by E G Manetti
I am bonded. The lightweight shell is nearly gossamer except for the breast support.
There is only this day. The tunic is perfectly fitted and as elegant as the rest.
I will not fail. The garb destroyed during last year’s festival brawl was three years old and, purchased on Mulan, overly warm for the Crevasse City green season.
I will not fall. The thorn settles into place on the gold warbelt.
There is only this day. Lilian pulls on training boots she polished to a high shine.
Today I live. A small smile teasing the corners of her lips, Lilian grabs her satchel.
Striding into the corridor, Lilian calls in the direction of Katleen’s chamber, “Katleen! Are you ready?”
“Here, Lilian!” Katleen’s voice floats up the staircase, behind Lilian.
Surprised and gladdened that she need not drag Katleen from bed, Lilian swings around and takes the stairs. Below her, Katleen grins, a tray with fruit and bread in her hands. “We should eat in the courtyard so we are close to the entry.”
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Lilian takes the tray, giving Katleen the freedom to pirouette in her new festival garb, also funded by milord’s generous gift a year gone to replace those damaged in the festival brawl.
Not yet competent in her discipline, Katleen may not don battle garb for the festival. The soft silk and linen wrap tunic and skirt in Sinead’s distinctive peridot green flatters the budding figure without revealing.
“You were right, Lilian,” Katleen says. “This outfit was a better choice. The dress would have been too tight and too short by now.”
“You look lovely,” Lilian agrees. “We should hasten and have our meal before our friends arrive.”
»◊«
Chrys leans casually against a stone rail at the base of the stairs that leads into Katleen’s house, with Douglas propped against the other. Inside, Rebecca and Clarice are assisting with Lilian’s and Katleen’s last-minute preparations for the warrior ring walk. The quiet residential street is vacant at the early bell, but Chrys knows that Lilian’s neighbors are watching from the windows, eager to report any lapse in Lilian’s behavior. Under no circumstances can he enter the house without a chaperone.
From inside the open door, Lilian can be heard. “Katleen, do not worry about your pet. Gloribelle has plenty of water and enough food in the overgrown gardens for a dozen tree wombats.”
“Tree wombats?” Douglas’ eyebrows rise in surprise.
“Katleen rescued a pup, last year,” Chrys says. “Recall you, Lilian’s gift at Katleen’s birth festival?”
“The grooming brush.” Douglas laughs. “I thought it was for a dog.”
“Lilian would not risk having a pet so vulnerable,” Chrys returns darkly. “Her neighbors are beyond hostile.”
Glancing at the elegant houses, Douglas wonders, “They would harm a pet?”
“They covered the house in filth at one time,” Chrys replies tightly. “I do not know all the details, only that Sinead’s Shrine eventually intervened, and the defacement stopped.”
“Master Chrys,” Katleen calls out, skipping down the steps. “Your new festival garb is very handsome.”
The hunter green of the Fourth Warrior suits Chrys, bringing out the gold highlights in his hair, while the well-tailored tunic and trousers display his broad shoulders and tall, lean physique. Lilian and Katleen were not the only ones gifted with the funds to replace festival garb damaged in last year’s brawl. All the apprentices had their damaged garments replaced by their seigneurs. Chrys’ boxy black Cartel suits camouflage his strength and overwhelm his coloring, making him all but unnoticeable. This day, as Lilian’s escort, Chrys prefers to display his strength and physique. When Katleen reaches him, Chrys takes her hands in greeting. “You look charming, Mistress Katleen. That silver scarf is perfect with your festival dress.”
“It is the one Mistress Clarice gave me.” Katleen smiles, pulling her hands free to twirl about, setting the ends fluttering. “I regret, Maman would not permit the Genji amber.”
“Purple?” Chrys laughs, lightly ruffling Katleen’s curls as he would his sister Rhyliss’, though the two could not be more different. Rhyliss is quiet and shy, Katleen exuberant and outgoing. Somehow Lilian’s sister brings out the same protective affection. “I should think not.”
Twirling to Douglas, Katleen tilts her head, displaying the peridot-green enamel hair combs that were his gift at Katleen’s birth festival. “Master Douglas, are your combs not perfect?”
