Father Oliver gestured toward Turstan. “Turstan and I have been acquaintances for many, many years. He knows well I can be trusted. It was I who introduced him to Prince Mithelk. I know well the path that Turstan has worn, as I know well the rumors of a Euchoun emerging hold truth.
“From your eyes, I see you have not been told of your grandmother. A shame. In my heart, I have felt her actions should have been exalted, acknowledged for all that she had done, her ultimate sacrifice. But it is written that good done is held only up to the Great One.”
His eyes darkened, reliving another time, another place.
“It would have served to have told me about my own grandmother if she was indeed a Euchoun. Why would I have been kept from the knowledge? But then, why have I been treated in the manner I have, what I have endured, when all seems for naught? I have even been stripped of my birthright from King Edulf.”
Father Oliver bowed his head and uttered a prayer under his breath. She remained quiet while he did so. When he finished, he met her eyes.
“I know well you are confused. So are we all. I have found King Edulf to be fair and true. Over the years, though, I have learned not to defend others’ actions. It is best for me to lead one to their path. At this moment in time, it may not seem so to you, my child, but you are alive. That is most important above all.”
What does he want me to say? Does he want something from me? She had no answer.
“In this, I will tell to you true, Kela Monicalia Calledwdele,” Father Oliver continued. “I have faith that all is as it has to be. That all one endures within their path in life leads to their purpose.
“Know this: for all you have endured, there is always one who has endured more. Ask if what you want is what the Great One wants of you.” Father Oliver paused. His eyebrows rose in question. “Perchance, you want all to know the power you have within you. That, in some form, the knowledge that the kingdom knows it is you would vindicate the hurt within your soul.”
“In truth, I want only to stop the hurt, but I will not run from my destiny. Father Oliver, I will protect those who are in need, but I know not what that is now.”
Father Oliver turned his piercing eyes on her, studying her for a long moment.
“Trust in the Great One, Kela,” he said. “It is time for you to stand on your own. Hold not to what others around you tell you, but to your own judgment. Do not take the ease when offered, but what is right. I tell you, Kela Monicalia, there is much good within you.
“I have long preached upon the hope that lies within our land. The Arachnidan threat frightens the realm. I have faith that one would come to defend, for I have seen it before. It is faith, Kela, which has led you to me. The people have seen and have hope. With your actions, you have given hope to your people. Does it matter they know not from where it came, but that it is here?”
“I care not for acknowledgment in that manner, Father. In truth, I know only I hurt,” Kela confessed, twisting her wrist. “Moreover, I know not how to stop the hurt.”
Father Oliver turned her hand over and gently retied the binding around her wrist. He tied it firmly.
“Hurt is part of living, Kela. I cannot stop such,” he said in a soft voice. “But it is important to know you are not alone. Look upon me, Kela, my grandniece. I baptized you upon your birth and held you within my arms. My heart swelled upon your appearance, for I had heard that you had not survived.
“I held to my faith. Hallelujah! You are here.”
He did not wait for her to respond.
“I know Althea walks with you. She, too, sacrificed, giving her life…leaving behind her beloved son…so others could live. When the call came for such sacrifice, she questioned. The pull to live, to remain with the ones she loved, was strong, but realize, as she did, that nothing within this life is assured. Life is not fair, nor is it meant to be. It is a journey. Hold to your path so you can live.”
Kela stared at Father Oliver. His words held meaning.
In the forest, did I not hear a woman’s voice singing? Guilda said the song was one my father sang to me. Was it my grandmother? The Wood Spirit said one had spoken for her, one who had given her the gown that so upset the king.
Kela lifted her head. “In this, I will strive.”
“I know you will.” A smile emerged upon his lips. “Kela, you should realize that as children, Althea and I came from nothing. Our father was a planter, a commoner.
“You worry that you have been stripped of your birthright? It matters only in life what we do with the gifts we are given.
“None in the sight of the Great One has a birthright. Honor is earned.”
