by Colin Tabor
“Juvela, your father’s asked for our help, so I’m happy to give it.”
“Thank you.”
He gestured to a seat as he sat back down, looking to me from across his desk. “You have power?”
At first I was uncomfortable with the question, but I knew it held truth. I also understood why Pedro hadn’t been invited to join us.
He continued, “Don’t be afraid, the Guild has more involvement in these matters than you might think. We don’t only keep alive our people’s culture and faiths, we also nurture those of us touched by the arcane.”
“I can’t do much.”
He smiled. “Not yet, but you’re young and your skills only emerging. It’s all the more reason for me to make you aware of the help we can offer. Do you know much about the three magics?”
I shrugged. “The three?”
“The magics of the heart, mind, and soul. Soul magic is based on faith, it’s what the best priests wield - blessings bestowed directly from the gods. Mind magic is that of the forbidden Sisterhood. It’s conjured by gifted women who join collective minds, using their combined power or intuition to create effects we can only explain as magical. Then there’s the magic of the heart, the stuff we attribute to the mages and witches of the Cabal. You know of the Cabal?”
“A little.”
“It’s a network of mages. All who work with the magic of the heart must join. To refuse is to be renegade.”
I’d heard of renegades, they were known locally as the Sanjo Drago, or Blood Drinkers. They powered their castings not just from their own efforts, but by also spilling the blood of others. They spent their victims’ very lives.
I asked, “What am I?”
He smiled, a warm and comforting thing. “I think you’re a mage. We’ll arrange for you to meet with members of the Cabal after the current excitement dies down, but from now on you must be more careful. Here, unlike in Fletland, all magic is illegal except the soul magic of the Church. If they catch you, you’ll be burned as a witch.”
“Like my grandmother?”
“Yes, like your grandmother.” He sighed. “It’s best that you’re a cabalist considering what’s happened. People who use the same kinds of magic can often sense the truth of each other. Those with stronger gifts can even read others’ thoughts or send their own. If you were an emerging practitioner of soul magic, someone we might’ve trained as a priest, it’s possible that a senior priest or inquisitor of the Church could have sensed you. He could taste it in you, your heresy.”
“Is it that easy?”
“Only for the best. You’re a mage, so to most of their priests you’ll be as good as invisible. Only the most powerful in one field of magic can sense the users of another. You should be careful of the Benefice or others of high office.” He began to chuckle, his smile growing wide. “Mind you, I think you’ll be safe from Benefice Vassini, he’s risen to his rank through family connections and politics, not ability or devotion. Just remember, potentially, they can sense you. Be wary, try and maintain your distance from them. Your very life may depend upon it.”
I sat there horrified at how easily I could be discovered. What if Lord Liberigo didn’t offer me protection, would I forever be running from priests who could smell my corruption?
As if reading my thoughts, Kurgar said, “Don’t fret, we’ll keep you safe. Within the hour, we’ll have arranged protection, and while you’ll need to speak to the Church, their influence isn’t as strong here as in the rest of the League. They can’t just take you. Ossard has been too lax in its faith for too long. The Church just doesn’t command that sort of power. Besides, even the faithful in the streets are calling out your name, claiming that you’ve been sent by the saints to protect them. If the Church tries to imprison you the city will riot.”
I took little relief from the suggestion.
A knock sounded at the door before a guildsman looked in and gave a nod. Kurgar said, “We’ll take you to the Lord’s Residence. Once there, we’ll negotiate through him for you to be interviewed by the Church. That’s something they’re demanding.”
I tensed at the suggestion, as the Residence sat on Market Square facing the Cathedral.
Kurgar stood, indicating it was time to go. “Don’t worry, Juvela, your family is well connected. This will all be over soon.”
He walked out with me. We met up with Pedro, Maria, and Sef who’d just been roused by the same guildsman, then made our way back down to the courtyard.
When we were back in a coach and on the road, Pedro asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. We’re going to your father’s.”
Pedro didn’t seem pleased. They’d never got on well.
Maria sat opposite us next to Sef, the four of us filling the cab. She looked to us with her big blue eyes.
Pedro said, “Don’t worry, my little princess, everything will be alright.” Then he turned to smile at me, something warm and honest. Without a word he reached for my hand and took it. A feeling of girlish excitement flared in me, yet my anxiety moved to smother it. Too much had already happened today, I didn’t know if I could stand any more surprises.
6
The Bells Toll
On the way to the Malnobla the bells tolled eight, their deep call rolling across the sky and through Ossard’s empty streets.
Sef rode with us. The old bodyguard’s presence irritated Pedro, it always had. In my husband’s eyes he was only the paid help, but to me the warrior’s presence made me feel safe. After the events in Market Square I was certain that he followed Kave, something I’d long suspected - even expected, considering his extraction from the battle-weary wastes of Fletland. The knowledge was its own comfort.
The Church of Baimiopia was right to fear the cults of the Horned God, but some of the faiths they included in that group held more honour than they’d ever know. If I was to live in a time of war, then it would be my choice to do it with a band of Kave’s warriors at my side. It was said that the god of battle was not about slaughter, but the honour to be found in the skills of combat and defence. In truth, the survival of my people through all of our history’s bloody travails came down to the labour and sacrifices of such men and women.
