by Daniel Casey
“I remember he saved my life in the marsh. But the poison…I blacked out all too soon.”
“You remember nothing?” He sounded doubtful.
“Just vague scenes—being dragged over ground in some kind of litter, menders, and being in a cabin surrounded by faces I didn’t know.”
“The poison was potent, so he would have been delusional the entire time.” One of the previously silent justiciars spoke up. The others seemed to take this in.
“When the acolytes came aboard the barge, he was found fevered and barely conscious, unable to stand and unable to communicate but in gibberish.” The justiciar on the far right added.
“They came to us because no one in Anhra could heal the paladin.” The central justiciar said assertively.
“But why didn’t the free ranger end him in route? The question still stands.” The far left justiciar replied.
“It makes no sense to kill Kira and not me.” Goshen asserted.
“Unless you were involved.” The central justiciar coolly said.
Goshen’s body tightened and he felt a hot rage flush his face, “I have been a personal guard of the Ambrose chapel since birth, I would never let Kira or any of her kin come to harm if I could stop it.”
“No doubt why you, and you alone, were entrusted with her safety.” The far left justiciar sneered.
“Exactly why I was entrusted.” Goshen angrily threw back at him.
The central justiciar raised his hand to calm the debate, “We know that you have been less than orthodox, according to our brief from Sulecin.” He held up the slim folio he had read from earlier, “So then why shouldn’t we conclude that you were some kind of secret heretic?”
“Heretic? I’ve fought for The Cathedral; my whole life has been led in the Light.”
“Are you among the Consoli?” He was asked.
“What?” Goshen was dumbfounded.
“Are you a Consoli? Are you a follower of Bedin? Are you in one of the Shadow Sun sects? Is your blood or sympathy with the Athingani? Do you believe in the inerrable authority of our Patriarch?” A different justiciar threw out the names of nearly every schism Goshen had fought against and strove to root out from the Lakes.
“Of course, I do.”
“Do you deny these heresies?” The far left justiciar accused.
“I do not deny they are heresies.” Goshen coolly replied.
“Are you among their number is what we asked!” The far left justiciar’s face turned twisted and angry.
“I belong to The Cathedral, birthed to the Light.” The justiciars nodded seemingly satisfied, but Goshen felt uneasy.
The center justiciar looked to his right and two raised their hands to their chest to cover their heart. The justiciar looked to his left; one judge placed his hand over his heart. Then the center justiciar opened the folio before him and spoke without looking at Goshen, without passion as though reciting a well-rehearsed script, “Goshen Staad you have been healed of your wounds, purged of the toxins that had allowed you to fail in your mission.”
“Wait, what…”
The justiciar continued, ignoring Goshen, “Your failure has led to the death of an alm of our Cathedral and the dissolution of our vital interests. However, because this tribunal cannot find you in direct collusion with the death of alm Ambrose but merely incompetent. It has been decided that you shall reside as a penitent here until the end of your days for the security of all the realms.”
“What?” Goshen lunged toward the altar, but immediately yanked back and down to his knees by the chains held by the acolytes.
“Goshen Staad, you are stripped of your ranks and honors. Your name will be erased from the Ambrose Chapel codex.”
“This makes no sense, I protected Kira!” An acolyte stepped to him and struck him hard in the face. He would have fallen to the ground if it hadn’t been for the chains around him. Instead, his head flew back and then snapped forward. He didn’t pass out but his vision was all stars.
“You are a failure and it would be hopeless to redeem you. Therefore, that is the new brotherhood you will join, The Hopeless.” The casualness of the sentence cut Goshen to the bone. He bellowed at the justiciars as the acolytes began to drag him away.
He tried to fight but they soon brought him to heel like a dog. Goshen became hysterical, screaming “I am not hopeless. What is going on here? This is no true inquiry!” The justiciars betrayed no interest in Goshen’s protests. They all stepped back from their lecterns in unison and left through the doors they had entered.
