The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1)

by J. C. Staudt

  “I’ll point it where I want,” the soldier said, indignant.

  “Put it down, Kugh,” said Brother Mortial. “She’s not going to run. Are you, kind Sister?”

  Bastille saw the unmistakable look of guilt in Brother Mortial’s gray-green eyes. He was a traitor to the Infernal Mouth, and he knew it.

  “Don’t you test me, heathen. I’ll lay down my life for the Order if that’s what it takes. So go ahead and shoot me with that thing, if that’s what you came here to do.”

  “Relax,” said Mortial. “Nobody needs to get hurt. We just need Sister Jeanette.”

  Bastille was confused. “Sister Jeanette? Whatever for?”

  “For scientific research,” said the soldier, a broad-shouldered man with a thin waist and a thick neck. He was the fittest of the three soldiers; the second was huskier, the third, tall and skinny. All three were clean-shaven, their bald heads glistening, sweat stains spreading over the chests and underarms of their uniforms.

  Mortial gave the soldier an abrasive look. “They know the girl’s pregnant, moron.” He turned to Bastille. “I apologize for the lack of manners, kind Sister. What he means is, we’re taking Sister Jeanette to a place where she’ll be well-cared for. She will be in no danger there, and she’ll be able to give birth and raise her child without fear of the consequences. I need you to tell us where she is.”

  “Sin always has consequences,” said Bastille. “Perhaps one day you’ll come to find that out for yourself, Brother Mortial.”

  Mortial wrinkled his mouth. “Perhaps, kind Sister. But I don’t have time to stand around deliberating over the finer points of your beliefs. I’d like you to be cooperative and tell me where Sister Jeanette can be found.”

  So the traitor wants to test my mettle. “There’s a basilica-wide alert out for you. If you try looking for her, you’ll be spotted and brought before the Most Highly Esteemed. I don’t think the Cypriests will take kindly to your goons, here.”

  “The Cypriests will never know we’re here, kind Sister. If you won’t tell me where Sister Jeanette might be, perhaps you’d be willing to reveal Brother Soleil’s whereabouts. I’d like to speak with him before I leave.”

  “So Soleil put you up to this, did he?”

  “Brother Soleil is humble enough to admit defeat, and wise enough to know when it’s warranted. You think he wants to give up everything he’s accomplished in the Order? The basilica is his entire world. There’s no reason he should have to sacrifice his life’s work because of a situation that can be avoided. Sister Jeanette doesn’t have to be an unfortunate casualty of Soleil’s wrongdoings, kind Sister.”

  Maybe Jeanette would be better off with the heathens, but that doesn’t make Brother Soleil any less guilty. “Sister Jeanette is already a casualty, even if you steal her away. Brother Soleil is no better than a filthy heathen for what he’s done. He doesn’t deserve the world he’s built for himself.”

  Mortial was agitated. “Be that as it may, it’s above your station to say so. Don’t try to take Soleil’s life away from him, Sister Bastille. You won’t like the results. I recommend staying on his good side as long as you wish to stay in the Order. It won’t go well for you if he finds out how you really feel about him. Or that you know of his deceits. You should let us rescue Sister Jeanette from this terrible situation she’s found herself in. Not just for her sake, but for yours.”

  Bastille folded her arms. “Go look for her then. You’ll get no help from me.”

  “You know this is what’s best for her, Sister Bastille. You can’t do anything more for the girl. You’re in a position to protect her now, before Soleil resorts to other means of dealing with her.”

  “Where is this ‘better place’ you speak of?”

  “The city north. The Commissar there, Pilot Wax, is a strong believer in our future. He’s created a place that’s safe and prosperous for everyone. What he wants most in the Aionach is the one thing he hasn’t been able to have: a child. He’s going to make sure Sister Jeanette and her infant live long, healthy lives.”

  Bastille knew little of Pilot Wax, except the few bits and pieces she’d heard. The Order did not look upon the ruler of the heathen army in Belmond with favor. But Bastille was seeing now why the Order was allowed to exist in such relative peace, and without interference from the Scarred Comrades. Soleil must’ve given Mortial the key to the labyrinth. He allowed Wax’s spy to breach our walls and invited savages to our gates. He’s appeasing Pilot Wax while doing the same for his enemies; playing both sides as though it’s a game to be won. Watchful as the Cypriests may be, there’s a way for outsiders to get in without them ever knowing. We aren’t as safe in the basilica as we’ve been led to believe.

