Dragonblaster cogd-5

by Alastair J. Archibald

  Panting, she wrenched open another door at the top of the stairs, and she found herself in the Reverend Mother's own temple; the very room to which she had been transported from Crar. Numerous doors led from the bare, stone room, and Drex paused. Which should she take?

  "The door opposite the throne, idiot! Go! Quietly, now! We don't want to wake the Reverend Mother; she may be asleep."

  Drexelica padded across the stones as silently as she was able, trying to ignore the rising clamour in her mind. The chants that had echoed through her head were beginning to fade, to be replaced by doubts.

  Why is Sister Melana doing this? she wondered. It can't be for my good…

  Stop that! another mental voice commanded her. Everything Sister Melana does is for our own good. Everything! We don't want to displease her…

  The Order is all! another screamed. Obedience and discipline!

  Other voices joined in: some haranguing, some cajoling, but each one commanding her attention.

  "Do it, idiot!” Melana hissed, pausing by another, open door. “Open it!"

  Drex did as she was bidden, revealing another flight of stairs, but she saw Melana slipping through the other portal.

  What's she up to?

  Don't you know anything? Never question a Superior!

  Shut up, curse you! She's using me as a bloody decoy!

  The series’ last thought dismissed her inner traitor's objections and burst into her sensorium like bolts of lightning, driving the dull darkness from her mind, illuminating every crevice of her awareness. I won't have a chance! The raddled cow wants me to be caught, just so she can get away!

  Letting go of the door handle, Drex made her way over to the exit Melana had used, and made her way up more stairs into a dark corridor with a brightly lit exit. Silhouetted against the gleam, she saw the unmistakable form of the Sister, poised like a sprinter awaiting the whistle.

  So that's her game! she thought, seething. Poor little Drex'll make a mad dash for freedom, alerting everyone, while Melana sneaks away in the confusion. Well, this girl isn't as stupid or as indoctrinated as the dear Sister thinks!

  Shaking her head to clear the last traces of fuzziness that had built up over the course of the day, she made her way over to the crouching figure, who was staring intently into a large hallway.

  "Hello, Sister,” she muttered, and Melana started as if she had been struck by an arrow.

  "What in Hades are you doing here, you little whore? Don't you understand plain speech? I gave you a direct order!"

  "I thought we might change the plan a little, Sister Melana. I'm not going to be some fox thrown to the hounds so you can save your own precious hide. If you're going, I'm going with you."

  Melana gasped, her eyes wide and staring. “You can't still be unaffected after all that training!"

  "I'm not. Something inside me still wants to come to attention whenever I think of your precious freaking Order, but I've been keeping a little bit of myself aside during our fun interludes. It's getting smaller and smaller by the day, but I'm still me. I know I can't resist forever, so I'm not willing to take the chance they'll replace you with someone more competent than you."

  "I could take you straight back down to the chamber right now!” Melana's eyes blazed with naked hatred. “You'll break in the end."

  "I don't doubt it, Sister. But I'll howl the house down before I let you do that. We're leaving right now-together, or not at all. You don't look as if you'll last too long yourself; Lizaveta must be pretty peeved with you for some reason. I don't think she's looking on you with any great favour, sweet lady."

  Melana growled like a cornered tigress, and she thrashed her limbs like a petulant child balked in its desires, but she nodded in the end.

  "All right, all right-hug the shadows, and I'll follow behind you. Keep it quiet."

  Drex stifled a laugh. “Nice try, Sister Melana, but I don't buy it. At the least sign of trouble, you'd develop a limp, or something, and call down the wrath of the avenging Score on me, so you could get away.

  "You can go first. I'm a beggar-girl from Griven, and I've had harder mistresses than you; I can handle lack of food and sleep a lot better than you, by the look. I also reckon I could best you if it came to a fight, and I'm willing to try. Are you?"

  Melana's eyes locked on Drexelica's, but the former beggar did not look away, in flagrant breach of the rule of Holy Modesty. The nun was the first to avert her gaze, and Drex smiled, confident now that the Sister had seen sense.