The Cathedral of Sulecin, 51st of Lammas
Like nearly every chapel in the city, the Altschul’s was built as a miniature of the Grand Cathedral. Thin, long beams interlaced in such a way that at a distance it appeared as though the temple was an infinite layering of diamond shapes. There were no interior walls and the exterior walls were mostly a thick limpid glass that seemed not only to allow the day light to enter but also to amplify it. The interior was hauntingly airy, all open space. The pews were set in a chevron weave, the altar a mere two spans high with five lecterns each draped by a colored band meant to be worn by the priests.
The Altschul chapel was small with maybe twelve pews in all and Pallas sat alone nearest the altar. He heard soft voices and footsteps coming his way from the entrance, and he suspected this would be Ebon and Vander. He was right, the two were chatting in a friendly tone and when they came to where he sat, they seemed to brighten further. With them was Stilbon, which Pallas had not anticipated.
“Ah, Canon Pallas, you seem your usual pensive self.” Vander gestured Ebon and Stilbon to sit.
“Quiet is always broken, it’s reassuring to know you’re usually there for it.” Pallas was uninterested in their levity.
“No reason to be snippy.” As he spoke, Ebon put his arm behind Pallas and gestured at Vander and Stilbon who were still standing, “We needn’t pretend we’re friends, we just need to come to a consensus.”
Pallas nodded, “I didn’t expect you to tag along.”
Stilbon gave a queer smile, “I thought it best for us all to be here for this.”
“Sinclar is coming?”
“The Vicegerent is here.” The four snapped their heads toward the altar to see Sinclar Somerled standing at a center lectern.
“You’re quiet as a mouse, Vicegerent.” Vander said as Pallas and Ebon stood.
Sinclar raised a hand gesturing for them to remain seated, “I suppose so Father Vander, but it is necessary for this gathering to be reticent rather than animated.”
Vander sat with Stilbon next to him accepting the gentle chastisement. Pallas spoke up, “We need to address the issue of the paladin.”
“The news from Bandra is disappointing.” Sinclar conceded.
“More than that, it shows we’ve been found out.” Vander asserted.
Pallas scoffed, “Hardly, only the five of us know of this design.”
“Obviously not.” Stilbon said.
“The assault on the paladin speaks otherwise.” Vander added.
“The double assault.” Ebon said.
Vander turned to Ebon, “Was it the same band twice or two independent attacks?”
“If two, then we must begin to consolidate our authority here.” Stilbon interjected, “We should move to place me at the head of the paladins.”
“There is no need for that just yet,” Sinclar was assertive; “I have solved the problem.”
“How so?” Pallas asked skeptical, “With the girl dead, how will we coax the Lappalans to our cause?”
“Have the Spires found out yet?” Vander asked.
“With the girl dead our abbey in Bandra found the paladin had been turned; he was looking to sabotage us from the beginning.” Sinclar assured them.
“I don’t believe that for an instant and no one else will either.” Pallas said, “Staad disobeying command? Besides, his loyalty to the Light and, especially, to the alm is…was absolute.”
“Yet he
allowed her to be killed by a free trader? A female free trader nonetheless.” Ebon said.
“The tribunal found enough evidence.” Stilbon added.
Pallas shook his head, “As Vander will tell you, the judgments of such tribunals are often decided well before any evidence is presented. More to the point, what now?”
“Without Lappala how will we…” Vander seemed on the verge of panic.
“All of this is going to plan.” They all sat rapt awaiting Sinclar to go on, but he let them dangle, “We will still have the whole of The Aral.”
“Vicegerent, you know we each are with you completely, but I think I speak for us all when I say we need to know your contingencies,” Pallas was deferential but a twinge of haughtiness crept into his tone, “all of them if we are to continue to be.”
“Fair enough, Canon.” Sinclar smirked and continued, “I never intended for the alm to make it to Lappala. If she had, the scenario I presented to you earlier would have been adequate. But I was suspecting the pair to be set upon. The death of the girl means that the last true Parmentier is gone. The Silvincians don’t know of her but they will. And once they do, the spire will be thrown into upheaval. Chances are that will be the Ledi with which you all know I have blood ties.”
