by Dora Machado
A murmur of agreement rose from the stonewisers in the hall.
It struck Sariah hard how quickly allegiances changed in the keep, how fast Uma, Lorian and even Lexia had positioned themselves for a quick ascent to power. It must have struck Lorian even harder, because her head hung low on her stringy neck.
Sariah had succeeded at splitting Vargas's proverbial timber, but so far she had only managed to speed destruction's crafty ways. She was keenly aware of the time. The numbness was advancing up her wrist. The little she had gained could be lost in a moment's balance.
On the other hand, what would happen to the Goodlands if the Guild crumbled? What would happen to a leaderless Guild? How could she favor the Domain over the Goodlands or over the land beyond the Bastions without a trace of remorse? Could she just let the Guild die?
In that instant, she had the wherewithal to wonder if the seal was influencing her thinking, propelling her to protect the lives and livelihoods of stonewisers across the centuries. She supposed anything was possible when considering Zeminaya and the sages. But she was different from them, and seal or not, her thoughts and emotions were clear. The Blood could only thrive in unity.
She might have been sealed with someone else's legacy, but looking at her fellow stonewisers’ expectant faces, she realized that she had her own legacy to impart. She believed in the power of a united people—Domainers, Hounds, Goodlanders, stonewisers—to defeat the rot, restore the land and return to Meliahs’ ways, labor and sweat. She had been elected by her fellow stonewisers. Elected. That was no intrusion trick, no sages’ meddling.
She made up her mind. She took the wrinkled parchment out of her pocket and held it up with her left hand, because her right hand wasn't working anymore.
“Do you know what this is?”
No one spoke. There was no room for long explanations or lengthy discourse. She had to do this now and move on, or risk forsaking everything she had pledged to protect, everything she cared about.
“This is an old-fashioned document. It was addressed to the Council, yet I have a copy of it, and others, apparently many people, have copies of it as well. I wonder—is there a person in this hall who hasn't read it yet?”
Nobody met her gaze. She unfolded the parchment and read it aloud.
“I, Sariah, free stonewiser of the one Blood, formerly of the Guild's Hall of Scribes’ sixty-sixth folio, hereby swear and affirm that I have wised the seven twin stones before credible witnesses and that the tales confirmed that we are all of the one Blood. It is a discovery which frees all of us to reconcile, to stop the bloodshed, to build a new tale together; for what is the call of the stones if not justice for all?”
Absolute silence met her reading, until at last Lexia cleared her throat and broke the chamber's tense stillness. “Anybody who had access to the Council could have copied that document.”
“Are you saying that you know who copied it?” Sariah asked.
“I've been in the Mating Hall for five years,” Lexia said. “I couldn't have.”
“Yet you knew of it.”
“No—”
“When we first met you told me you had hope until they caught me. Perhaps your hope came from reading this?”
“My hope came from word of mouth, rumor.”
“As you once said to me, information was hard to come by at the Mating Hall.”
“The goddess spare me, Sariah. I'm your friend. You don't think I could have written all those copies, do you?”
“I'm trying to make a point. Somebody capable of commanding hundreds of copies thought of it. The head of a hall, perhaps?”
Uma started. “But that would be—”
“Treason?” Sariah smiled. “Aye.”
“Do you know what could happen to a treasonous hall?” Lorian said. “It could be disbanded, scattered, ruled out of existence.”
“Yet someone thought the message in this document was important enough to run such risks.”
“How does this have anything to do with who rules the keep next?” Uma asked.
Why were they so obtuse?
“The person who copied and released this document wasn't working with Grimly or Arron,” Sariah said. “It makes both Grimly and Arron look like divisive warmongers. To ensure that the parchment would survive the rot, many copies were made. To make sure the message reached everybody, including people who were not stonewisers, parchment was used instead of stone. The person who commanded those copies was willing to risk status, position and hall. Whoever did this wanted to put a stop to the bloodshed and had the Guild's best interest at heart. Sometimes treason is not a choice. It's a responsibility.”