“If they please you, they are.” Douglas bows. His Socraide’s midnight blue is as well-tailored as Chrys’. Six inches shorter than Chrys, Douglas’ shoulders are the same width, his heavily muscled body as powerful. Together, they are an intimidating pair. As lethal as Lilian is with her thorn, it will be better to avoid confrontation.
“As soon as Sinead’s acolytes arrive, we can depart.” Lilian steps through the doorway, flanked by Clarice and Rebecca. They are a lovely trio. Lilian is the picture of warrior containment in the severe black of Adelaide’s Sect relieved only by the gold warbelt with its handful of gems and scarlet conservator’s signet. Clarice is vibrant in Mulan’s flame and black while Rimon’s royal blue brings out Rebecca’s sea-blue eyes and makes the white-blonde hair glow in contrast.
“There they are.” Katleen bounces down the stairs to greet the approaching acolytes, putting the entire group into motion.
»◊«
For the third time in as many blocks, Lilian’s hand finds her thorn, her eyes scanning the elegant boulevard. Mirroring Lilian’s wary gaze, Chrys examines the nearest passersby and find none who offer more than a passing glance. They are a good-sized company and escorted by Sinead’s Shrine. It seems unlikely that any would challenge them. In a low voice, Chrys questions, “What concerns you?”
“Naught that I can discover.” Lilian releases her thorn. “For the past few sevendays, I have had the sense of being watched, but there is never anyone there.”
“Did you mention this to Master Malcon?” Chrys continues to assess the area. Lilian has more cause than most to be wary.
“A sevenday gone.” Lilian sighs, fingering her thorn. “He was not concerned. Apparently, it is not uncommon for those newly come to stealth to balk at shadows.”
“Master Malcon is expert,” Chrys acknowledges. He has but slight acquaintance with the spy, but enough to know that Malcon is not one to dismiss. Nonetheless, Lilian’s wariness is born of dangerous experience. “But you have cause to honor your instincts. Have you noted a pattern? Have you an insight?”
“Naught of insight.” Lilian increases her pace, closing the distance that opened with the rest of the group. “Only that it does not occur within the Cartel.”
“With Martin and Sebastian Mehta banished, the Cartel is safe enough,” Chrys muses. “It is possible that you are overly wary due to the events of past months.”
“As you voice,” Lilian agrees. “And yet . . .”
“Keep your thorn close.” Chrys nods. “And worry not. Douglas and I will watch as well.”
»◊«
“Mulan, clockwise.” Katleen excitedly holds up the token that indicates their route for the warrior ring walk. Turning to Clarice, Katleen hands her the token, “Luck of the walk, Mistress Clarice.”
With a serene smile, Clarice accepts the token and then the small silver coins from her friends. Tradition holds that the devoted who begins the rotation gains extra benefit from her patron Shade, purchased by small silver shrine coin every member of the group adds to Clarice’s shrine offering.
As Katleen’s acolyte escort disappears toward Sinead’s Shrine, Chrys takes the point position with Clarice beside him, Lilian and Katleen behind them, and Douglas and Rebecca following. The arrangement puts the intimidating men at the edges of the group with Lilian and her thorn in the center. If it were not for Lilian’s wariness, Chrys might be less concerned. Monsignor Lucius’ ruthless retaliation against those who att
ack Lilian is becoming a legend in Crevasse City. As it is, with Lilian so wary, it is better to be cautious.
The early bell works in their favor; the warrior ring is lightly populated, allowing the apprentice group to move unhindered along the pathways. They arrive at the circular, white marble edifice of Mulan’s Shrine while most of the devotional stations are empty. It does not take long for Clarice to make her offering and perform a brief demonstration of Mulan’s Discipline. The Second Warrior’s gray and black pentagon is full, but the wait for a station is brief. Rebecca’s devotions exhibit her increasing proficiency in Rimon’s discipline, due in no small part to Trevelyan’s supervision of her martial arts training.
“The ring is filling,” Chrys remarks as they start toward Sinead’s Shrine.
“We will stay close,” Douglas returns as the small group falls into formation.
Entering the gray stone hexagon of Sinead’s Shrine, the group is met by Lady Helena. The seer ushers Katleen to a place of honor, the devotional station directly in front of the brushed steel, gold, and silver statue of the Fifth Warrior garbed for battle. As she did the prior year, Katleen pulls her pipes from her satchel and plays the haunting tune associated with the Warriors’ Litany.
