Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary

by Clive Ousley

  Cabryce and Nardin had always been close. Their families had been neighbours since childhood and if Cabryce’s highsense hadn’t been announced then fate may have predicted her marriage to Nardin. She thought they would have been very happy. Then stopped her train of thought, she was more than happy anyway – with Malkrin. He was all she desired and it was right that the Council had decreed their union. Now looking at Nardin’s worried features she realised continuous hunting and punishing labour had aged him more than Malkrin and herself. Their highsense abilities had gained them an income from the Brenna Council and the employment of the servant girl Danna had alleviated the necessity for most routine tasks. Her good fortune had extended from her childhood when her father had insisted she learnt the rudiments of written letters and words. Sire Steth Harefoot of the Priesthood had taught her as a favour to her father who had once saved him from a runaway cart. She was proud of her ability to write her name and a few other letters and to read many more words so they formed understandable lines in her mind. It felt like a skill close in power to having a highsense. She hoped that one day she could increase the skill of word reading.

  Her mother had taught her well in all a Seconchane woman should know. The Brenna and the High Priest had recognised her highsense. It elevated her within Edentown beyond her wildest childhood expectations. The best stitched clothes, the best cuts of meat, the solidly constructed cottage. She was indeed fortunate and she looked forward to the children to come. But it didn’t stop her feeling sorry for friends who struggled daily. She watched Nardin thoughtfully spooning the bowl of hot potato broth she’d handed him, then busied herself preparing a food parcel of luxuries for his family.

  ‘Where has my Malkrin gone tonight?’ she asked anxiously, knowing Nardin would be straight with her.

  ‘He has been frequenting the market outside the Great Hall four times in the past three days. I worry for him. I’m afraid he’s up to something that will get him in big trouble soon.’

  Cabryce nodded in weary agreement, ‘I hope not. He won’t listen when I warn him to focus his gift on hunting. I tried asking what he’s being so secretive about. He just says it’s best I don’t know.’ She paused while adding a slab of mountain goat cheese to the parcel.

  ‘I also have tried to warn him. But I have no gift so he takes little notice of me.’ Nardin rubbed his eyes. ‘But I help people as best I can. It pleases him that I share that same ideal.’

  Cabryce knew Nardin only fiddled with his ears or soothed his eyes when thinking hard, which he did a lot of – and in great detail. He’d always been that way. Some found it beyond their patience when he spoke slowly, at great length for a whole hourglass about his thoughts. Most walked off, but Cabryce loved him for it and had always listened.

  ‘Can you tell where he is now? And do you see him in your mind?’ Nardin asked as he thought about one of his theories.

  ‘My highsense will not change or enlarge to encompass those talents I’m afraid. For the love of Jadde I’ve tried, but to no avail.’

  They lapsed into silence as Nardin assimilated the negative titbit leaving the sound of the storm to fill their minds.

  ‘Malkrin believes the priests know more than they are prepared to tell ordinary folk and possibly the Brenna too,’ said Nardin, who then reeled off a list of priest’s names.

  Cabryce waited until the chanted list was completed. ‘Yes, he’s always believed in the treasure legend. Recently, in his sleep, he has muttered of a new highsense and trying in vain to find the prized hoard. He’s also been troubled about discovering a secret vault beneath the sacred keep.’

  ‘It’s interesting what you can find out from your partner when they are sleep-troubled. I have memorised tales from three other neighbours who say . . .’

  Cabryce didn’t want to be sidetracked from helping Malkrin, so just this once she stopped Nardin before he moved from their discussion. ‘I’ve told no one Malkrin has developed a new gift to seek the great treasure.’ She looked at Nardin, imploring him to keep the secret.

  ‘Thanks Cabryce – for telling me. It helps to tie up a few theories I have.’ Nardin paused and she sensed a long explanation. But he straightened and resolve firmed his features. ‘It has helped me come to a decision I’ve been meaning to make for some time . . . to help everyone in Edentown.’

  Cabryce looked questioningly at him.

  ‘I’m going to ask the priests to teach me to read the histories and the scriptures.’

  Cabryce was stunned. It was the peoples’ right to learn to read, but few had the time, even as children. The priesthood discouraged it with tales of the ancient tribes obtaining too much knowledge and destroying each other with it. That excuse put people off as they envisaged the curse of written knowledge destroying their families and friends.

