by Paul Heisel
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Feln was there at first light and waited for the doors to be opened. The personnel entering the building were assistants coming from their quarters and guards relieving the night shift. He had surveyed the monastery the previous night, seeing it so buttoned up and guarded made him curious. There had to be an explanation for the enhanced security. With so many visible protectors, there had to be a threat to the Grand Master or the monastery. The thought of using that to his advantage came and went; he wanted to see the Grand Master but he wasn’t desperate enough to infer that he had information about the threat just so he could get a meeting. He would wait his turn, and if he had to make mention of a threat, he would only use it as a last resort.
That evening he was allowed an audience with the Grand Master. The guards stripped him of his weapons and checked his person for hidden devices and objects, then they escorted him farther into the building. This was the oldest part of the Sabrin monastery, the stone here had seen hundreds of years of use. There weren’t many decorations, and Feln noted the old silk tapestries were threadbare and the alabaster sculptures of monks had seen better days. It was for the most part bare. The guards led him through double doors to where the Grand Master was waiting in a meeting room. It had none of the royal touches Feln had seen in Pyndira. There were no steps, no dais, no raised platform. The Grand Master sat at a desk which hardly seemed appropriate for his station. Behind him were dark purple curtains, plush velvet, arranged as a temporary wall to make the room look smaller. He noticed areas in need of dusting and the attention of cleaners. To him, this room wasn't used that often and it made him wonder. The rest was simple; wooden chairs to accommodate eight guests, decorative armor in stands sat on either side of the room, and landscape paintings dotted the interior plaster walls. In small areas the plaster had fallen off in chunks, revealing the underlying grayish stone. To his right and left were two more guards. So, it wasn’t going to be a private meeting. Feln wasn’t sure what the Grand Master would have to say, but at least now he would get answers.
“Come sit down,” the Grand Master said. He motioned toward a chair in front of the desk.
“My name is Feln…Roan,” he said quickly, nearly spilling out his Pyndira name that he had practiced over and over.
“Montishari Gatôn,” was the reply, drab and monotone. “I have heard of you before. Waskhal?”
“Yes, I served…serve under Caleth.”
“Well, what can I do for you? What can be so important that you have waited for two days to see me?”
Feln had gone through the conversation in his mind several times, and he hadn’t imagined the Grand Master being so plain. Caleth described Montishari Gatôn as an outgoing, expressive person. This man was neither. Feln looked at him more closely, noting the stillness of the man, as if he was intent on not moving a muscle. It was as if he was waiting for answers to something other than his questions.
“I have waited for two days to see the Grand Master of the Accord of the Hand,” Feln said, his voice strong and confident. “I haven’t waited two days to speak with you, a man pretending to be the Grand Master.”
“How do I know you are who you claim to be? You have been missing.”
“The argument is circular, I can no more prove who I am than you can prove who you are,” Feln said. “I wish to speak with the Grand Master about a fellow monk, Owori. That is why I have come to Sabrin.”
“I have never heard of a monk name Owori. You must be mistaken.”
The curtains behind the man swayed, then parted. From a concealed slit, one big enough for a man to slip through unimpeded, came a man of average height. He was older, gray haired, and tanned. He wore simple black robes with a black sash, and dangling from his neck was silver necklace that shined like moonbeams.
“Thank you Joshua, you may take your leave,” the man said.
“Of course.” The man pretending to be the Grand Master bowed curtly and scurried to the front door.
“Well met. I’m Montishari Gatôn.” He bowed.
“Well met.” Feln bowed in kind. “Feln Roan, from the Waskhal monastery, I am under the command of Caleth. I’m pleased to finally meet you.”
“Tell me, Feln Roan is the same person as Feln Surrey?”
“Yes, I’ve recently decided to use my mother’s maiden name as a tribute to her. She died giving birth to me.”
“Very well.” The Grand Master dismissed the guards with a flick of his hand. Feln noticed the brown spots on the Grand Master’s hands, dark and ugly. He must have spent most of his early life working in the sun.
“Did you suspect treachery from me?” Feln asked, motioning toward the empty room.
“It’s one of those times, yes,” he replied. “Since I hadn’t met you before, I had to be sure you were who you said you were.”
“That wasn’t a tough test.”
“Sufficient though, as I know of you from Caleth and you fit your description. Simple precautions are needed now, my hope is more drastic ones won't be needed if we are vigilant. I must tell you that this business of vanishing for a couple of months is disturbing. I would like to hear you story, but right now I don’t have the time. Please sit, be comfortable for the few minutes I can give you.”
Feln settled into the chair while Montishari Gatôn did the same behind the desk. He would have to remember how the Grand Master set the parameters and expectations for this meeting up front, without sounding uninterested or ungrateful. He told Feln that he was interested and would hear him out, but didn't have time to do listen to everything. That meant, get to the point.
The Grand Master slouched a bit, then looked more relaxed. He patted the desk. “I have the feeling you’re anxious. What is it I can do for you?” The Grand Master leaned forward.