Uma didn't hesitate. “I must confess. It was I who commanded those copies.”
Someone cried out from the benches, “For all anyone knows, I commanded them.”
Lorian's pronounced Adam's apple bobbed up and down her throat. “It can't be.”
Lexia snapped. “We're back where we began.”
“Not quite,” Sariah said. “Lorian, will you care to explain?”
An uncertain hush fell over the hall. Sariah could almost hear the wheels of Uma's mind creaking as she tried to come up with a credible tale, but it was Lorian who spoke up first.
“It was a fair exchange,” she said.
“Go on.” Sariah's forearm was completely numb. “Quickly now.”
“I heard through my…”
“Spies?” Sariah offered.
“Helpers.” Lorian gulped. “I heard through my helpers that the mistress had received a stone from you. It was addressed to the Council, you understand. We had a right to know what it said. Mistress Grimly had stolen my treasure, so I stole the stone from her desk, copied it and put it back. I knew the sorry state of affairs. Your stone message wasn't going to be addressed by the Council. Arron and Grimly were warring. I had to find another way.”
“Oh no, not her,” Lexia said. “How can you know she tells the truth after so many lies?”
“Proof, yes,” Sariah said. “The bane of our time. I can call on some of that. It's the ink, you see. The Hall of Scribes favors spider webs for thickening. The Hall of Epics likes sparkling sand. The Hall of Numbers prefers a composition of heavy lead mixed with water soluble gum which comes from the sap of the Domain's enduring wood, the bulbous tupelo. It has a very dark reddish tint and a particularly fragrant and distinctive smell, sweet but citrus-like.”
Sariah waved the parchment before Kael's nose.
He inhaled. “Very nice. Lemons, I think.”
“All this time,” Lorian said. “You knew?”
“I suspected it when I saw the first copy, but now, it all makes sense. You sent your Hall of Numbers’ agent to the Domain's forester. It was easy to combine his two tasks, masking one with the other. Let's not pretend we're all appalled at the thought of a Guild hall doing business with the Domain. We all know it happens. As usual, your agent went to the forester to trade for the gum the Hall of Numbers uses to make its ink. While there, he persuaded the forester to set a trap for me.”
“The forester set a trap for you?” It was Kael and he wasn't pleased.
Oooops. Sariah went on. “Lorian's agent pretended to come from Grimly in order to conceal her identity and protect the Hall of Numbers. She was looking for me, just like Arron and Grimly.”
“Should I have abandoned the Guild to succumb to Grimly and Arron's ambitions?” Lorian said.
Sariah considered the woman before her with new eyes. In a time of greed, a little loyalty couldn't be harmful. Sariah didn't like Lorian, but all she knew about the woman suggested she cared about the Guild, at least enough to refuse both Arron and Grimly. During these troubled times, Lorian had chosen to stay at the keep. She had tried to keep the rot's appearance a secret to protect the Guild. She had risked her neck and her hall to copy and distribute the call. Considering the circumstances, those were no small feats.
But Lexia was nowhere near as forgiving. “Lorian isn't fit to rule. She lost
the teacher's treasure. She conspired with traitors. She must be expelled from the hall.”
A murmur of approval suggested Lexia had won over Lorian's followers. Given the mess at the keep, change had become attractive to these weary stonewisers. Sariah couldn't blame them. They would be much more willing to support the woman who had busted out of the Mating Hall and challenged Lorian, than the mistress who had led them for twenty years. But the choice wasn't theirs. Not yet. It was hers. And it needed to be made swiftly.
The burden pained Sariah. She thought of Lexia's long stay at the Mating Hall, of her own time in the horrible place, of the friendship Lexia had offered, of the comfort she had taken in that friendship. She remembered how Lexia had cared for her through her recent sickness, how she had defended Sariah when she couldn't find her own voice. Then she steeled herself for what she had to do even though she didn't like it. It was a day of truth, a day to tackle all lies.
“Is a lie always a betrayal?” she asked.