  ‘I and Malkrin will support you, but are you sure?’

  ‘I am, and when the priests trust me, I will in time find a way down into this hidden vault, and from there . . .’

  ‘They will never leave you alone to explore. You will only be there to learn the lettering and then only the words they wish you to see.’

  ‘I know, but I am determined to learn things in the histories – as well as sneaking off to explore. It will help you and Malkrin to aid the townsfolk, of course.’

  ‘How will you feed your family?’

  ‘I will hunt as usual, and till my father’s fields later in the day and learn the scriptures during the evenings.’

  Cabryce nodded, her eyes watered. Nardin was surely the people’s truest friend. ‘But you will exhaust yourself with no time to sleep.’

  ‘I sleep little, there have always been too many questions spinning in my head. And I am determined.’

  Nardin finished his broth with fast sips; then as the shriek and roar of the storm against the cottage windows increased he got up to go.

  The door crashed open and let in a howl of wind to flicker the candles. Smoke sucked out of the chimney from the hearth fire and filled the room.

  Malkrin staggered in as if ten goblets of corn liquor filled his stomach. He was white faced and shaking, water streamed from his face, cloak and leggings.

  ‘Close the door.’ Cabryce shouted.

  ‘Wait Cabie, he’s unwell . . .’

  Nardin grabbed Malkrin as he tottered against the wall. They removed his soaking cloak and helped him to his hearthside seat. Cabryce wrapped her arms around him oblivious to his damp clothing.

  He rambled for almost an hourglass of time before intelligence returned, expelling the wildness from his eyes. His breath smelt stale – he had not touched any liquor. Cabryce and Nardin waited patiently for an explanation. Malkrin’s breathing slowed and in the reflected firelight colour returned to fill his pale features.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

  ‘What have you seen?’ Nardin added.

  Malkrin’s eyes took on a deep and haunted look. ‘I have seen the flight of a million invisible birds. I have been to the ends of the earth and returned without even leaving. I have seen fireflies in myriad hordes dancing in procession down invisible streets. I have travelled through the windows of countless buildings – all flashing with magic. I witnessed the migration of lightning as it sped on a thousand journeys. Then I watched the lightning return before it began its travelling again.’

  He shuddered and brief sanity entered his eyes. ‘And yet I know and recognise nothing. I have learnt naught and been nowhere.’

  Cabryce caressed her husband’s shoulders. ‘We know you’ve been to the Great Hall – I need the whole tale please.’

  Malkrin took no notice of her stern words. ‘Jadde’s magic is limitless. I have been taught a lesson by a great Goddess, majestic beyond mortal eyes. I am a mere worm before the great Warrior Goddess.’

  Slowly he shook his head as if attempting to regain his senses. Then sagged and fell silent again. Cabryce continued massaging her husband’s shoulders and ignored Nardin.

  Suddenly Malkri
n sat bolt upright and stated, ‘my new highsense, it is seared to blindness. It is gone.’

  Nardin took a step toward Malkrin, changed his mind, went to ask a question, then stuttered an apology and took his leave.

  Cabryce laid with her husband that night as he muttered and turned in restless confusion. She thought of the mysterious burden he had assumed. How she and Nardin were not going to allow him to fight the suffocating priesthood, reform the bronze fist of the Brenna and alleviate the poverty of the folk of Edentown – alone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Malkrin Owlear you have again been proven guilty before the Council of the Brenna. Your fellow hunters have once more testified under oath to your crime.’

  Like a recurring nightmare the Councils’ verdict repeated. The words smashed Malkrin’s prestige. They would leave him not just a commoner but worse: an outcast.

  There would be no third chance.

  He was back in Jadde’s great echoing Hall of Justice, before the same Brenna Council and Jadde’s all seeing eyes.

  Two winters had passed since his furtive visit to the altar. Now looking at the mysterious monolith he could again imagine the flickering fireflies within the stone shrine. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and remembered the events after that terrible hourglass. Particularly his battle to regain his sanity, and then the decisions he had made when he had recovered.

