Red Sister

by Mark Lawrence

  Abbess Glass blinked, shook her head, then smiled. “Of course you’re scared, Nona. I am.” She went to one knee to be on a level with Nona. A few strands of iron-grey hair had escaped her headdress; sweat beaded on her brow. “Do you know why they call this Heart Hall?”

  Nona shook her head.

  “It’s named for the shipheart that’s kept in a cavern far below our feet. The heat for the bathhouse and dormitories comes from there, the pipes reach down, close enough to the shipheart to heat the oil . . .”

  Nona let the abbess calm herself telling her stories and looked instead at her own wrists, held level with her shoulders by the yoke. The iron clamps had taken the skin, leaving wet red flesh beneath, the fingers above were numb and barely responded when she tried to wriggle them. If they threw her into the water still yoked she would sink and vanish. Even without the yoke she would drown, unless swimming proved to be an easy thing to learn in a hurry. But such a weight of iron . . . would they cast it aside as easily as her life? Or remove it for later use? That would be her chance.

  “. . . took it from the vessel that brought our forebears from the darkness above the sky. Did you know that, Nona?”

  “No.” Nona looked away from her inspection of the damage to her wrists and faced the abbess. “Will they start soon?”

  “In a short while. There’s nothing a church court likes more than delay and debate, but I have a feeling that our high priest is anxious to be on his way. He must have a pressing appointment in Verity. Or perhaps he’s worried that other parties might show an interest in the proceedings given enough time to notice. I’m not without friends in court.”

  As if hearing her across the length of the room and through the ebb and flow of the archons’ chatter, the high priest stood, bringing the heel of his staff down sharply upon the dais. “I, High Priest Jacob, holy of the church, declare this extraordinary meeting of the Ancestor’s court in session.” He nodded to an assistant seated to his left, bent over a large and open scroll, quill in hand. The woman began to write.

  “Gathered with me in judgement I have the four archons of the faith. Archon Nevis, to bring the gravity of the gerant.” The fat man bowed his head, deep-set eyes glittering in a pale face. His girth aside, he didn’t seem a particularly large man to Nona, not a blood-gerant for sure. “Archon Anasta, to bring the swiftness and precision of the hunska.” The old woman nodded, the day’s light gleaming across the bald dark dome of her skull, lone earring set to swinging. “Archon Philo, to bring the mystery and insight of the marjal.” The tall man made no sign of having heard, save perhaps in a deepening of the sadness on his narrow face. “Archon Kratton, to bring the direction and balance of the quantal.” The last archon dipped his head, the scars across the left side of his face livid in the morning sun slanting in from narrow windows. He clenched his fists before him. Nona imagined those hands might crush rocks, leaving only powder.

  The high priest bowed to each archon in turn then returned his gaze to the prisoners. “I expect this to be a swift trial. The facts are indisputable, the sentences prescribed by precedent, and it is hard to imagine that there can be any defence. We will listen to Abbess Glass’s apology and consider what measure of mercy may be open to us in this case.

  “The facts are these. Raymel Tacsis, son of one of the realm’s highest families, born of the line of emperors, given his name in the Ancestor’s holy cathedral, was mortally wounded by Nona Reeve”—Nona opened her mouth to protest that she wanted nothing of Partnis Reeve, but the abbess shushed her, her look so fierce that Nona bit her tongue—“said individual then being found guilty of murder and sentenced to hang at the emperor’s pleasure in Harriton prison.

  “Abbess Glass of Sweet Mercy Convent secured the release of the criminal into her care under false pretences and subsequently brought her to the convent where, with indecent haste, she was inducted as a novice.

  “The matter now sits under church law, which on matters of murder and attempted murder is no more forgiving than the emperor’s commandments in such regards. Our duty is clear. Firstly, we must sentence Novice Nona to death for her crime against Raymel Tacsis. Secondly, we must impose sentence upon Abbess Glass for gross interference with secular affairs of state—a transgression for which an example must be set before both the church and lay populations. Failure to hand out a severe sentence will cause unrest, both among the populace and within the emperor’s own court. The church cannot afford to be seen as thinking itself above the civil law.