  "Very well, Grivense slut. You win-for now.” Melana slunk out of the dark haven like a ferret creeping from its hole, and Drex followed closely behind, hugging the walls of a large hall, the edges of which were shrouded in shadow from a parapet above.

  She saw nuns bustling through the atrium with brisk efficiency, their heads low, and she began to believe that success was in sight: these Sisters seemed intent only on their own business. A large, imposing door on the far side of the hall must be their goal.

  It's all too easy! Surely, Melana could have slipped out at any time-what's all the fuss about?

  As the two furtive figures approached the exit, Drex looked up. The chime was soft, but unmistakeable, and it could not be coincidental that it had sounded at this time.

  Melana thrust Drexelica into the full light of the hall and ran for the door, as a pair of cowled figures ran towards the tumbling Supplicant.

  As she sprawled on the marble floor, Drex felt herself consumed by rage.

  You traitorous bitch! she thought, as the two nuns closed upon her.

  With a facility born of intensive, forced practice, Drexelica reached mental tendrils through the floor into the earth beneath the Priory, drawing its energy into her. She did not even think as she loosed a bolt of pure, will-sapping despair into the mind of Melana.

  Two more nuns appeared, as the Sister, her hand on the door handle, collapsed with a moan of mingled guilt and terror. Drex held the power on for as long as she could, before a bright spark of pain behind her ear turned into a blazing globe of agony.

  As if from a distance, she heard the dry, crackling voice of Prioress Lizaveta: “Very good, my dear: I see that Melana's instruction was not totally wasted. I think you'll make a splendid witch. Of course, we'll need to step up the obedience training a little…"

  Red light subsumed Drexelica's consciousness, and she knew no more.

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  Chapter 10: “A Credit To The Order"

  Drexelica awoke to find herself in an unfamiliar room. She looked in wonder at the colourful, tasteful tapestries on the walls, and the luxurious, green carpet. She was lying on one of a pair of comfortable, well-upholstered, red velvet divans, and she reflected on the stark contrast between this opulence and the squalor of the straw palliasse on which she had lain for a few brief hours each night since she had been transported to the Priory.

  How long has it been? A week? A month? Longer?

  She wracked her mind for clear recollection, but her memories of the time she had spent here were blurred together into a melange of pain and misery.

  They're probably keeping me here to soften me up for further indoctrination But all they're doing is allowing me to clear my thoughts, to ready myself for the next round. I'll beat ‘em yet!

  As if to shame her for the sin of hubris, the door opened and Prioress Lizaveta walked in, accompanied by a dumpy, matronly-looking woman. The mere sight of the Reverend Mother made Drex felt like a marionette whose strings had been seized by a manic puppeteer. To her consternation, her body, seeming to possess a will of its own, flung itself from the divan to prostrate her before Lizaveta.

  "My will is yours, Reverend Mother,” the girl's traitorous mouth said. “I wish only to serve."

  To her disgust, she found herself kissing the hem of the Prioress’ robe with a fervour approaching rapture, despite struggling to resist the strange impulses that had taken control of her body.

  Drex heard the Prioress�
�� crackling voice intone, “You may rise, Supplicant."

  She pushed herself to her feet and stood before the Reverend Mother, not daring to raise her eyes or to speak.

  "Sit, girl.” Lizaveta eased herself into the velvet embrace of the divan nearest the door.

  Wondering what was happening to her, Drex lowered herself onto the other settee, her gaze fixed on the bottle-green carpet.

  "Look at me.” The voice crashed like a thunderclap, and she complied at once with the command.

  The old woman's face looked like a map showing the twists and turns of a long life. Wrinkled lips surrounded by deep lines were twisted in a foul imitation of a friendly smile, but… those eyes! They shone out like lambent beacons from the wizened face, intense and intelligent, seeming to drill through Drex's skull and into her mind. It seemed as if her soul had been laid bare, like an anatomist's dissection pinned out in a display for a group of students.