  He had pronounced himself sick and unable to hunt. His inner ear and his ability to create small highsense talents remained, but he was physically consumed by dread. He had violated Jadde in her hidden abode. The sin was greater because he could confide it to no one but Cabryce. She counselled him to take a period of recuperation. Gladly he had taken the time to watch his chickens peck and listen to Cabryce console and chat. He saw no one and sought no other for advice or news. Then after an autumn season of bad hunts the people had implored him to return, their tallies had been terrible and winter was approaching. The people were now extracting an existence on what they grew, what fruit was available on their stunted trees and which captive goats they could afford to slaughter. Eventually Sire Josiath Nighthawk quietly warned Malkrin.

  ‘The Brenna are about to test you. I have been passed a message that Sire Helm Rantiss will be sent to collect you in two days.’

  Malkrin had nodded aghast. He had nearly failed his people – the realisation hit him like an icy blast.

  ‘They believe your highsense has completely vanished.’

  He returned to the hunt the next day, the first day of snow. By the fifth sunset he had created the biggest tally of game ever recorded. The exhilaration of the hunt had been the cure.

  Malkrin was ecstatic – he was in Jadde’s favour again.

  He had used the time since returning as peoples’ favourite wisely, in the knowledge that the inevitable flicker would reappear in his highsense. He grew wiser and better skilled at concealing his sudden highsense blackouts. But he had also become angrier as he collected information and reports on the stranglehold the Brenna had on the people of Cyprusnia. ‘The free people of the Seconchane’ was a mere phrase in the mouths of the controlling Brenna. In reality the people were closely observed – and heavily taxed and disciplined for the privilege.

  He had grown better at being a good husband. Or so Cabryce said, although it was obvious to him he was on borrowed time and still no children blessed them. Jadde had ordeals planned for him he was sure. She would not at present allow him to teach a son to hunt, or give Cabryce a daughter to help her.

  And then unknown gods sent the sudden mental breeze that had carried away the highsense flame before he could pause and reignite it. It could not have been Jadde; surely she would not have been this cruel.

  It had been the worst possible moment; again on a hunt. He had been pursuing a herd of white tailed deer. He was in the lead and the other hunters had been pounding after him. He was determined to keep ahead of Guy Beartooth who he sensed was equally driven to overtake him and spear a deer. Beartooth thought of it as some kind of contest to claim his position as the peoples’ favoured hunter. Malkrin’s highsense flame had suddenly extinguished, he couldn’t sense Beartooth and the other hunters. His normal hearing told him they were running, panting somewhere behind him. He couldn’t even stop to try to reignite his inner ear; it would be obvious to Beartooth’s keen eye. Worse still, he couldn’t use his highsense to work out where the prey was in relation to the hunters. There was no way he could position his companions to trap the deer.

  Malkrin’s thoughts returned from sampling the evil luck, to viewing the inscription on Jadde’s ornate altar. He pondered the enigmatic words inscribed on the stone. Guy Beartooth would do well to remember them, for it was he who had again reported Malkrin to the Council. But Beartooth could not be touched by Jadde’s law, for he was a truthful witness to Malkrin’s lost highsense in a moment of importance.

  Malkrin returned again to his memory of the fated hunt.

  They had lost the whole herd of deer. He had made some kind of excuse to appease various hunters accusing stares. Then he hadn’t heard the stealthy approach of the wildcat. Again indiscipline split the silent hunt apart as the wildcat leapt. It had ripped out Talbert Lionlung’s throat before Malkrin could even lift a spear. His arm had felt leaden. It was as if deep down he had already accepted this was the moment his highsense was to utterly fail him. It had been up to Beartooth and one other, to shoot arrows into the cats flank as it wrenched at Talbert’s throat.

  As the eldest son of Brenna Captain Engred Lionlung his death meant someone had to be punished. He Malkrin was clearly at fault, his highsense had failed him. With Beartooth bullying the other hunters to testify it meant Malkrin could be undeniably blamed. He knew he should have sensed the furtive movement and then the sudden rush, but his gift had remained firmly snuffed out. He had taught himself a few new mental tricks to reignite his gift. None of them had worked. It was as if some evil god was gagging his highsense from speaking to him. It was Beartooth’s opportunity not only to denounce Malkrin’s loss but to further accuse him of already knowing of the failing – thereby deliberately leading Talbert to his death.

