by Anthony Ryan
When he was strong enough to leave his bed without assistance Vaelin’s first call was to the kennels where Scratch’s greeting was aggressively ecstatic, knocking him off his feet and painting his face with his stone rough tongue as his rapidly growing brood of pups milled around them yelping with excitement.
“Get off you brute!” Vaelin grunted, managing to heave the dog’s weight from his chest. Scratch whined a little at the reproach but laid his head affectionately on Vaelin’s chest. “I know.” Vaelin scratched his ears. “I missed you too.”
When he visited the stables he found Spit also had a welcome waiting. It lasted a full two minutes and Master Rensial stated confidently it was the longest fart he had ever heard a horse produce.
“Bloody nag,” Vaelin muttered, holding a candy up to the stallion’s mouth. “Test of the Horse soon. Don’t let me down, eh?”
He found Caenis at archery practice, loosing as many arrows as possible in the shortest time, a skill crucial to the Test of the Bow. To Vaelin’s eyes Caenis hardly needed the practice, his hands seeming to blur as he sent shaft after shaft into the butt thirty paces away. Vaelin had steadily improved with the bow but he knew he could never match the level of skill Caenis displayed with the weapon and even he was outshone by Dentos and Nortah.
“You’re a few points off,” he observed, although in truth the inaccuracy was barely noticeable. “The last few drifted to the left.”
“Yes,” Caenis agreed. “My aim wanders after forty arrows or so.” He drew the bowstring back, the finely honed muscles of his arm straining before he sent the shaft into the centre of the target. “A little better.”
“I wanted to ask you about the assassin you killed.”
Caenis’s expression clouded. “I’ve told the tale many times over, to you, the others and the masters. As I’m sure you’ve told your story many times.”
“Did he say anything?” Vaelin pressed. “Before you killed him.”
“Yes, he said ‘Get away from me, boy, or I’ll gut you.’ Hardly worthy of a song is it? I was wondering if I should change it when I write the tale.”
“You intend to write of this?”
“Of course. One day I will write the story of our service in the Faith. I feel our Order has been sadly remiss in recording its history. Do you know we are the only Order not to have its own library? I hope to start a new tradition.” He loosed another arrow, then two more in quick succession. Vaelin noted his aim had worsened.
Killing a man is not an easy thing to bear, or talk about, he realised. “You liked him, this Brother Nillin?”
“He was an interesting man with many stories, although when I thought about it later I realised he had a fondness for the more ancient tales. The Old Songs they’re called, from the time before the Faith was strong, sagas of blood and war and the practice of the Dark.”
The Dark… A wolf in the forest, a wolf howling outside my window. “Once there were seven. Do you know what it means?”
Caenis had drawn his bow once again but slowly relaxed the tension. “Where did you hear that?”
“Sister Henna said it before she took poison. What does it mean, brother? I know you know.”
Caenis took the arrow from the bow and returned it to the quiver at his hip, laying the bow down gently on his pack. “It’s a story. A tale like the Old Songs, but it concerns the Faith. Truth be told I’d never given it credence. It’s rarely told and the archives of the Orders make no mention of it.”
“No mention of what?”
“In our time there are six Orders serving the Faith. But once, so some say, there were seven. In the early years of he Faith, when the Orders were first formed and the first Aspects chosen it’s said there was a Seventh Order. The Orders were formed to serve each of the principal aspects of the Faith, and so the brother or sister chosen to lead an order is called the Aspect. The Seventh Order, so its claimed, was the Order of the Dark, its brothers and sisters would delve into the mysteries, seeking knowledge and power to better serve the Faith. Traditionally practice of the Dark has been ascribed to the Denier creeds but, if this tale is to be believed, it was once part of our Faith. The tale has it that after one hundred years a crisis arose. The Seventh Order began to grow in power, using its knowledge of the Dark to seek dominion over the Orders, claiming their knowledge brought them closer to the Departed, claiming they could hear their voice, interpret their guidance more clearly than the lesser Orders. They said it was a privilege that gave them the right to lead, to have ascendancy in the Faith. Such a thing could not be tolerated of course, the Faith must have balance between the Orders, one cannot be set above the others. So there was war between the Faithful and in time the Seventh was destroyed but not before much blood had been spilled. It is said that so great was the chaos caused by this war that it brought the fracturing of the Realm into the four fiefs not united again until the reign of our great King Janus. Whether any of this is true cannot be told. If true it would have happened over six hundred years ago and the few books to survive the centuries say nothing of these events.”
