Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary

by Clive Ousley

  ‘Hold your breath Bettry. Now.’

  Cabryce summoned her highsense and took in a massive breath, willing her lungs to hold for longer than her forty-five breath record.

  She leapt with Bettry held firmly in her arms – into the unknown.

  The water was icy and threatened to squeeze the air from her expanded lungs. The current threatened to rip Bettry from her grasp but Cabryce held on for all she was worth. The water sucked at her then swirled them around and around. They were swept along like leaves in a whirlpool, making her dizzy. She struck her shoulder on a solid object and pain lanced down her arm loosening her grip on the old lady. Cabryce was whirled down and down still holding Bettry. The old lady was squirming and panicking in Cabryce’s grip but she held Bettry with superhuman strength. Their legs and the old ladies arms were thrown in all directions by the swirling torrent like a couple of shaken rag-dolls.

  Then Bettry was gone, ripped from Cabryce’s arms by a jagged impact.

  Bubbles seemed to be dancing all around her. It felt as if she was trapped in a cauldron that was simultaneously boiling and freezing. Cabryce flailed legs and arms to find the surface – but to no avail.

  It seemed to go on forever, but eventually she glimpsed a light far below. She was dropping like a cormorant diving through water to catch a fish. The light grew closer, and then a dark rugged shape rose up in the swirling haze to meet her. She struck it hard. Bubbles popped in her head and whirling away in dizzy redness. To be extinguished by the icy flood of oblivion.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nardin stood under the thatch overhang opposite Cabryce and Malkrin’s dwelling. He dared not move a muscle as the Brenna guards dragged Cabryce struggling from her home. He sifted the possibilities in his head as he watched. In a second he had the answer – the Brenna were fearful that she would leave Cyprusnia to follow her husband. So they were abducting their only surviving citizen with a highsense talent to force her into accepting a remarriage. He could just imagine the proclamation in the open area in the middle of Edentown. A Brenna spokesman would stand there reading from an elaborately written parchment.

  ‘On the orders of Bredon the Fox.

  High-lady Cabryce Otterpaw has been offered help and support by the honoured Council of Elders. She is in consultation with them regarding finding a new husband from amongst the most talented of citizens of Cyprusnia. When her audience with the council is complete she will be entertained lavishly. Shortly the high-lady will be back to help you all in our service to the great Goddess Jadde.’

  He noticed Cabryce held her head high, glaring at the Brenna horsemen in contempt. He was proud of her, but without his bow or spear he seethed helplessly. It would be futile though to intervene; he would have been arrested as well, or worse, run through with a bronze tipped lance. In frustration Nardin watched as the Brenna pushed Cabryce up the cobbled street and out of sight.

  They had left one guard behind, who scanned his surroundings as if searching for more unfortunates to arrest. After an interminable time the guard strode to the side of Cabryce’s dwelling to check the side passage. Nardin steeled himself to dash from cover and run. Then as his legs tensed, he stopped, as if tied to the spot. A grinding creaking sound arose from the quiet night and a pony pulling a cart came round the corner led by two Brenna. The guard stopped them and the three conversed for a while. Nardin could just hear the whispered conversation between his own panting breaths. The guard was embellishing his account of the arrest and boasting of stabbing an attacker. Then the cart-men disappeared inside the dwelling and Nardin felt a chill run up his spine as they emerged with a heavy bundle and heaved it into the cart. An arm flopped over the open rear and the men heaved the corpse further into the cart then threw straw over it. One smacking the pony’s rump and they drove the cart in the same direction as Cabryce had been herded.

  What had happened? Scenarios buzzed through his head. He discounted them all knowing he had to get home to Rose his wife before he was discovered missing and implicated in the murder or execution or poisoning or. . . He finally got a grip on his frenzied thoughts and threw a dog chewed bone into the opposite side passage, distracting the guard so he could run silently into the night.

  The arrest and the sight of the body repeated over and over in his head and would not let up. Had it been Malkrin’s? No he would have slain all the Brenna with Palerin, Nardin was convinced of that. The images continued to return even when he lay next to Rose in the warm bear-fur covered bed. He lay awake too wrought-up to sleep and only relaxed when he resolved to quiz Cabryce’s neighbours.

