Justicar Jhee and the Cursed Abbey

by Trevol Swift

  “Don’t be daft, Sister Serra. As if Saheli’s misplaced kindness hadn’t already imperiled us. And save your ‘generosity.’ Justicar ethics prohibits her from accepting such a valuable gift. She’s humoring you,” Sister Elkanah said.

  Jhee turned to the mistress of relics. “I corresponded with your previous abbess not only about the nectar but about access to your archives. We discussed a donation and archival fees.”

  The abbess dipped her head which Jhee took as affirmation she had tacked correctly.

  Sister Elkanah sniffed. “Your name does seem familiar. I may recall her passing those along. Our greatest religious texts in their earliest, most fragile forms are there. Their access is usually reserved for the most devout and dedicated of scholars. Your requests were very professional and thought out. I had yet to make my decision. I’ll discuss the matter with Pyrmo and our librarian.”

  Jhee had sent those requests months if not more ago. If the Sister were inclined to grant them, she might have done so by now. The abbess took the pulpit to talk about the abbey’s founding and history of the island.

  The feast’s tone shifted more toward somber. Jhee only found intermittent enjoyment in the meal, company, or entertainment, anyway. Throughout, her thoughts lingered on the sight from the grotto and the recent deaths. An array of smells bombarded her from incense censers and licorices to spike leaf ointment and other peculiar sharp tangs in the air. Death stalked this abbey. Had she seen a new tragedy or an old as the prioress would have her believe?

  “Quite the blood-soaked history Torilsisle has.”

  “How many Makers do you subscribe to, Justicar?” Sister Elkanah asked.

  “Mechanism posits a reasonable case for as many as five, three plus a Prime Maker and an Unknown Maker, with possibly an innumerable number of Lesser Makers.”

  “What case do you posit? There comes the point when the worship of the various Lesser Makers becomes akin to paganism. Everyone’s up-jumped ancestor can’t be a Maker.”

  Sister Serra dipped her finger in her wine cup then tasted her fingertip. “Mm, I’d argue by definition everyone’s ancestor is a Maker or else none of us would be here.”

  “Obscene. You mock too much, Sister Serra.”

  “Idolater.”

  It would seem Jhee had traded one bickering pair for another. A group including Sister Serra livened attitudes up with dancing and a few bawdy songs.

  Jhee swept her cup at the cramped benches. “Quite the full house.”

  “Supplicants used to be rare. Now we turn them away,” the prioress said.

  “Ah, yes, the refugees. Many come at our doors to beg. Can you imagine?” Sister Elkanah said.

  “More come each day like an enormous unwashed wave, a tsunami that can’t be stopped,” Pyrmo replied.

  “Which is why you sought to turn my messenger away.”

  “The Justicar’s pardon, again, for the misunderstanding between your messenger and the gate staff,” the prioress said.

  “Not very hospitable,” a woman in noble dress said. “Yes, the gall to ask charity at an abbey.”

  The woman stumbled to the high table. Jhee estimated her too young to be the vizier. The woman supported herself with the table while sloshing various discarded cups to see if they were empty.

  “They likely fancied you more beggars or refugees. How long did you leave the esteemed Justicar and her vessel stranded?”

  “Rescuing overburdened ships in ill weather can be quite dangerous.”

  Jhee sipped her wine. After the woman flung aside one last cup, she flailed for a nearby chair. Once she had hold to the chair, she dragged it to the Lost Makers’ place with a drawn-out, ear-piercing scrape. Everyone winced. It appears she had found a topic upon which the clerics agreed.

  A Recitation

  A female announcer came out and spoke. “My gracious hosts I present you the spinner stylings of Mr. Zane.”

  A young man took the stage with a series of sticks and staffs and hoops. After a few masterful displays of staff spinning and tricks with the small hoops and the sticks, he switched to larger body hoops. He swirled and undulated his body to rotate the circles about his torso, hips, and at one point, a single shoulder.

  The performer’s outfit matched neither that of the figure in the mask nor the one missing an arm. Nonetheless, Jhee admired Mr. Zane’s skill.

  “Mr. Zane is in exquisite form tonight,” Sister Serra said. “His talent truly is a treat for deprived eyes.”