“And yet you seem to know the tale well.”
“You know me, brother.” Caenis smiled faintly. “I was always fond of stories. The more fanciful the better.”
“You believe it, don’t you?” A sudden insight came to Vaelin then, a realisation spawned by the faintness of Caenis’s smile and the immediacy with which he had told his tale. “You already knew. You knew this Seventh Order were behind this.”
“I suspected. There are tales, little more than fables, that claim the Seventh Order was never truly destroyed, that it survived, thrived in secret, awaiting its time to return and claim the ascendancy it sought so long ago.”
“We will go to Master Sollis and the Aspect, they must hear of this.”
“They already have, brother. I told them all I suspected as soon as I returned to the Order. I formed the impression I was telling them nothing they didn’t already know.”
Vaelin remembered Master Sollis’s reaction to Sister Henna’s words and Aspect Elera’s refusal to discuss it. They know, he realised. They all know. A secret kept by the Aspects for centuries. Once there were seven. And the Seventh waits, it plots. They know.
His limbs began to ache with a sudden chill although it was a bright, sunlit day. “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me brother,” he said, crossing his arms and hugging himself for warmth.
“I always will Vaelin,” Caenis replied. “You know there are no secrets between us.”
The Test of the Horse came two months later, a mile long course through woods and rough country followed by three arrows loosed from the saddle into the centre of three targets. Surprising no-one, Nortah excelled in the Test, setting a new record in the process. The others all fared well, even Barkus whose riding was scarcely better than Vaelin. He struggled from the start, Spit was his usual fractious self and would only stir to a gallop after a tirade of heart-felt threats. They laboured over the course in the slowest time of the day and Vaelin’s archery from the saddle was barely adequate, but at least he had passed. For once no other brothers failed the Test and the evening meal became a raucous celebration complete with smuggled beer and much throwing of food. They were punished the next morning with a freezing swim in the river and five laps of the practice field at full pelt stark naked. No-one thought it hadn’t been worth it.
Over the next few weeks there were more tales of riots and discord beyond the walls. Deniers, real or suspected, were being set upon by angry mobs, hundreds had died and the Realm Guard was hard pressed to keep order. Eventually, as summer slipped into autumn, the Realm calmed. Contrary to the expectations of many there were no more assassinations, no hidden army of Cumbraelins beneath the streets, in fact the heretical fief was calmer than it had been for over a decade. The Summer of Fire, as it became known, faded into memory leaving only corpses, grief and ash in its wake.
In the aftermath of the assassinations new Aspects had to be chosen fo
r the Fourth and Second Orders, a process which required a Conclave of the Faithful. Vaelin and Caenis were chosen to accompany Aspect Arlyn to the proceedings, ostensibly to act as bodyguards, the Order House being short on confirmed brothers as the discord in the Realm had called most of them away. But Vaelin suspected the Aspect wanted them to learn something of how the different Orders governed the Faith.
The Conclave took place in the debating hall of the House of the Third Order, a cavernous chamber of vaulted ceilings and long benches lining the walls. In addition to the Aspects, many of the senior masters of each Order were also present and allowed a voice in the discussion. Caenis and Vaelin however had been told to offer no opinions.
“I never dreamed I would be allowed to come here, brother,” Caenis enthused in a whisper, almost shaking with excitement as they took their seats behind Aspect Arlyn who sat in the front row. “Present at the choosing of two new Aspects. A blessing indeed.”
Vaelin noted he had brought along a good supply of parchment and a stub of charcoal. “Started the Tale of Brother Caenis, already?”
“Actually, I was going to call it The Book of Five Brothers.”