“Can you not tell me what I should do?”
“What is within you to do?”
“I don’t know,” Kela uttered, flustered. “I don’t know.”
Father Oliver said firmly, “When it is time, you will.”
A New Threat Looms
Whatever Kela had seen of Yucca, she had not witnessed the dark side of city life. Though she had never lived the life, most of her view had come from the glitter of court. Her short glimpse of the city had not indicated the misery it held.
Father Oliver presided over Mericus Abbey, situated behind the Great Temple. The abbey housed the priests and vestals of the temple. The vestals served to cook and clean.
Beyond the abbey by the eastern castle walls were cavernous vaults. Long ago, the vaults had served as the final resting place for reverent priests and vestals. These days, the dead were taken to the sacred holy ground, Imqaddsa by the Andlos Lake.
The good Father used the vaults as a haven for those he gave aid. Kela was one of those.
Kela slept in one of the shallow niches, along with three other women. Each were allowed one blanket, water to wash at will and a chunk of soap.
Father Oliver had seen to Kela’s clothing. He gave her a gray surcoat over a black tunic with long tight sleeves, which held her binding. Unadorned and demure, her hair was twisted back into a bun and covered with a crespine.
He had no need to say he had seen her mark. Kela saw it in his eyes. With his actions, she understood the ramifications of exposing her sin.
The other women in her sanctuary wore the same.
It was a bond the women shared.
In exchange for shelter, the women worked in the temple, cleaning and cooking. The work was hard, but Kela had no qualms with the tasks. Her hands were already rough and callused. Moreover, the work was no different than when she had served Twiten and his students in the Forbidden Forest.
Yet, there laid an issue.
She had no access to the royal family. For any hope of succeeding, she had to make contact with Falco…Sareta. Oh, I need to see Cono! She also realized that Turstan had his own frustrations.
After his time in Torini, Turstan had been discharged from service to the crown. He had been denied contact with Falco or any of the royal family.
Turstan himself would have been homeless if not for Father Oliver. He had agreed to become the groundkeeper of the abbey. Yet, Turstan’s rash of bad luck had not diminished his determination to right the wrongs that had befallen Kela.
“I will never be able to gain audience with your brother,” Turstan said. “You, though, none would suspect.”
“How would I manage to get near enough?” Kela replied. “I could not get around the guards, even if I used my powers.”
“I have thought of that. I know a woman who works in the king’s kitchen.”
A sudden remembrance of Cassie came to Kela. The only friend she had made in Yucca during her brief time in the city. “Tell me it is Magge,” Kela said. “You remember Cassie. Her mother worked within the kitchen.”
“I’m sorry, child.” Turstan shook his head. “I know no one by that name. The woman I know is known as Ashisma. She is a baker and makes the most delicious apple tarts. I know her well.
“If I ask, I’m certain she will give you a position.”
Kela wanted to ask w
hether Turstan knew what happened to her friend. It was a silly thought. Turstan would have no knowledge of a peasant girl. Instead, she turned her attention back to integrating into the castle.
“Then I will become a kitchen maid.”
* * * *
The city had never seemed so large. As far as Kela could see, homes, brick storehouses, wooden inns, and granaries were amassed in close proximity. The early morn hour brought with it the sound of the merchants opening their stalls to start their day.
Along her way to the castle’s kitchen, she could hear the clamor on her walk through the narrow alleys. Kela winced at the smell as she walked by a close stool that someone had left out on the stone streets, waiting, perchance, for the morning rain to come to empty it in the river.
Turning down the street to the kitchen, she hadn’t far to go when she realized she wasn’t alone. She heard hard footsteps and raunchy laughter.
She saw two men emerge out of the shadows. One lurched for her and tripped over the feet of his companion. He fell short, landing at her feet.
The stench of ale gagged her.
Recoiling, she watched a beast of a man reach down and jerk his one-eyed friend up on his feet. Bald with a scruffy beard, tattoos covered his bare arms.
