by Peace, Cas
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Seline marched back to the nursery, Bessie trailing behind. It really was high time she had her own suite of rooms, she thought. She was seven years old now, far too grown up to be sleeping in the nursery. Once this little trip into the city was out of the way and her father realized she was capable of getting her own way from now on, she would demand her own rooms. And the services of a proper maid. But until that time, she had her secret place.
She ignored Bessie’s attempts to see her into bed and firmly dismissed the nursemaid. Seline could manage very well. She could dress and undress herself, brush and arrange her own hair, and she was more than capable of taking a bath on her own. She smiled with satisfaction when she heard the door to Bessie’s room close, and she listened carefully to the noises of washing and undressing coming from inside.
When she was sure Bessie had gone to bed, she removed the tiny key from the secret pocket she had sewn inside her gown. It was really only a slit in the fabric, just the right size to hold the little silver key. Then she took out her private box from under her bed and unlocked the lid. She had done this several times in Bessie’s presence so the nursemaid could see the box held only a few pieces of gold ribbon from one of her mother’s gowns and a bundle of her mother’s letters. The Princess removed the latest letter she’d received and unfolded the square of parchment, smoothing it over her knee. As she reread the words from her mother her eyes misted over, and she scrubbed irritably at them.
She was sure she had her mother’s meaning right, but even if she had misunderstood, she would enjoy a trip of rare freedom tomorrow. Finding the passage she wanted, she went over the words one more time.
Do you remember, my dearest daughter, going to the merchants’ fair last year? How we enjoyed strolling around the booths and watching the peddlers calling their wares? I especially recall how you enjoyed the antics of the man trying to sell those strange curved fruits from Beraxia. Do you remember him? I wonder if he will be there at this year’s fair? I feel very sad that I will not be able to go there with you. Perhaps you can persuade Bessie to take you. If you do, be sure to look out for the man selling curved fruits, and if he is there, think of me.
Yes, thought Seline once she had read it through, she was certain her mother was telling her to go to the fair and to visit the stall of the Beraxian fruit seller. Her mother was well aware this man was a regular attendee, so the part about wondering if he would be there this year was completely false.
Seline smiled. Her mother had told her before she’d left that she would try to find a way of communicating with Seline without her father knowing, but this was the first time Seline had discovered a hidden message behind her mother’s words.
Sofira knew Elias never attended the merchants’ fairs. He was always too busy for such activities and left the provisioning of the castle to Madam Delinna, the chatelaine. He would have no idea what was sold among the stalls. But Sofira had often taken her daughter along, to accustom her to the processes of bargaining and provisioning, and she knew how Seline loved the whole experience. It would be the most natural thing for the Princess to ask to go.
Seline trembled, half with excitement and half with nerves. What would she find at the fruit seller’s stall? What would happen there? Despite her earlier scornful reference to demons, the thought had already crossed Seline’s mind that perhaps her mother wanted to spirit her away from the castle. That’s why she had been so determined to dispense with her bodyguards. Her success in that had surprised her, but it also empowered her. If she could sway her father so easily in that respect, what else could she do? If kidnapping by her mother wasn’t the object of tomorrow’s jaunt—and Seline was intelligent enough to realize her father would turn out not only the castle garrison but probably the Manor as well if her mother tried anything like it—then she could think of many other demands for freedom she could try her hand at. Any or all of them would make her lonely life at the castle a bit more bearable.
Laying the letter aside, Seline emptied the box and picked at the base with her fingernail. It was a tricky catch, but if you angled it just right … she was rewarded by a click as the bottom of the box came loose. Prizing up the thin wood, she gazed triumphantly at the linen wrapping revealed under the false bottom. She took it out and unwound the scrap of cloth. A larger, heavier key fell into her hand and she clasped it tight.
Bessie would be asleep and snoring by now. Seline took great care to wear Bessie out and keep her up as late as possible when she intended to do this. It would spoil all her careful plans if her nighttime activities were discovered.
Rising from the bed, she took a dark cloak from her wardrobe, wrapped it around her, and opened the door of her room. She could just hear Bessie’s gentle snores. Smiling to herself, Seline soundlessly closed her chamber door, crossed the nursery floor, and opened the outer door. She slipped out into the deserted, dimly-lit hallway and ran swiftly on bare feet toward the iron-bound door that was now the only entry to the disused east wing. Seline inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Unworried by the darkness that faced her, she passed quickly through and turned to lock the door behind her. As she moved down the passageway toward the oil lamp she kept on a shelf nearby, she suddenly froze. Straining her ears, she caught the sound of footsteps.
Heart hammering, Seline stood stock-still, hardly daring to breathe. When she realized the footfalls were coming from the hallway she’d just left she relaxed, letting out a silent sigh. She’d been fortunate. Another minute or so and she would have been seen. She felt herself go cold at the thought of discovery and tiptoed down the hallway toward her lamp.
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Lord Levant was deep in thought as he came abreast of the locked door. He had finally persuaded Elias to go to bed rather than partake of yet another glass of brandy, but he’d seen the loneliness that still lingered behind the King’s eyes, unaffected by the amber liquid. He was worried for Elias, not knowing how to bring his monarch out of the depression that reared its head too often these days. He had been turning the problem over in his mind when his thoughts were broken by a faint scraping sound.