  “I’ll take you to her,” Sister Adeleine spoke up.

  “Hush,” said Bastille. “Stay out of this.”

  The broad-shouldered soldier, whom Mortial had called Kugh, stepped forward and struck Bastille with the butt of his rifle. Her vision flashed white, and she stumbled backward until the wall broke her momentum. She slumped to the floor, her temple throbbing. The pain exploded, turning her lingering headache into a firestorm.

  Sister Adeleine rushed to her side. “Are you okay, kind Sister?”

  Bastille shrugged the acolyte away. “Leave me be. I’m fine.” Her vision was swimming with blue spots that dilated and popped like soap bubbles. Everything around her was veiled and blurry. When she took her hand away from her forehead, there was blood.

  “Get away from her, or you’ll get the same,” said Kugh.

  Adeleine shrank back along the wall.

  “Coff it, you moron. You didn’t have to do that,” Mortial said.

  “She was being a bitch,” said Kugh. “We’re getting nowhere talking to her, and this place is creepy. Take the girl and go find the pregnant lady so we can get out of here.”

  Mortial’s gaze was cold. He turned to Sister Adeleine and said, “Will you help me talk to Jeanette? Convince her this is the right thing for her?”

  Adeleine gave him a frightened smile. “I don’t think she’ll listen to me, though.”

  “She’ll listen. Take me to her.”

  Adeleine led him out the door, leaving Bastille alone with the three gray-clad heathen soldiers.

  Bastille made a quick visual scan of the chamber. Her eyes stopped on the soldiers’ guns, the half-opened female corpse on the stone slab, the surgical tools laid out on their metal tray, the supply shelves along the walls, and the heavy mirrored lights that hung from the ceiling.

  “Boobs,” said Kugh, ogling the corpse.

  The other two soldiers snickered. Kugh strolled over and grabbed one of the corpse’s pendulous breasts.

  “Don’t touch that,” Bastille said.

  Kugh turned his head and glowered at her while he kept his hand on the breast, squeezing it, pinching the nipple, looking at Bastille defiantly all the while. “It’s cold,” he said, chuckling.

  The portly soldier laughed.

  “I don’t suppose you’d mind handing me a towel from the basket while you’re over there,” Bastille said, as blood began to squish past the hand she was pressing to her forehead.

  “Get it yourself,” said Kugh. “I’m busy.”

  The slender soldier frowned at Kugh, then walked over and handed Bastille one of the clean white cloths himself. Bastille thanked him.

  Kugh shook his head in disappointment. “Trim… always the softy.”

  “You’re a dick,” Trim said, laughing. “Only you would beat the tar out of an old woman and molest a dead one.”

  “Hey, I’m not about let some nutty old lady coff up this mission for us,” Kugh said, still massaging the breast. “We screw this up and Wax’ll tan our hides and hang us out to dry. Or worse, he’ll transfer us to the Sentries and we’ll end up like Bouchard.”

  “You still didn’t have to hit her. She’s harmless.”

  “Take it easy, fellas,” said the third soldier, the portly one. “Wax is gonna
splooge when we bring him the girl. Instant promotions for all of us, I’m telling you. This is gonna go perfectly. Now that they got those freaks who attacked the city last night locked up in the jailhouse where they belong, getting back to the Hull Tower is gonna be cake.”

  Kugh gave him a confused look. “They ain’t all locked up. You didn’t think they tracked down every survivor in the whole caravan, did you?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I heard.”

  Kugh shook his head. “The only ones they nabbed were the survivors who were still in the outskirts this morning. Wounded, mostly. There’s still about a dozen of ‘em running around in the city south, free as a nomad’s nutsack.”

  “Captain Curran thought they were nomads,” said Trim.

  “Not a coffing chance. Those red glowy things, not a nomad in the Aionach I ever seen can do that.”

  “I think they’re sandciphers. A whole nature-loving commune of ‘em from somewhere in the desert.”