  “Unless there are any other opinions at this stage”—he glanced at the archons to either side—“I will call upon Abbess Glass to make her apologies and appeal for clemency.”

  All eyes turned towards the abbess, who took a step forward, now resting herself against the prisoners’ wooden enclosure. “Have you asked yourself why I would take a child from the hangman, Jacob?”

  The high priest coughed into his hand and cleared his throat. “You will address me by my title, Abbess Glass. There are no ties of friendship here. Only the law.” Seated, his robes rose about him, setting his head afloat on a sea of purple and gold. “We understand weakness, abbess: all of us are human. We lack the perfection of the Ancestor. A mother’s instinct perhaps overwhelmed you. It is not uncommon in women of a certain age, but you chose poorly when picking this one”—he waved a hand towards Nona—“to adopt.”

  Abbess Glass straightened her back against the yoke’s weight and managed a wry smile. “I have many faults, high priest, too many to try to conceal. But even my enemies have yet to accuse me of owning a soft heart. I believe the word most often used against me is ‘cunning.’ So it pains me to see you leap so swiftly to the conclusion that I stand before you yoked by my own stupidity.”

  Nona noticed a smile twitch on the scarred lips of Archon Kratton on the far right, and a broader one spread on the wet lips of Archon Nevis on the far left.

  “Trials seek the truth, high priest. Something that singularly failed to happen during the conviction of the child beside me. Perhaps you might ask me why I acted as I did before you demand an apology for those actions? Certainly the men who convicted this small girl of killing a famed gerant ring-fighter should have asked that question before sentencing both her and the girl Saida Reeve to death.”

  “Saida didn’t do anything!” Nona blurted the words, afraid that the abbess might try to lay Raymel’s injuries at Saida’s feet.

  “Hush, Nona,” the abbess said in a low voice. “You’ll drown yourself with that mouth of yours.”

  The high priest rose from his chair, staff in hand. “A lack of humility will do you no favours here, Abbess Glass—”

  “Even so, I would like to hear the why.” Archon Kratton spoke with a tremor in his voice as if some powerful vibration were running through him. It struck Nona then that the high priest was less of a king than he might appear, and the archons were not merely part of his show.

  Abbess Glass inclined her head towards the archon. “I heard about Nona’s case while in Verity to negotiate the induction of the Jotsis girl. The Argatha prophecy has considerable influence among the populace, and whatever weight we may or may not place behind the words it is certainly true that the belief of the common man has given the prophecy a power of its own. It could, for example, quite easily see any suspected two-blood killed or kidnapped as part of empire politicking.

  “I mention the prophecy because it’s an example of words gaining power because we let them. Two other words that have gained too much power because we let them are Thuran Tacsis. High Priest Jacob asked me if I really knew who Thuran Tacsis is. Well I know that he is a man whose eldest son has killed at least five young girls in acts of cruelty, on occasion as a result of his temper, and on occasion for his own sadistic pleasure, and has in each case been allowed to walk free without even an attempt at arrest or prosecution. Tacsis money has purchased the common law. Even in the higher courts where othe
rs of the Sis and merchant classes might seek justice, Tacsis gold often speaks loudest. Louder indeed than any of those charged with the duty to enforce the statutes set down by our ancestors.

  “So, curious as to how a small girl could fell a gerant ring-fighter, I enquired further. I found many whose reports of the event, at least in private, ran quite differently to those of the ‘witnesses’ produced to support the death sentence imposed on Nona and Saida Reeve. It is certainly true that Nona inflicted the injuries on Raymel Tacsis. She did not, however, assault him by surprise and from behind but did so to defend her friend, also a small girl, from his attacks, having first warned him to desist.