“Of course it is,” Lexia said. “What else could it be?”
“A way out.”
Lexia was suddenly subdued. Fear glowered in her stare, but tears dampened her eyes as well. She realized that Sariah knew.
How? her eyes asked silently.
A memory of the words that Grimly had said the day Violet died flashed in Sariah's mind. The gall of the wench, to tell the mistress you were turning wising tricks in her pen. Lexia had used the same exact words offhandedly just a few days ago. How did she know something Sariah had never told anyone?
Sariah was sure that Lexia had seen the parchment before, not just because she could spy the truth in the other woman's eyes, but because Grimly had likely showed it to Lexia when recruiting the woman to assist her. Grimly, who never left anything to chance, had handpicked Lexia to escort Sariah to the pen, to befriend her, to watch her. Sariah should have seen it all before, but she had been too sick to put it all together. It was strange. Sariah didn't doubt Lexia liked her. But it didn't change the facts. It wasn't Violet who had told Grimly about Sariah's plans. It was Lexia.
“Sariah, I—”
“Don't say anything, Lexia.”
“But—”
“Don't fret. We both know it can't be you. Not yet.”
“You won't—?”
“No, Lexia. I won't.”
“But why not?”
She wiped a tear from Lexia's cheek and whispered. “To save my baby's life, I might have done the same.”
Time to end it. Sariah turned to face the stonewisers before her. She knew their anguish, the conflict between blind obedience to the Guild and loyalty to the self, the struggle between service to the stones and compassion for others. Need it always be so?
“She who issued the call of the stone should be the first to follow it,” Sariah said. “I appoint you to the task.”
Lorian jerked. “Me?”
“You had the right idea. But remember, Lorian, it's the stonewisers who make the Guild, not the other way around. You'll do fine if you learn to care for your stonewisers as well as you care for the Guild. If we can all learn to care for each other as much as we care for the stones, we'll be all right. Do you think you can do that?”
Lorian gazed over the stonewisers in the hall. “I think perhaps, until things are settled, if Meliahs wills it, and if they want it, I could try.”
“I trust you will hold the Hall of Stones to the highest standards of justice,” Sariah said. “For Domainers, Hounds and Goodlanders. Now, rescind your wising and let me go.”
Lorian groped through her pockets. “Sorry, Sariah, I had forgotten—” She found the stone she sought, shut her eyes and pressed it to the nearest wall. “You're free to go.”
“Not quite yet,” Sariah said, sprinting out the doors.
Forty-eight
SARIAH MADE IT to the soaring vault of the Hall of Stones’ antechamber. Just as her eyes fell on the gigantic candle-clock that lurked over the gates’ high arch, the banishment bracelet compressed around her wrist with a third wrenching coil. Her entire arm went numb from the yank. She stumbled to a halt and dropped to her knees. Her quivering legs were unable to support her weight.
“What's wrong?” Kael skidded to a stop beside her.
Sariah stared at her wrist. The bracelet was changing before her very eyes. The same silvery flow which had built up in the crystals seemed to be pouring out of the bracelet now. She had a bad feeling that the lethal discharge was somehow seeping directly into her veins.
“Sariah, what's the matter?” Lexia's concerned face was joined by Lorian, the keeper and the bulk of the Hounds who were now forming a human chain to prevent the rest of the stonewisers from following Sariah.
“Time's up,” she mumbled. “It's dawn. I'm done—”
“No, you're not.” Kael half-dragged her to the Hall of Stones’ massive gates. The doors were opened out into the bailey. The wind hit Sariah in the face, acrid with the scent of fire and death. The air moaned a morbid chant that froze everything—ear, nose, soul. The clouds rushed by pregnant with lightning. Heavy chunks of muddled slush plopped to the ground. It was cold and chilling, as if the goddess had vacated the world and forsaken her vows.
“That trinket may say otherwise, but the sun's not up yet. Look!” Kael barked against the sounds of the storm. “The night's black with ashes. That was the deal. Until the sun comes up.”
