The Cartel

by E G Manetti

  In the center of the semi-circle is a carved stone effigy of a seated woman in warrior garb. One hand is raised as if in greeting, the other is poised over the thorn on her leather warbelt which serves as the Alcove’s ritual blade. Hanging from the belt are a dozen small leather balls carefully crafted to resemble shrunken heads.

  Katleen and Chrys take positions within the Alcove on either side of the Alcove entrance, their backs to the Alcove walls. The Prelate waits in front of the statue of Adelaide Warleader as Lilian moves to the center of the semi-circle.

  “Do you come of your own will to answer the call of Adelaide Warleader? Do you become her true servant in this time and this place? To live by her discipline and listen for her voice?” The Keeper’s softly spoken words resonate with the rumble of thunder within the small chamber.

  “Of my own will,” is Lilian’s clear, certain response.

  Familiar with warrior devotional exercises, Trevelyan has an idea of what to expect. The ritualized ballet is a stylized choreography of the martial arts disciplines interwoven with the devotional practices of the Five Warriors. He finds himself surprised by the depth and grace of Lilian’s execution.

  Pulling the thorn from her silver adorned belt, Lilian places it on her palms and bows at the statue, presenting her arms. Straightening, she transitions smoothly into a series of rapid movements where the thorn flashes like a flame before her. The rhythm shifts and the flame becomes a flickering light before disappearing entirely for the final set of maneuvers which play in light and shadow. At the completion of the demonstration, Lilian folds to her knees and places the thorn on the stone floor in front of the statue.

  At this point Chrys moves to the Alcove entrance and places his back to it, crossing his arms. Trevelyan notes that the young man is easily able to block the opening with his frame. Chrys’ stance is casual and his smile unexceptional. His presence neatly breaks up the small group gathered to observe.

  Trevelyan finds the young man also makes an effective screen. He cannot see beyond him into the Alcove. Long moments pass and Trevelyan has started to move when he hears the little redhead speak, “Master Chrys, we are finishing.”

  As Chrys enters the Alcove, Trevelyan is able to see Lilian, still kneeling, raise her left palm, right hand holding her thorn. Lilian makes a quick pass with the blade leaving a red trail of blood forming on the raised palm.

  Returning the thorn to its place on the floor, Lilian rises and removes Sinead’s belt. Solemnly, Lilian places the belt on the stone lap, “For the honor of Sinead Standingbear, the Fifth Warrior and kinswoman to Adelaide Warleader.”

  With those words, Lilian passes her left hand across the belt darkening the gold with smears of blood.

  Collecting her thorn from where it rests on the floor, Lilian cuts a silver coin from her belt and rolls it in her bleeding hand before placing it on the belt offering, “For skill in the discipline of attack.”

  Freeing a second coin, Lilian rolls it in her blood and then places it the effigy’s lap with the words, “For skill in the discipline of defense.”

  For the third coin she voices, “For skill in the discipline of avoidance.”

  The final coin is anointed and the ritual completed with the words, “For Adelaide’s will and voice.”

  Stepping back, facing the statue, Lilian carefully cleans the thorn before sheathing it and bowing a final time.

  The Keeper comes forward. She collects the cloth used to clean the thorn and places it on the sacred flame. Returning to Lilian, the prelate binds Lilian’s hand. “By your own will, you are Adelaide’s to command. Listen to her voice.”

  The ritual is complete.

  As they leave, Chrys cannot contain himself, “Were you truly sitting in the lap of the statue playing with that grisly belt?”

  “They are stuffed leather balls, and I was but four,” Lilian protests.

  “She was singing the Warrior Litany, as well,” puts in Katleen thrilled to have something to contribute.

  “Were you truly?” Chrys offers a teasing grin with his inquiry.

  “So the Alcove Attendants attest. I do not recall the matter,” Lilian dismisses the matter. Lilian lacks not reverence. She is far too pragmatic to give much credence to the Shrines’ obsession with unsubstantiated manifestations.

  “It is no wonder that they dedicated you immediately. Perhaps the Warleader did summon you. Certainly it is well that your patron force is known for extended combat.” For all his teasing, Chrys is serious. Considering his friend’s trial, a deity renowned for endurance is a positive.