Neither were Sordarin.
“Our gods have been kind to us, Samulic.” The one-eyed man spoke with a thick Tarrin accent. He was stout with wispy chin hair. “Our night is not over.”
The beast pushed his friend behind him. His deep-set eyes looked over Kela.
She shivered.
His bushy, dark eyebrows furled in thought as his lips slid upward in a dark, foreboding smile. He had a crooked nose and a large, twisted scar across his cheek.
He wore a soiled white tunic under his mail. Though it was his grubby cloak embroider with a crying hawk that told he was with the City Watch.
Men assigned to safeguarding the streets of Yucca were drunk and threatening her. The realization chilled her.
“Good sirs,” Kela said firmly. “Pray, move out of my way.”
Reaching over, the one called Samulic touched her crespine. “Ah, my pretty, what is underneath your cover?”
Immediately, Kela took a step back. I could blast him away, but then I would call attention to my presence. Instead, her eyes fixed on the man, watching his every move.
She had no fear.
“Rip her clothes off, Samulic,” the one-eyed man said. “You take her cunt and I’ll rape her arse.”
Kela took no more. She could not blast, but she was not defenseless. She flicked her hand, thrusting the one-eyed man into the giant. The two ended up on the stoned street.
A boisterous cursing war between the two friends ensued. Samulic uttered incoherent words to Kela’s ears while he tried to push his friend off. Neither could his one-eyed buddy regain his footing. It was useless.
Kela would not relent her shield.
She held it firm while she walked slowly around them. Her eyes never left the angered men. Resisting a great desire to laugh, she sensed she needed to put distance between her and the scums.
“Wench, help us up! Do you know who I am? You will regret leaving! Mark my word, you fuckin’ bitch! I will kick your teeth out!”
She ignored their vulgar threats. Only when she got to the end of the alley did she release the shield.
There was nothing they could do. She was within sight of the round stone building that served as the main king’s kitchen. She turned her attention toward her destination. The Great One forbid! The two derelicts would have defiled any other than I.
Kela told herself she would add this reprehensible behavior to her list to give Falco. She had only to find her brother.
* * * *
“It would be better if you stayed above the ovens.” Ashisma pushed her white hair back from her face, sweat beaded on her brow. “Ain’t safe to tarry out there at that time of morning. ’Em men came for Lady Bowers…no doubt.”
In the short time Kela had come to work in the kitchen, she had formed a bond with the tiny woman, who had a fierce spirit. The frank woman spoke her mind.
Ashisma had been married to a baker. He owned his own bakeshop near the open market. When her husband died, his brother took over the shop, training her boys in the art of bakery, as had their father.
It was then Ashisma came to cook at the king’s kitchen. She had become friends with Turstan when he would sneak into the kitchen to steal freshly cooked apple tarts.
“Lady Bowers?” Kela sliced up peaches for morning breakfast. The fruit seemed to be Queen Beatrix’s favorite.
“A whorehouse,” Ashisma said bluntly. “You said one was Samulic. Him you want to stay away from.”
“He needs to be disciplined,” Kela contended. “His conduct was intolerable.”
“Ssh, girl, you will be taken out and whipped,” Ashisma admonished Kela. “He’s with the City Watch. They can do what they will.”
Kela shook her head in disbelief. “To show such disrespect! If he wasn’t so drunk, he would have raped me!”
Ashisma took Kela’s hand. “He could have done worse. None would have said a word. None would dare.”
“Tell me no,” Kela said. “King Edulf would not allow his city to be ruled in such a manner.”
“Aye,” Ashisma agreed. “At one time, but times have changed ever since the maester of arms began hiring those vile mercenaries from Tarrin.”
“Why would King Edulf allow such?”
“I don’t have the ear of the king.” Ashisma scoffed. “Though, the whispers say the warriors are needed to protect our borders from Arachnidan raids and the growing tension with Brixtone.”
