Blood Song

by Anthony Ryan

  “Caught me coming out of a warehouse with a sackful of spice. Good stuff too, I’d’ve made meself six golds at least.”

  He’s going to die for a sackful of spice, Vaelin realised. That and stabbing a guardsman and trying to choke Sister Sherin. “What’s your name?”

  “Gallis. Gallis the Climber they call me. Not a wall I can’t scale.” Wincing, he lifted his forearm, the serrated knife still embedded there. “Looks like I won’t be doing that again.” He laughed then convulsed with pain. “Any redflower going, brother?”

  “Prepare a tincture.” Sister Sherin had returned with the sergeant in tow. “One part redflower to three parts water.”

  Vaelin paused to look at her neck, red and bruised from Gallis’s grip. “You should have that seen to.”

  Momentary anger flashed in her eyes and he could tell she was biting back a sharp retort. He couldn’t tell if she was angry that she had been proved wrong or that he had saved her life. “Please prepare the tincture, brother,” she told him in a hard rasp.

  She worked on Gallis for over an hour, administering the redflower then extracting the crossbow bolt from his shoulder, cutting the shaft in half then widening the wound and gently pulling the barbed point free, Gallis biting on a leather strap to stifle his cries. She worked on the knife in his arm next, it was more difficult, being closer to major blood vessels, but came free after ten minutes’ work. Finally she sewed the wounds shut after painting them with the corr-tree gel. Gallis had lost consciousness by then and his colour had noticeably paled.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Sherin told the sergeant. “He can’t be moved yet.”

  “Can’t wait too long, sister,” the sergeant said. “Got to have him in front of the magistrate for the morning.”

  “No chance of clemency?” Vaelin asked.

  “I’ve got a man with a knifed leg next door,” the sergeant replied. “And the bugger tried to kill the sister.”

  “I don’t recall that,” Sherin said, washing her hands. “Do you, brother?”

  Is a sackful of spice worth a man’s life? “Not at all.”

  The sergeant’s face took on a deeply angry tinge. “This man is a known thief, drunkard and redflower fiend. He would’ve killed us all to get out of here.”

  “Brother Vaelin,” Sherin said. “When is it right to kill?”

  “In defence of life,” Vaelin replied promptly. “To kill when not defending life is a denial of the Faith.”

  The sergeant’s lip curled in disgust. “Softhearted Order sods,” he muttered before stalking from the room.

  “You know they’ll hang him anyway?” Vaelin asked her.

  Sherin lifted her hands from the bloodied water and he passed her a towel. She met his eye for the first time that day, speaking with a certainty that was almost chilling: “No-one is going to die on my account.”

  He avoided the evening meal, knowing his actions would only have added to his celebrity and finding himself unable to face the torrent of questions and admiration. So he hid himself in the gatehouse with Brother Sellin, the aged gatekeeper who had greeted him the previous morning. The old brother seemed glad of the company and refrained from asking questions or mentioning the day’s events, for which Vaelin was grateful. Instead, at Vaelin’s insistence, he told stories of his time in the Fifth Order, proving that a man did not have to be a warrior to see much of war.

  “Got this one on the deck of the Seaspite.” Sellin displayed an odd horseshoe-shaped scar on the underside of his forearm. “I was stitching a wound in a Meldenean pirate’s stomach when he rears up and bites me, nearly down to the bone. It was just after the Battle Lord had burned their city so I s’pose he had good reason to be angry. Our sailors threw him in the sea.” He grimaced at the memory. “Begged them not to but men’ll do terrible things when their blood’s up.”

  “How did you come to be on a warship?” Vaelin asked.

  “Oh, I was Fleet Lord Merlish’s personal physic for a number of years. He always had a soft spot for me since I cured his pox a few years before. A right fine old captain he was, loved the sea like a mother, loved all sailors, even had respect for the Meldeneans, best sailors in the world he said. Broke his heart when the Battle Lord burned their city. They had a mighty row about it, I can tell you.”