“I can't—”
“Find a way.” Kael yanked her to her feet. “Do you hear me? Find a rotting way!”
Leave it to Kael to carve time out of the darkness enveloping them. He helped her down the stairs and through the lesser law chambers. Lexia and the keeper hovered around her. Lorian followed, wrapped in her black mantle, fighting the drafts like one of Meliahs’ ill-omened crows.
She was helpless and empty inside without her stonewiser's power. She had tried and failed. There was no way that she, an ordinary woman confronting extraordinarily bad odds, could do anything to change her circumstances. Was there?
Ordinary people did it all the time, she realized, astounded. They relied on impossible emotions—Meliahs’ sisters—Pride, Faith, Courage, Hope and the rest, to defy the darkness and build lives and selves. They did more than just endure. They grew strong, they toiled hard, they thrived without the stone power. They lived full lives and died powerful deaths. They had reason, will and emotions to light the way and warm their days. They had each other. She glanced at Kael, at her unlikely friends. She had that too.
A great calm came over her, the peace that stemmed from accepting death and life at the same time, from understanding hope only after thorough defeat. The consecutive arches of the Hall of Stones’ cellars paraded above her like the final markers of her winding trail. Sariah knew what she had to do. She just didn't know if she had enough time left to figure out how to do it. Before she knew it, they arrived at the small law chamber where the executioners waited with Metelaus. Delis was there and so was Malord, with Belana, just as Sariah had requested.
“Where have you been?” a visibly anxious Metelaus said. “Do you have any idea how little time we have left?”
“We had some complications,” Kael said.
“She's been struck.” Petrid noticed the bracelet's draining glow. “Her time is done.”
“It's still dark,” Kael said. “You swore she had until sunup. The bracelet may say one thing, but the weather says different and as long as she can do what you asked, she's within her rights. I've never known an executioner to break his word.”
Petrid's smile was as confident as ever. “We haven't come all this way to lose our assurances on a technicality. She's drained and the sun will come out any time now.”
Kael started to speak on her behalf. Sariah flashed him a grateful look, but she steadied herself on her feet and stepped forward.
“Forgive my ways, executioners, I meant no harm or disrespect. I acknowledge your right to kill me. Everyone has a right to make a living in the Domain and yours is no less
than mine.”
“How can any man's right be respected when he's captive?” the executioner said.
“You're right,” Sariah said. “These proceedings have no bearing unless you're free. So you are free. On my word, no one under my command will stop you if you choose to leave.”
The chamber fell deadly quiet.
“Give them their weapons.”
“But, my donnis—”
“Their weapons.”
The men accepted their swords with trepidation, no doubt expecting a thrust through the gut at any time.
“Can we leave now?”
“You can. Or since you're already here, you can hear me and assess what I have to offer. I'm alive and present. You cannot claim the assurances unless you hear my proof. Am I right?”
The executioners exchanged troubled glances with each other. Somewhere in the Domain, their tribe was packing up for the jubilant trip to the Crags. They would do nothing to jeopardize such triumph.
Sariah's eyes fell on Belana, tucked of her own accord in the chamber's darkest corner. She called her to her side. Like a wild beast, Belana crawled out of the shadows, blind gaze trained on Sariah's face.
Delis elbowed the slacked-jawed executioners. “Didn't your mother teach you not to stare?”
Sariah was keenly aware of the time, of the numbness, of her weakness. Her life's wick was burning down to the end, but she refused to give up without assuring the future of Kael's kin, her kin.
“You really don't have to endanger yourself to humor their primitive laws,” Lorian said.
“But I do have to honor their laws,” Sariah said, “as the Guild will have to do if we're to restore peace to the land. Whatever happens today, for good or bad, from now on, anyone who comes here for justice shall receive it, including Domainers. Remember? Justice is the call of the stone.”
Lorian opened her mouth and closed it several times before she could speak. “You mean to establish—”
“A record of justice,” Malord said.
“For Domainers?” Lexia croaked.