  Sister Elkanah replied, “The Sister would do best to at least pretend some restraint.”

  “Chaste doesn’t equal dead. What is the design intent to put such beauties and pleasures in the world if not to enjoy them?”

  “Temptation away from the true path. It is a terrible distraction to have so many unmarried men about.”

  “Terrible for you, maybe. Chastity is a Drakist tenet. Hard to have one without another.”

  “Precisely my point. Men should not be here.”

  “What do you think, Justicar?”

  Jhee ruminated on her experience in the grotto, the couple, the effigies. “Does this order not believe any of the Makers males?”

  “We do.”

  “The Design teaches us one of the many joys on the route to release is the marrying and fostering of children. Without household aid, how do they hope to gain their place in the Prime Maker’s showcase? Their spirits shall be doomed to wander. Celibacy and paganism negate a societal need. No wonder your cloister is said to be haunted by ghosts. The widowed life mates of these unfortunate men and women.”

  “Well said. Then I’d say we have the contradiction backward. I’d argued such for years,” Sister Serra said.

  Sister Elkanah’s icy stare made Jhee realize she had blundered again.

  “The Justicar must then have scores of children. Or else one has to wonder what compliance with the Makers’ Design marriage bestowed in lieu of chastity.”

  From their segregation by gender to their veneration of astrological superstition, Jhee felt as if she had stepped back in time an age. “We may never know anything else of the First Makers’ Design. What we do know is they gave us intellect, sensation, and curiosity; tools with which we can know the world and ultimately the Design. Why would they not want us to use them?”

  “Do you smell mint?” Sister Serra asked.

  The abbess reddened.

  Sister Elkanah snorted. “Further proof of the Unraveler’s presence.”

  “Mint?”

  “They say curious smells are one of the signs Unmakers are present.”

  “I thought it was ozone. Everything is a sign of the Unmakers according to you.”

  “The Unmakers’ portents are many and varied.”

  “Like the Makers’.”

  “With as much smudge and incense as you douse yourself with, it’s no wonder you can’t detect foul beings.”

  “Going back to the matter of the courtyard,” Jhee said.

  “What true philosophers I dine with,” Pyrmo interrupted. “This light occasion is not such a time for such heavy topics. A later time, yes?”

  Mr. Zane’s act concluded to much applause. Jhee chose strategic silence. She adjusted her mint-poultice and wrap once their conversation turned to lighter subjects.

  The announcer returned. “In honor of our gracious hosts, we present a reenactment of Freytag’s and Ziza’s duel before the Last Redoubt of the Shell Knights. As performed by Mr. Anshu and Ms. Hethyr.”

  “Hethyr. A barbarian name,” Jhee said.

  “Ah, you are right,” the abbess said.

  Another man came to the stage in elaborate war gear including two unlit fire fans. His body fur bore no trace of barbarian stipples or dapples. The mask he wore prevented a proper view of his esca. An assistant lit the tips of the fans then crouched at the foot of the stage with a bucket of water. Beside them, the announcer waited with a large blanket. The hall went silent save for the crackling of the flames as he swirled them
in arcs and figure drakes.

  A female figure in battle dress joined the first, this one bearing two fiery orbs on leashes. The woman’s fur also was a proper, solid brown with no trace of barbarian striping. Jhee sat up straighter. The armor, though, reminded her of what she had seen in the courtyard. Both figures were in full possession of their limbs.

  The two battled with their fire props. Their flickering lights swept over and around the faces of the crowd trailing wisps of smoke. Even from the high table, Jhee felt the ambient heat ebb and flow a tide made of warmth or the breath a distant drake. The pace of the scene picked up. The two darted their flaming weapons at each other. One of the fire orbs clipped Mr. Anshu’s headdress in a manner Jhee was not entirely sure was planned. A gasp came from the seclusion boxes. The younger merchant had moved right up against the low wall. His two hands gripped the rail. From then on out, he flinched with each close call. The announcer and assistant’s faces remained concerned until the two broke apart and went to opposite ends of the stage; Mr. Anshu nearer the seclusion boxes.

