by E G Manetti
As Katleen repeats the melody, Helena and the apprentices join the recitation.
»◊«
“Lucius, do you hear the pipes?” Estella tilts her head toward the Shrine of the Fifth Warrior as she leans lightly on Lucius’ arm, halting their stroll along the pathway to the shrine entrance. The year gone, Estella was too ill to attend the festival. This day, Estella does not require the support of Lucius’ arm, though she relishes the intimate contact and close proximity.
“I hear them,” Lucius responds, rejoicing in Estella’s well-being and the promise of seasons to come. “It is a melody you favor.”
Nodding, Estella hums lightly. To her delight, the sound is true. Pleased, she ventures a stanza. “Honor is my blade and shield.”
It is a thin rendering compared to what Estella commanded before her illness, but it is true and sweet in the midmorning air. At the sound, Lucius waves his sons, daughter, and their seven companions silent. Lucius has not heard Estella sing in almost two years. He will not risk the moment.
“Honor knows not fear.” Estella’s voice gains confidence. Raphael, Cesare, and Elysia press close to their mother.
“Honor endures.” Estella’s swelling tones reach into the throng beyond her silent companions.
“Honor acts as duty commands.” Estella crescendos into the hushed silence that has overtaken the crowded shrine entranceway in deference to the ancient hymn.
The pipes fade and Estella’s song floats into the ether.
Discovering Estella’s hands clasped in his, Lucius raises them to his lips. “My love, you are wondrous.”
With the fading of Estella’s song and the distant pipes, the surrounding throng returns to its purpose, and a cacophony of intent replaces the reverent melody. Gathering his complement, Lucius leads the way into Sinead’s Shrine.
»◊«
“Katleen, that was lovely,” Clarice exclaims as the small group makes it way to the Shrine of the Fourth. “I did not know the Warriors’ Litany held a tune.”
“It is ancient,” Katleen explains. “Maman has always favored it.”
“Those pipes are unusual,” Chrys interjects. “Much smaller than typical.”
“They are nearly as ancient as the tune, Master Chrys.” Katleen laughs. “Lilian delights in the old ways and old things.”
“I know little of the ancient, Mistress Katleen,” Douglas interjects. “I admit, I found your devotion delightful.”
“My thanks, Master Douglas.” Katleen preens under the praise and attention of Lilian’s friends. She is no longer required to provide a physical barrier between Lilian and Chrys. The festival crowd and shrine attendants are more than sufficient chaperone.
Before more can be said, they arrive at Jonathan’s Shrine, the largest shrine in the Warrior Ring and the Third System. This is Jonathan Metricelli’s home world and home city, the center of his sect’s power and the seat of Jonathan’s Prelate, Lord Gilead. The granite, crevasse stone, and marble of the massive edifice’s pillars, walls, and arches create an impression of strength and grace.
Entered from the east, the shrine drives attention to the fourteen-foot green marble effigy of the Fourth Warrior in battle dress, his chest encased in red enamel to represent body armor. Arms crossed, feet braced, the sculpture radiates power and resolve. The sword and axe that hang from his belt and the fire-rifle slung across his back are worked in brushed steel and gold. A dagger is sheathed in one boot. The face is only roughly delineated in recognition that Jonathan’s features have never been authenticated. The brightly colored fish that inhabit the square central pool are the only color other than the effigy in a shrine that takes its fierce beauty from its superb construction.
The devotional area at the effigy is segmented into five stations, with another six along the eastern and southern walls. Four of the five prime stations are in use and three of the temporary ones. The Warrior Ring is filling rapidly.
This is Chrys’ deity and he is appropriately garbed in hunter green with a small knot of gold at each shoulder. The color brightens his skin and hair while deepening his eyes and bringing his strong features into relief. Shaking her head, Lilian notes the mesmerized look on Katleen’s face and acknowledges that the girl is developing rapidly.
Once again, the group is directed to one of the open secondary stations. Having witnessed Chrys in the training chambers, Lilian is well prepared for the strength of his devotions. When her bond is proved, Lilian promises herself a bout with Chrys. As tall as Master Trevelyan, Chrys is almost as tall as milord. His reach will make an excellent challenge to her skills.