Our coach drove down Ossard’s empty avenues unhindered and eventually into Market Square. The Lord’s Residence loomed ahead, its grand three-floor facade of sandstone standing out against the drab renders or dark stone of surrounding buildings. I didn’t turn to look, but knew the Cathedral rose across from it.
Would the Benefice be watching our coach race across the square, guessing who sat within?
Our driver took us to the stables at the rear, the gates opening to admit us. All about the Residence, along the walls of the courtyard and the building’s roof, the liveried men of Liberigo stood on guard.
The Residence made up three sides of the large courtyard, the stables and gate the fourth. We rarely came here, and even though I was familiar with the place, it never felt comfortable like a home should. It was a seat of power, not a place for family.
Lord Liberigo came into the courtyard with concern on his brow. He patted Pedro on the shoulder and eyed Maria with worry before looking to me. I noticed that he kept his distance. “Let’s get inside, it will be cold tonight.”
We followed him as another coach from the Guild arrived. Lord Liberigo pointed it out to an assistant, indicating for it to be seen to.
We entered the house in silence, climbed the stairs to the second level, and followed my father-in-law into his office. Once inside the timber-finished room, not unlike that of Heinz Kurgar’s, he pointed to some chairs and took his own behind his desk after drawing the curtains across the window behind him.
Maria looked across to her grandfather with big eyes, confused into silence by the day’s events. I asked, “Would Lady Liberigo be available to see to her granddaughter?
He nodded, calling out, “Jericho!”
One of his assistants appeared at the door. “Yes
, my Lord?”
“Take young Maria to my wife. See to it that she is never left unguarded, not for a single moment.”
Without question he came forward and took my daughter by the hand, gently leading her away. She looked to both Pedro and I with fear in her eyes. We both smiled and whispered encouragement.
Sef began to rise from his chair to follow his charge, but Lord Liberigo said, “No Sef, little Maria will be safe. You have other tasks to attend to.”
The big Fletman sank back into his seat, clearly uncomfortable at the parting.
At the sound of the shutting door, Lord Liberigo sighed. “The Church wants to interview you, Juvela, and they want to do it this evening. I can refuse them, but it makes you look guilty. Tell me, why shouldn’t I let them have their meeting?”
I shifted in my chair, but not half as much as Pedro. His irritation at being in the background showed. I said, “I’m concerned that they’ll simply brand me a witch and be done with it.”
Lord Liberigo didn’t even flinch at the mention of magic, he just asked, “And are you?”
I gasped at the question.
Where were Heinz Kurgar and his guildsmen to help me?
Pedro’s frustration boiled over, seeing him snap, “What’s all this fear of the Church? We’re dealing with cultists, it’s the Church who’s trained to deal with them. They’re here to help!”
His father frowned. “I believe Juvela is merely concerned that she’ll be caught up in the middle of their battle.”
I nodded.
He went on, “I’ve arranged a meeting. It’s to be held downstairs in one of the public rooms. We’ll all be present, myself representing the city, Heinz Kurgar for the Flet Guild, and Benefice Vassini for Krienta. The Church will get to ask its questions.
“Once done, we’ll pool our knowledge of what’s plaguing the city and together try and find a solution. I shan’t be encouraging witch burnings or the like.” He looked to me, his features softening to reveal a genuine affection. “As the Lord of this great city, I simply won’t allow it.”
Relief ran through me.
“But that meeting will happen, the messengers have already been sent.”
We went downstairs and entered the Chamber. It was from here that the Council of Merchant Princes ruled Ossard.
At the moment, the grand room with its panelled timber ceiling and wonderful wall murals showcasing the city’s history sat empty. The large room contained a twelve place round table at its centre, and hanging above were the colours of the city, its districts, guilds, and merchant houses.
Lord Liberigo pointed at four chairs. “Take a seat, they’ll be here soon.” He stopped me as I passed, looking deep into my eyes. “Juvela, consider carefully what you say. Legally I control Ossard and they can’t force you away, but if Vassini raises a mob I might not be able to save you.”
I nodded.
The door opened and Kurgar entered with three other guildsmen, leaving four seats for the Church. He looked across to me and smiled.
The room fell silent, something we left undisturbed.
Not long after, footsteps sounded at the main doors. We all turned in our seats and waited. The moment stretched on until they opened to reveal Benefice Vassini.
He walked in grandeur robed in white, with a wide band of golden silk about his generous waist. The silk’s colour matched the rich embroidery of his garment, the rings on his fat fingers, and also a small crown he wore upon his head. The Benefice moved with a stiff back, and an even stiffer sense of self-importance.
I couldn’t see this spoiled man ever working up a sweat, sobbing with sadness, or growing red with honest rage. He existed to be smug and exert control, something centred on the gold-topped staff of office he carried.
Behind him followed two senior priests and a monk of the Calbaro, a holy scholar. The priests came wrapped in embroidered white while the monk seemed much plainer, his grey robes only marked by a yarn belt.
The Benefice led them to their seats. Before he sat he hefted his staff, letting it drop with a sharp crack.