“The Spires already hold to us, we have the Lautisches, the Kendziors, and the Parmentiers…most likely the Ledis as well. This doesn’t strengthen our position with them.” Ebon asserted.
Ignoring him, Sinclar continued, “First we shall reveal that the paladin was a traitor. I will express publicly a deep emotional betrayal and profound concern for the safety of my gentle ward that our dear Patriarch insisted on sending out. A young woman with no true knowledge of the world outside our lands with a traitor. There will be turmoil; there will be weakened confidence in the Patriarch.”
“And then we shall reveal the girl’s death and origin.” Pallas added as Sinclar gave a knowing smile.
“What will that accomplish?” Stilbon asked.
Pallas turned to him annoyed, “An absent first blood Parmentier would have meant that the spire had been operating without true consent. An entire spire would have been illegitimate under the rules of the Assemblage. The Silvincians have a love for legalese…”
“It will throw them into crisis and in a state of crisis the Light will show the way.” Sinclar concluded nodding at Pallas.
“However brief.” Pallas muttered over Sinclar.
“And in that time?” Vander asked.
“In that time, I will present the Assemblage with the findings from the jury in Bandra.” Sinclar said.
“Detailing what, exactly?” Pallas asked.
“That an alm luminary was murdered by Essian assassins with the help of a heretical paladin.”
“That won’t be the exact story circling here in Sulecin will it?” Stilbon surmised.
Vander rubbed his face in worry, “They’ll want to know what we were doing with her in the first place.”
Sinclar stepped down from the altar and looked hard at Vander and Stilbon, “To the Assemblage, we will make it clear we did not know of her parentage until lately. A secret kept by the Patriarch. Pallas will come out as having discovered the plot to hold her ransom. To our brethren, the various reports from Bandra, rumors of the true purpose of sending the alm on the mission, and controversy over the paladin’s loyalty will weaken the Patriarch’s support.”
“Will our fellow clergy believe all this? How can we hope that enough will accept it?” Pallas asked sounding dubious.
“I am quite convincing,” Sinclar sneered and continued, “Nearly all of the Spires distrust the Patriarch, they will be looking to rally to a new face as the head of the church.”
“You.” Vander’s face broke out in his standard toadying grin.
“Just so, and I will be able to orchestrate the election of our representatives to the Assemblage. With the Spires as our fist, Essia will fall. The Spires new occupation will allow us to complete our agreement with Lappala.”
They all assented except Pallas who only sighed, “That assumes quite a lot.”
Sinclar nodded, “Which is why we must move on our end to codify the chapels to our cause.”
“A coup,” Ebon mumbled, “I don’t see how that will go over with the faithful. In fact, it will give the heatheners even more incentive.”
“It will not be a coup, as such. We will prime the chapels, the Spires will demand change, and out of fear our brothers will look for a new father.”
“It could work. But we can’t move too fast. The appearance of eagerness will undercut all our machinations.” Pallas granted shrugging slightly.
“It will work so long as you all keep your followers in line.” Sinclar was stern, but his face eased, “I will be Patriarch and you all will be raised with me. The Light will illuminate all.”
Chapter III
The Stony Shore
Mabon Day
At first, all Roth knew was they were moving. He would wake and see only gleaming white sky, then he’d black out again or, at least, the brightness of the light would consume his whole vision. Coming back his vision caught sky and tree line before he faded. Sleep must have been what his body needed, there were times when he woke with his eyes still closed. He would feel the heat of day upon his face and see a strange flutter of red and black behind his eyes. By now, he felt himself laying on something uneven, he felt himself shuffle around, and he heard the mouse-like squeak of wheels as well as innominate chatter. Still he let his body dictate his consciousness, but it wasn’t long before he woke properly. It was dusk for he could see reddened sky and still feel the heat of the day in the world around him. He tried to rise but failed. What was he on? Stones? No, not stones…turnips, rutabagas, potatoes maybe? Was he lying in a potato cart?