  “They argued?” Vaelin was curious. Brother Sellin was one of the few people he had met who didn’t initially refer to the Battle Lord as his father, in fact he appeared blithely unaware of the fact, although Vaelin suspected that the old man had been in service to the Faith for so long that disassociating its servants from their family connections was simply second nature.

  “Oh yes,” Sellin continued. “Fleet Lord Merlish called him a butcher, a killer of innocents, said he’d shamed the Realm forever. Everyone who heard it thought the Battle Lord would draw his sword but all he said was ‘Loyalty is my strength, my lord.’” Sellin sighed, sipping from a leather flask Vaelin suspected contained a mixture not dissimilar to what Brother Makril had called Brother’s Friend. “Poor old Merlish. Stayed in his cabin all the way home, refused to report to the King when we docked. He died not long after, his heart gave out on a voyage to the Far West.”

  “Did you see it?” Vaelin asked. “Did you see the city burn?”

  “I saw it.” Brother Sellin took a deep pull from his flask. “I saw it all right. Lit up the sky for miles around. But it wasn’t the sight of it that chilled you, it was the sound. We were anchored a good half mile offshore and still you could hear the screams. Thousands, men, women, children, all screaming in the fire.” He shuddered and drank again.

  “I’m sorry, brother. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Sellin shrugged. “Times past, brother. Can’t live in ’em. Just learn from ’em.” He peered out at the gathering dark. “You’d best be getting back elst you’ll not get a meal tonight.”

  He found Sister Sherin in the meal hall, eating alone as was her habit. He expected a rebuke or outright rejection when he sat opposite her but she made no comment. The kitchen staff had placed a good selection on the table but she seemed content with a small plate of bread and fruit.

  “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the array of food.

  She shrugged so he helped himself to some ham and chicken, gulping it down ravenously, drawing a plainly disgusted glance.

  He grinned, taking guilty enjoyment in her discomfort. “I’m hungry.”

  There was the faintest ghost of a smile as she looked away.

  “No-one eats alone in the Sixth Order,” he told her. “We all have our groups. We live together, eat together, fight together. We call each other brother with good reason. Here things seem to be different.”

  “My brothers and sisters respect my privacy,” she said.

  “Because you’re special? You can do what they can’t.”

  She took a bite of apple and gave no reply.

  “How’s the thief?” he asked.

  “Well enough. They moved him to the upper floor. The sergeant put two men on his door.”

  “You intend to speak for him at the hearing?”

  “Of course. Although it would help his case if you spoke as well. I feel your word would carry more weight than mine.”

  He washed down a mouthful of ham with some water. “What is it, sister, that makes you care so much for one such as him?”

  Her face hardened. “What is it that makes you care so little?”

  Silence reigned at the table for a few moments. Finally, he said, “Did you know my mother trained here? She was a sister, like you. She left the Fifth Order to marry my father. She never told me she had served here, she never told me about this part of her life. I came here seeking answers, I wanted to know who she was, who I was, who my father was. But the Aspect would tell me nothing. Instead she paired me with you, which I think was an answer in itself.”

  “An answer to what?”

  “Who my mother was, at least. Perhaps partly who I am. I’m not like you, I’m no
healer. I would have killed that man today if I could, I’ve killed before. You couldn’t kill anyone, and neither could she. That’s who she was.”

  “And your father?”

  Thousands, men, women, children, all screaming in the fire…Loyalty is my strength. “He was a man who burned a city because his king told him to.” He pushed his plate away and got up from the table. “I’ll speak for Gallis before the magistrate. See you at the fifth hour.”

  In the morning it transpired that their presence at the magistrate’s court would not be necessary; Gallis had escaped during the night. The guards had entered his room on the top floor to find it empty and the window open. The wall outside was nearly thirty feet high with hardly any visible handholds.

  Vaelin leaned out of the window to peer at the courtyard below. “Gallis the Climber,” he murmured.