“Oh, Master Chrys, that was riveting.” Katleen’s eyes sparkle with her appreciation.
“My thanks.” Chrys smiles at Katleen and gently tugs a red-gold curl as he would with his young sister, Rhyliss, who is on faraway Genji in the Ninth System. Looking around, Chrys notes the now-packed shrine. “Lilian, I thought you exaggerated. I have never witnessed such a festival throng. I had not thought Crevasse City so populous.”
“It is the prime city of the Third System and Jonathan’s Seat,” Lilian reminds Chrys as she turns in the direction of the alcove. “Were we not so occupied at the Cartel, you would have noted that the city has filled with festival pilgrims from other regions and even some of the other systems.”
“The crowds will only increase,” Douglas adds. “Many of those from the outer regions of the Plains are yet in transit.”
As they pass Jonathan’s effigy, Lilian hears herself hailed.
“Well met, Mistress Lilian.” Master Fletcher is dressed in Mulan’s flame and black. Breaking from his waiting group, he is followed by Master Nickolas in the Fourth’s hunter green and heavily trimmed with gold.
“Well met, indeed, Master Fletcher, Master Nickolas,” Lilian replies, pleased and surprised by the public acknowledgment.
Although Douglas is known to both protégés through Bright Star, and Chrys to Nickolas through Mercium, introductions are required for the others. A brief exchange of pleasantries reveals Fletcher’s complement started at Sinead’s Shrine and is moving counterclockwise. Fletcher had hoped for the luck of the token so he might garner extra assistance in his moon-racing endeavors. Only two years in the sport, and he has succeeded well enough to earn a place in the semi-final trials the following sevenday.
Having learned a good deal about the Moon Races during the dinner when she hunted Damien’s head, Lilian realizes that all the quarter-final matches completed two days gone. Fletcher will know the identities of his competitors. “Master Fletcher, what say you? Does the field favor you for your semi-final trial?”
“I believe so, Mistress Lilian. The flyer who posed the greatest threat has not made it into the semi-final trial,” Fletcher responds with a grin.
“Then the Luck of the First is favoring you, Master Fletcher,” Lilian declares, pleased for the moon racer. “You may not require the additional support of the Third Warrior.”
Before the conversation can continue, Fletcher and Nickolas are hailed by their group, which is now at the head of the devotional queue.
As Lilian and her friends continue on to the Adelaide Alcove, Fletcher and Nickolas rejoin their complement. A lovely woman with curly black hair, olive skin, and languorous black eyes addresses Fletcher. “Is that not Mercio’s doxy? Why would you greet her?”
Taken aback by the ugly tone and even uglier words, Fletcher begins to reconsider his interest in the so very lovely woman. The easygoing young man stiffens and his warm voice chills as he responds, “His Preeminence would not like that characterization of his conservator, and I must insist you speak more respectfully of Monsignor Lucius in my presence. As for Mistress Lilian, I know naught ill of her, other than an unfortunate sire, and a great deal to her credit.”
While the stunning brunette is blinking in surprise, Fletcher’s sister Brianne interjects, “Fletcher, I believe you admire that woman. How comes this? You are not one to tolerate a coward.”
Al
though very similar in appearance to her brother, Brianne projects a quiet serenity instead of Fletcher’s easygoing camaraderie. Her inquiry is based in true consternation.
Softening, Fletcher responds to his twin, “I do not find accepting a three-year Trial by Ordeal in order to protect a young girl cowardly. Truly, Bri, think you that you or I could so easily have taken on such a trial? Or borne it with such grace? Mistress Lilian routinely suffers insult well beyond the norm for such low estate. To my knowledge, she has already survived a singularly nasty intrigue as well as harsh treatment. I have yet to hear a complaint, even secondhand.”
Finding her voice, Fletcher’s companion reenters the conversation. “Well, she seems to have beguiled our Fletcher as well as Monsignor Lucius. The attraction eludes me, but clearly there is one to justify her bond price. I understand that His Preeminence keeps his apprentice quite busy.”
The sly innuendo is unmistakable. Before he can think, Nickolas aligns with Fletcher. “Know you this. Fletcher has the right of it. I know naught of Mistress Lilian to her ill other than an unfortunate father. For that she is paying a steep price.”
