. Her hands looked shockingly pale. “I can’t.” No hope remained to her. Not even the hope of an easy death.

  She looked again at her hands, hardly feeling she still owned them. Both were tinged with violet. “How?” How could she see them?

  Nona turned her head and there, far below her, Zole stood at the edge of the shaft into which she had fallen, the shipheart in her hands.

  * * *

  • • •

  AT THE SIGHT of Zole, Nona lost her grip on first one knife, then the other, and plummeted down the side of the chamber. Somehow Zole managed to intercept her and arrest her considerable momentum with just one hand while keeping both her balance and her grip on the shipheart.

  The ice-triber seemed unhurt, untroubled by the cold. Nona wondered if she was a ghost, the product of her own fractured mind. But the grip on her wrist was warm and real. “How . . . How are you here?” Nona gasped.

  “You threw me the Old Stone,” Zole said. “It gave me the control over the ice that I needed in order to climb out.” She managed the smallest smile. “Thank you.”

  “It was nothing.” Nona coughed an amazed laugh over chattering teeth. “Damn thing was killing me anyway.”

  Zole lifted her gaze and scanned the darkness as if considering her options.

  “You’ll have to leave me here,” Nona said. “I can’t go any farther.”

  Zole didn’t appear to have heard. She was staring at a particular spot, high up. “Come.”

  “I said I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  Nona tried to stand but her legs went out from under her and she fell. Zole caught her wrist again, her grip iron. Without further words she hauled Nona to her feet again, bent, and took her over one wet shoulder as she collapsed.

  “Don’t be silly . . . you can’t carry me out.”

  “Can.” Zole straightened with a grunt. “And will.”

  Zole began to walk towards her goal. With each step the ice splintered beneath her feet, reshaping itself to form footholds.

  Nona fell into her own darkness and missed most of their escape from the bubble chamber. She had glimpses of the steep ascent, Zole hugging the wall, sinking the shipheart into the ice and somehow using it to steady herself as she moved from one ledge and created the next. Nona missed much of what followed too, and while conscious put most of her effort into fighting the shipheart’s effort to break her apart, but slowly the warmth of Zole’s body began to penetrate her own chilled flesh.

  “I can walk.” The weakness in Nona’s voice made her doubt her own claim but Zole set her down without debate.

  The ice around them had shaded from black to a dark grey, and not just where they stood but ahead and behind.

  “We are getting closer to the surface.” Zole sounded weary. “If your clothes are wet when we come up into the wind you will not survive.”

  Nona coughed. “How do you propose I dry them?”

  “Body heat,” Zole said. “We run now.” And she began to jog ahead.

  Nona groaned and staggered in pursuit.

  * * *

  • • •

  THEY NOTICED THE sound first. The distant howl of the wind, blowing across the mouth of the tunnel an unknown distance ahead of them and reverberating with a low tone. Next they noticed the light. Just a whisper at first. A hint reaching down through the ice, a suggestion that even this long night would come to an end.

  Zole called a halt. “Take off your coat.”

  “Really? Because I’m cold enough with it on.” Nona shed Kettle’s range-coat despite her protest. Meltwater had gone right through it and had frozen on the outside, leaving the garment too stiff to fold.

  “And the shirts.”

  “No!” Nona folded her arms across her chest. Both layers were warmer following their run but still damp. Sister Tallow had told them many times before their ice trek that something as simple as working up a sweat could get you killed on the ice once you cooled down and the wind got to work.

  Zole shrugged her backpack off and set the shipheart down. The contents of her pack were wrapped tightly within a sealskin. The knots put up considerable resistance and finally had to be cut. At last Zole pulled out a thick woollen vest and unrolled what looked to be leather leggings. “Dry.” She started to draw out strips of velvet that looked to have been cut from a lord’s cloak. “To wrap around your hands. Fur would be better but this should make sure you keep your fingers.”

  “You could have told me earlier!” Nona took the vest and began to strip off her layers.

  “And if you had got wet again your death would have been assured.”

  “Fair point . . .” Nona struggled into the dry clothes and hugged herself. She felt warmer already, though a vest and leggings would be scant protection out in the open.

  She cast a suspicious glance at Zole, who had stooped to pick up the discarded garments. “Why aren’t you wet? You climbed up through half a dozen waterfalls!”

  Zole stood, holding one of Nona’s shirts, frowning. A stream of grey water started to run from the lowest points of the dangling sleeves. “I find ice harder to work than stone, and water more difficult than ice. But I can do it.” The stream became a dripping, and then the dripping stopped. She handed the dry shirt back to Nona.

  Nona put on each item as Zole dried it. The range-coat came last, ice flaking away from the outer surface as Nona slung it around her shoulders. Being dry after so long made her feel human again, the tainted water gone from her skin. With daylight in the distance she felt almost good. “Let’s go!”

  A few hundred yards on and the end of the tunnel blazed ahead of them, a circle of hope.

  “Follow me.” Zole raised her voice above the wind’s howl. “Step where I step. It is dangerous on the ice.”

  “It’s dangerous under the ice!” Nona hurried towards the light.

