Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary

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Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary Page 5

by Clive Ousley


  Innocent – these were the ornate blades left magically hovering above the altar.

  Guilty – a collection of shining blades somehow gripping the altars marble plinth.

  The magic of Jadde’s justice had been revealed yet again.

  Gasps rose from the seated audience of tribe folk. They had witnessed the rare spectacle described by the elders and priests and seen only four times before in living memory. The Brenna guards either side of Malkrin stood immobile and stony faced before the ancient magic, but their eyes spoke their awe. Malkrin stole a glance at his accuser. Guy Beartooth stood with a triumphant look in his eyes.

  He may never see Cabryce and his friends again. If his parents had still been alive they would have been mortified with shame. He was glad that Jadde now sheltered them from their son’s downfall. Guy would now be favoured and his succession to the people’s hero would surely be approved.

  Bredon the Fox cleared his throat, bringing Malkrin’s numbed mind back from the bitter thoughts. In an unsteady voice the Fox warbled, ‘two show innocence, six proclaim guilt – Jadde’s justice is done.

  He stared at Malkrin and shouted. ‘Malkrin Owlear is guilty.’

  A growl rose from behind Malkrin; his highsense heard Nardin snarl through gritted teeth. ‘Some justice, the divine stone has judged without pity.’

  He stabbed a thought back, quiet you idiot, knowing Nardin had no highsense to hear him.

  The Fox’s eyes fastened on Nardin. ‘Still your tongue Nardin Fleetfoot’, he hissed, ‘lest you suffer a similar fate.’ His words were as cold as the verdict.

  The swords showing innocence hovered for a moment longer then clattered onto the altar. Their owners formed a processional line and reverently retrieved the symbols of Jadde’s justice. They returned the swords to their scabbards with a mere rustle of leather. Then the old men returned to their stone seats as if controlled by a single mind.

  The whole hall was hushed as the gathered Seconchane people waited for the final summing up.

  The Fox pointed the court staff at Malkrin, the runes embedded within now glowed a fierce blue.

  Malkrin again felt that strange tingle from Jadde’s altar. His resurgent highsense, now finely tuned, detected a shaft of magic connecting the glowing staff to the altar.

  ‘According to Jadde’s justice I now sentence the once high-person and favoured one Malkrin Owlear.’ The Fox’s voice croaked in the charged silence, echoing around the cold stone hall.

  Malkrin’s heart pounded even harder as The Fox began to intone the sentence ritual.

  ‘You will be banished from this land and will roam the wilderness to find your lost abilities. Should you not retrieve them, then in death your spirit will not find its way back through the deadlands.’ The Fox’s stony eyes locked onto Malkrin’s. ‘You have forfeited the right of partnership with any Seconchane woman and surrendered your safety in our valleys. Should you regain your highsense you will be retested before being permitted entry through the stockade. For concealing your highsense loss; and thereby causing an unnecessary death you are shamed before your deceased parents, your wife and those companions you have hunted alongside. Therefore the retest will not be allowed for at least four seasons.

  Gasps sounded from the folk behind him.

  The Fox’s voice soared above the disbelief. ‘You will be led from Cyprusnia forthwith. May Jadde show mercy on you, for you will need her aid in the deadlands.’

  Malkrin’s mouth felt as dry as old leather. He just stared as he calmed his heart which felt as if it would burst.

  He heard Cabryce from the front of the peoples benches scream.

  ‘NO. The verdict is unjust. NO, NO.’

  A rumble of incredulity rose from the gathering behind Malkrin. A retest had never before been refused until a certain period had elapsed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  How could it have come to this? Nardin Fleetfoot thought as he stood surveying the Brenna court as if in a dream. He stared at Malkrin’s shackled legs as his friend was led away by the Brenna guards. Malkrin was the peoples’ favourite; a hero who was always willing to help any in need. He was a master at hunting deer and boar. He could stalk, run down prey then kill with a single arrow or spear then even give his meat share away to aid deserving folk in plight. He would even help out harvesting their crops in summer, asking nothing in return. Nardin knew that his friend would have been just as benevolent without his and Cabryce’s generous allowance from the Brenna.