Led by Lord Liberigo, we all stood.
The Benefice spoke a prayer and then lowered himself into his seat.
When we were all sitting, Lord Liberigo said, “I welcome you all and ask you to respect each other and the peace of this place. No one here has special rights or is in any position to make demands. Let us solve the city’s problems, not add to them.”
Benefice Vassini ignored him, instead choosing to stare at me. I wondered; did he have any celestial talent? Was he sitting there searching my soul for some sign that I was the witch-wife of the Horned God and the source of all heresy?
The Calbaro monk spoke, his voice polite and almost fragile, “Please, if I may start, Lord Liberigo?”
Pedro’s father nodded.
“The city has seen eight kidnappings since dawn, leaving many frightened, especially after the very public happenings of this afternoon. That event, as the only witnessed kidnapping attempt, also gives us almost all of the little we know of the problem. For now we need to confirm what happened with those who were part of it, and ask why they were part of it.”
Lord Liberigo shrugged. “A fair question.”
Kurgar interjected, “Fair? Fair for whom? We would like to remind everyone here that there is a long history of antagonism on behalf of the Church towards the Flets of this city, a hostility that is not deserved.”
One of the priests shot back, “Nothing untoward has happened in years, and you’d do well to leave old wounds closed. We welcomed your people more warmly than most. You should be grateful…”
“Enough!” Lord Liberigo growled.
The monk said, “Please, let us get back to the question at hand.”
I sat not knowing what to say, but they all turned to me nonetheless. Taking a deep breath, I began, “I saw a woman cradling her child in the crowd, she was in trouble and crying for help. It happened amidst the panic after the bells had tolled six. I ran to her aid. It was then that I saw a robed man…”
The Benefice bellowed, “Witch!”
My own voice died as his pronouncement rang out.
“Even now, the crowds call out your name! You have been claimed a servant of the saints, or more specifically, of a saint I’ve never heard of. You are a false prophet and a fool to think we’ll allow you to continue such a divine association!” the Benefice damned.
“I never claimed to be of Saint Santana, and had never heard of her until this afternoon.”
He scowled. “None have heard of her. We apprehended the man selling the relics and charms. He claims to be a Heletite missionary.”
Lord Liberigo asked, “You doubt him?”
The Benefice said, “It’s possible he’s genuine, but not likely. I’m suspicious of the timing. In a wealthy city of merchant princes beset by child stealing, now seems the ideal time to discover a saint of children and have a cartload of relics to sell. It’s not just that, but also the instructions given for ritual and prayer. If the monk is a fraud, he’s abusing our faith and a heretic. It cannot be allowed.”
Kurgar asked, “How can you not know if the saint is real?”
The Benefice narrowed his eyes, daring the Flet to find fault with his answer. “The Church of Baimiopia is a growing faith that is spread across Dormetia. It dominates the eight nations of the Heletian League and has great influence elsewhere, including in Burvoy, Evora, and even Fletland. Some of the missionaries working to establish the faith in those heathen lands discover locals who work selflessly for the greater good in spreading Krienta’s message. Such people who endure hardship to the point of death can be rewarded with sainthood. Word of such elevations can take years to be confirmed and circulated throughout all the provinces of the Church. It is not unheard of in such a situation for a saint to be well known at one end of our growing holy empire, yet unknown at the other. That is why I cannot discount the possibility that Saint Santana is real.”
Pedro aske
d, “Benefice, what kind of prayer ritual did the Heletite ask of his converts?”
“Witnesses have told us that he instructed them to repeat prayers to Saint Santana in the evening while burning an offering of oleander leaves. The ritual is strange and unlike any of the Church’s other rituals. The monk in question is also not proving very helpful. He babbles like a fool of the wonder of Saint Santana, but seems unable to give us anything but the vaguest detail.”
I asked, “Oleander, isn’t that strange, as it’s a poison?”
The Benefice looked to me as his eyes narrowed. “There are many odd ingredients in rituals of sanctity and power. Oleander may seem a queer choice, but so could many others upon close examination. Some owe their use more to symbolism or tradition than their true properties.”
Irritated at having to dwell on a saint he’d never heard of, the Benefice’s face hardened. “Enough of that, let’s get back to the matter of Market Square. There are witnesses who claim you attacked the man with a knife, and there are others who said your escort,” he indicated Sef, “spoke a prayer to Saint Santana that turned the cultist into shadows and wind.”
With a tremor in my voice, I said, “I merely tried to help. I made no claims of saintly affiliation. I just heard a lady cry out and went to her aid.”
The Benefice could see my fear. “It became clear years ago that there was a pattern to the kidnappings, but the city has been slow to act.” He scowled at Lord Liberigo, offering the blame.
The Lord said, “The kidnappings have haunted us for years, it’s true, but until now there’s been no clue as to their cause. In the past, we’d looked into it as best we could, but in the crowded slums of Newbank…”
“For a Heletian, it’s impossible to tell friend from foe,” finished Kurgar, a frown marking his face. He went on, “Let’s not hide the truth; because it was restricted to the poorer parts of the city, coincidentally the Flet parts, it just didn’t seem that important.”