Broken Shadow

by Jaine Fenn

  Of course you can send copies of your papers to me. But in order to avoid unwanted attention please send them in small parcels, to be left with one of the following individuals only:

  There followed a list of six names, four minor ministers and two militia captains.

  Rhia worried at Francin’s paranoia. But then, as events at the Grand Council had proved, sometimes she was not paranoid enough.

  CHAPTER 35

  Dej shadowed the hand-tree forest, heading back towards the sea. Rain fell intermittently from a heavy grey sky.

  The coast here was flat and the skyland growth petered out before it reached the sea. This gap – the “shoreline” the geography tutor had called it – was covered in smooth, rounded pebbles. Something else the tutor said about the world-sea came back to her, but she hoped he was wrong. She walked down the pebbly shoreline, taking care on the uneven footing, to where the waves lapped and frothed. She filled her empty waterskin from the sea, then tipped it up to her lips–

  And spat and sputtered, even as her animus sent its belated warning like a rap on the forehead. The geography tutor was right; the sea was poisonous. But she wouldn’t give up; she’d find an alternative water source.

  Half a day later, a stream tumbled down through a cleft in the hills that had been rising behind her as she walked along the shoreline. The water seeped away into the pebbles before it reached the sea, but a short and easy clamber upstream brought her to a pool large enough to fill the skin.

  The coast continued to sweep southeast. At some point she’d need to cut due south, back to the shadowlands. Unless she could raise the child out here. Perhaps there was some foodstuff she could feed the baby…? She had a while to find a solution.

  But she also needed shelter.

  The next stream she found came down to the shoreline in a stand of reeds. The huts at the clanless settlement had been roofed with reeds. She sawed at some sturdy-looking stalks then bundled them into her half-empty pack.

  The next day she was walking along the shore in the shadow of low cliffs when she spotted something odd on the lower shoreline.

  She’d already explored the edge of the sea, looking for food, though she didn’t risk venturing into the water. But she’d noticed how the extent of the shoreline changed. The sea moved up it and receded by various amounts, two, three, sometimes four times a day, leaving occasional items behind.

  She had already found, in places where the pebbles gave way to rocks, growths of crinkle-edged reddish weed which tasted like a combination of snot and mouldy bread but which were not actually poisonous. She’d also come across collapsed milkycoloured gelatinous spheres the size of her hand that her animus warned her about, shiny yellow ribbons with bladders the size of a fingertip along one edge that smelt bad enough she didn’t need any warning and a stringy tangle of blood-red strands that shuddered as she approached, rolling up the shore then, when she gave a surprised squeal, flopping back into the waves.

  This was much larger. It looked like a bone, but it was longer than she was tall; flattened and curved. She wondered if it belonged to a relative of whatever had been making that low booming call out to sea for the last two nights. When she pulled on it, it moved easily; it was light as bone too. It would make a good support for a shelter. As she pulled it free of the waves she spotted another one, a little farther along the beach, and a third beyond that. Something big had died out there.

  This might be a sign. The cliffs here were compressed and weathered yellow stone layered through with bands of charcoal grey and ochre. She spent a while casting along the base of them, until she found a fold in the land. She dragged the bones up the beach and propped them up against the slope to make the skeleton of a lean-to shelter. Nothing fancy: although she had to make sure it was aligned properly, the structure only had to be big enough to crawl into.

  Still easier said than done. The materials for the shack in the umbral had been provided by Etyan’s sister and the result had still been somewhat ramshackle, and leaked in heavy rain. This was an even less impressive effort, just bundles of reeds lashed with vines and pinned down with small rocks, the result barely big enough to lie down full length in, but she still took pride in it. After a day’s foraging she would sit outside her shelter, playing her flute for her unborn child, sometimes getting a kick in response. On one clear night she was treated to a spectacular display of falling stars.