  The next day he contributed little to the hunt, lagging behind the others, fumbling snares and accidentally activating trip wires. He took his share of the game from his disgruntled companions and sneaked back to town. Then he traded a pheasant for some oat cakes, and paid two rabbits as tax to the Brenna collector. Rose snatched the meagre food from him and silently stomped off to prepare it.

  Later he arrived home from his enquiries in Cabryce’s street. No one knew why she had been arrested although the whole town was buzzing with rumours. It was with a heavy heart he returned to the Priests Keep that evening. The only saving grace – no Brenna had come to arrest him or anyone else.

  He wandered through the scriptorium feeling lost and thinking of the terrible events leading to the downfall of his friends. He found himself a new script to study whilst waiting for Sire Steth to find him. Nardin forced a cold smile; Sire Steth normally dozed when he Nardin chanted text in his best boring tone. Then when the old man couldn’t be stirred he would sneak off to explore hidden corners of the library, drawn to the dusty volumes untouched for decades. The routine had gone on for months, but tonight would be different. Nardin concentrated as best he could; learning was the only way he could obliterate the anxiety of watching Cabryce hauled away. He had decided to risk quizzing Sire Steth when he arrived to see if he could be trapped into disclosing the priesthood’s knowledge of the event.

  Luckily the new script was interesting. An old dissertation on individual gods and how each one served the Seconchane and methods to appease each with offerings should they be angered. The gifts to the gods were given by the ordinary people to the priests, who incanted the correct appeasement in return.

  Nardin couldn’t concentrate so let his mind follow its own path while he waited. In recent times most of the offerings had been abandoned as they were deemed a waste of food. The Brenna had recently gone so far as to declare that offerings made little difference to any outcome. Apparently the Brenna still offered bountiful gifts in private, what they received in return no one knew. Obviously why the priests were fat and prosperous, Nardin thought contemptuously. He looked forward to the time he could prove or disprove the ordinary people’s suspicions.

  He kept an eye on the clock which ticked on the wall. A month before he had watched bemused as Sire Steth wound it with a key. Every click of the mechanism had increased his inquisitiveness until he had exploded with curiosity.

  ‘What is the purpose of that device Sire,’ he had enquired? Then spent the rest of the evening engrossed, listening to an explanation on how time was measured. He learnt in wonder how the days were divided into units and sub-units called hours, minutes and seconds; all shown on the clock face. It was a device from better times, he had stayed awake at home that night recapping the revelations – and had again been useless in the hunt the next day. But he’d learnt another new concept, and the knowledge had thrilled him.

  At last Sire Steth shuffled into the room. All Nardin’s urgent questions escaped his mouth in a rush.

  ‘Let me sit and think about what you say,’ Steth sat down as if his legs had given way. Despite his apparent age his analytical mind ticked through the information as precisely as his accurate clock. He sought more information and Nardin answered his questions as truthfully as he could without giving away his real motivations. Steth’s curiosity was sharp beyond the restrictions imposed by the priesthood. Nardin knew
he was sympathetic as well as curious. Eventually he stopped stroking his beard and looked at Nardin.

  ‘I will enquire about any secretive goings on within the Brenna. I have heard rumours they are concerned over something, but my brothers have been unable to discover the cause. Maybe this is their first overt move to investigate.’

  ‘I would appreciate any information you feel able to divulge Sire.’

  ‘I will do my best young Apprentice.’

  Apprentice was the old man’s affectionate label he had allocated Nardin. It was always spoken with fondness and Nardin believed the priest now viewed him as his adoptive son.

  ‘Times are changing,’ the elderly priest mused. Then his head snapped up and out of his reverie. ‘How are you progressing with the evening vespers chants, Apprentice Nardin? You must know each one before you can even be considered a Lector in the priesthood. You remember me stating their importance?’

  ‘Yes Sire I do. Test me and I will prove my progress.’

  Two days passed and Sire Steth had met a silence more complete than was even normal in the priesthood. He had drawn Nardin into a quiet corner of the scriptorium where they had a good view of all the doors.

  ‘Apprentice, I have not dared press the matter further lest suspicions are aroused, and someone with hidden allegiance to the Brenna reports me.’

  ‘I am grateful that you have done all you can for me and for Cabryce, Sire.’