  And now here he was, standing in Jadde’s Great Hall before the gathered dignitaries of the Seconchane. Malkrin thought bitterly, he was the fool who had once intruded on the Goddess in her realm, and was to be rightfully punished. Now Beartooth would be given his opportunity to be peoples’ favourite. Although only endowed with normal hunters abilities Guy Beartooth was wily and clever. He would gain the title easily.

  Malkrin wished Jadde had never cursed him with highsense gifts and worried how Cabryce would fend of Beartooth in his absence.

  He lurched away from the desperate memory as Bredon the Fox shouted with all the authority his voice could muster.

  ‘ . . . And now show Jadde’s verdict.’

  The ancient elder feebly raised the staff of justice and pointed it at the Council. Malkrin watched the golden runes chiselled beneath the altar plinth begin to glow with a bright aura. He envisaged the fireflies within buzzing frantically. His time with the Seconchane was coming to an end.

  ‘Now vote wise men of Brenna,’ Bredon commanded.

  Malkrin’s highsense read a collective expectation in the priesthood lining the hall sides in their ornate seats. The keeps priestly population looked suitably pious and sombre and at the same time expectant. The Brenna viewed proceedings with equal interest from the intricately carved gallery above the ordinary people. Tribe’s folk sat behind Malkrin on crude benches, he heard the rustle of their rough clothing and intakes of breath loaded with sorrow. Malkrin felt weighed down with their resignation as they awaited the verdict.

  The Council of twelve each raised a palm upward, responding in the age old custom. ‘We decide according to the ancient lore,’ they bellowed in unison. A quiver in their old vocal chords resounded in the cold stone hall. Their faces were resolute before the all seeing altar of Jadde. They had deliberated on the ov
erpowering evidence presented to them, reached a decision and would now seek conformation from Jadde’s all-seeing presence. Their stony faces underlined their vast age and apparent wisdom. Malkrin just saw their flabby flesh enriched by the crippling taxes they leavened on the people. With a jangle of ritual adornments and rustle of embossed leather cloaks each took two unsteady steps forward. The Council, as one, reached under their red satin cloaks revealing polished scabbards containing ceremonial swords. Each Council member had kept their time scarred sword carefully packed in the finest scabbards, ready to administer justice when required. Passed down from their fathers and their fathers, fathers before them they were a badge of authority for the Brenna.

  A discordant hiss sliced the charged atmosphere as they drew their jewel encrusted symbols with a firm clasp on the hilts. Holding the gleaming relics vertically in front of their bearded faces they chanted the names magically endowed to each sword.

  ‘Act justly Onkred,’ uttered Councillor Boele the Bear to his blade.

  Another Councillor in an equally grim tone said ‘Nagell – let truth prevail.’

  ‘Let justice be done.’

  ‘Act well Ethered.’

  ‘Serve Jadde’s justice, Nothrall.’

  Just get on with it, Malkrin clenched his teeth impatiently.

  The Council completed various incantations to a twisted justice.

  Malkrin no longer believed in Brenna justness, he now knew well their interpretation of Jadde’s’ ancient code. But Jadde and her altar had the last say.

  She was about to decide.

  The Council had no sway over what the altar would decree. Malkrin awaited her decision defiantly, feeling fire seething behind his eyes. Outwardly he showed no emotion, but under his warm furs he broke into a cold sweat. This was the moment he had seen coming for many seasons, it approached him like a mountain lion finally cornering its prey.

  Together the Council took two steps toward Jadde’s ancient stone. Its finely crafted lines contrasted the plinths chipped edges, a testament to many lifetimes of verdicts. He noticed the swords were lightly held by each Councillor to allow Jadde to direct them. It looked like the slightest contact with stone would send the weapons ringing from the ancient hands. The decrepit Council raised the swords above their heads. As one they flashed the swords downward with the coordination of carefully rehearsed dancers. They released their grip on the hilts a moment before the iron smashed into the stone plinth. Now the owners were mere passengers to the act, having charged the magic endowed weapons to enact justice. The released swords were now guided by Jadde’s ancient charm. A fraction before hitting the marble each sword angled to the horizontal to act out her judgement.