  The announcer gestured excitedly at the assistant, who quickly doused their weapons. The warriors removed their headgear. Mr. Anshu glared at Ms. Hethyr. Now that Jhee saw both their escae, it confirmed neither were of barbarian descent. Though, with Mr. Anshu and the younger merchant in her field of vision at once, she could not help but notice a similarity to their eye coloring and ears.

  The announcer took center stage with a little laugh. “Such a spirited performance. Now, Mr. Anshu and Itzil shall perform a reenactment of the Taming of the Shell Drake and the Storm Child’s Lullaby.”

  Ms. Hethyr smiled at Mr. Anshu, gave an exaggerated bow to the audience, and left the stage. Now alone on stage, Mr. Anshu had switched to glow fans which had small glow orbs instead of live fire. A growl came from the performers’ entrance.

  A Zicarian bull hound, a tusked canine the size of its titular bovine, burst onto the stage. Jhee gasped. She drew on the prime forces within, and her hand went to the sigil that bound her to Shep. He had already sprung from his seat and placed himself between the beast and Mirrei and Kanto.

  No one at the high table or audience had made a move. Jhee turned her attention back to the stage. The bull hound came to a full stop at Mr. Anshu’s command. He stomped and shouted another command. The bull hound rose up and towered over him, its paws nearly the size of his head.

  Jhee slumped in her chair. “Whelm and waves.”

  “Forgive my lapse, Justicar. The bull hound is Mr. Anshu’s companion.”

  Mr. Anshu and the beast performed a dance full of gentle, rhythmic movements where he appeared to lull the animal to sleep with the fans. He tucked his fans under his arm and bowed to the head table. The hall erupted into applause.

  Mr. Anshu petted the bull hound then fed it some land meat from a nearby bucket. Jhee drew in a breath. Her attention snapped back to her cohort in the boxes. Shep sat rigid in his seat; his eyes firmly fixed on the pair on stage. Her conch pulsed. She jumped in her chair. He turned to her, his ordinarily amber eyes a duller shade. He forced himself to relax. The sigil on her arm had gone cold and still.

  The fear, having already shaken her wits and sharpened her senses, clarified her resolve. The more she thought, the more Ms. Hethyr’s mask focused her on the scene from the courtyard. She excused herself from the table to check her conch.

  Found storeroom, my lady. Storage for troupe’s costumes and props. Nothing else, Bax’s message read.

  Inquire about troupe member Hethyr.

  Jhee returned to her seat. She did a double-take when she realized the other gallery box had now emptied. “Who were the other guests in the boxes?”

  “Mr. Pol, a pious widower and his son, Akesheem. The young man is thinking of taking vows. Displaced or wealthy families seek the honor joining our prestigious abbey confers. And to divest themselves of surplus males.” A chair scraped across the floor. The woman from earlier staggered to the pulpit. The abbess narrowed her eyes and took a long drink from her cup. “Or mere surplus. Case in point.”

  “Two, two by Chance, a recitation by yours truly Raigen,” the drunken woman said, her words loud and slurred. “Two mothers by chance, by rites. One bears the day, and one bears the crypts by nights. Two warring duchesses dance an extended caper. Abstinence. Humility. Hospitality. Three vows as binding as vapor. Four elements: air, fire, water, earth. The drakes’ eyes shall witness their rebirth.”

  Drunken ranting described the recital better than word-smithing. No one applauded. The banquet hall began to empty. Raigen stumbled back to her seat beside the prioress.

  The golden hue to the abbess’s eyes had gone fifty fathoms deeper. “Shameful.”

  “Truly,” Jhee agreed. She glanced at her cohort. Shep still sat stiff-backed.

  “Raigen seeks to take vows at the deathbed request of her mother, the former governess of the district. A request I’d deny had she not once been amongst our strongest supporters. In life she gifted us many relics, she bequeathed us more should her daughter become Professed, which I do not see happening. If you’ll forgive me, I need to properly thank and provide homage to our true entertainers.”

  “Excuse me, as well. I would like to check in with my household.”

  The abbess swayed slightly as she got up from the table. “Of course.”

  Jhee’s conch sounded again for a live message. “Speak.”

  “Hethyr was not with the other performers. No one seems to know where she went.”

  “Whelm. Meet me outside the banquet hall.”