“It’s six, counting Frentis.”
“Oh, he’ll get a page or two, don’t worry.”
Aspect Silla Colvis of the First Order was already present along with twenty or so of his masters, all wearing the white robes of their Order. They were all men in their sixties or older, their deeply lined faces apparently lost in contemplation, either that or they were asleep. Aspect Elera was next to arrive, accompanied by only three brothers and two sisters, Vaelin’s heart sinking when he saw that Sherin was not amongst them. Aspect Dendrish Hendrahl of the Third Order arrived last, sweating profusely as he heaved his bulk into the chamber and settled it on the front row bench opposite Aspect Arlyn. His brush with death had clearly left its mark, his skin now a pallid grey contrasting with its previous porcine pinkness, his eyes sunken into the fleshy mass of his face like two stones pushed into soft dough. He had brought more masters than the other Aspects, over thirty, mostly men, all sharing a singular characteristic in that they seemed to be smelling the same bad smell. There was only the barest of flicker of recognition when he caught sight of Caenis and no offer of a greeting to the young man who had saved his life. If anything Vaelin sensed a resentment in the Aspect’s demeanour. It must have hurt almost as much as the poison, he surmised, to be saved by one of us.
Aspect Colvis rose and walked to the dais in the centre of the chamber, his bearded face sombre with the gravity of the occasion. “Aspects, masters, brothers, sisters, we are called to conclave. It is in our hands to decide the future of two Orders. Such a thing has never happened before in our Faith and is only forced upon us now by the dire events that claimed two of our most exalted brethren. It does not take a wise man to realise we are at the dawn of a new day for our Faith, a day of trial, a day where the tenets we hold so dear will face the most ardent challenge. Heed this well when we make our decisions today.” He turned to a brother of the Third Order standing ready near the dais. “Brother, please ask the candidates to join us.”
The two prospective Aspects were led into the chamber, a woman in her early thirties and a man Vaelin had seen before, a sharp faced man in a black robe: Tendris Al Forne. The woman was introduced as Mistress Liesa Ilnien of the Second Order, a plain and serene figure in a dun coloured robe who met the combined gaze of the chamber’s occupants with calm acceptance. Tendris Al Forne of the Fourth Order was a contrast, staring back at his audience with a fierceness that could almost be defiance, the odd cheerfulness Vaelin had seen in him three years ago had disappeared this day but the fanaticism remained. He scanned the assembly briefly, pausing when he saw Vaelin to offer a small nod.
“These two come before us for recognition,” Aspect Colvis told the assembled representatives of the Orders. “The Faith requires we meet to consider the merits of their appointment. We will hear questions now.”
Aspect Hendrahl was first to raise his hand, addressing his question to Liesa Ilnien. “The lamented Aspect you wish to replace,” he began before pausing to cough loudly into a lace handkerchief, “…served as Aspect of the Second Order for over twenty years. Do you think you can offer the same level of experience?”
The woman responded without pause, the words flowing easily from her lips in precise, even tones. “An Aspect does not require experience. An Aspect is a brother or sister who best embodies the values of his or her Order.”
“And you presume to judge yourself the embodiment of your Order’s values?” Hendrahl demanded, reddening a little, although Vaelin sensed his anger was somewhat forced.
“I presume to judge myself in all things,” Mistress Liesa Ilnien replied. “The Faith teaches us to be our own judge, for who knows one’s heart better than oneself?”
“Mistress Liesa,” Aspect Elera said before Hendrahl could respond. “Have you journeyed far in this Realm?”
“I have visited all four Fiefs and I spent a year on mission to the Northern Reaches, trying to bring the Faith to the horse tribes of the great plains.”
“A noble endeavour. Did you have any success?”
“Sadly the horse folk tend to shun outsiders and cling to their delusions. If I am blessed by ascension to Aspect it is my hope to send more missions north. The Faith is a blessing that must be shared beyond our borders.”
“Such concern for the outside world,” Aspect Colvis said, “would seem to contradict the values of your Order. Ever has it been the bastion of contemplation and meditation, sheltered from the many storms of our land. Would such work not suffer if you were to concern yourselves more with the harshness of the physical world?”