  Wide eyed he watched as Malkrin was led to the cells beneath the Great Hall. He would be given a meal tomorrow before being escorted beyond the border. There he would be left to wander the track into the wild-lands. It was the only route out of the high valleys of Cyprusnia and led away from their mountain-locked lands to Wolf country with its lawless brigands and nameless hazards.

  How could it have come to this?

  Nardin ran through memories like a storyteller telling a magical tale to earn a meal. Images of Malkrin as a boy flowed before him. He used this remembrance as an emotional shield against the injustice he had just witnessed. It was the same kind of memory pattern that would come to him unbidden at an old friend’s funeral.

  Young Malkrin had wielded a wooden sword given to him by his uncle. Then his highsense was recognised. In Malkrin’s fourteenth summer the toy had been replaced at the ceremony of Orion by the sword named Palerin. The weapon had been blessed long ago by the priesthood in a secret initiation behind their deep walls, perhaps in the hidden void Malkrin had discovered. It was one of the priesthood’s secrets that Nardin was determined to find out about. If Jadde had visited the priesthood during the ceremony perhaps he could find a clue as to how to summon her himself – to aid Malkrin and the people. It was reputed that the ceremony charged enchanted swords such as Palerin to seek out and kill the wolf-hooded bandits who occasionally raided Cyprusnia.

  Palerin had been taken from Malkrin when he was arrested. But the sword was now in Nardin’s home. He had smuggled it from the priest’s armoury. The holy men would not think to check, an empowered sword had never before disappeared.

  He had yet to be challenged when he wandered the keep enamoured with false admiration. All he had to do was wear the same old baggy smock that he wore when smuggling out manuscripts to read at home under candlelight. It had been that easy, with his access to the scriptures. It was vital he reunite Malkrin with Palerin to give his friend a chance of survival out there in the wilderness.

  It had been almost two years since Nardin had integrated himself with the priest-scholars. At first they had been suspicious of him and demanded he undergo an interview to assess his suitability and ability to learn. The Abbot had grilled him for two hours but Nardin had been sufficiently prepared for an interrogation and had passed all the tests the priesthood could devise. They had given him a young novice priest called Heln Hollyberry to show him the basics of lettering. The youngster had sneered when beginning the first lesson. Again Nardin was prepared, knowing of Hollyberry’s alliance with the upstart Guy Beartooth.

  ‘Don’t think you can learn a highsense from the scriptures, ignorant fool.’

  ‘I never expected the holy word to include instructions on any such honoured talent Sire,’ he had responded.

  Hollyberry had expected Nardin’s ignorant and fawning reverence, he had frowned, forced to reassess his student. So without acknowledging his pupil he had begun chanting the first lesson to himself. Nardin realised Hollyberry thought it would all be too much for Nardin and he would give up. He concentrated hard as Hollyberry continued intoning, ignoring his queries. Eventually Nardin placed his hand over the text forcing Hollyberry to answer. When he’d repeated this three more times things settled down to a proper teacher-pupil relationship. Hollyberry answered all Nardin’s questions with a new respect in his eyes. During that first evening Nardin picked up the basics of vowels and consonants. The next evening Nardin had progressed to recognising simple words, the following evening, simpl
e sentences. Within a month Hollyberry the novice had been replaced by a senior priest.

  Sire Steth Harefoot was initially suspicious after talking to Hollyberry and disbelieving his report of Nardin’s intelligence. But Nardin had soon smoothed his distrust with quick ability and respect for the scriptures. Then Sire Harefoot began in earnest to teach Nardin the intricacies that made up the scriptures.

  The first known script had been written by the ancient High of Priests Berwin Boswater about the Goddess Jadde and her business with the Seconchane. Nardin read aloud to the priest, running his hesitant finger along the ancient words.