  Nardin forced the anxious memories away and crept into the library beyond the arch from the scriptorium. He knew the place well by now, he’d examined about half of the volumes. They ranged from dull lists drawn up by ancient accountants to covenants signed by rich Brenna benefiting the priesthood. A whole shelf was devoted to volumes of rules and regulations governing the Seconchane and another shelf on how to grow and care for a variety of crops, shrubs and fruit trees. He’d quickly scanned each volume to ensure the contents were the same as each leather bound cover specified.

  He picked up a volume entitled Waterwheels and How to Harness Water Energy when the scriptorium doors opened with more than the usual subdued creak. A voice echoed loudly splitting the silence asunder.

  ‘Priest Harefoot where is your trainee?’

  ‘I . . . I believe him to be in the library Sire Moleskin.’

  ‘The Abbot has requested his presence immediately.’

  Nardin sat quickly at the table and opened the book, put his finger unnecessarily to the text and muttered the words without taking them in. His heart pounded, the dozing priest knew he was in here all along. The other more commanding voice meant trouble.

  A rustle of gowns approached. The scrape of a sword being removed from a scabbard sounded deafening. Nardin had never been introduced to Sire Moleskin, but had seen him in the cloisters walking slowly and silently pretending to be deep in contemplation. But Nardin had seen his eyes flicking alertly around. They were the eyes of a predator, brutal, alert to danger and ready to afflict a wolf’s justice on weak prey.

  Nardin felt Moleskin’s presence behind him and carried on running his finger across the page confidently.

  ‘Leave your work Nardin of Seconchane and follow me.’

  He feigned a jump of surprise and rose from the chair, noticing another priest behind Moleskin as he did so. This one was not at all priestly with an iron sword extended ready to strike. He was an enforcer; one that ensured the people paid their taxes. No one knew their names, the Enforcers did not want to be identified so were usually given derogatory nicknames which cheered the people when they handed over their dues. Nardin recognised this one who had a superior and arrogant manner and was known as Swollenhead.

  ‘The Abbott wishes to speak with you,’ Moleskin demanded.

  ‘I am about to leave for my home and bed Sire.’

  ‘He will speak with you now.’ The enforcer moved closer and raised the sword threateningly.

  Having run out of excuses Nardin muttered, ‘very well,’ and followed Moleskin from the room with the enforcer falling in behind lest he tried to run.

  Sire Steth stood in the scriptorium doorway, his face taut and mouth thin.

  Nardin sought to put him at ease. ‘I will see you as usual tomorrow Sire.’

  With the enforcer prodding Nardin from behind the three walked numerous dark passages which were unknown to Nardin. The never ending walls were all lit by occasional fish-oil lamps. Nardin rehearsed his story; after all he did not know the reason for Cabryce’s arrest. He really needed to go home to Rose and his children. For the first time he began to regret his decision to educate himself for the benefit of the people.

  Nardin expected Moleskin to knock respectfully on the Abbott’s door and wait for permission before entering. But he just thrust the door open and Swollenhead pushed Nardin in.

  The Abbott sat looking uncomfortable behind his ornate desk, beside him stood Sire Helm Rantiss trying hard not to gloat but failing.

  ‘Nardin Fleetfoot you seek entry into the priesthood as a lector and according to your mentor you are a willing and intelligent pupil. But a matter has arisen – there are strangers infiltrating our good lands.

  ‘Ask him,’ hissed Rantiss impatiently to the Abbott.

  The Abbott hesitated and a resigned look filled his face.

  ‘Cabryce Owlear has always been dear to you has she not?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nardin guessed where this was going but feigned a note of confusion.

  ‘Well she . . . err . . . was escorted to Erich Gamlyn’s homestead to discuss her future pairing options.’

  ‘Pairing options?’ Nardin felt genuinely confused.

  ‘Yes, I mean . . . to discuss the prospects of her future betrothal to a suitable husband – one who shows a developed highsense.’

  Taken forcibly more like, Nardin thought, he kept his face baffled.

  ‘Do you know of any strangers in our lands? She was found conferring with a lowly character when the Brenna arrived to offer her Erich Gamlyn’s invitation?’