“In order to contemplate one must have something to contemplate. A life without experience provides no chance of contemplation. Those who have not lived cannot meditate on the mysteries of life.”
Vaelin was impressed by the woman’s logic but could sense the agitation of the assembled masters, a subdued rumble of conversation filling the benches. Next to him Caenis was scribbling busily.
Aspect Arlyn raised a hand and the murmuring of the crowd stopped immediately. “Mistress Ilnien, why do you think your Aspect was murdered?”
The Mistress bowed her head for a moment, her face tensed by a brief expression of sadness. “There are those who wish to harm our Faith,” she said, raising her head to meet Aspect Arlyn’s eye, her previously measured tone faltering slightly. “Who they are or why they would do this is something I cannot imagine.”
Next to her Brother Tendris Al Forne spoke for the first time. “If our sister cannot imagine who would strike against us, perhaps I can.”
“You have not yet been questioned,” Aspect Colvis pointed out.
“Show some respect for this occasion, young man,” Aspect Dendrahl said, wheezing a little. Vaelin noted there were spots of blood on his handkerchief.
“I offer no disrespect,” Al Forne replied. “Only truth, a truth some of us seem afraid to speak.”
“And what truth is this?” Aspect Elera asked.
Al Forne paused, take a deep breath as if gathering strength. Next to Vaelin Caenis’s charcoal stub was poised over his parchment in anticipation. “We have been complacent,” Al Forne said eventually. “We have allowed ourselves to become weak. The Sixth Order once fought only against the enemies of the Faith, now they police the frontiers of this Realm at the beck and call of the Crown and Denier sects gather in force without challenge.
“The Fourth Order once offered healing only to those who were true adherents of the Faith but now they open their arms to all, even the unfaithful, and so they grow strong and confident in the knowledge that they may plot against us and we will still heal them.
“My own Order once kept records of Denier sects and practices going back centuries but not more than three months ago they were destroyed to make more room for the Royal accounts we are now required to keep. I know what I say may anger or shock many
of you but believe me brothers and sisters, we have tied the Faith too closely to the Realm and the Crown. And that is why we were attacked, because our enemies see our weakness if we do not.”
The silence was palpable, broken only by the choked rage of Aspect Dendrahl who managed to gasp, “You come before us spouting this… this heresy and still expect to be made Aspect?”
“I come before you to speak the truth in the hope our Faith will return to its true path. As for your approval, I do not require it. I am the choice of my Order. My election was unopposed and no other will come before you. The articles of the Faith state you must be consulted before my ascension, that is all. Am I not correct, Aspect Colvis?”
The aged Aspect nodded his grey head stiffly, either too shocked or too outraged to speak.
“Then we have consulted and I thank you all for your attention. I pray you will all heed my words. Now I must return to my Order, I have much to do.” He bowed and turned to walk briskly from the chamber.
The Conclave exploded with rage, the assembly rising to their feet, shouting their anger at Al Forne’s retreating back, the words “heretic” and “traitor” loudest amongst the cries. Al Forne didn’t turn, leaving the chamber without breaking stride or sparing a backward glance. The tumult continued unabated, calls for action to be taken rising above the clamour, some masters imploring Aspect Arlyn to seize Al Forne and take him to the Blackhold. Aspect Arlyn however sat in silence throughout it all. Next to Vaelin Caenis had used up his supply of parchment and was feverishly searching his pockets for more.
“Has this ever happened before?” Vaelin asked him, finding he had to shout to be heard.
“Never,” Caenis replied, finding scrap of parchment he began to write again, quickly covering it in script. “Not ever in the history of the Faith.”
Chapter 7
Autumn brought the Test of the Bow. Once again all the novice brothers passed. Predictably Caenis, Nortah and Dentos excelled themselves whilst Barkus and Vaelin proved only adequate, at least by the standards of the Order. They were rewarded with permission to attend the Summertide Fair, delayed for two months due to the riots.