  “Without a mark on her,” adds Katleen, committed to participating in the conversation.

  “Or so she gave Socraide to believe until he brought her to bed,” rejoins Chrys with a smile. It is a well known and much appreciated story within the Twelve Systems.

  According to canon, the Warleader’s first encounter with Socraide Omsted concluded in two periods of combat where neither triumphed. Entranced by the woman, Socraide set out to acquire her. When he eventually succeeded, he discovered two intersecting scars at the base of her back above her right hip. Marks recreated in a tattoo on Lilian’s back.

  “Although, the canons could be read that Adelaide brought Socraide to bed,” interjects Lilian, now openly teasing her friend.

  “Lilian!” Chrys is torn between shock at the scandalous suggestion and enchantment at Lilian’s teasing.

  “It is not blasphemy, controversial perhaps. The canons do support my view,” Lilian hastens to reassure Chrys. Her lips twitch as she represses her delight in oversetting the even tempered man.

  Teasing aside, discussion of the Adelaide’s Mark or Socraide’s Kiss, as it is sometimes known, resurfaces Chrys’ concern. “Are you certain monsignor will not be displeased by the marking?”

  An apprentice’s body belongs to her master. Altering it is forbidden.

  “This is a spiritual matter, Chrys. Monsignor is careful of the strictures and will not object. Monsignor would have been very displeased by public exposure. In that your escort has been invaluable.” And the cooperation of the Alcove Keeper was unprecedented.

  It was a radical departure from orthodoxy for the Alcove Keeper to permit any portion of the ritual to be blocked from public view. Lilian cannot but wonder if the gold coin belt was a bribe. If so, how had maman managed that?

  As it was, the Alcove Keeper had agreed Lilian’s escort could block the view, but not refuse admittance to the Alcove.

  Lilian trusted Chrys’ assurance that he could limit entry without defying the Keeper’s will. Had Chrys been less certain, Lilian would have defied orthodoxy and waited until her bond proved to undergo the ritual. The thought of milord’s displeasure at a public exposure of her breasts is a great deal more harrowing than the thought of the Shade’s displeasure at her delay.

  Sevenday 15, Day 1

  Trevelyan’s foot is headed towards Lucius’ midsection. As Lucius dodges aside and turns, he attempts to use Trevelyan’s momentum to topple the spymaster to the floor. An experienced fighter, Trevelyan is not easily toppled and rolls away to find an opening for another feint. The two men continue to spar for some minutes, neither able to achieve the advantage until a slight miscalculation in velocity lands Lucius on the mat.

  “One more fall, monsignor?” Trevelyan offers with a pleased grin.

  There are few who dare to offer such insult to His Preeminence. Even fewer who are able to execute it.

  “No, the time is done, and I have fallen enough for one day.” An able combatant, Lucius is not of the caliber of Trevelyan and does not often succeed in landing his sparring partner on the mat.

  Exiting the bout chamber with Lucius, Trevelyan notes Chrys training with a group in one of the large salons. The sight reminds Trevelyan of the prior day's events.

  “Monsignor, I should mention an event I witnessed yesterday involving yon new raven of yours.” Trevelyan indicates the training chamber and Chrys.

  “Chrys, Seig
neur Rachelle’s apprentice. What know you of him?” Lucius asks sharply. Lilian needs her few allies. If there is aught amiss, it will not be well.

  “He was in the River Quarter in the company of Mistress Lilian and her young sister. The three of them participated in one of those barbaric blood rituals that so delight you Warrior disciples.” Trevelyan’s dry tones convey his opinion of Warrior Devotion.

  “What say you?” Lucius responds with an edge. Lilian's mother is a Garden Center prelate. Lilian’s devotions should occur there. Nor does he care for the notion that Lilian is visiting obscure sections of the city with the technologist. He is well aware of the deepening bond between the two ravens.

  Catching the edge in Lucius' tone, Trevelyan hastens his tale. At the place where Chrys bars the Alcove door, Lucius halts the spy master. “Trevelyan, what say you? Was Chrys an effective deterrent to entrance?”

  “Yes monsignor. The lad is deceptive. I could have forced my way, but it would have required a moment. May I know why you inquire?” Trevelyan has not missed Lucius’ sharp interest in Chrys.

