Rangers at Roadsend

by Jane Fletcher

  This truly was no ordinary building site. It would be the first great temple to Celaeno, the mother Goddess who had chosen this world for her children. It was to be set in the heart of Landfall, on the very site where the labs had stood, where the Blessed Himoti had first instructed Celaeno’s children in the mysteries of life. Himoti’s grave and the small shrine over it would also be moved here and incorporated into the new structure.

  Sister Singh unrolled a copy of the plans and started to point out features in the developing site for her. “That’s where the main hall will be. The school for Cloners and Imprinters is over there. Those are the foundations for one of the dormitory blocks.”

  “And this outline here?”

  “It’s the library for books left by the Elder-Ones.”

  “Are they not to be kept in the school, ma’am?” Novice Mayot ventured to ask.

  Pruzansky glanced at her “Some will be. Those necessary for their education. But most of the books are clearly not intended for common access. They just cause confusion. They will be stored in reverence at the library.”

  It had been a contentious issue during the planning stage. It had taken her vote as Chief Consultant to win the argument. Interpreting the Elder-Ones’ work could be difficult enough for someone of her experience. Letting simply anyone read from the books could only result in stupid or dangerous rumors.

  Sister Singh moved on to another section of the site. “That will be the sanctum where the Sisters and Imprinters live.”

  “Renouncing the sins and impiety of the world, in simple lives of celibacy and prayer.” Novice Mayot bowed her head as she spoke.

  “And hopefully with a bit more space than we had in the old labs.” Sister Singh was far more prosaic.

  “It’s a great pity that the Blessed Himoti’s labs have been taken down,” Mayot said wistfully.

  “As Sister Singh pointed out, we have outgrown them. They were unbearably cramped.”

  “Could they not have been kept as a lasting memorial, ma’am?”

  “They were never intended to be permanent. They would have fallen down of their own accord in a few more years.”

  “But it is painful to break with the past. And sometimes, the Elder-Ones feel so distant.”

  “They will be if you think their legacy lies in buildings rather than in your heart,” Pruzansky said firmly.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean—”

  The older woman took pity and softened her tone. “It’s all right. I understand how you feel. I was once the same. I remember the day the lab equipment ceased to function. I was worried, even frightened. Chief Consultant Beaumont came and spoke to me.” Pruzansky looked around, judging her position. “It must have been on this very spot. She said the equipment had been a gift from Celaeno to the Elder-Ones, not to us. And the same may be said of the building itself.”

  “Beaumont is revered as one of the greatest Chief Consultants,” Sister Singh added.

  “Indeed. She was a very holy woman…one of the last who remembered talking to the Blessed Himoti, as I am one of the last who remember talking to her.”

  Pruzansky’s lips tightened. The years were taking their toll. Her time in the world must be nearly over, and when she died, another link with the Elder-Ones would break—one far more important than the lab buildings.

  “We are fortunate that you have finished writing your great work, so that your memories and wisdom will not be lost.” Sister Singh must have sensed where her thoughts had gone.

  Pruzansky smiled behind her mask. The Book of the Elder-Ones had been compiled from a hundred sources, of which the most important and irreplaceable was her own memory. It told the story of how the world began. How the Goddess Celaeno had searched among the stars for a suitable planet, with her servants, the Elder-Ones, asleep in her belly. How the Elder-Ones had worked with her blessing to build the new world. How the children of the Goddess had been engendered from the essence of life held within Celaeno. And how the Blessed Himoti, greatest of the Elder-Ones, had by the sanctity of her prayers called forth the Imprinters, the channel by which the Goddess granted souls to her children.

  “I wanted to make sure that the knowledge wasn’t lost. I wanted to pass on what I’d learned from the generation before me—the children who’d been raised by the Elder-Ones themselves.”

  “The Sisterhood is in your debt,” Singh affirmed.

  “I hope that my book will be of assistance to those who follow us. The Sisterhood carries a heavy burden of duty. We must care for the Imprinters, the chosen of the Goddess, and keep them pure from the sins of the world. And we must ourselves be pure, wearing masks as a guard against personal vanity and embracing celibacy so that we love no woman more than the Goddess.” Pruzansky turned to the young novice. “You’re new in the Sisterhood. In time, you will doubtless advance to greater rank. Maybe even become Chief Consultant.”

  Mayot looked down, bashfully. “I don’t think that—”

  “It is a great responsibility. Sometimes, you will have to do things that are difficult or distressing. It is my hope that The Book of the Elder-Ones will strengthen your faith when the call of duty is hard to follow.”

  A sudden attack of memory hit Pruzansky and clamped her throat shut. She turned away, eyes closed, while fighting to regain her composure. The greatest test of her faith had happened less than a year before. A Cloner had tried to avoid paying the imprinting fees by cloning her partner. Their crime had been discovered within days of the monstrosity’s birth.

  Ordering the punishment of the adults had been easy; they had knowingly defied the command of the Goddess and created a soulless abomination. But the infant itself…it had looked so much like a real four-week-old baby. Its tiny hands had waved about as it lay in its crib, wailing. Ordering its destruction, in Himoti’s name, was the most painful duty Pruzansky had ever forced herself to perform. But although she had lost the novice’s intensity and naïveté, the years had not weakened her faith.

  Pruzansky drew a deep breath and opened her eyes. Before her stood the old council hall, now abandoned. As part of the plans for the temple, it was going to be pulled down to make way for new buildings. It was the physical display of a moral victory. The Sisterhood were the Blessed Himoti’s disciples. As memory of the Elder-Ones faded, it was their calling to carry on her great work and ensure that the will of the Goddess was done. Now nothing would challenge Himoti’s great vision for the world.

  About the Author

  Jane Fletcher was born in Greenwich, London in 1956. She now lives alone in the south-west of England after the sudden, untimely death of her partner.

  Her love of fantasy began at the age of seven when she encountered Greek mythology. This was compounded by a childhood spent clambering over every example of ancient masonry she could find (medieval castles, megalithic monuments, Roman villas). It was her resolute ambition to become an archaeologist when she grew up, so it was something of a surprise when she became a software engineer instead.

  Jane started writing when her partner refused to listen to yet another lengthy account of ‘a really good idea for a story’ and insisted that she write it down. After many years of revision, the result, Lorimal’s Chalice, was published. This book was short-listed for the Gaylactic Spectrum award in 2003.

  Lorimal’s Chalice will be re-released as Book One and Book Two of The Lyremouth Chronicles in the coming year (Book One: The Exile and The Sorcerer, Book Two: The Traitor and The Chalice) along with the all new Book Three in the series: The Empress and The Acolyte.

  Jane is also the author of The Celaeno Series. All three books in this series will be available from Bold Strokes Books in 2005 (The Walls of Westernfort, Rangers at Roadsend, and The Temple at Landfall).

  Jane can be contacted at js.fletcher@btinternet.com

 

 

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