  Zole put an arm out to stop her. “More of those who leave the Corridor die on the ice than below it. Walk with respect here, Nona Grey. The white death waits.”

  17

  HOLY CLASS

  Present Day

  “HOW COULD YOU not tell me you’d taken the Blade-test?” Nona asked.

  Ara held up her hands. “To begin with I didn’t want to put pressure on myself. If I failed I wanted to tell people in my own time, not have them lined up to ask me. And then afterwards I didn’t want to put pressure on you. Tallow said you’d be called up next.”

  Nona shook her head. “I can’t believe you beat me to it.”

  “I’m almost two years older than you!”

  “You know what I mean. We joined the same day.” Nona looked up at Path Tower. They had gone with the rest of the class to the lesson only to have Sister Pan gently point out that neither of them were in Holy Class anymore and as such had no business in her classroom.

  “Explain it again,” Ara said. “Nona Grey, a Holy Sister?”

  “I told you.”

  “You did, but I’m hoping it will make sense second time around.”

  “What’s wrong with being a Holy Sister?” Nona asked. “It’s good enough for Jula but not for me? Don’t you love the Ancestor, Sister Thorn?”

  “I love the Ancestor fine, Sister Cage, but I know you love this.” Ara patted the sword at her hip. “How are you going to live without all of . . . that?”

  “Abbess Glass didn’t need all of that and she made a difference. She
was more dangerous than a dozen Red Sisters, or Grey, more deadly even than Holy Witches.”

  “But to never swing a sword again? And you’re so good at it! Isn’t it a sin not to use a gift the Ancestor gave to you?”

  Nona said nothing for a long moment, her eyes on Ara’s sword. “Any sister can be drafted into the Red during an emergency. Jula says that the convents east of the Grampains armed even the youngest novices when the enemy came for them.” Nona quoted: “‘Every child of the Ancestor wore red on that day when the Scithrowl arrayed their number before the Convent of Wise Contemplation. They ran short of habits for Red Sisters and instead painted the newest novices with the blood of captured heretics.’”

  Ara opened her mouth. Then closed it.

  Nona looked up at the smoke-stained sky and shook her head. “I don’t think many days will pass before I’m handed a sword again, Sister Thorn.”

  “I should go and report to Sister Tallow—I mean Sister Iron,” Ara said. “I take instruction from her now. And she from the abbess.”

  “And the abbess from the emperor . . .” Nona frowned. “You don’t think the emperor actually talks to Wheel, do you?”

  Ara shook her head. “Father told me that the new Lord Glosis is the emperor’s military advisor. Glosis instructs the generals, and General Wensis oversees the deployment of martial brothers and sisters in times of crisis.” She glanced across to Blade Hall. “I’d better go . . . I guess I’ll see you tonight at the dormitory—”

  “We’ll be given cells. We’re big girls now.”

  “Oh yes. Well, at least we won’t have to see Joeli every morning.” Ara frowned. “Why do you think she didn’t report us? I was sure the abbess had us rung out of bed to face charges.”

  “I guess whoever she tells her tales to wants what we were after. Once we escaped they couldn’t be sure to recover it. If it were just up to Joeli she would have seen us humiliated and punished.”

  “Who does she pass her stories to?”

  “Lord Namsis pulled a lot of golden strings to get her back here, didn’t he?” Nona asked. “Do you think he’s really that keen for his oldest daughter to be a nun? My guess is that the tales Joeli tells reach Sherzal in at most three steps. You can’t think that the emperor’s sister has forgiven any of us? We ruined her alliance with Adoma. For Ancestor’s sake, we set her palace on fire!”

  Ara made the sign of the tree over her heart. “I’ve been telling you what she’s like for years. I wanted us to be a lot more careful over this book business, more secret . . . but you wouldn’t listen. Getting that monk involved was madness. You hardly know him!” She held up her hand to stop Nona’s reply. “I have to run. I don’t think Sister Iron is any more easygoing than Tallow! You’d better hurry too. I’m sure there’s some important praying that needs doing . . .”

  With a shake of her head Ara sped off, sword bouncing against her leg. Nona watched with a certain degree of envy as her friend crossed the square. Ara’s pity had been poorly hidden and it stung, though Nona understood it. She had turned her back on the sword, on the shadow arts, and on the mysteries of the Path. It would take time for her friends to understand the choice. With a sigh Nona looked towards the Dome of the Ancestor. She could smell the char on the wind now. If ever there were a time for praying, this was it.

  * * *

  • • •

  KETTLE INTERCEPTED NONA outside the doors to the Dome.

  “You made a hell of a mess in Apple’s storeroom. What on Abeth was that about?”

  The lie starting to form on Nona’s lips evaporated under the intensity of Kettle’s scrutiny.

  “It was a stupid mistake. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you should be!” Kettle shoved Nona’s shoulder, still angry. “Appy’s furious!”

  “So why did she offer me the Grey?”

  “The real question is why didn’t you take it?” Kettle shook her head as if trying to shake off the foolishness of Nona’s decision.

  “I asked first, sister.”

  “She—well, she would have offered you the Grey anyway . . . at least she would have if there had been time to calm down. But . . .” Kettle paused and her eyes grew bright with tears.