“I have come in search of Owori. The rumors I heard indicated she was here, I assumed as one of the Dragonmasters. But that seems to be other than the case, and I want to find out what happened.”
“Why didn't you speak with Caleth?”
“I was delayed because of the war with Borgard, and my travels took me to Sabrin when I heard Owori might be here.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” he said, his tone friendly. “There was a competition for the position of Dragonmaster, she competed, was accused by Caleth of cheating, and was dismissed from Waskhal. It was unfortunate, but rules are rules.”
“It isn’t in Owori’s character to cheat,” Feln said. “She would use anything to her advantage in a fight, but she wouldn’t cheat during a test. Your explanation doesn’t make sense to me. In fact, it seems too convenient.”
“That’s what I know. Do you think Caleth would purposely lie to me about this? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No.” Feln searched for the next words but couldn’t find any. “There is another purpose to all of this.”
“Take up your questions with Caleth,” the Grand Master said. “Travel to Waskhal with my blessings. When one is absent from one’s home, you lose touch, so I suggest you go home. Now, can I interest you in supper? You may dine with the Dragonmasters if you wish. Their food is a bit better than the normal monastery fare.”
“No, but thank you for the offer. I have already wasted enough time by coming to Sabrin. I'll leave for Waskhal right away.”
“Feel free to supply yourself, go see the quartermaster. Feln, good luck in your travels. I wish I could have helped you more.” The Grand Master paused, thinking. “You will understand later.”
“That response is odd,” Feln said. “Why will I understand your evasiveness in the future?”
“My evasiveness doesn't need understanding. Your travels will help you comprehend what has happened since your disappearance. Our meeting has concluded.” He rang a bell.
“Thank you.” Feln stood and bowed, though he was confused by the Grand Master who knew more than he let on. He lingered while the guards came inside to escort him out.
“You have something else to say?” the Grand Master
asked.
“I would like to return here one day, to spend time reviewing the books in your library.”
“Really? Why would you want to do that?”
The words were delivered perfectly, yet Feln could detect a hint of joy on the Grand Master’s face. The slight expression of delight dropped and he became matter-of-fact again. It was clear to Feln that the Grand Master loved his library.
“I have a keen interest in Pyndira,” Feln explained. “I’ve been doing research all of my life. I believe there are a few books on the subject in your library, are there not?”
“You’re welcome to peruse the volumes if you wish. I can arrange it, even though the hour grows late and we will be securing the monastery, I can accommodate you. Have dinner with my Dragonmasters, then you can spend the rest of the evening in the library with my consent. Guards must go with you as a condition of being there.”
“Thank you for your offer, but I must decline. Another time, if I may. I need to be leaving for Waskhal immediately.”
“Of course.”
The guards came forward and motioned Feln toward the door.
“I'm surprised you haven't asked me the most obvious question,” Feln said.
The Grand Master motioned with his hand for the guards to remain at attention. “Why are you looking for Owori?”
“Because I love her. That’s what drives me.”
“A noble reason,” he replied. “Go now. Caleth will be waiting.”
Feln bowed. The guards escorted him out. Feln exited, reclaimed his weapons, and went to the quartermaster to get supplies. He had a long journey ahead of him. The night air cooled him once he was fully supplied for the trip. The lanterns were bright, lighting the monastery so that there were few shadows. People were headed toward the gates while guards took up positions along the walls and at the doors. At twenty guards Feln stopped counting, the Grand Master was worried about an infiltrator. Feln’s hand went to his Most Favored belt, and through his robe he felt for it. It was one with him now, he was sure the power was integrated with his body. He checked his replenished supplies, finding he had food for several days of travel, water, and the magic book from Pyndira. The pages were empty; he tried to send a message to Suun, but as she thought, no messages could go from Malurrion to Pyndira. He had the Dragonfly blade, light and deadly, the sharpest katana he had ever laid his hands upon, strapped to his hip. The former owner of the blade was now dead. With purpose filling him, he took a deep breath and started toward the outer gates. His home of the last ten years awaited him. Waskhal would be a welcome sight, as would his master, Caleth, and answers.
Before he reached the gate, a boy, perhaps nine or ten years of age, came running towards him. He was yelping out ‘master’ with every step and didn’t stop until Feln acknowledged him with a wave. The boy was out of breath, having run a great distance, and put his hands upon his knees. In his right hand he held a folded piece of parchment.
“Master, you forgot this,” the boy said, thrusting the crumpled paper at Feln.
“Thank you.”
The boy departed at once, not looking back.
Feln carefully unrolled the wad of parchment, not sure what this was all about. The message was tiny, but only needed to be that size because it contained one word.
Bora.
Chapter 12 - Bora
Nearing Bora brought back memories of his first visit there years ago, and Feln was astounded by the amount of construction that had taken place since that time. It was dusk and the day had ended for the laborers, bringing a lull in activity as the day transitioned into night. Workers were walking in groups toward the taverns, others toward their homes and families. Many greeted him warmly as he made his way to the monastery. The city had expanded and it make him wonder, how many people lived here? To him, Bora had grown, dwarfing even Sabrin or Waskhal. Prosperity was the word that came to mind. How did Kara attain this?