  But the next week billowing clouds blew in as dusk faded. Dej eyed them up as she crawled into her shelter, but there was nothing she could do. If it rained, she would find out if the shelter was watertight. If it wasn’t, she would fix it.

  She was dragged from sleep by a crash of thunder. She hadn’t heard thunder since leaving Shen, and for a moment she was back in the umbral, wondering why the bed was so hard and where Etyan had gone.

  She sat up, shocked by the memory. Her head hit the reed roof, and a trickle of chill water ran down her back. A gut- shaking roar nearby reached a sudden crescendo. She scrambled out of her shelter in alarm.

  The waves had been whipped to a froth by the gale, their white tops seething in the moonlight before crashing up the pebbles. But the waterline was far enough down the beach not to be a threat, even if it sounded like the end of the world. She made herself take a calming breath. She should get back into the shelter, and take what protection it offered, even if sleep would be out of the question in this–

  She knew that sensation. The land was moving!

  She whirled on the spot just as the slope behind her shelter shuddered, then slumped. Orange mud and dark vegetation slid down the slope and into her shelter. The support-bones exploded outwards. Dej jumped back as the mudslide erupted out across the pebbles.

  The torrent of earth slowed. She dug her nails into her palms and breathed hard and slow, oblivious of the rain running down her bare scalp. When she’d calmed down she unclenched her hands, put one on her belly, and murmured, “Well, that was close.”

  She sat on the pebbles, halfway between treacherous earth and furious sea, and hugged her knees, waiting out the storm, and the night, in a state of tension. When the sea came closer she edged backwards until it receded again.

  The next morning, as the storm blew away on shreds of cloud, soaked, cold and exhausted, she surveyed the damage. The landslide had buried her possessions, but the mud was soft and it wasn’t hard to dig out her pack and blanket. She was no worse off than she had been.

  But she wasn’t going to hang around at the site of her latest failure.

  She used the cleansing-moss to clean herself up, shook her pack out and washed the blanket in the now-calm sea. Then she set off along the shoreline.

  The babe kicked most days now, though her belly was nothing like as big as the pregnant skykin she’d seen at the crèche. If she did give up soon, and went to a shadowland before her child was due, they were obliged to take her in while she waited to give birth. It made sense to at least be nearby, just in case. But she hated the thought of leaving the child. She shouldn’t: skykin knew that they had to leave their children with shadowkin for the sake of the child’s survival, so they did. But she wasn’t a pure skykin. And the baby was all she had.

  The landscape remained rugged and hilly, which beat swamps and marshlands, but with her belly swelling and her energy flagging, the terrain was hard work. When she could she walked on the shoreline, but half the time there wasn’t a shoreline to walk on, as the sea kept cutting into the hills. At night she huddled in what shelter she could find, wrapped in her blanket.

  Soon she would have to turn south.

  Then, as she heaved herself up a rock-strewn slope she sensed a change ahead. The land fell away in a valley, a dip in the hills. And it didn’t feel like another damn swamp.

  When she reached the crest of the hill her intuition was proved right.

  It wasn’t another damn swamp.

  It was a city.

  CHAPTER 36

  The opening day of the trial of the Church of S
hen vs Rhia Harlyn was something of an anti-climax. Sur Lectel had explained the process but somehow Rhia still expected a formal, drawn-out session with unnecessary pomp and flourishes.

  She and the lawyer reported to the Council hall at the appointed hour. It was mercifully empty; the trial was in one of the lesser chambers. Not the one she had heard the original charge in, and where she had previously seen Etyan face something-likejustice, but a larger room, containing a desk facing a long table. Three men sat behind the great table, chatting casually as she entered. Two other men, in dark clerical robes, sat over papers at small desks against the walls.

  Spotting her, the three judges fell silent. The one in the centre nodded an acknowledgement. Vansel was the oldest of the cardinals, his hair wispy and white, his shoulders bent with age. When he preached he uncurled, the passion of his words burning off the infirmities of age. He came from a humble background, and she found him refreshingly lacking in the arrogant pretentions of Marsan or the distracted superiority of Charain. But he was a stickler, a follower of protocol.