  “With the wounds he had he shouldn’t have been able to walk.” Sister Sherin moved close to inspect the wall outside. Vaelin found her proximity both intoxicating and uncomfortable but she seemed unconcerned. “I’ll never know how he managed it.”

  “Master Sollis says a man doesn’t know his true strength until he fears for his life.”

  “The sergeant said he’d track the man down if it takes him all his days.” She moved away, leaving Vaelin in a confusion of regret and relief. “He probably will. That or I’ll see him again, dragged through the doors with another wound for me to heal.”

  “If he’s smart, he’ll get himself on a ship and be far away by nightfall.”

  Sherin shook her head. “People don’t leave this place, brother. No matter the threats against them, they stay and live out their lives.”

  He turned back to the window. The southern quarter was waking up to the day, the pale morning sky just taking on the stain of chimney smoke that would hang over the rooftops until nightfall, the shortening shadows revealing streets soiled with mingled refuse and excreta, dotted here and there the huddled forms of the drunk, drugged or homeless. Already he could hear vague shouts of conflict or hatred and wondered how many more would come through the doors today.

  “Why?” he wondered. “Why stay in a place such as this?”

  “I did,” she said. “Why shouldn’t they?”

  “You were born here?”

  She nodded. “I was lucky enough to complete my training in only two years. The Aspect offered me any posting in the Realm. I chose this one.”

  The hesitancy in her voice told him he was probably the first person to hear her reveal so much of her past. “Because this is…home?”

  “Because I felt this is where I needed to be.” She moved to the door. “We have work, brother.”

  The next few days were hard but rewarding, not least because he was constantly in Sister Sherin’s presence. The parade of injured and ill coming through the door provided plenty of opportunity to increase his meagre healing skills as Sherin began to impart some of her knowledge, teaching him the best pattern to use when stitching a cut and the most effective mix of herbs for aches in the stomach or head. However, it quickly became obvious the skills she possessed would never be his, she had an eye and an ear for sickness so unerring it reminded him of his own affinity for the sword. Luckily there was no further need for him to display his skills as the level of aggression amongst patients had declined considerably since his first day. Word had spread through the southern quarter that there was a brother from the Sixth here and most of the more shady characters turning up to request treatment wisely kept their tongues still and violent urges in check.

  The only negative aspect to his time in the Fifth was the constant attention of the other brothers and sisters. He had continued to take his meals with Sister Sherin late in the evening and they soon found themselves joined by a cluster of novices eager for Vaelin’s tales of life in the Sixth Order or a retelling of what they termed his “rescue of Sister Sherin,” a tale that seemed to have become a minor legend in only a few days. As ever, Sister Henna was his most attentive audience.

  “Weren’t you scared, brother?” she asked, wide brown eyes gazing up at him. “When the big brute was going to kill Sister Sherin? Didn’t it frighten you?”

  Beside him, Sherin, who until now had borne the intrusion on her mealtime with stoic calm, pointedly let her cutlery fall onto her plate with a loud clatter.

  “I…have been trained to control my fear,” he replied, instantly realising how conceited it sounded. “Not as well as Sister Sherin, though,” he went on quickly. “She remained calm throughout.”

  “Oh she never gets bothered by anything.” Henna waved a hand dismissively. “So, why didn’t you kill him?”

  “Sister!” Brother Curlis exclaimed.

  She lowered her gaze, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “It matters not, sister.” He patted her hand awkwardly, which seemed to make her blush even more.

  “Brother Vaelin and I have had a long day,” Sister Sherin said. “We would like to eat in peace.”

  Although she wasn’t a mistress, her word evidently commanded obedience because their small audience quickly dispersed back to their rooms.

  “They respect you,” Vaelin observed.

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. But I am not liked here. I am envied and resented by most of my brothers and sisters. The Aspect warned me it might be this way.” Her tone indicated little concern, she was simply stating a fact.

  “You could be judging them too harshly. Perhaps if you mixed with them more…”

  “I am not here for them. The Fifth Order is the means by which I can help the people I need to help.”