  5 The Feast II

  The Poetess

  Jhee joined her cohort at their box. “Alas, my dear cohort, I’m glad everyone got to see the feast performances.”

  “That Mr. Zane was quite handsome and skilled,” Mirrei said.

  Kanto folded his arms. “If you are into such unsophisticated fare. Could you believe that poetess, denye? So embarrassing.”

  “I was embarrassed for her,” Mirrei said then shrugged. “A welcome diversion after the bull hound. I near died of fright here on the spot when Shep leaped up. Do you think they’ll be animals like that at court?”

  “I hear the Imperial families keep pygmy shell drakes as pets,” Kanto said.

  “No.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  They continued to giggle and gossip while Shep kept watchful eyes on the entrances and tugged on his forearm hairs. As Jhee approached, she heard him talking to himself, “Walls to our back good. Walls to the side. If cornered, the only way out is through, though. Confined space. No room to maneuver.”

  “Shep,” she whispered so she would not startle him. He turned to her and smiled as if nothing was amiss. “What of you, dear heart? How are you faring?”

  “Much better now that you’re within arm’s reach.”

  Jhee stroked the ridges of his ears with her thumbs. “I was in no danger.”

  He brought her hand to his eye scar briefly before standing. “Best to be cautious.”

  They returned to the younger spouses. “Did you have a chance to try the Tranquility Gold? I’m sure it must have met with even your high standard, Shep.”

  “It was decent. I don’t get the fuss.”

  “Who convinced whom to attend the feast?”

  “We wanted to,” Mirrei said.

  She and Kanto locked arms. “We said Shep could stay if he wished.”

  Shep pursed his lips. “You could very well not attend the feast unaccompanied yet alone go about the halls by yourself, denyes. Hence, we all attended.”

  “We would have been fine,” Mirrei said. “Perish the thought of any of us having time to ourselves.”

  “Indeed,” Kanto said.

  Jhee sighed. “Shep did the right thing. We are guests here. It’s perhaps best if we stick together in this unfamiliar place.”

  Shep and Jhee made pointed eye contact. She tucked her hands into her robes and touched the sigil. He glanced at the exits. “Fine, then we should all r
etire to our quarters. Yav-yav.”

  Bax entered the hall. Jhee remained in place in contravention of Shep’s attempt to herd the lot of them towards the door. He caught her eye again. “I have an invitation to tea with the vizier. Return to the room. Hopefully, I won’t be long.”

  Shep folded his arms. Mirrei degenerated into a coughing fit. Kanto provided her a steadying arm. Shep cast a stern glance at Bax then escorted the other spouses out. Jhee’s heart tightened as she watched them leave. They passed the poetess, Raigen, who grabbed a wine pitcher from the tray of a Prospective clearing the high table.

  Bax came over. “What now, Justicar?”

  “All the men of the Abbey appear to be accounted for.”

  “There is a population of refugees nearby.”

  “So. With buildings such as this, there may be a multitude of hidden ways in and out. A small matter to find one and bring young men in and out.”

  “These are professed Drakists, Justicar!”

  “One of the eternal dichotomies of celibacy. Make further inquiries into Hethyr. See what you can learn from the performers and Mr. Pol and his son.”

  “Aye, Justicar.”

  Jhee paused about to say something else when she noticed the proximity of the poetess. She sat at one of the seats at the high table, checking the cups for dregs. “We’ll speak more later.”

  Bax excused himself. Jhee glanced the way her cohort had gone and thought about Mirrei. She did not like the cast to her pallor. She had hoped some time off the yacht would do her good. Jhee should have joined them, but this was apt to be her last case as a field Justicar. There would be time enough for nesting later after she fulfilled her promise to their dames. She would see them safely to the capital where they can decide for themselves what it is they want.

  Raigen, who did not possess a fraction of the grace or poise Mirrei had in her littlest finger, continued to hover and scavenge the high table. How different the poetess was to her late mother, the governess. How different this drunken wastrel was to her Kanto and Mirrei. The poetess was about their age. She thought them a credit to the younger generation. They sought to better themselves despite the hard turns the sea had sent them while this embarrassment drank away her future and a possible cure to Mirrei’s ailment. The wine being slurped by this wastrel could well hold the key to Mirrei’s recovery.