The Shrine of the Fourth Warrior hums with the sound of the devoted. As always, when in the presence of his deity, a thrill of awareness runs along Chrys’ spine. The seat of Jonathan’s Prelate and power center of the Fourth Warrior’s Sect, it is the largest shrine in the warrior ring, or on all of Metricelli Prime. Four of the five devotional areas in front of the effigy are in use, as are five of the seven established along the walls. The growing line runs the length of the square pool in the center of the massive granite, crevasse stone, and marble structure. On the far side of the pool, the twelve-foot-high green marble effigy rises above the gallery.
A figure at the front of the line waiting for an open station calls out to Lilian, hand raised in greeting. Nickolas, Monsignor Lucius’ protégé. A score of eyes turns toward Lilian. When Lilian’s return acknowledgement draws more eyes, Chrys moves as close as he dares, attempting to use his larger frame to block Lilian from view. In some ways, it was better when the arrogant protégé refused to acknowledge her.
A moment later, Nickolas strides to the open station by the effigy. As the ritual demands, Nickolas places his shrine offering on the altar and anoints it with a drop of blood from a pricked finger. Pulling free his dagger, Nickolas bows to his deity and then launches into an abbreviated demonstration of Jonathan’s Discipline. After two decades of warrior training, Nickolas’ devotion is flawless. He could easily serve in the place of a Jonathan acolyte in shrine rituals. Chrys wonders how the pampered warrior would fare unarmed against someone who learned to brawl among the farmers and mechanics of Genji. It is a dream for another day.
They have reached the front of the line. The waiting acolyte hustles them to an empty secondary station on the far side of the shrine, obscured by a pillar. Leaving Lilian and their friends safely concealed by the pillar’s shadow, Chrys attends his deity. Accepting the ritual blade from the acolyte, Chrys pricks his finger and uses the minor pain and crimson blood to help him focus as he anoints his silver shrine coin. Handing the blade back to the acolyte, Chrys bows to the small statue of Jonathan Metricelli resting on the altar. With a deep breath, he explodes into the abrupt and violent movements of Jonathan’s Discipline, the lack of a blade only emphasizing the savagery of the display. Outnumbered by better-armed raiders, the Fourth Warrior repelled the unrelenting invasions of his enemies for over a decade.
With each carefully timed and powerful movement, Chrys reaches for the iron will that sustained Jonathan Metricelli and helped turn back Anarchy in favor or Order. Ending as abruptly as he started, Chrys takes another deep breath.
“Chrys, that was even better than last year.” Lilian steps forward. “When our bonds are proved, we must have a match.”
Lilian’s face is bright with anticipation, the gray eyes sparkling. It is a rare expression of happiness and one Chrys is coming to value. “If it will please you, we shall.”
“We should cross by the sacred pool.” Lilian waves across the expanse of the shrine to the far wall and the entrance to the Adelaide Alcove. “It will be faster than working our way past the devotions.”
“Does the ring seem more crowded than last year?” Rebecca wonders, as they move across the floor.
“Not for this bell,” Douglas replies. “Last year, the Fourth’s Shrine was our third stop; this year it is our fourth.”
Chrys slows as they near the alcove, assessing the cluster of well-dressed and blade-bearing warriors. The one in hunter green turns—Nickolas again.
“Mistress Lilian, well met,” Nickolas hails, his festival complement turning with him.
Chrys recognizes Fletcher, who is garbed in Mulan’s flame. The woman in Socraide’s midnight bears a strong resemblance to Fletcher and turns out to be his twin, Bri. The other woman, a lovely brunette in Rimon’s royal blue, is undoubtedly Fletcher’s latest lover. Not well acquainted with Fletcher, Chrys knows that his affair with Seigneur Rachelle’s protégé, Irina, ended amicably, and she still considers him a friend. The man in Sinead’s peridot turns out to be Nickolas’ cousin, Jamal.
With introductions complete, Nickolas asks, “Mistress Lilian, may we join your complement for devotions at Adelaide’s alcove? We lack a devoted of our own.”
“Lilian is not devoted, she is consecrated, Master Nickolas,” Katleen corrects the protégé.