  “In Nona we have a rare talent, the purest hunska I’ve seen in years, born with an instinct for battle and to defend the weak. A girl, innocent in youth, in whom the faith’s seed will find fertile ground. Sweet Mercy scours the empire for girls such as these . . . was I to let her be sacrificed to the unhealthy appetites of a murderer too rich to pay for his crimes?

  “The Ancestor directs us to follow the tenets of our faith and the church is our armour. I saw the common law fail and I have replaced it with the church law. We here, in this hall, are bound by duty and by faith to show that as sons and daughters of the Ancestor we cannot be bought and sold. Ancestral law is gold to the base metal of common law. We lead where others fall. I saved a child who will serve the Ancestor well, but more than that I struck a blow for the ideals that are written in the Ancestor’s own book. If we return Nona to this false justice that blow of mine will not strike against corruption but against the foundations of the church itself.”

  Abbess Glass drew a deep breath and allowed her shoulders to slump in concession to the yoke upon them.

  The fat archon licked his lips and nodded slowly to himself. Archon Philo, the sorrow-faced marjal, lifted his head from contemplation of his knees. “A better path would have been to demand a stay of execution while you sought a judge to hear the case.”

  “That is perhaps true, archon.” The abbess nodded. “But the case would have had to have been made very loudly for any judge in Verity to hear it above the clinking of golden coins.” She sighed. “I acted rashly. I saw that I could take Nona. The trip from could to should is short and allows little time for reflection. But I do not think that the result was the wrong one. Except that I should have found a way to save both girls.”

  “It is, as the high priest says, a dangerous game to play.” Archon Anasta spoke for the first time, her voice deep and thick with age. “Invoke church law over common law outside our doors and with both hands you are taking the emperor’s power as your own.”

  “Also true, Archon Anasta. I could never argue politics against the woman who taught it to me in the first place.” The abbess managed a smile, as if she were not yoked and bleeding, but instead discussing the finer points of academia over a school desk. “However, at no point in removing Nona from Harriton did I invoke one law above another. I made no mention of my office. I simply reminded the guards of my long friendship with Warden James and said that I was taking the girl. None of them attempted to stop me or even ordered me to desist, and so it seemed a perfectly reasonable assumption that they were happy for me to take her. I am more than willing to submit to any test of truth . . . I hear that there are graduates of the Academy who can deduce whether they are being told a lie, and—”

  “The truth is a very nebulous concept.” Archon Philo took on a still more doleful look and returned his gaze to his lap.

  “Ha!” The bark of laughter burst from Archon Kratton. “They didn’t even try to stop you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s their incompetence. If they let you take the girl that’s tacit permission!” He smacked his fist against his thigh.

  “If you’ve nothing more to say.” High Priest Jacob, realizing that he was still standing, sat heavily in his grand chair. “If you maintain your refusal to apologize, then we can move on to the sentencing.”

  “I move for the charges to be thrown out.” Archon Kratton waved a hand dismissively above his head. “Who’s with me?”

  “Kratton!” The high priest struggled back out of his chair. “You would be advised to give this matter serious con—”

  “I have my own mind, Jacob. Old debt and old secrets be damned if they mean selling my soul for Tacsis gold.”

  Archon Philo raised his face to the room. “There seems no case to answer.” He didn’t sound happy about it but Nona wondered if he had ever sounded happy about anything.

  Archon Anasta fixed Abbess Glass with a stare so hard that Nona could imagine reaching up to find it a physical thing, an invisible bar of iron between them. “This could have been done better, Glass.”

  “I know.”

  “Cleaner. Sharper. Clearer. As I always instructed.” The archon narrowed already narrow and bitten lips. “This . . . this is muddy, messy, unsure.”

  Abbess Glass bowed her head.

  “But the child should not suffer your mistake. There is no case to answer here.”

  The abbess slumped, a guard stepping forward to prevent her falling.

  “Archon Nevis, the decision rests with you.” The high priest walked to stand behind the fat archon’s chair. “You at least I know can be relied upon to understand where the best interests of the church lie.”