Levant stopped by the door, much as Sullyan had done a few weeks ago. Unlike the Artesan, however, Levant had no inner senses to rely on. And he was certain he’d heard something behind that door. He stepped closer and tried the latch, relieved to find the door securely locked. He knew Elias hadn’t ventured into the east wing since Sofira’s banishment, and there wasn’t much chance of him wishing to do so. That door was likely to stay locked forever unless there was a radical change of incumbent at the castle.
Levant stared at the door, wondering whether to mention the possibility of rats to Madam Delinna. If he did, she would have to go to Elias for the key, and that might stir up the King’s painful memories. If tonight was anything to go by, that was the last thing Elias needed right now. Levant decided to leave it. If there were rats in the east wing, they were welcome to it. There must be precious little for them to eat in there anyway.
He stepped away from the door and continued on down the hallway, heading for his own rooms and his bed.
Chapter Ten
The sixth bell had only just sounded when Sullyan heard the light tap at the door heralding the arrival of Frar Varian. If the elderly Frar was surprised to see all three of them dressed in their warm cloaks and ready to accompany him, he hid it well.
In truth, Sullyan herself was more than a little surprised. She had asked Ruvar for permission to attend the service mainly to satisfy a growing curiosity and her own theory as to the origins of this rocky bastion of faith, and she’d told Cal and Tad they were not required to accompany her. But as Sullyan woke, well before the sixth bell, and commenced her dressing, she heard the two men doing the same. They met in the living area, still warm from the banked fire, and as Sullyan stirred the embers in order to heat water for fellan, she cast them an enquiring glance.
“I confess I did not expect to see you two so
early this morning.”
Tad shrugged. “It’s not often we get the chance to experience something like this. This place is so strange, I guess we both thought that the more we see of their way of life, the more we might understand what happened here.”
Sullyan nodded her approval. “My thoughts exactly. Also, when we arrived here yesterday I was curious as to why there was no snow on the higher peaks, considering how far north we are. I believe I know why that is, and if I am correct, we shall see the reason this morning and the sight will be worth the early rise. But, gentlemen, I caution you to remember we are guests here. When we are conducted to the site of the service, I advise you to keep your eyes open and your mouths closed, unless there are opportunities to join with the service. Remember, this is a silent order and we must respect that.”
They’d just finished their fellan when Frar Varian arrived, and they followed him out into the frigid early darkness. There had been a brisk easterly wind and a significant fall of snow during the night, and white flakes lay thick upon the path. As they made their way in silence, the air was still and the white crusting on the ground grew less and less. Sullyan could feel the temperature of the air changing as they passed the lightless windows of the Patrio’s private residence and wound their way ever upward, ever more steeply, following the slowly pacing Frar. She felt rather than saw the glance Cal gave her as he, too, registered the slightly warmer air. She was pleased he was keeping his wits about him.
The walls of sharply jutting rock bordering their path loomed toward them as they climbed higher, forcing them to walk in line. Eventually, Sullyan could make out Varian’s faint silhouette against the marginally lighter sky and they finally emerged onto a level track.
The constricting rock walls ended abruptly, giving Sullyan the distinct impression of a vast open space before her. As yet, there was insufficient light to see much, but she could tell that the fall of snow hadn’t settled here; the ground was only damp. She followed Frar Varian as he turned left and led them farther along the level path, their legs grateful for the respite from the sheer gradient. Soon, he turned to Sullyan and placed a hand on her shoulder, indicating they should wait here. She touched Cal and Tad in turn and they stood facing the vast open space they could all sense as Varian walked away.
Silence settled like a comforting cloak. Sullyan used the time to extend her senses into her surroundings. She now knew what she would see when the light grew strong enough. She could feel the emanations rising from the rock all around her. They suffused her with a sense of antiquated majesty, but they also carried the faint hint of menace such places always exuded. The air was crisp with the clarity that often comes on cloudless winter mornings, and she knew the sunrise would be spectacular. The stars in the west shone brightly, the morning star in the east glittering with silver pulses.
The more she employed her metasenses, the more she could feel people around her. They weren’t visible yet, but she knew there were many. They ranged on both sides of her, all standing in silence facing the east, all anticipating the glory to come. She could almost taste the excitement, the tingle of worship, and immersed herself in the sensation.
When the sound began, she almost missed it. It was subliminal, muted, but as natural as breathing. It might almost have been the combined pulse of the island community, each heart joining to beat as one to welcome the coming of the sun. It increased gradually in volume and resolved itself into its separate components, and soon she could hear individual voices chanting softly, each sustaining its own note. There must have been two or three hundred throats giving tongue to that low, humming drone, and it reverberated through the rock at her feet, echoing in the hollows of her soul.
The light grew and the sound grew with it, intensifying and deepening, swelling as the light of the new sun painted the sky with peach. The silhouette of the rocky peaks stood out starkly against the pink-stained east and the voices modulated, rising and falling now in single and multiple tones, building toward a towering crescendo which would erupt into song when the first ray of the new sun glanced over the island’s rim.