At the shocked sounds from his companions, Nickolas instinctively strokes the pocket holding the small cylinder of Mercium, the wondrous synthetic Vistrite. After the revelation of Mercium, Nickolas was prepared to offer Lilian the opportunity to prove herself. Lilian’s behavior and actions during the Damien St. Gervais intrigue cemented Nickolas’ conviction that whatever her father’s crimes, Lilian does not share Gariten’s corruption. Nor will Nickolas compound his past failure by permitting Monsignor Lucius to be defamed.
After almost four years with Lucius, Nickolas has acquired more than knowledge of the Cartel. The harsh, hard tones are an excellent imitation of his mentor’s as Nickolas turns on Fletcher’s companion. “As for Monsignor Lucius, there are few women in the Twelve Systems who would not go willingly to his bed, you among them. He need not pay for such. His investment in Mistress Lilian’s bond may have been confounding, but I know for certain that it has already validated. Now, we are here for Five Warriors devotions. If such is your intent, remain with us. Should your intent be to continue malicious gossip, leave us.”
At the acolyte’s signal, Nickolas strides forward to honor his deity, the warlord to whom the canons attribute the Warrior Code of Honor. His cousin Jamal follows, staggered by Nickolas’ defense of Lilian after nearly a year of his complaints about his mentor’s cowardly, tainted doxy.
Unaware that she is causing such comment among Nickolas’ complement, Lilian leads her friends into the Adelaide Alcove. After the size of the Fourth Warrior’s Shrine, the alcove appears small, although it is almost the same size as the Fourth Warrior Shrine in the River Quarter.
As with the Adelaide Alcove in the River Quarter, it is a semi-circular construction attached to the outer wall of the shrine. Unlike the River Quarter alcove, the fireburst niches are not at ground level but located in the gallery eight feet above the floor. In the center of the semi-circle is a carved stone effigy of a seated woman in warrior garb. One hand is raised in benediction or perhaps warning. The other hovers over the hilt of a thorn hanging from her warbelt. Also hanging from the warbelt are a dozen leather balls carefully crafted to resemble shrunken heads.
Seated, the effigy rises seven feet from its four-foot base. The belt is proportional. The leather balls are almost half the size of a human head and remarkably realistic in appearance. At the sight of the effigy, Chrys recalls the story of Lilian’s childhood dedication and reminds himself to share it with their friends later.
Two of the three stations before the effigy are in use; only the least auspicious western station is unoccupied. Expecting to be directed to the western station, Lilian is stunned when the alcove keeper holds them to wait. “In a few moments, the central station will clear.”
It is a remarkable reversal of the hostile attitude he displayed when Lilian first returned to Metricelli Prime. Fingering her conservator’s seal, Lilian thanks the Shades for milord’s influence.
Of the Serengeti apprentices, only Chrys has viewed Lilian with a live thorn. After the disastrous training-chamber encounter with Martin, Lilian has not displayed it within the cartel. For Douglas, Clarice, and Rebecca, it is a rare opportunity. Adelaide’s is a small sect and few encounter its rituals outside the occasional festival performance. Lilian’s display is graceful and compelling; her blade flickers and dances in light and shadow before disappearing entirely for the final movements.
“Lilian, that was remarkable,” Rebecca compliments as Lilian sets a rapid pace from the alcove. The encounter with Fletcher and Nickolas and the wait for a devotional area in the alcove has delayed them. Midday approaches quickly.
“Rebecca understates the matter,” Chrys inserts as they exit the Fourth’s Shrine. “You were riveting at your consecration, but it was naught compared to your skill this day.”
“Adelaide has always favored Lilian,” Katleen puts in. “Now that Lilian is consecrated, Adelaide’s favor flows more freely.”
Smiling at her sister’s fancy and once again concerned about the sway the shrines hold over the young girl, Lilian insists, “Conveniently, it flows with the expert tutelage of Maman and Master Trevelyan.”
“With the Garden Center alcove keeper supporting you, I am surprised you chose the River Quarter for your consecration,” Chrys remarks.
“I assure you, Chrys, he was not so welcoming a year gone,” Lilian returns dryly. “Nor was it only the alcove keeper that concerned me. There was too much chance that my presence would lead to a sordid spectacle in the alcove, which would also disrupt Jonathan’s Shrine. Socraide’s Keeper Virgil was only recently silenced by Monsignor. I did not wish the enmity of Jonathan’s Lord Prelate Gilead.”
