He was still shamefaced. “My name is Brother Sheldran. Shall we proceed to the Abbey?”
Elohl nodded, a smile still lifting the corner of his lips. “Lead the way.”
They proceeded in, moving through manicured gardens near the walls, along a path separate from the thoroughfare through the main gates. The compound within the walls of the First Abbey brought Elohl right back to his childhood. Well-organized and exquisitely planned, similar to Alrashesh, each building was made of byrunstone blocks with cap-fitted rhivenstone shingles upon peaked roofs. Pearled glass windows anointed every building, creating fanciful triptychs and single-pane stories from the Penitent holy texts. The gables were high enough to cause snow to shed in the deepest winter at the foot of the Kingsmount, and even buildings that were barns for livestock or hostelry for the Penitents seemed like cathedrals.
And unlike most of Lintesh, every building in the compound of the First Abbey was exquisitely carven. Flowered vines of byrunstone writhed up every corner, gargoyles and fanciful beasts graced every roofline, their wide mouths creating spouts for water-collection from gutters to rain barrels. They passed a granary entirely carven to look like fields of wheat and oats, and as Elohl peered closer, he saw foxes, rabbit, and small dragons creeping through the stalks. A storehouse nearby was carven with panels all along its length telling the story of hops, from planting to beer. A section of wall they passed beneath served as an aqueduct from one part of the compound over to lavish gardens exquisitely tended, the arched stone portal flowing with the rising Jenner Sun and miniscule script over a land of well-tilled fields.
Absorbed in his surroundings, Elohl hadn’t noticed he’d been silent until Eleshen spoke at his side. “It’s beautiful! All the stone carving! Brother Sheldran, how long does such a thing take?”
The man gazed around with an indulgent, fatherly smile as they walked through a quadrangle of buildings with gardens and a fountain at its center. “We have carved these stones for as long as Lintesh has been a city, young lady. Stories tell of the Abbey being founded just a single year after the palace was hewn from the mountain. A panel like that one there,” he pointed to a five-foot piece depicting incredibly lifelike deer in a forest, “Takes ten carvers a year. And one master can take five or ten years on such a piece, depending on how complex it is.”
“So long…” She murmured, astounded. “Don’t they get bored? Does it really take that long?”
The Penitent’s chuckle was indulgent. “No, not really. But the peace of carving is an act of Penitence. The thought, the careful consideration of the stone and what is to be carved, the feel of it, the silent participation in a team or the solitude of working on one’s own. The dedication, to do it day in and day out. Many take vows of celibacy and silence for the duration, to absorb themselves in the task. The Doing is the Way, the humbling loss of self into a greater Knowing. A Greater Way, beyond yourself. This is the Lost Way, which we must remember. Ah, here we are. Our First Dwelling. The first cathedral built upon our beloved grounds.”
He gestured up a wide colonnade of byrunstone steps, to a building more ornately carven than many of the rest, clearly ancient from the amount of weathering it had taken, many of the carvings dulled with time. It wasn’t the most astounding building in the compound, a newer and far larger cathedral next to it, all high arches and domes and gargoyled turrets. But this one had a gravitas and simple elegance to it, as if those who had built it had done so in haste and only afterwards honed and shaped it to fantastical beauty. Brother Sheldran hauled on a massive iron ring to open one of the tall cendarie double-doors, and ushered them inside. “Please enter. Speech is currently permitted, as prayers are not in session, but please keep your voices respectful.”
Elohl and Eleshen nodded, stepping through the doors. The space inside was vaulted, lit by thirty-foot panels of opalescent glass at the far domed end. Musk-heavy incense curled through the air, sighing from bronze censers suspended near the doors. Long rows of cendarie benches with meditation pillows proceeded forward to the central glass panels, depicting the Jenner Sun with its thirteen golden spokes.
Elohl blinked, transfixed by the tableaux. Inside the Jenner Sun, he saw an image burned into his mind from long ago. A dragon and wolf fought each other, tumbling in their vicious glory. Dark halls flashed back. Elohl, staring up at the same image carven upon the torch-lit doors of the Deephouse in Roushenn. Nausea hit him suddenly, a wash of fear, the tension of that night flooding up through his newfound calm. He forced himself to see it, done here in sparkling ruby glass for the dragon, opalescent greys and whites for the wolf. Fire wreathed them, living flame, the gold of the Jenner Sun encompassing it all, trapping their fight in the center.