Sullyan could see them now. Perhaps two hundred and thirty people stood ranged in a huge semicircle to either side of her, robed and cowled, their hoods drawn up, heads bowed before the dawn. As the light increased and the incredible thrum of voices soared toward the heavens, they raised their arms, stretching upward and outward in a gesture of reverence and welcome.
And then the first ray of sunlight burst blindingly over the horizon, cresting the edge of the world and the island as one. Shooting sharply through a narrow slit in the island’s eastern peak, its full force struck upon a single man, standing hooded and insignificant until the primal sun limned his figure with gold. Sullyan had already identified Cleric Patrio Ruvar where he stood fifty paces from her, and in that instant of golden glory she saw him throw back his head, his arms upraised, and heard his full-throated Paean to the Sun. The warm, yellow shaft of sunlight flooded down the rock face, spilling like liquid life force into the vast, rocky crater that lay at their feet.
The volcano’s bowl echoed and amplified the Patrio’s song, and the assembled clerics now abandoned their chant and joined in the psalm, their voices swelling and flowing, melodies twining around a central theme. This triumphant laudation soared toward the heavens, a worshipful greeting and heartfelt thanksgiving for the circle of life and the turning of the Wheel, renewing all creation.
The heady primal power emanating from both newborn sun and the rock beneath her feet flooded Sullyan’s being with a force too strong to resist. Caught up in the glory of the moment, she flung back her head, adding her lilting voice to the multitude. She closed her eyes, drinking in the heat of the new sun bathing her with fiery glory, but not before noticing the swift glance of amazement flung her way by Ruvar. She wondered which surprised the man more; her knowledge of the song, or her desire to join the worship.
The song slowly faded, dwindling down as it had spiraled up, and as the burnished disk of the sun rose completely over the horizon, the muted voices stilled. Sullyan opened her eyes and regarded the spectacle before her. It was as if tangible light filled and lapped at the crater of the dormant volcano, bringing vibrant color to the stark, barren rock. Hues of gold and russet, tan and brown, pink and amber were revealed within the bowl, and a faint shimmer of warmth rose from the banked fires deep within the earth’s crust.
She stared at this wonder, reflecting that many more people might find their way to faith if they could only witness such rebirth, experience the glory that was in the world and see the mystery of creation revealed with such intense, majestic power. She felt extremely privileged that the talents of her birthright enabled her to sense these ancient and venerable forces so acutely.
She and her two companions stood and listened to the rest of the ritual in silence. It didn’t last long. Sunrise was the shortest of the Services of the Wheel. When it was over, the people massed about the crater’s rim slowly and silently filed back down the path to whatever tasks awaited them. As they passed the three guests, Tad barely suppressed a gasp of surprise when he saw how many were women. There were even some children among them.
Sullyan turned to leave, but stopped when she saw Patrio Ruvar approaching, a stooped figure by his side. She waited for them, Cal and Tad behind her.
“You have an unusually pure and well-trained voice, Colonel Sullyan,” Ruvar remarked as he halted before her, regarding her with curiosity tinged with respect. “I confess that when I granted your request to witness this morning’s service, I didn’t expect to hear it raised in worship beside us.”
She replied levelly. “Did you not, Patrio? Why else did you think I made that request? Or do you believe as the Baron did, that we Artesans are pagan witches, not fit to follow your faith?”
The intangible sense of challenge was present once again in her tone and she sensed Cal stiffen, wondering how Ruvar would react. But the Patrio had obviously revised whatever opinions he might
have held the day before, and he accepted her mild rebuke.
“The Faith of the Wheel is open to all. It’s not for me to say who may or may not follow its path. That is for each soul to decide and for God to judge.” He inclined his head toward her. “Your joyful contribution to our Paean was most welcome.”
“You are kind, Patrio. I hope I did not intrude upon your personal communion.”
“Not at all,” he assured her. He turned to the man waiting in silence beside him. “Colonel Sullyan, this is Frar Durren, who witnessed the Baron’s fall into the sea. He has agreed to speak with you. He will tell you what he saw and then he will take you to the rooms the Baron occupied. Frar Varian will await you there. Once you have concluded your business, it would please me if you and your men would breakfast with me.”
Sullyan raised her brows and gave the Patrio a warm smile. “You are most accommodating, Patrio Ruvar. I thank you for your gracious invitation. It would be good to talk over our findings with you before we leave.”
The Patrio bowed and withdrew, leaving them with the stooped Frar Durren. He cast back the cowl of his robe, revealing a balding head that at one time had been shaved in the fashion of Frar Varian. Durren was in his sixties and physically frail, but his blue eyes were clear and candid and the smile he turned on them was tentative but genuine.
“I am most grateful for your compliance in this matter, Frar Durren,” said Sullyan. “I assure you we will not keep you from your duties longer than is necessary. Might we start by seeing the place from which Baron Reen cast himself into the sea?”
The cleric turned to lead the way. “It is around the other side of the crater. I must warn you, there is a steep climb.”
As they walked, Sullyan asked the Frar how he’d come to witness the Baron’s demise. In a voice scratchy with misuse, the elderly cleric related what he had seen that night.