  The amber eyes seemed to grow larger and larger, until Drexelica feared she would fall into them. After a while, fear gave way to blissful serenity, and she longed to lose herself in the yellow pools. She felt herself drifting, drifting…

  She felt puzzled by the harsh, rhythmic sound she heard, until she realised dimly that the Prioress was laughing. Her senses returned with the impact of a snapped bowstring, and she fell backwards.

  For a few moments, Drexelica struggled to master her vocal chords. When she did, all that emerged from her throat was a guttural, stammering, “What?"

  "Your soul is your own again, girl,” Lizaveta said. “You may speak freely for the moment, although you should be aware that what you just experienced was the merest fraction of my powers. I can exert total control over you whenever I desire.

  "Do speak; you must have many questions to ask me."

  Sitting up straight, Drex asked, “Why did you do that, Reverend Mother?"

  "You may dispense with the formalities of the Order for now, Supplicant. I want to talk with the Grivense street gamine, Drexelica, on her last night of existence."

  Drex felt a flood of relief run through her; death would be a blessing, surcease from her ordeal.

  She's given up on me! At least she won't be able to use me against Grimm. I hope he rips her heart out!

  "So what will it be, Lizaveta? I don't care what you do to me. Whip me to death if you want, tear my limbs off, burn me; whatever you do, it'll be paradise compared with having to chant those bloody stupid Responses just once more.

  Just get on with it."

  Drexelica smiled as she saw a frisson of horror run across the dumpy matron's face, but Lizaveta's expression was as calm as ever.

  "My dear; how unimaginative you are!” the smiling Prioress said. “There are far worse torments than the ones you mentioned. Sister Melana will discover many of them very soon."

  Drexelica stared. “Do you mean she wasn't a part of this stupid little game? I thought…"

  Lizaveta's dry, hacking laugh filled the air. “I have had my eye on the dear Sister for some time. She was altogether too opinionated and conceited, so I thought I'd see how far I'd push her before she showed her true colours. I was rather pleased by the results, and especially pleased with your performance."

  "Me?” The word exploded from Drex's lips. “What did I have to do with it?"

  "Why, your splendid Geomantic spell, dear Drexelica! Neither Melana nor you would have got far-we were waiting for something to happen, sooner or later. However, we were hoping that you would unshackle your power in the process, and you have done so. That you unleashed your energies at Melana herself was particularly pleasant to see. She's quite a strong witch, that one, but you brought her down as if she were a straw effigy in a gale."

  Drex felt cold tendrils of horror running down her spine, as she realised she had been as much a puppet during her attempted escape as she had been under Lizaveta's power a few moments before.

  Still, she thought, what does it matter, if they're going to kill me?

  "I can't really bring myself to care about that, Lizaveta,” she said aloud. “You've got your rebel now, and you'll forgive me if I don't weep over what happens to her. If I'm going to die, at least I can die satisfied."

  This time, Lizaveta's laughter was long and loud, and the other nun joined in with an almost musical tinkle of amusement.

  "We weren't after Melana, my dear; that was just a bonus. We were after you and your power. I only said that the Grivense street gamine, Drexelica, would die. In her place will be born a powerful and useful witch; a credit to the Order. You didn't really believe Melana's routine was the best we could do to subvert you, did you? I could always tell you were fighting back, even though you said the right things at the right time."

  "I almost lost my mind!” Drex cried. “Half the time, I didn't even know who I was! What more could you have done to me?"

  "Plenty, my darling girl, but we didn't want to rush you.” Tears ran from the smiling Lizaveta's rheumy eyes and traced a complex path through the wrinkles on her face. “We always ensured you had just enough free will to think you had the better of us. The whole process was designed to make you burst from your shell, my dear, and it did just that. The real trial begins now. Once the genie has escaped from the bottle, it cannot be replaced.

  "You were born a witch, but you were constrained by poverty, ignorance and rampant misogyny. We have brought out the full extent of your power."

  Now, at last, Drex saw the Prioress’ plan, as horror threatened to overwhelm her. They had only dulled her mind and confused her until she lashed out with the power she had denied and withheld for so long.