The monastery was ahead on a high hill; it too had grown since he had last seen it. The walls looked different and higher, and additional stone was being used to construct buildings, walls, and gates. The gate ahead of him was closed, an oddity for the Accord of the Hand monasteries. Then he remembered Sabrin. What was going on? There were two guards with spears and swords in front of the gate, soldiers he figured, fresh from the invasion of Borgard. Above were two guard houses, fully manned. Feln could see archers. His approach was met by the guards, who stepped out to meet him. Feln wasn’t sure what was going on, so he thought he should be as nonspecific as possible to gather information.
“Well met,” Feln said, speaking the familiar greeting.
The guards acknowledged him with nods. “Well met,” one said. “I’m sorry master, but the monastery is closed to outsiders.”
“I have traveled a long way from Waskhal and need to rest,” Feln said. “Everything I require is at the monastery. Does Bora not have the same courtesies as her sister cities?”
“No one is allowed in or out for tonight. I'm sorry master. Orders. Perhaps tomorrow will be different.”
Feln debated what he should do next – ask for Kara or Owori, or should he just walk away and return when it was darker? “I’ll find lodging elsewhere and will come back tomorrow morning. Thank you.” Feln bowed, and he noted the guard seemed relieved. He departed, found a spot where he had a good view of the monastery from afar, and waited for his opportunity to enter undetected. Whatever was going on within the walls wasn't good, and his intuition told him it was connected to the heightened security he experienced in Sabrin.
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Hours later he was on the winding road to the monastery grounds, bypassing the guards by blinking when they opened the gate to change the shift. There were other guards patrolling the grounds, but Feln avoided them and made his way to the structures. The construction here, now that he was close, was even more impressive. It looked as if they were giving the monastery a new outer skin, stouter stone walls were going up – but what for, he wondered. Why now? It chilled him as well to see a serpentine theme throughout. A tribute to Kara's true nature, as a Fury?
It was dark and he remained hidden, taking time to understand his surroundings. There were many buildings, more than he remembered being here, and Feln couldn’t determine their purpose from the outside. He guessed where Kara would be, the question was, where was Owori? Where would she be? What was she doing here? Feln wished he had gone to Waskhal instead of Sabrin, then he would know more. He noticed the grounds were lacking activity. Everyone was indoors and the guards who were outside had their attention on various buildings. They were patrolling to keep people in the buildings, or at least from coming out. He couldn’t wait any longer, lest he be discovered or use up all his magic, so he went to the main building of the monastery. It was a large structure with a golden dome. The front had guards, and it didn’t look like he could sneak by without opening the doors himself, so Feln walked up the steps and announced his presence. “My name is Feln Roan from Waskhal. I’m here to see Kara.”
Several minutes later, an elderly woman escorted Feln to a foyer. She was gray haired and pleasant, smiling as she indicated the direction they were going. She took him deeper into the monastery's main building, past the functional parts, offices, meeting rooms, and eating halls. They went through to another section of the building, and Feln thought the entrance was rather grandiose. There was lavishness befitting a Most Favored of Pyndira, and rich decorations throughout. Much had changed since he had visited years ago. There were colorful tile mosaics used on the walls, detailed abstract paintings, dark wood furniture, stout hand-carved tables, and high backed padded chairs. The floors were polished dark wood, maple he thought, stained a deep brown. Overhead was an iron chandelier with ornate scrollwork, candles blazing away to provide light.
Feln was shown to a stout door. The panels were snakes carved in relief and stained a similar color to the floor. The old woman said for him to go inside and she would return with tea. Feln knocked, pushed the door o
pen, stepped inside, and closed the door. The room was large, quarters enough for several people, and it contained separate areas for unknown purposes, except for the large bed and the desk, they were obvious. There were colorful paintings of flowers and wildlife on the walls, and old woven tapestries displayed equally around the perimeter. Kara sat at the desk, a candle augmenting the chandelier light coming from above. She was looking through stacks of paper. He thought that she looked disheveled, as if she had no sleep or had the worries of the world on her shoulders. She finally glanced up at him. She had soft features and warm, engaging brown eyes. Even with her being stressed out, Feln noted she was an attractive woman.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Kara said.
“Well met.” Feln bowed.
“Well met. Back from the dead are we?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he answered. “I see you’re busy and I’m on urgent business, anyway, so my tale must wait for another time.”
“What is this urgent business? It must be important if you evaded my soldiers at the front gates.”
“I apologize if I alarmed you by bypassing your protections. They are doing what you told them, keeping everyone out. You know I can slip in and out of places unseen.”
“Apology accepted,” she told him. “As for your story…”
A knock came at the door and the old woman stepped inside, carrying a tray containing two small china bowls and a steaming pot of tea. There was a cinnamon aroma that soothed Feln, and he took a deep breath of it as the old woman went by. She put the tray on a low table that was in the middle of a rug sporting red and blue geometric patterns. The table was too short to put chairs around it, so Feln surmised they would sit on the rug. Feln sat down and crossed his legs. It felt good to relax.