But as he looked, he suddenly saw it was different. In Roushenn, the wolf and dragon had been equally opposed, in balance despite their fight. Here, the wolf was triumphant, the dragon’s neck in its bloody jaws, standing over the great serpent as it roiled upon its back, coiling in death throes. But not dead. The red eyes of the dragon blazed, livid as rubies, live as blood.
Hateful of the wolf.
“Do you like it?” Brother Sheldran’s soft baritone made Elohl startle, jerking. He blinked, the spell of the tableaux broken.
“It’s ferocious.” Elohl murmured.
“It’s like your back, Elohl.” Eleshen quipped before Elohl could stop her. “But different.”
“The Battle of Wolf and Dragon. A fight to the death.” The Jenner Brother murmured, gazing at the glass rotunda, clearly having missed Eleshen’s comment.
“What does it signify?” Elohl murmured, curious if this Brother had information.
But the Brother merely shrugged, still staring at the tableaux. “Only the most learned among us have read deeply into the symbolism of the Wolf and Dragon. You should query Brother Temlin, who I am taking you to meet. He has made some study of it with the Abbess Lenuria, who is an expert on arcane symbology.”
Elohl nodded his thanks. Brother Sheldran led them off to the right, towards a more modest area with stone arches that opened into reading-rooms packed with sturdy shelves of books and scrolls. He led them around a few twists of the hallway, then finally to a cramped study room, packed with tomes and odd items. A wire-framed older man with ample white streaking his combed-back red waves sat behind a cendarie desk. His nose firmly planted in his tome, he blinked up through reading half-spectacles, then lowered his chin and gazed over them, his green eyes sharp as emeralds and piercing as hawk talons. Elohl liked the look of the man immediately. Shrewd, he looked, fierce. Like a man used to war now past his prime, engaged in a war of the mind in his aging years.
“Brother Temlin?” Their guide knocked politely at the open door. “The young man has a few questions about our faith. Are you occupied?”
The older man smoothed his trim white-streaked red beard and let the leather-bound tome thud to the table irreverently. He raked a hand through his yet-thick waves and stood with the energy of a sprightly fox but the stiffness of a turtle, as if his joints hurt and he didn’t expect them to. Gesturing them in, he barked out, “Come! I was just finishing a treatise on House del’Ilio of Cennetia. Conniving, moneygrubbing bastards the lot of them! Inbred to boot, fucking their own sisters, and a quick hand with the poisons whenever it suited them! Come in, come in!”
Brother Sheldran coughed, his face going red. “You will have to excuse Brother Temlin. He is… opinionated.”
“Leave them here. Have Brother Berian bring ale for our guests, with bread and butter. They look thirsty. Shoo!” Brother Sheldran’s face reddened more as he was shooed out of the cramped study like a child.
“Ah, well now!” Brother Temlin peered at the both of them over his flat-rimmed spectacles, his hawk-keen gaze taking them in as he brushed dust from his black Jenner robe. “Have a seat! Never mind the scrolls. Useless, the lot of them. Sit upon them if you like.” He gestured amiably to an overstuffed couch on the far side of the desk. Elohl gingerly shoved over a few
ragged scrolls to make room for himself and Eleshen, and when they sat, the sofa revealed a puff of fine dust.
“Now. I am Brother Temlin, Second Historian of the Abbey. Are you wanting to convert, lad, or does something else about the Faith pique your interest?” The Brother’s lips twisted into a wry smile, humor in his green eyes already saying he knew Elohl had no intention of joining the monks.
Elohl shook his head, a smile flitting across his face, enjoying the man’s directness. “I am not interested in conversion, Brother Temlin. I have questions about your history and cannon.”
“Well.” The older man leaned back in his chair, putting dry, dust-cracked bare feet up on the corner of his desk. He stroked his trim beard thoughtfully. “That would take all year. Is there something specific about the cannon you want to know?”
A nervous-looking mouse of a young man suddenly appeared at the door, with a wide trencher full of hot-buttered bread, and two pewter flagons. Brother Temlin motioned him in, and the lad placed it all on the desk, nearly slopping ale in his haste.
“What have we here?” Temlin asked, eyeing the flagons sharply.