  “But what?” The backs of Nona’s arms prickled. She knew what Kettle was going to say.

  “But . . . but she promised Abbess Glass that she would offer you the Grey, come what may.”

  Nona’s eyes misted, her mouth too dry to speak. Come what may.

  “Why didn’t you take it?” Kettle asked. “Apple thought nobody could be a Sister of Discretion without being able to work shadow. She was always going to offer you the Grey because of the promise, but she didn’t actually want you to take it until the day you passed the Wire-test. Then she did. You were born to this, Nona.”

  “I didn’t take it because I made a promise of my own. On her deathbed Abbess Glass asked me to become a Holy Sister, and I swore that I would.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “She’s still doing it, isn’t she, sister?” Kettle said. “Even dead, she’s still playing a long game that none of us understand.” She stepped in, gave Nona a fierce hug, and left at a run.

  Nona went into the Dome of the Ancestor, deep in her thoughts. She hadn’t known of the promise Abbess Glass had asked of Sister Apple, but she knew, or thought she knew, the game that was being played, and she would play it to the end.

  * * *

  • • •

  IN THE VASTNESS of the Ancestor’s Dome, kneeling before the statue of the Ancestor and deep in her serenity, Nona hardly noticed the other Holy Sisters come and go. Hours slipped by and the bells spoke them, Bray and Ferra competing for her attention, though now the iron voice of Ferra spelled out the day for her as it did for all the nuns.

  On her first night as a Holy Sister Nona had slept in her nun’s cell, by chance the same one that she had slept in nearly a decade earlier on the night she arrived at the convent. Lying wakeful in her narrow bed she had thought of Ara in her own narrow bed three cells down. Ara who had taken the Red. Ara who she could not allow to come to harm. Not because of some cryptic request from Abbess Glass but by the order of her own heart. And when at last her dreams had come they had been troubled ones, filled with screaming, with blood, and with the light of shiphearts.

  With her fast broken Nona had been following Ferra’s call to the Dome for second prayers when she noticed novices streaming from their cloister towards Blade Hall. Not just one class but all of them mixed together. Holy Class novices with Red Class girls half their height running between them. Nona allowed herself to be drawn along with the flow. Blade Hall was not the destination. Instead the novices, and half a dozen nuns, joined others at the edge of the Rock. Nona’s height allowed her a clear view.

  “Ancestor watch over them.” At Nona’s elbow Sister Rose wrung her hands, staring out at the smoke-dark sky.

  The fires in the east had advanced overnight and seemed to burn against the very walls of the capital itself. Even from Sweet Mercy Nona could see that the road stretching the five miles to Verity lay choked with traffic, all headed one way, to the sanctuary of the emperor’s walls.

  The sharp tolling of Bitel brought the convent to the abbess’s steps. The gathered nuns and novices learned that the enemy were indeed within ten miles of Verity, their skirmishers moving through the surrounding countryside in bands of tens and hundreds.

  “None of you are to leave the convent except by my authorization,” Wheel declared from the doorway of the big house. “We will await orders from the Church. Sisters Iron and Apple will organise our perimeter.”

  Unexpectedly, the abbess descended the stone steps in front of her house and came to stand among the novices of Red Class. She ran her bony fingers through the blond curls of the smallest girl. “If the heretics come to our door we will fight them. Fight them to t
he very last drop of our blood.” The fierceness left her voice. “Until then . . . pray, sisters, pray.”

  * * *

  • • •

  NONA RETURNED TO the Dome of the Ancestor and followed orders. While Ara joined the patrols of Red and Grey Sisters defending the convent Nona bent her knees before the Ancestor’s golden statue, one figure among many offering their devotions.

  Abbess Wheel joined them for a while to read aloud from the Book of the Ancestor. She read that they were blessed, that eternity awaited them in the glory and goodness of the tree to which all born of a woman are connected and in which all are joined. Later she took to her knees beside Nona and prayed in silence.

  When she left, the old woman set a hand to Nona’s shoulder to help her rise. “Pray, child.” She stood and looked across the rows of bowed heads. “Your faith is a gift that keeps them strong.”

  * * *

  • • •

  NONA REMAINED ON her knees and though many thoughts battled for her attention she ran through her head the litany of St. Affid, whose day it was. Nuns in black prayed to either side of her, each with an incense stick smouldering before them. And towering over their heads the Ancestor stood, silent as ever, promising nothing but to watch their lives and wait for their arrival.

  Though none of them had talked about it, it seemed that they might all be called to the Ancestor over the course of the next few days or weeks. The Scithrowl were no more merciful to the perceived heresies of the Church than the Inquisition was to theirs. They might let the Dome of the Ancestor remain standing, but none of the sisters who tended it would outlive the fall of Verity.

  “A penny for your thoughts, Sister Cage.” Sister Rose got to her knees beside Nona with some difficulty.

  “I was praying.” Nona looked across at the shorter woman. It was odd to see Rosie out of the sanatorium.

  “We all say that.” Sister Rose made the sign of the tree, a single finger tracing up from the taproot, all of them spreading for the branches. “But we’re always thinking of something.”