  “Trim… you dumbass. Sandciphers are like one in fifty thousand people. And they’re called that because they can talk to sand, not make red bubbles pop out of their fingers.”

  “Merrick can do weird shit with his fingers,” Trim said.

  Kugh and the portly soldier shared a look. “Has Bouchard seen those guys yet?”

  “By now he has. He’s on guard duty at the prison today.”

  “He definitely has, then,” said Kugh. “That’s coffing strange you should say that. I been thinking the same thing. About his hands and shit.”

  “I’ll ask him if he has any long-lost relatives he hasn’t told us about,” said the portly one, grinning.

  “He doesn’t make red shit come out though, does he?” said Kugh.

  “I’ll ask him that, too. ‘Hey Bouchard, you ever shit red lightning before?’ ”

  “Bet you he has. Bet you Wax is gonna find out about him healing that shepherd and kick him out of the north so hard it’ll make his time in the Sentries feel like a vacation.”

  “Why would he do that?” Trim asked. “Wax is good at figuring out what people are good at and using that to his advantage.”

  “Because. Say Merrick really is some wicked mystical dway with special powers. Once people start seeing what he can do, they’ll be all over him, asking for miracles. Wax hasn’t stayed on top for so many years by letting street prophets walk around healing the sick and collecting groupies. He doesn’t play second string to anybody. He’ll finish that whole charade before it starts.”

  Isn’t this intriguing, Bastille thought. “What’s this about someone who can heal the sick?” she asked.

  “None of your business, lady. The men are talking now. Keep quiet unless you want to get your bell rung again.”

  I’d be glad to strap you to my operating table. I’m sure I could find a few bells to ring.

  Trim was unconvinced. “I can see Wax banishing Merrick way before he hangs him. He’s been a comrade for too long. But even that, I don’t see him doing. I think Wax’ll find a way to use him, if he ever finds out what he can do.”

  “Wax is smart, yeah, but he ain’t that cunning. He likes things simple. When he gets threatened, he deals with it. I say it’s banishment.”

  “Fine. Bet you a week’s pay on it,” said Trim. “You say banishment, I say Wax puts Bouchard in the inner circle and treats him like royalty.”

  “Done,” said Kugh.

  The two men spat into their hands and shook.

  “I’m staying out of this one,” said the portly soldier.

  “That’s because you’re a pacifist, Reed,” Kugh said.

  Reed scoffed. “No, it’s because I can tell the difference between a bad bet and a good one. Why would I try and predict what the Commissar’s thinking?”

  “Um, because it’s fun.”

  “That bullshit is not fun. Put Trim in a room with your little sister and let’s bet on how long it takes her to kick his ass—now that’s fun.”

  “Suck my cock,” Trim said, gesturing. “You don’t even bet on scorpion fights, Reed. You’re the least competitive dway I’ve ever met.”

  “I gotta side with Trim on this one,” said Kugh. “I’m sorry. He’s got a point.”

  “Okay, you want to make a bet about something? How long ‘til Wax’s geeks figure out how to get the power back on in the city?”

  “He said like long years.”

  “He didn’t say specifically.”

  “I know,” said Reed. “That’s why I’m making it into a bet. How coffing awesome would it be though, right?”

  “It would be, in the words of Captain Curran, ‘mission-critical.’ Coffing legendary,” said Kugh.

  “So when do you think they’ll crack it?”

  “Right before the next starwinds come to knock the lights right out again,” said Trim.

  “Probably.”

  “Yeah.”

  The soldiers’ mood dampened, their faces drawn with sobering looks. When the hinges on the big wooden door squeaked, the men raised their guns. Sister Adeleine slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, eyes widening when she saw the weapons pointed at her. The soldiers relaxed.

  “Where’s Dashel?” Kugh asked.

  “I’m sorry?” Adeleine turned her ear as if she hadn’t heard him.

  Kugh sighed. “Brother Mortial,” he recited. “Where is he?”

  “Oh. He’s with Brother Soleil. His before-name was Dashel? That’s a funny name.” Adeleine giggled, smiling.