Kela said nothing for a long moment. “Surely, the mercenaries have to follow our laws.”
“Yes.” Ashisma leaned close to Kela. “To be true, there wasn’t a problem until Samulic. He takes no orders, if you ask me. Even our warriors are scared of him.”
Kela’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That can’t be so.”
“None would admit it,” Ashisma contended. “Yet, he does what he pleases.”
On that, Kela could not dispute her claim. Samulic had no fear of repercussions in his assault on her…made no attempt to drag her out of sight. He would have raped me in full view of any who walked by!
“He has to be stopped,” Kela said firmly. “The women of Yucca have need of protection.”
“Even those who are raped would never seek justice,” Ashisma said. “They fear renouncement.”
Kela shuddered at the mention. “But it is not their fault. How could they be renounced? It would compound the wrong!”
Ashisma looked at Kela in an odd manner. “I do not know where you were raised, but you are naïve by half if you do not understand the mark holds no reason to why one lost their maidenhood, only that she is not a virgin.”
“Foolishness!” Kela asserted. “Men fuck all the time without fear of such a mark!”
The cook fell silent, shocked by Kela’s blunt words. Finally, she said, “You need to learn that women hold no rights other than that given by her father or husband. I see why Turstan wanted me to look after you. You are much like your uncle. You need to hold your tongue.”
“If there is a wrong, someone needs to make it right. How could the Great One mark a woman in such a way!”
“It was not the Great One.” Ashisma shook her head. “How little you know! It was the great wizard of Narteria, one known as Alard, who placed a curse on all women of Scarladin. King Rede demanded the curse over seven hundred years ago after he wed one who was impure.”
Kela grimaced at the thought. So all women would pay for the sin of one.
“Though, now, it is not often that any has enforced a renouncement. The last one in Yucca was three months ago. Her name was Cabera,” Ashisma went on. “The poor girl’s father kicked her out of his house on the sight of her mark. She cried she had been married, but as it turned out her lover, Kane, was already married. He had tricked h
er. Her father cared not, only that she had embarrassed his family honor. Her father felt he had been shamed. In turn, her father turned his back on her.”
“She was renounced?”
“Most publically.” Ashisma nodded. “Stripped and chained at Aktie in the center of the open market…Street of Vinir. Fifty lashes she got and left chained for over a day. It was a horrible sight. The crowds taunted her, threw rotten fruit at her, and made obscene gestures. Finally, one of the guards took pity and released her.”
Aghast, Kela asked, “What happened to her?”
Ashisma nodded her head to the south. “The whores at Bowers’ House took her into the establishment. After she recovered, she began her service.”
Kela swallowed back the bile in her throat. Johannes had said what could happen, but she had never considered the threat real.
She went quiet, hoping Ashisma had not taken notice of her silence. Even though the older woman had proceeded to say that most frowned upon a renouncement, Kela’s thoughts turned to Cono.
How could he have left me like this? She refused to believe he had done so intentionally. Her worry turned to him. Had he met with harm? Did he have need of her as she had of him?
This was no time to wallow in self-pity.
She had a great need to stay focused on her mission—making contact with her siblings.
“Take this up to the queen’s chamber,” Ashisma said. “Do not let the creamed oats grow cold.”
Ashisma used her to draw water, clean, and knead dough for bread. Most of her work, though, was carrying the food trays up to the royal apartments. There were a hundred steps up the winding staircase to the queen’s apartments.
She had counted.
The first day Kela had been spent scrubbing the floors of the massive kitchen space. She had volunteered to be one of the runners between the royal apartments and kitchen. It was a hard job to transport the food up to the royals.
The days passed quietly. Kela had become quite impatient.
Father Oliver had urged Kela to search for peace, but she had found none. An endless conflict gnawed at her soul.
Yet there was also a growing awareness.
The Path Now Turned (The Three Realms Book 2) Page 10