  “Come in then, and stand before us.”

  As Rhia stepped up she stole looks at the other two men who would be deciding her fate.

  Lord Jertine, Viscount Manacar, sat on the cardinal’s right. He was about her age, handsome except for his thin mouth, and dressed well but not ostentatiously. He had not been at the Grand Council – though a viscount, he was not head of his House – and though she knew him by sight they had never met, although she remembered Etyan once losing a significant sum to him in a game of cards.

  Sur Tethorn, on Vansel’s left, was younger than she expected, with a weak chin but a hard stare. Unlike Jertine, he would not have had any formal training in the law and was here as a representative of “the populace”, or rather of the guilds.

  Vansel spoke up. “Please confirm that you are Rhia Harlyn, and that you are aware of the nature of the charges being brought against you, the process by which you shall be examined, and the consequences should you be found guilty.”

  Sur Lectel had not said any particular ritual response was required, so Rhia lifted her chin and said simply, “I am.”

  “We will start with the oaths.”

  One of the minor clerics came forward with a copy of the Book of Separation. The other one, Rhia was pleased to note, was a scribe, poised to write down the proceedings.

  The oaths were complex, being several different ways of promising to tell the truth in the sight of the First, to respect the judges, and to abide by the laws of the State. Sur Lectel, standing half a pace behind her, had to swear variations on them too. During the lengthy process Tethorn fidgeted but paid attention. Jertine looked a little bored.

  Once the oaths were complete, Vansel gestured to the desk. “The defendant may sit.”

  She did so, her lawyer settling next to her.

  The cardinal said, “For the record, let it be noted that the purpose of this court is to ascertain whether the defendant has, in her presumption to know the nature of the heavens, caused offence against the First. Specifically, whether the celestial arrangements she suggests contradict the word of the First as given in the scriptures. At the request of the defendant’s representative, the process will not only examine how these claims should be viewed in the light of the word of the First, but also whether they can be said to have any objective reality.” Rhia tried not to wince at the incredulity in his tone. “Will the defence be calling any witnesses?” Although there were no events or actions to be recounted, because they were using the apparatus of the State witnesses were permitted.

  “Not at this time.” Sur Lectel’s careful answer allowed for the possibility, however remote, that Eparch Sadakh might still appear in person to defend her.

  “So that is ‘No’ then?”

  “We have yet to hear back from a potential witness, Your Holiness.” If Sadakh did participate, his word might make all the difference. “Would the judges indulge us and allow this individual to speak, should they later ask to?”

  “Hmm. This is somewhat irregular. Then again, this entire procedure is without clear precedent.” The cardinal looked to the scribe. “Let it be noted that the defendant may wish to call a witness at a future date.” Then to Rhia, “The court will assess whether to permit this when and if it happens.”

  “Thank you, Holiness.” Sur Lectel’s tone had an unctuous edge which Rhia disliked, but she saw the need for it. “And will the prosecution be calling anyone?”

  Rhia held her breath. Would Theorist of Shen want to make sure she was brought down by appearing in person?

  “No.”

  She exhaled. Apparently her fellow enquirer was happy to leave her to her fate.

  Vansel continued, “The defendant has been given ample time to gather evidence for her case, and we have been informed that this evidence is… substantial. Her representative will now submit it.”

  Sur Lectel had arrived with a large satchel slung across his back. Having lowered it to the floor beside the desk, he now lifted it in both hands and carried it up to the judges.

  Three sets of eyebrows went up. “All of this?” said Vansel.

  Rhia had an inappropriate urge to smile. Sur Lectel said, “As well as the papers she has prepared herself, the defendant is submitting a number of testimonials.”

  “Testimonials?”