Figures passed, grey and brown, the texture of rough spun cloth, the stench of sweat and twill. No one seemed to notice him or at least no one seemed to care. It took him a few moments before he realized that he was sore all over, he let out a slight moan, “Don’t start with that.”
He tried to roll onto his side but his ache and stiffness made this almost laughingly impossible—twisting upon a cab of dirty tubers he craned his neck back towards the voice that had spoken so calmly to him. He stared upside-down at a man sitting the length of the cart’s seat with one of his legs thrown carelessly over the backboard. He wasn’t looking at Roth, but he was definitely talking to him. And eating a potato. No. An apple?
In a hoarse whisper, “I’ll try to keep it under control.”
“Humph. See to it.” Reg took a bite of the apple in his hand, then pushed the brim of his hat up to brighten his face, and pointed at Roth, “You were the perfect passenger for nearly three days. Don’t go ruining it now.”
He tried to stand, but only ended up arching his back enough to start to roll out of the back of the cart. He couldn’t catch or right himself, so he rode a landslide of vegetables out of the cart’s bed and onto the ground below.
“You’ll need to pick those up before you sleep tonight.”
Roth had managed to raise himself onto all fours, he nodded and slowly rose with the greatest effort he had yet put into such a simple task, “Apologies. This is a new mode of travel for me.”
“I don’t doubt.”
“Where are we?”
“The Stony Shore, maybe forty leagues west of Arderra, a bit north along the western foothills of the Siracenes. This is a pilgrim path to the Cathedral. Well, more of a refugee path. All Adrendines looking to sell their labor in Havan, Heveonen, and Sulecin.”
Roth nodded taking in his surroundings, “So I’ve been out for what? Five days?”
“They always say the sea spits up what it doesn’t want.”
“Who says that?”
“Well, no one really.” Reg smiled, “I was trying to be clever.”
“Not really your best quality.” Roth stood and tried to stretch a bit.
“I’ve pumped sea-water
from your lungs, leeched poison out of you, and listened to your fevered ramblings. So, now that you’re more lucid.”
Roth smirked then looked at their mode of transport, “Why the vegetable cart?”
“Who’s going to pester a peasant farmer burdened with a drunkard in his potato wagon? Besides, you think I was going to drag your body?” Reg tossed the core of his apple away.
“Makes sense,” Roth shrugged, “Still.”
“Hardly. But it’s seeming to work just fine. You’re not dead and we’re not in any danger of being harassed. This caravan is moving along with ease. I figured once it turns toward Havan proper, we could simply wander off.”
“You’re taking a lot on faith with me.” Roth was still twisting and stretching his limbs and back. The vegetable cart had left him with knots all through his body.
“You’re not going anywhere I want to go.” Reg agreed. “But I know your kind can be trusted.”
“Still, thank you for this. I know it’s not been easy for you.”
When they left the homestead, Reg had sent his boy Colm to stay with an in-law. Roth’s recovery after being fished out of the sea was thanks to Reg’s detoxing knowledge. The poison the corsair had shot into him before throwing him overboard had numbed his whole body. In Reg’s cabin, Roth vividly recalled vomiting a bright green bile while suffering through the shakes and a heavy fever. It had lasted for what seemed like forever. He wasn’t able to tell what was real and what was dream. Fortunately, Reg had enough skill to pull him out of his delirium from time to time, at least enough to let him know who he was.
Reg was a Novosar from the city of Calla, and he had wandered his way down to the Novostos Sea shore via the river trade on the Falkstone and Tanas. But he had settled here out of love, specifically for an Athingani girl named Nessa. Though they never married, they ended up with a child together. It was the boy that made Reg’s care of Roth make sense. Roth was mumbling nonsense and falling in and out of using the common tongue and the Athingani cant. When Roth spoke the cant, Colm listened intently and understood, his mother having taught him but Reg didn’t know the language. It was easier to think in the cant and Roth unloaded the story onto the boy. Colm translated enough for Reg that he had loaded Roth up in his wagon and headed off toward the western Siracenes to let Roth decide once he regained his senses entirely whether to head to Rikonen or into the highlands.