  Bastille saw Kugh’s eyes affix on the young acolyte, his pupils dilating in the dim lantern light. The corner of his mouth turned upward. Stay away from her, you cretin, or the Mouth help me, I’ll…

  “Dashel Thomrobin, second advisor to Pilot Wax, Commissar of the Scarred Comrades,” Kugh said. “It’s a funny last name too. Thomrobin.” He paused, waiting to be rewarded with another laugh.

  Adeleine gave him a shy smile and turned away, kneeling next to Sister Bastille.

  “How are you feeling, kind Sister?”

  “That barbarian hit me in the face. How do you think I’m feeling?”

  “I’m sorry, kind Sister. That must be painful. Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can stifle your libidinous behavior and remember your oaths.”

  “Lib—”

  “Libidinous. Flirtatious.”

  “But kind Sister, I was—”

  “I don’t care what you were doing. You’re not as safe as you seem to think. The only way for a young woman to preserve herself around men like these is through modesty and piety. Do you think there’s anyone who can protect you if you don’t do it yourself? It isn’t Brother Soleil, if that’s what you thought. It’s not Brother Mortial. Worse than heathens, the both of them. You’d do well to recognize that being among the heathens is no excuse for acting like one.”

  “You’re right, kind Sister. Thank you for correcting me.”

  “I told Sister Jeanette the same thing. Before you betrayed her to these heathens.”

  Sister Adeleine’s eyes flashed with rage. “If kind Brother Soleil is worse than the heathens, then how… how does Sister Jeanette compare? You spit on her with one side of your mouth and pretend to be her confidant with the other.”

  “She told you what I said to her, even after she swore she’d keep it between us? Sister Adeleine, if you ever speak to me like that again, I swear I’ll—”

  “Speak to you like what? Like you speak to me? The way you treat me with no respect, like I’m a stepping stone to be walked on? Sister Jeanette can say whatever she wants to whomever she likes. She doesn’t need a hypocrite like you telling her what to do.”

  Bastille felt herself go rigid, but she kept her exterior calm. “We’re all hypocrites, Sister. No matter where you come from, or who you are. Everyone has hated another person for something they themselves have done.”

  “You’re different. You don’t just find the occasion to criticize,” Adeleine said. “It’s all you ever do.”

/>   “Is it? Well, then, I’ll do something different. I’ll report you to the Esteemed and have you punished for this insolence. Would that make you happy?”

  “Go right ahead and report me. I’m leaving with Brother Mortial and Sister Jeanette. Tonight. I’ve already told them I am. I used to think the Order would be good for me, but it’s not worth this. I can’t stay here another minute.”

  Bastille stood, using the wall to push herself up. She dropped the bloodsoaked cloth she’d been holding over her forehead. A dizzying rush came over her. She almost fell over, but Adeleine caught her and held her up.

  “You’re not allowed to leave,” Bastille said. “You’ve pledged yourself to the Order. No priest or acolyte leaves the Order once they’re pledged. We live here, and we’re devoured here.”

  Sister Adeleine propped Bastille against the low steel table and backed away from her. “Not me.”

  Bastille’s head was pounding, her vision red with fury—or blood; she couldn’t tell which. You’ll be devoured here, Sister Adeleine. Just like everyone else. Sooner rather than later, it would seem. When Bastille’s fingers swept across the cold metal of a pair of surgical scissors, she wrapped her fingers around them. Shoving herself off the wall, she lunged toward Adeleine. The younger woman screamed, raising her hands to protect herself. Bastille stabbed at her, felt the scissors glance off the woman’s arm, rake the skin, and plunge into softer flesh.

  The soldiers were on them in an instant, yanking Bastille away and wrenching the scissors from her hand. There was blood everywhere, and there were dark spots on Sister Adeleine’s prosaics. Reed, the portly one, was holding Bastille’s arms back with a firm grip. Though she tried to struggle, there was no getting away from him. Kugh and Trim were helping Adeleine to her feet. She was crying, wounded and terrified. There was a childlike hurt in her eyes; the heartache of a little girl, betrayed by someone she admired.

  Bastille’s heart sank. Shame swelled inside her. Rules are rules, she always said. Once you join the Order, you stay until you die. She had put the rules first again, to the detriment of the woman who had been her most loyal ally. Sister Bastille had squandered that loyalty; abused it. When these heathens left the basilica, Adeleine would be with them, and Bastille would have no one.