  “At that point in the ritual, Mistress Lilian was stripped below the waist and receiving Adelaide’s Mark.” At the spymaster’s quizzical glance, Lucius explains, “A tattoo above her right hip indicative of the two marks the First Warrior is reputed to have made during his trial by combat of Adelaide Warleader. Continue Trevelyan, I would hear the rest.”

  Lucius’ tone is no longer harsh. It is decidedly pleased. In this Lilian was not mistaken. If Estella or his daughter Elysia were to bare their torsos for a Shrine ritual, Lucius would feel naught but pride at their devotion and loveliness. Lilian is his property. A different standard applies.

  Trevelyan is uncertain if it is the preservation of Lilian’s modesty or something else that pleases Lucius. With a speculative glance at his lord, Trevelyan continues his tale. At the description of the blood offering Lucius interrupts again. “A second belt, that is unusual. Could you hear what was said?”

  “Not clearly. I did hear the Fifth Warrior’s name, Sinead,” Trevelyan recalls.

  “The Shrine of Fifth Warrior takes particular interest in Lillian’s mother. They stood for Lilian at her protocol review. Is there any more to this story?” There is no question. Lucius is very pleased about something to do with this ritual.

  “Little. When the ritual completed, the three of them enjoyed a meal at a nearby café. I was impressed by Mistress Lilian’s athleticism. I have not encountered her in the training chambers.” Trevelyan concludes.

  “Lilian trains elsewhere. Should you wish to give her a bout, I would find your opinion of her abilities useful.” While not strictly a command, Lucius’ will is clear.

  “It would please me to evaluate her. The Adelaide Warleader discipline is not known to me. I would learn more of it as well.” Abandoning the idea of probing the source of Lucius’ delight, Trevelyan pursues his agenda. “Monsignor, these consecration rituals, they are usually followed by a celebration of sorts, are they not?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?” Lucius knows his man well enough to suspect this line of conversation.

  “Odd sort of celebration with little laughter and not much smiling either. If you consider that odd lifting of expression your apprentice displays a smile. At least the lad has a real smile. What you do to these children is unnatural. They should laugh at a party.” Trevelyan makes no attempt to hide his criticism even as he doubts he will succeed in altering Lucius’ opinion.

  “Trevelyan, the purpose of indenture is not to entertain, it is to train. To be healthy, the warrior class must bring in the best of the common orders. They lack the upbringing or family ties to serve as needed. The training and discipline of an apprenticeship assures those who are eventually admitted increase the strength of the whole. The enlightenment of your Universal Way is a pretty story, but it fared ill against The Anarchy. Too few of those who favored Order had the skills or strength to defend it,” Lucius insists, knowing he is unlikely to alter his spymaster’s opinions.

  “Your Lilian is already of the warrior class,” Trevelyan notes with narrowed eyes. He has little use for social pretense and less use for legalistic ones.

  “No longer, as you well know,” Lucius returns sharply. Trevelyan is well aware of the realities of Lilian’s situation. “As for smiles and laughter, I do not believe she was overly given to either even before Remus Gariten’s perfidy. Should you ask her, Trevelyan, I believe Lilian will tell you she far prefers this path to her other alternative.”

  “A pretty choice for a girl of twenty-four, Trial by Ordeal or death for crimes not her own,” Trevelyan’s tone is equally sharp.

  “This is an old argument and one where neither of us will be swayed,” Lucius ends the discussion without heat. His spymaster’s views are well known to Lucius.

  »◊«

  A fine rain heralds the onset of the rainy season as it whispers against the tall windows in Lucius’ office. Seated in the scarlet desk chair, Lucius gazes at the mist covered central garden and cityscape as his mind dwells on the intensely erotic image of Lilian stripped to the hips and receiving Socraide’s Kiss. He attempts to force it from his mind. It lacks but a few moments to the eighth bell. Carnal fantasies can wait until later in the day, as can the examination of her mark.