“Honey-red, Brother, with the baelin-malt.” The lad’s nervous speech was a bare whisper, his voice squeaking in the middle.
“Shoo, shoo, lad. I’ll let Brother Vance know what our guests think of the honey-red later. Shoo.”
The young man practically raced out the door. Brother Temlin gestured to the food and drink. “Sup, friends. You repay our time and efforts with the kindness of detailed commentary on the brew.” He winked.
Elohl reached for a mug and passed it to Eleshen, nudging the bread trencher towards her. She needed no second urging and set to with haste. Taking his own mug, Elohl sipped. It was a lovely summer ale, with a crisp floral taste from the honey, and an expansive bouquet from the malt, with very little bitter. He nodded appreciatively, taking another sip, then answered Brother Temlin’s earlier question.
“I’m looking for information on the Alranstones and their history. In particular, what the number of eyes signify. I’ve heard the Penitents have an origin story surrounding them.”
Brother Temlin stroked his white-streaked beard, but his face had softened into wistfulness. “Better to have asked the Alrashemni, lad. They knew far more about the Alranstones. Are you a scholar?” But the way the man’s time-wrinkled eyes passed shrewdly over Elohl’s frame, lingering upon the golden marks just barely visible above his jerkin’s high collar, said he knew otherwise.
Elohl’s gaze flicked to the open cendarie door, wondering if he should rise to close it.
“Tongues wag less around here if doors remain open,” the old man said shrewdly, having noticed Elohl’s action. He pulled a piece of blank parchment from a drawer and wrote a short sentence with a pressed charcoal nib, passing it over to Elohl. Eleshen leaned over his shoulder to read along.
Anything you wish not spoken, please write. You may take it with you and burn it in the cathedral braziers at the end of our session today. Many come here, to write meditations and burn them, releasing them to the Way. It will not be notable.
Elohl nodded. But still, he glanced out the open door, taking a moment to spread his sensate sphere wide, monitoring for anyone lurking in the hall outside. There was no one. He undid a few jerkin buckles, then unlaced his shirt, pulling it down so the man caught a glimpse of both his gold and black Inkings, before lacing and buckling everything back up.
The old Jenner betrayed surprise, though he hid it well. But Elohl had seen a flash of impression and deep understanding move through the man’s hawkish gaze, before it had been banished. Elohl’s heartbeat rose, knowing somehow, that he’d find a few answers here at last. But before he could speak, the Brother held up one gnarled hand, forestalling Elohl.
“I must tell you, lad. We Penitents do not involve ourselves in political movements. Ours is a peaceful order, to promote the Way of Inner Knowledge. If this is about Alrashemni vendetta, you may leave now.”
Elohl shook his head. “Though I war with my own demons, Brother, this is not about vendetta. It’s about something else.”
The old man nodded, then beckoned for the paper. Elohl slid it over, then pulled it back when the man was finished writing.
Curious about your Alrashemni lineage?
Elohl shook his head, paused. He had a moment of concern, that anyone here in the Abbey could potentially be part of the cabal sending assassins after him, including this man here. But locking eyes with the old Jenner, Elohl had an impression of impatience and intolerance from this man, as if he abhorred secrets. It eased Elohl. He set the nib to the paper and wrote, These gold Inkings were given me by a seven-eye Alranstone, slid it back.
Brother Temlin read it, blanched, and read it again. His lips fell open slightly. He looked up, eyes tightening in anger behind his spectacles. “Do you jest with me, lad?”
Elohl shook his head. “I do not jest. What you’ve just seen was given me by no hand of man.”
Brother Temlin went very still, his gaze roving over Elohl’s neck where the gold could yet be seen. He gestured for Elohl’s mug. Elohl slid it over. Brother Temlin took a very long swig, then slid it back. Settling into his chair, arms crossed, Elohl noted that Brother Temlin still had the firm chest and shoulders of a man who had once used a sword.
“I think I would like to feed the ducks.” The Brother quipped suddenly. “How about you? Would the two of you like the take a walk out to the ponds?”
Elohl nodded, understanding the need for privacy. He drained the rest of his mug and stood, Eleshen close upon his heels. The Jenner Brother exited his study, leading them along the side of the cathedral’s annex, and out a back door that opened into a sprawling herb garden. They crunched along gravel paths through the circular beds, towards the glimmer of water. Reaching the duck-ponds at last, Elohl found the air pleasant and cool, the area clearly used for meditation, with artfully sculpted paths for walking and byrunstone benches beneath cascading willows for sitting.