  Archon Nevis glanced across the line of his fellow archons. He looked nervous, sweat making small ringlets in the grey hair sticking to his forehead. “I—”

  “It’s been more years than either of us would care to mention, Nevis,” Abbess Glass said, shaking off the guard and standing straight. Speaking as if there were only the two of them there, Nona and the rest no more than shadows. “That boy and that girl would not recognize us. We are old. Changed. But I remember. One time, you said. Once. That I could ask anything of you. I doubt you thought it would take me this long to ask it. That one time is now. That anything is this.”

  “I remember.” Nevis went still more pale, every vein blue upon the marble of his flesh. “We were children, Shella. Playing children’s games. You can’t expect—”

  “It was in the focus of the moon, Nevis. The ice lit red about us and began to steam . . .”

  “. . . and the crakes took to the sky and their song—”

  “Very touching.” High Priest Jacob brought his staff down with a crack. “But Archon Nevis is no longer a moon-eyed boy panting over a tanner’s girl. Great Ancestor, woman! Nevis honours the debts of the entire church. The master of the faith’s coffers concerns himself with debts of a rather more adult nature. Archon, let’s end this farce.”

  “I . . .” Archon Nevis held his finger to his chest, out of the high priest’s view. A “one” for the abbess’s eyes. “The case has no merit. It cannot stand.”

  Across the hall, murmurs of approval spread among the guards and attendants. Outside cries of delight went up, though how word reached the women and girls in front of the hall so swiftly Nona had no idea. Archon Kratton was already on his feet, his chair rocking behind him. “Get the damned yoke off her! She’s an abbess of the church!”

  Nona found herself standing straight and unsupported, her restraints no burden now, a shout of defiance on her lips.

  A guard moved to obey, the heavy key ready in his hand. The loud crack of the high priest’s staff against stone cut through raised voices.

  “Overruled.”

  “What?” Nona stared. Even the archons looked shocked. She looked up at the abbess. “He can’t . . .”

  Of all of them only Abbess Glass seemed unsurprised. “That’s a big step, Jacob. Are you sure you want to—”

  “This is a court of law and you will address me by my title!” High Priest Jacob slumped back into his chair of office. “Your concern is noted, abbess. I’m sure your concern is for me rather than for your own imminent and . . . uncomfortable . . . exit from th
is convent, and from the church as a whole.”

  Abbess Glass pursed her lips. “The office of high priest rests upon four pillars. It’s my duty to counsel you against kicking them out from beneath you.”

  “Noted.” The high priest turned to his black-clad assistant, scratching at her scroll. “Make sure you get that down, Greha. Now—to the sentencing.”

  “I took Nona from the prison because she is the Shield. The Ancestor told me to do it in a vision.” Abbess Glass didn’t raise her voice but somehow she gathered all the attention that the high priest held a moment before and focused it upon herself in the quiet of the hall.

  “Nonsense! Nonsense . . .” The high priest tried to wave the idea away. “This is foolishness, desperation. It would not have been credible if these words were the first out of your mouth on our arrival. To speak them a moment before you’re sentenced to have your tongue split . . . well . . . it’s beneath you. It’s beneath an abbess of the Ancestor!”

  “Wh—” Nona wanted to ask what a Shield was but the abbess set her large foot over Nona’s small one.

  “The Shield will have almost as many enemies as the Argatha. It was my duty to protect her until she is able to protect both herself and the Chosen One. She is just a child. Her safety lay in secrecy. Unfortunately, now you have forced a damaging choice: reveal the truth of her identity or let you drown her in ignorance.”

  “This is ridiculous, Abbess Glass. Anyone can claim a holy vision to save themselves from justice.”

  “Were not my first words to you in this court an invitation to consider why I would do such a thing? Rather than giving serious thought to that question you preferred to blame it on a mothering instinct that was singularly absent before my courses ran dry. I ask you once more—knowing what you know of me—do you seriously believe the words that came from your mouth?”