  “No room for friendship? A soul in whom to confide, share a burden?”

  She gave him a guarded glance. “You said it yourself, brother. Things are different here.”

  “Well, although you may not welcome it, I hope you know you have my friendship.”

  She said nothing, sitting still, eyes fixed on her half-empty plate.

  Was this how it was for my mother? he wondered. Was she so isolated by her abilities? Did they resent her too? He found it hard to imagine. He remembered a woman of kindness, warmth and openness. She could never have been as closed to emotion as Sherin. Sherin is formed by whatever happened to her beyond the gates, he realised. Out there in the southern quarter. My mother would have had a different life. A thought occurred to him then, something he had never considered before. Who was she before she came here? What was her family name? Who were my grandparents?

  Suddenly preoccupied, he rose from the table. “Sleep well, sister. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “It’s your last day tomorrow, is it not?” she asked, looking up at him. Oddly her eyes seemed brighter than usual, it almost seemed she was tearful but the idea was absurd.

  “It is. Although I still hope to learn more before I leave.”

  “Yes.” She looked away. “Yes of course. Sleep well.”

  “And you, sister.”

  Sleep was beyond him as he sat, legs crossed beneath him, and pondered the realisation that he knew almost nothing of his mother’s past. She was a sister of the Fifth Order, she married his father, she bore him a son, she died. That was all he knew. For that matter he knew just as little about his father. A soldier elevated by the King for bravery, later Battle Lord, city burner, father of a son and a daughter by different mothers. But who had he been before? Vaelin had no knowledge of where his father had been born, whether his grandfather had been a soldier or a farmer or neither.

  So many questions, raging in his mind like a storm. He closed his eyes and sought to control his breathing as Master Sollis had taught him, a skill no doubt learned from the Aspect of the Fifth Order, which in turn raised even more questions. Focus, he told himself. Breathe, slow and even…

  An hour later, the beat of his heart slowed and the storm in his mind cooling, he was roused by a soft but insistent knock at his door. Pausing to pull his shirt over his head he went to the door, finding Sister Henn
a there, smiling shyly.

  “Brother,” she said, her voice little above a whisper. “Have I disturbed you?”

  “I wasn’t sleeping.” Surely she can’t want another story. “The hour is late, sister. If you require something of me, perhaps it could wait until morning.”

  “Require something?” Her smile broadened a little and, before he could stop her, she stepped past him into his cell. “I require your forgiveness, brother, for my thoughtless words this evening.”

  Vaelin’s calmed heart was beginning to thump again. “There is nothing to forgive…”

  “Oh, but there is!” she whispered fiercely, moving close to him, making him step back, the door forced closed behind him. “I am such a stupid girl. I say such silly things. Thoughtless things.” She moved closer still, pressing against him, the feel of her ample breasts against his chest provoking an instant sheen of sweat and an unwelcome stirring in his groin. “Say you forgive me,” she implored, a faint sob in her voice as she laid her head on his chest. “Say you don’t hate me!”

  “Erm.” He searched urgently through his mind for an appropriate response but life in the Order had failed to equip him for such things. “Of course I don’t hate you.” Gently he put his hands on her shoulders and eased her away from him, forcing a smile. “You shouldn’t worry over such a trifle.”

  “Oh, but I do,” she assured him breathlessly. “The thought of offending you, of all people.” She looked away, ashamed. “It’s more than I could bear.”

  “You care too much for my opinion, sister.” He reached behind him for the door handle. “You should go now…”

  Her hand reached out, touching his chest, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. “So hard,” she murmured. “So strong.”

  “Sister.” He put his hand over hers. “This is not…”

  She kissed him then, pressing close, her lips on his before he knew what had happened. The sensation was overwhelming, a torrent of unaccustomed feelings washing through his body. This is wrong, he thought as her tongue probed between his lips. I should stop her. Right now…I must end this…Any second now…