  ‘Stranger?’ Nardin was prepared for the obvious question but continued to feign stupidity. It was a dangerous situation and the Abbott appeared as much a pawn in it as him. He kept dagger sharp relief hidden in the depths of his thoughts – at least the body had not been Malkrin’s. ‘I know nothing of a stranger and knowing Cabryce she would not invite a stranger into her home. He must have forced his way in.’

  ‘For what reason would he do that?’ The Abbott glanced at Rantiss as if to say, I told you he knows nothing.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Rantiss leaned over the desk and interrupted menacingly, ‘you conspire with her and her banished husband to put the security of the Seconchane at risk.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ And with minor reservations Nardin really did not know. ‘I wish to serve the priesthood by learning to be a scholar and worship Jadde with you.’

  Rantiss emitted a scoffing sound, and another came from behind him.

  The Abbott said in a firm voice, ‘I told you he knows nothing, he is merely a lector and learner and means no ill to the Seconchane.’

  Moleskin walked to the desk and leaned close into Nardin’s face. ‘Then why would she make a scene and struggle when we arrived to invite her.’

  That was typical Cabryce; she would not have given in to the Brenna lightly, Nardin thought, but kept his voice even.

  ‘I know Cabryce; she would only have the Seconchane’s interest at heart.’ At the same time he thought, Malkrin’s and the ordinary folks interests anyway.

  ‘She could not have, or she would not have sought the company of a fugitive. There are dangerous scavengers beyond our safe and prosperous lands. As you know they seek to take our food, children and freedom from us. I ask the question again: what business would the stranger have had with Cabryce Owlear?’

  Nardin held Moleskin’s eyes defiantly, and answered truthfully, ‘I really do not know.’

  Moleskin grabbed Nardin’s tunic. ‘And if I told you she wo
uld have been tried for treason and the penalty would have been death, what will you say then?’

  Would have been? The words hit Nardin with the force of a spear thrust through the heart. What had they done to her? He just stood before his inquisitor open mouthed and felt a demoralising dismay of a kind he had never felt in his life before.

  ‘I really do not know,’ he repeated again and again.

  Moleskin hauled on his tunic and stared into his eyes. Nardin held his breath to avoid the rancid sweat smell of Moleskin’s face.

  ‘You don’t know. Now you’ll never know.’ A flicker of a psychopath’s lust crossed Moleskin’s eyes. ‘You’ll never know because she’s dead. Cabryce Otterpaw drowned while trying to escape.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The band of Wolf men staggered across the bridge. Before Malkrin’s dismayed eyes their faces hung with exhaustion. They stared fixedly ahead at nothing, as if bewitched by an evil god. The men shuffled along as if carrying a dead weight – the encumbrance of failure. But also it was a weight of horror, for in their midst they pulled along a nameless thing drawn from the memory of ancestors. Malkrin tore his eyes from the creature to the warriors. At the head of the column a Wolf warrior held aloft a broken spear. The symbolic shaft appeared to signify defeat, but held aloft with grim dignity. Two others limped while supporting each other. Another had lost his headdress; it had been replaced with a dirty dressing.

  A vast crowd, almost the whole population of the Brightwater villages lined the road from the bridge. But this time the atmosphere was sombre as the Wolf men trudged by. As the band came level to the crowd the people gasped with fear at the constrained creature that they dared not name aloud. It was not only dark in appearance but also in temperament. Its snarling and hissing chilled every watcher to his or her very soul.

  Malkrin watched from the library window. Then as the caged horror went past below the Light Bridge, he rushed down the spiral stairs, out of the hollow bridge abutment. He ran fast through the silent crowds and jumped up a grassy hillock above the crowd for a better view. Chained and trapped within a sapling lashed cage was the Wolf men’s captive. It was as if a demon from the heat of a cursed fire had been beguiled by some powerful enchantment. The cage it occupied looked too weak to hold even a goat. Two poles jutted out from front and rear, these were held by Wolf warriors. Ropes stretched from within the cage to other warrior’s fists should the beast within break free. Malkrin noted every detail of the creature. Its muscular and barbed legs protruded through the bars. Malkrin thought that it walked upright as men would. But now trussed with thick ropes holding its arms firmly to its hideous chest it was immobile. The creature had a black shell forming its back; it looked as hard as metal armour. The shell projected over its head to form a protective helmet. Involuntarily imitating the whole crowd, Malkrin stared, hardly believing the captured horror was for real.