  Lizaveta leaned back in her divan, still chuckling. “From now on, Drexelica, you will have plenty to eat and all the sleep you need. We must have you in good condition if and when your lover arrives."

  Drex felt her heart pounding, and she licked her dry lips with a tongue that felt like a piece of limp, dry leather. “You haven't beaten me yet, bitch. I'll resist you with every fibre of my being, and I'll curse you with every breath. At the first chance I get, I'll kill myself. You won't have me."

  "I already have you, sweet child,” the Prioress said, exposing a mouthful of perfect, gleaming teeth. “What do you think I did to you when I first entered this room? I can seize your own power and turn it on you whenever I want-now you've let it out, at last. You are very, very strong, and it would have taken a Great Spell to breach those defences at first. Now, I can use your own power and turn it to my own ends. You are mine, dear girl, and you will be for as long as you live."

  Drex felt sick, and her head swam. She had thought herself so cunning, fighting back whenever her mind had cleared, but she had been an unwitting pawn in Lizaveta's game all the time. She had lost the match as soon as she unleashed her spell on Melana, an equally ignorant piece in the well-staged fixture. She had known nothing of the power hidden within her until that time; the Sister had played her unknowing part in honing and exposing that force in a form that Lizaveta could use. Now, the old witch would use her as a weapon against her beloved Grimm. She had lost everything in a moment of misguided, useless anger.

  Lizaveta made a show of inspecting her nails before speaking further: “Your first task will be to show our dear, misguided Sister, Melana, the grave error of her ways. That will begin tomorrow; she will be allowed the night to consider and rue her misdeeds.

  "This is Sister Judan: a trusted member of the Anointed Score,” the Prioress continued, indicating the ruddy-faced nun at her side. “She will be taking over your training from now on. There will be no more chants and responses; I think you know them well enough now. Instead, she will be enhancing and encouraging your spell-casting abilities, to bring you to the peak of your potential."

  Drex felt the Geomantic power residing in the earth beneath the floor of Lizaveta's chamber, and she drew it into her like a breath of sweet morning air as rage rose within her.

  Die, you shrivelled old hag! she screamed in her head, as she threw a bolt o
f magic at the ancient witch. You showed me the way, so enjoy the trip to Hades, you whore!

  Lizaveta's eyes sprung wide open, and the Prioress slumped back in the couch. For a brief moment, Drex felt a shock of success, revelling in the joy of the release of the strength she had pent up for so long. Her inner fire was soon quenched, as she saw the old woman sit up, wearing a seraphic, almost atavistic smile.

  "That was beautiful, my dear. Such gorgeous force; such lovely anger! But you have forgotten one thing I told you: your power does not belong to you anymore. It is mine, to use as I will.

  "You have lost, dear girl. Never doubt it!"

  Drex slumped, knowing at last that she was beaten. Despair washed through her like an all-conquering wave, and she tried to turn her own power back on herself.

  "I am afraid I cannot let you do that, my dear,” Lizaveta said. “Not yet. So I deny you the gift for the nonce. You may not cast any more spells until I will it."

  Drex dug deep into her fast-fading reserves of strength and found it slipping from her mental grasp like heavy, greasy tendrils of silk sliding through numb, unresponsive fingers. She despaired that she had been denied even the scant comfort of taking her own life.

  "I see you are no stranger to physical pain, Drexelica. We women are strong, are we not? What man can ever understand the protracted agony of childbirth? Bodily pain is a useful tool, but a poor method of trying to control the darkest, inner recesses of a woman's mind. But there are many other ways to hurt a woman, are there not? However, I do not wish to harm you; you are far too useful to me. I am so glad you came here. Tomorrow, you will no longer be Drexelica, the common beggar girl, but a full Sister of the Order, willing and compliant."

  "Roast in Hell, bitch,” the girl breathed, with the last vestiges of her defiance.

  Lizaveta shook her head, in the manner of a regretful mother denying a wayward child's demand, and she rose to her feet. “I have made other arrangements, I'm afraid,” she said. “Come with me, Supplicant: I have something to show you."