  ‘The sorceress Jadde’s expulsion . . . of the warlike Archgry . . . from the lands of Cyprusnia . . . sig . . . signified the end of the great slaughter . . . started four generations before by ancient warlocks. She had come to Cyprusnia from . . . the back of a full moon as it slid down the . . . heavens toward the mountains. The roar and flaming brightness of her coming put great fear into the Seconchane, for they feared the . . . Archgry hordes had forged a mighty weapon to destroy them. But at that time of the tribes’ greatest need, the sorceress, creator of the . . . Brightwater, Highnirvana and Seconchane tribes had strolled amongst the doomed Seconchane . . . and caused them to rise up in one final battle to defeat the dark invaders.’

  Then as the strength of the words filled his mind Nardin had become less hesitant, a great power was revealed to him. He had removed his finger from the page and sat immersed as he read the mighty words to Sire Steth.

  ‘Then she settled the surviving people and rebuilt their homes. She looked and saw where they fell short. For the evil crimes of avarice, theft, murder, adultery and deceit threatened to engulf the moralities of the tribe. The Seconchane needed firm justice, so she called into being the Great Hall. Within it she created her Altar of Justice. The great Goddess endowed it with her divine power to judge crimes and deliver just decisions.

  It was told that she had caused the pink and blue veins in the marble to turn to pure gold. The altar is an eternal sign of her power to convert the unconvertible. The scripture she engraved on the altar sides reveal her wondrous sermon of truth, justice and wisdom.

  Here is how she did this.

  Jadde raised arms clothed in shimmering fabric. Lightning came from her staff and caused the stone to stretch, and then open to receive her magic. Golden light erupted from the staff and the marble veins split to receive the gold tracery and then settled back onto the mighty base. Again her lightning hissed, enshrouding the altar as a mother would her infant. She ran her staff along the altar side to add noble scriptures to the base with magical fire. Amber smoke rose from the fissures in the stone, and behold, her rules were embedded in precious gold for all to see.

  The mighty words of her binding laws shone with enchantment and filled the air with righteousness. She then caused her staff of power to fly once over the stone and as it did so she muttered an incantation to seal her magic into the altar. Then she turned, her robes swirling about her, and strode from the echoing hall. She looked neither back, to the left nor to the right but ahead, out into the black night.

  Never to be seen again.’

  Nardin stared wide eyed at his tutor. ‘Who were the Brightwater and Highnirvana tribes?’ He asked Sire Steth.

  ‘We believe they were tribes that withered to extinction in the deadlands. It is but one of the scriptures mysteries, young scholar.’

  Nardin was hooked. He marvelled at the power of the Goddess’s magic and wondered what other mysteries further study would reveal, and he dared to hope – answered.

  Before the first winter was through Nardin and Sire Steth had formed a close bond forged in mutual love of the ancient words. The candles had burnt low again one evening when Sire Steth turned to Nardin with growing respect. ‘Commoner Nardin you have a good eye for learning. I believe you now when you proclaim your love for Jadde’s scriptures.’

  Nardin had grinned, the priest’s eyes had shown sincerity, and he really did enjoy learning. ‘Of course Sire, knowledge is what I crave – knowledge of the scriptures bound in my love of the great Goddess.’

  ‘You are a competent and keen pupil, how the High of Priests could have been suspicious of you I do not know.’

  ‘I am glad of your support Sire.’

  ‘Do not address me as Sire again, a simple Steth will suffice.’

  ‘Thank you Steth.’

  ‘I had been commanded to report on your progress to the High of Priests after every lesson. Another priest checks your transcriptions. I think I will recommend ceasing surveillance. You are too willing, and too useful for the priesthood to continue being suspicious.’ He sighed, ‘if only you had been born to serve us and not just to hunt and farm, you could have risen to high rank in time.’

  ‘It is my life Steth. I must provide for my wife and children. But I do what I can to learn and elevate myself whenever possible.’

  ‘High ideals young friend – I admire you.’

  And now back in Jadde’s hall Nardin was just relieved that only Malkrin had a highsense that could read his thoughts as he watched his friend led away. It had all been going so well – until Malkrin’s arrest. Nardin wondered whether he would ever see his friend again.