  As the eighth chime completes, the black clad object of Lucius’ recent fantasy takes her position in front of his desk. Shoulders squared, Lilian waits expectantly for him to speak. She is unbearably enticing in the severe black. The composed, reserved expression is ages older than her twenty-four years. Desire comes flooding, refusing to be bound by will. The urge to enjoy Lilian becomes overwhelming. Lucius cannot work through the morning in this state. Nor does he need to. She is his.

  “Come here, Lilian,” Lucius orders. Lilian's eyes widen as she obediently rounds his desk. As soon as she is within reach, Lucius rises and pulls her against his erection, savoring her pliant softness. Her hands come up to rest on his waist as she moves lightly against him. The gentle movement of her hips brings Lucius to the brink.

  “Do not,” he murmurs, lifting her to perch on the edge of his desk. Kissing her lightly, he tugs her skirt to her waist. Without waiting for instruction, Lilian parts her thighs, offering him access. Deepening his kiss, Lucius sends an exploring hand between the parted thighs. Reaching her center Lucius discovers what he expected. Lilian is unready.

  Clenching his teeth against his escalating passion, Lucius restrains himself long enough to prepare her. His urgency increases as he strokes and explores Lilian’s sex until she softens and moistens sufficiently to receive him. Lucius knows Lilian is insufficiently prepared to find her own release. It matters not. He can hold no longer.

  Lying Lilian back across the desk, Lucius enters her fast and hard, feeling her legs twine about his waist. She is tight and hot and readied. In very few moments his driving rhythm yields Lucius the desperately sought release.

  It is not the first time Lucius has used Lilian to his satisfaction and not hers, albeit, he has not done so often. He resigns himself to the shuttered expression she presents when she has been wounded. It is with some surprise, and no little delight, that Lucius discovers what Trevelyan termed “that odd lifting of her expression that passes for smile.”

  The expression requires an explanation, “What think you, Lilian?”

  “It is a vulgar thought, milord. I would rather not give it voice,” Lilian replies softly, very carefully avoiding his gaze.

  Oh no, she is not evading him this time. Lucius will know, “Lilian.”

  Yielding, Lilian meets his regard, her own bright, “I am thinking that being bent over milord’s desk is much nicer than I would have anticipated.”

  Marveling again at the wanton hidden inside the reserved woman, Lucius smiles as he responds, “Then we shall enjoy it again another day, and take a little more time. For now, there is another matter. I wish to view the mark.”

  Lucius reorders his clothes while Lili
an stands and turns her back holding her skirt to her waist. At the base of Lilian’s spine, behind her right hip, are two blue-black marks drawn at angles to each other. Adelaide’s Mark, Socraide’s Kiss, they are designed to resemble a Warbird wing. A raven’s wing.

  The Alcove Keeper performed excellent work. There is not the slightest puffiness. One careful finger elicits only the slightest shiver as Lucius strokes the still sensitive area.

  Releasing Lilian from examination, Lucius settles her skirt back in place while inquiring, “Is there aught to discuss that cannot wait until midday?”

  “No milord.”

  “Then we will review your work at that time.”

  »◊«

  “Crevasse swallow him and his nasty games.” Milord? No. Rebecca does not refer to milord, who has remained in Lilian’s thoughts since the morning's encounter. At least Lilian can reassure Chrys. She was fairly certain a raven wing tattoo would please milord.

  Having dropped into the chair next to Lilian in the Archives, Rebecca grips her slate bag with white knuckles. This is ill. The irrepressible apprentice routinely absorbs the most outrageous occurrences as if no more significant than the changing of seasons. Her vulgar expletive is not a venting of ire, but the sound of despair.

  “What is amiss? Who has overset you?” Lilian wishes she could embrace her friend as she would a similarly overset Katleen.

  Lowering her voice so that it will be obscured by the noise around them, Rebecca responds, “That crevasse-crawler Martin has me assigned to one of his projects.”

  With a deep breath, the lovely woman continues, “This is the third time in a sevenday I've barely managed to dodge his groping. Were it not for Seigneur Thorvald’s training, Martin would have had me by now. As it was, he had his hand half way up my skirt before I escaped.”

  At Rebecca’s words, Lilian’s eyes narrow, “He does seem particularly focused on you. The other incidents all seem to have been acts of opportunity, not planned. I wonder…”

  “Wonder what?” Rebecca demands as Lilian’s voice trails off.