Milord is the Lord Patron of the Garden Center Shrine and Socraide’s Sect in the Third System. It is one matter for milord to silence Socraide’s Shrine Keeper Virgil. Milord would have a great deal more difficulty controlling Lord Gilead. Jonathan’s Prelate not only holds a seat on the Governing Council, at the moment, he is also spiritual blade and controls the Shrines’ votes.
Before the matter can be further dissected, they arrive at Socraide’s Shrine, a square structure one-half the size of the Shrine of the Fourth and a good deal more opulent. Where the Fourth’s Shrine is floored in marble and crevasse stone, the First’s boasts complex glass and ceramic tile in midnight blue and purple with highlights of gold and silver. Nine feet in height, depicted in black marble, Socraide stands with dual swords across his back, arms crossed to reach the dual fire-pistols holstered at his hips, and a dagger sheathed in one boot. The hilts of the blades and pistols are layered in gold leaf. The central pool holds a spherical fountain inlaid with precious Vistrite in a perfect depiction of Socraide Prime. The water layering off it in sheets creates a fine mist that catches the light and reflects the colored glass in the high windows.
While her companions admire the splendor of the shrine, Lilian attempts to curb her impatience at the advancing bell. Midday is long gone when after a half-period wait, Douglas approaches the devotional site. Douglas’ warrior’s build, pale, predator’s features, and sharp green eyes are startling in the midnight blue and purple highlights of Socraide Omsted. He is almost perfect in his homage to Socraide’s Discipline.
“Master Douglas, that was wondrous.” Katleen leads the way to the final shrine.
“Serengeti training is renowned within the Twelve Systems,” Douglas replies modestly, only to find a glower forming on Katleen’s countenance.
“As you voice, Master Douglas,” Katleen replies with barely concealed hostility. Although Lilian has not voiced Thorvald’s disdain, Katleen is clever. Knowing Lilian’s commitment to martial training, the only reason Lilian would not attend the renowned Serengeti classes is that she has been refused.
“Katleen,” Lilian cautions. “The Serengeti champion trains me.”
Duly corrected, Katleen releases her glower. �
�Master Trevelyan is ever so nice.”
“As you voice, Mistress Katleen,” Douglas agrees as he exchanges startled glances with Chrys. ‘Nice’ is not the first word that comes to mind in consideration of the formidable spymaster.
“Katleen, how is it you are known to Master Trevelyan?” Chrys asks curiously. Certainly the spymaster frequents neither Katleen’s Universalist Academy nor Katleen’s house.
“Oh, Lilian made me known to him some sevendays gone. We met by chance when Lilian and I were racing in the River Quarter,” Katleen returns blithely. “He bought us fruit juice and we spoke of my studies.”
“Lilian,” Rebecca begins, only to halt as they enter the final shrine on their pilgrimage. It is just as well, Rebecca thinks. This is neither the time nor the place to discern if Lilian truly believes that anything Trevelyan does is by chance.
Their final stop is the Shrine of the Third Warrior, a circular structure of crevasse stone and white marble with the same high window openings accessed via a gallery as the other shrines. The seven-foot-high, white marble effigy of Mulan Tsao is poised on a pedestal in the sacred pool. The Third’s hair is bound in a tight coronet, scholar’s satchel in one hand, dagger in the other, and a long sword down her back.
Customarily, devotions face the statue. Today four stations ring the pool. Once again, Lilian’s complement is shown to a secondary location.
Mulan’s flame-and-black brocade should overpower delicate Clarice. Instead, the colors accent her dark hair and eyes. The old-fashioned tunic, cut tight to torso and waist, flairs over her hips. The bloused black silk trousers tucked into black half boots move with the grace of a skirt. Lilian is pleased to note that Clarice is quick and adept at the tumbling style favored by Mulan’s Discipline.
»◊«
“Katleen, Socraide’s path must suffice. We cannot manage Mulan’s,” Lilian insists as the sisters weave their way through the multitude swarming the Warrior Ring.
“We will miss some of the more elaborate stalls,” Katleen bemoans.