Brother Temlin led them along the manicured paths, prattling about the Penitent canon, clearly stalling, and Elohl and Eleshen pretended their interest. Gradually, he led them to a secluded area near a part of the wall clearly used only for deep meditation. Elohl’s view over the ponds and to either side was uninterrupted. They would see anyone coming thirty yards away. He glanced up at the wall before having a seat on the bench Brother Temlin indicated, beneath a well-kept bower of lhumen-vine, their full yellow blossoms smelling of honey and reminiscent of squash.
Brother Temlin followed his gaze up the wall. “Don’t worry, lad, we can speak privately here. This section of the wall plays funny tricks on sound. We’ll hear anyone coming before they hear us. Only us old-timers know it, though.” He winked conspiratorially. “So… those golden marks you bear were Inked by a seven-eye stone.”
Elohl nodded. “I was hoping someone here would know about it. A friend told me the Jenners have a history with the Alrashemni and the Alranstones. Something called me to climb the stone, to sit atop it beneath the full moon. A…pulse. Like a heartbeat. And I know I dreamed, but the only thing I can remember is the word rennkavi and a vague impression of a man with red and white Inkings. When I woke in the morning, every eye on the stone was open. And when I placed my hands upon it… they blinked.”
Brother Temlin’s white eyebrows had been steadily climbing his face. “And you swear to me this is all truth, lad?”
Eleshen piped up in irritation. “I saw it. It’s all true. One day he just had his Kingsmount and Stars, and the damn stone wouldn’t even open a single eye. The next morning, he had all that gold on his skin and every damn eye was open, and when he set his hands to the Stone, they blinked for him. Then we traveled through it.”
Brother Temlin blinked at her. “The stone let you go through? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not Alrashemni.”
Eleshen shook her head. “I’m not.”
Brother Temlin sat back, stroking his white
beard. “Tell me, lad, what color were the eyes on the seven-stone?”
“The lowest eye was jet, then lapis, then malachite. The one in the center of the column shone every color like a diamond. The fifth was moonstone, then citrine, and the one at the top was Elsthemi fire opal.”
“By the Light of the Way,” Brother Temlin murmured, sitting back against the bench and stroking his beard. “And you swear to me you’ve never read any Jenner cannon?”
Elohl shook his head. “Never. Like I said, my friend told me about it.”
“Then he told you the Heimkellen. The Prophecy of the Lost Tribe, and the Uniter.”
Elohl nodded. “I don’t claim to be this man in your prophecy, Brother. I just need to find out what all this means.”
Brother Temlin nodded, still stroking his beard. “Tell me, lad, do you know what the word rennkavi means in the ancient Alrashemni dialect?” Elohl shook his head, but he leaned in, ready to hear what this man had to say.
“Rennkavi often is translated as ‘binding’.” Brother Temlin continued. “But to the ancient Alrashemni, of which us Jenners were once part, it carries many interpretations. This word can sometimes mean to bind or make bound, as in binding a wound or tying things together. Or it can mean, one who binds, or, he who remembers. Some interpret it as indicating a wise man, like a sage, or a scholar. Some think the word has yet another meaning, and I am one of those. The suffix –kavi was traditionally used to mean unity, like the unbroken circle of the sun. The prefix renn means to bring. But in High Alrakhan, such a combination was often used as a noun. So the word actually means unifier, or unity bringer. The person who embodied the rennkavi was a person to bring others together. A leader.”
“So why do I remember that word and nothing else?”
Brother Temlin eyed him. “You should rather ask, how in the Great Way did you open all the eyes upon an Alranstone and get those golden marks Inked upon you!”
“What do you know about the Stones?” Eleshen chimed.
“I’ve made a study of them from historical accounts.” Brother Temlin glanced back to Elohl. “You described the iris colors perfectly. But you must know, most of that knowledge was kept by the Alrashemni. When the Jenners were kicked out of the Alrashemni, the Rakhan at the time was furious and would not allow us Jenners access to the old annals. He feared we would retaliate against him, and sent the annals to a mountain stronghold somewhere. So we do not have those records.”
Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 34