“Even better, Mistress Katleen.” Nickolas has the grace to appear embarrassed at his slight. “What say you, Mistress Lilian? Will you accept our company?”
“Of course, Master Nickolas.” Only the slight tilt of Lilian’s head reveals her surprise at the request. Festival devotions at all the Five Warriors’ Shrines are mandatory for all, but only members of Adelaide’s Sect are required to visit the alcoves. Until he knew Lilian, Chrys had never entered an alcove.
“We are curious as much as devoted.” Fletcher flashes his charismatic grin. “You must be skilled in Adelaide’s Discipline if you were given the Adelaide role in a Duet.”
“Lilian’s devotions are exceptional,” Chrys announces with mixed pride and anger. Her consecration ritual was a revelation. She is not a curiosity for the amusement of the protégés.
Next to him Lilian stiffens but does not respond. Instead, she turns and enters the alcove.
After the size of the Fourth Warrior’s Shrine, the semi-circular structure seems small. As with the shrine itself, there is a raised stone walkway above which are slender, unglazed window openings approximately two feet wide by five feet tall. Three stations divide the devotional area in front of Adelaide’s effigy.
In one section, an elderly man moves stiffly through the forms, watched by a woman of the same age in Jonathan’s colors and one of the Alcove attendants.
“Lilian girl, there you are.” A broadly built man surges forward, the thick gold chain of his office identifying Lord Prelate Apollo. Grasping her shoulders, he demands, “Honor me with the first six movements of the Duet. I will execute the Socraide.”
“A Duet, Lord Prelate?” Lilian glances around the alcove. Other than Lilian’s party and the protégés, they are alone but for the elderly couple.
“I had hoped for a larger gathering.” Apollo shrugs. “Have you time, we can wait for more devoted to arrive.”
“No, Lord Prelate,” Lilian hastily denies. “I thought to have a quiet devotion.”
“Come, Lilian.” Apollo turns, using one hand on her shoulder to push her to the central devotional station. “A short Duet to honor Adelaide. It is a shrine rite; Monsignor Lucius cannot object.”
As much as Chrys appreciates Lilian’s desire for a quick, anonymous devotion, he cannot help but be pleased by the notion of viewing Lilian in a short Duet. Although the martial reenactment will require some contact with the prelate, the strictures make an exception for public shrine ri
tes. Even Monsignor Lucius does not have the right to interfere in Lilian’s spiritual observances.
Taking his place in the central area, the Lord Prelate waits while Lilian places her offering in the effigy’s lap.
“Master of canon and discipline,” Bri murmurs, impressed.
“That would account for the brilliance of his Duets,” Nickolas whispers back as Lilian takes her stance next to Apollo.
Focused on the prelate’s open affection for Lilian, Chrys had not noted it, but Fletcher’s twin is correct. A garnet incised with Adelaide’s Mark—the canon master’s signet—dangles from Apollo’s chain of office. The crimson sash signals his mastery of Adelaide’s Discipline. For prelate status, mastery of canon or discipline is sufficient. Mastery of both is rare. With such a one as her instructor, it is no wonder Lilian is so committed to her faith.
Apollo begins the devotion and Lilian follows, perfectly attuned by the second movement. There is a timelessness to the graceful movements that evoke combat without causing violence. At the start of the third movement, the alcove is silent.
Lilian’s initial resistance has melted away, replaced with the serenity that seems to overtake her in performance of her discipline. Chrys witnessed it at her consecration and it is even more noticeable this day. It is as though time moves about her, leaving her untouched. She is centered in the storm but undisturbed. A frisson of awareness runs along Chrys’ spine—the Touch of a Shade. He has not felt it often. The first time was when he devoted himself to the Fourth Warrior, again when he accepted his bond. A few years later, when he embraced the Genji Scholar’s blind granddaughter, and most recently, nearly two years ago, when he agreed to aid Lucius Mercio’s unprepared apprentice. Now, witnessing Lilian’s powerful observance, the touch comes again, reaffirming Chrys’ decision to aid the fallen warrior.
The alcove has filled. Those who finished their devotions remained to observe while new arrivals assembled, wishing to view the exceptional devotional offering. Upon completion, both prelate and apprentice bow to the statue.