  Malkrin felt the sorrow of his friends, the triumph of his few enemies, the indifference of the priesthood and the satisfaction of the Brenna. The warped translation of Jadde’s laws was once again completed.

  ‘Open the Gates of Justice,’ Bredon the Fox boomed the ceremonial words to end the trial. Malkrin was led to barred iron doors by the two guards that had stood either side of him during the trial. A Brenna guard swung the doors open. Once out of sight of the people in the hall the two guards pushed him down the stone steps to his cell. Malkrin’s manacles and chains rattled in a demons accompaniment as he tottered down the damp steps lit by flaming torches. The finality of the heavy cell door slamming cut any lingering murmuring in his highsense.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Malkrin felt the cold wind stinging his raw ankles where the shackles had rubbed. With a limp he trudged along an animal path meandering along the only route from the mountainous valleys of Cyprusnia. The frontier sentry posts and the palisade guarding the fertile valleys were over two days march behind him. Before him stretched the massive cleft called Darent Pass which wandered between rain-lashed mountain ridges. The wind channelled along this wide crevice causing him to lean into it to make headway. Coarse switch-grass amongst the moss covered rocks blew horizontally as he continued to stumble along the narrow pass. The path led in a day’s travel to the unknown lands and nameless dangers.

  He’d been deposited two days ago by Brenna warriors commanded by the priest Sire Helm Rantiss. They’d struck the fetters from his wrists and ankles with a hammer against the nearest rock, jarring his limbs. The young priest had laughed at the pain caused as the circulation returned to Malkrin’s hands and feet.

  ‘On your way outcast, and may your lowsense guard you.’ He’d laughed at his insult, normally only spoken to murderers and rapists. It was obvious the priest never expected to see him again.

  ‘I’ll be back for you Rantiss,’ Malkrin had rasped between gritted teeth. He turned his back on his antagonist, picked up his meagre pack and limped off.

  They’d thrown him a battered leather backpack and an old goatskin coat he’d used to cover a leak in his and Cabryce’s cottage roof. His baggy leggings were bound around his ankles with leather thongs; he had been allowed to keep his stout footwear. At least I’ll keep fairly dry, he thought as he trudged further from all he’d known. Someone had managed to smuggle some cheese, bread, oatcake and a sharp flint into his pack along with a leather water container and a fur for sleeping on.

  Initially he had felt relieved to put distance between himself and Priest Rantiss lest he received a spear in the back. He knew they would probably hide out in rocks near the track, to stop him doubling back. But Malkrin had no intention of returning – for now. In spite of his
predicament a fierce curiosity had ignited in him. If he was going to starve out here, he was determined to try to find out what he could of this land first.

  The tall mountains surrounding Cyprusnia towered behind, to the sides, and above him. The tallest still showing a topping of winter snow, reminding him of the freezing winter they had all endured. Drizzle started as he stumbled through shingle on the floor of the pass. The surface beneath him became slippery and he was forced to concentrate on each step. He paused to refill his water container from a trickling mountain stream. The clear water revived him and he walked at a steady rate.

  He had come this far only once before when chasing a band of wolf-pelted bandits who had attacked the palisade barrier shielding Cyprusnia. He remembered the cave where they had cornered one of the bandits. The man had turned to fight, to give his companions a chance to escape. The wolf-pelt man’s darting spear had ripped into Kalvin Beaverfoot’s shoulder. Malkrin had become incensed, his face red with berserk power. He had fought the bandit alone and had prevailed. Now, he looked to the distant ridge where the bandit’s companions had turned for a moment. He remembered their shouts of anger knowing their comrade had just died.

  Malkrin had avenged his wounded comrade. He raised Palerin aloft in a victory salute. Later, calm again, he had regretted his vengeful temper. It had been wrong to relieve the man of his life, it would have been better to bind the bandit’s wrists and question him about his life and brethren. The knowledge would have been useful, and the man could then have been released. But the Brenna’s code decreed all bandits must be instantly sent to Jadde and Malkrin had obeyed without thought. They had left the corpse to the birds.

 

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