  “Yes.” They had discussed how to deal with the matter of the enquirers; Rhia had had no choice other than to reveal their existence to Sur Lectel. “From individuals she is in correspondence with in other shadowlands. As the honourable judges may perhaps be aware the defendant knows, through the exchange of letters, a number of like-minded thinkers.”

  From their expressions, the two non-Church judges had not been aware of this. Vansel, who no doubt was, said, “Indeed, and it is a matter of concern that the idea we are here to discuss may have been shared with persons unknown in other shadowlands.” He looked across at her. “Has it, Countess Harlyn?”

  Rhia suppressed a cough and said, “You are asking if I have shared my theory that the Sun is the centre of the universe with anyone outside Shen?” She had known there was a risk of being asked this under oath, hence the care with which she phrased her reply.

  “I am, yes.”

  “Before my work came to the Church’s notice, I had communicated my initial ideas to an individual in Lhir.”

  “Lhir? That is a long way from here.”

  “It is. Our correspondence is consequently… slow.”

  “And did it cease once you were made aware that your idea was not acceptable to your Church?”

  Rhia noted the phrase “your Church”. This court’s jurisdiction ended at Shen’s umbral, which allowed her to answer with a degree of honesty. “It did not. However, my correspondent already had papers on the theory itself, and what little has passed between us since merely refines it.”

  “Hmm. We may return to this once the main matter is resolved.” Meaning: she could be asked to give up the real name of Skywatcher of Lhir. As far as she knew the Church did not hold excessive sway there; however, Lhir was so distant that what little information she had was rumour and hearsay. “For now, myself and the other judges have reading to do. A lot of reading.” As Vansel broke her gaze to look at the papers spilling from the satchel in front of him Rhia risked a glance to either side, where the other two were also staring at the paperwork; Tethorn with a degree of curious interest and Jertine with some dismay. “Given how much written evidence we need to get through, we will need several days. Let us convene again on fiveday.”

  And that was it.

  Sur Lectel came home with her but declined the offer of refreshments, saying he was sure the duke would offer him some later; a subtle way of letting her know Francin was following events closely, Rhia thought.

  “I think that went as well as we could expect,” she suggested. She hadn’t exactly lied under oath, just not offered facts beyond those requested.

  “At this early stage
, yes. All proceeded as expected.”

  “And I was pleased to see the trial being recorded.”

  The shade of a grimace crossed the lawyer’s features. “Although the mechanics of the trial will remain on record, I believe that, should you be found guilty, then due to their inherently heretical nature any details about your actual theory will be expunged from the transcript.”

  “Oh, First’s sake!” For once she felt happy to take God’s name in vain. Of course the Church would go to such lengths to suppress forbidden knowledge. The few heresy trials on record had been about prohibited items. The defendant had either come into possession of some ancient artefact made by the Children of the First which they failed to turn over to the Church or else had fashioned an object forbidden by the prescriptions against unholy devices. This was the trial of an idea. And none of those had been grand trials: most had ended with the destruction of the device and a public penance for the defendant. “Regarding the other matter… have you completed your research?”

  “I have, and the news is good. There is no legal bar to this course of action. Assuming you really do wish to go ahead.”

  “I do.”

  She took the “course of action” he had referred to as soon as the lawyer left, before she lost her nerve.

  Nerilyn was out: it was her afternoon off, and she was spending it with her beau; Rhia had sent the first package of papers to the palace with her.

  Markave was with Kerne. She called Brynan from the kitchen and had him take over watching the boy.

  Markave came to the parlour looking tired and careworn, the lines in his high forehead deeper than usual. Perhaps she should not have summoned him from his son’s bedside. “How is he?” she asked.

  “Sleeping peacefully.”

  “Good.” There was no point giving him platitudes about Kerne’s situation, or chances of survival. “Sit please.”

  “M’lady?”

  “This is a discussion we both need to be sitting down for.” What am I thinking? She should just let him go back to watching over his child, and forget the whole idea. But to send him off now would start him worrying about what she had been unable to tell him. And she had made her choice.