Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary

by Clive Ousley

  Sire Josiath announced, 'We will leave now to prepare Olaff for his search. He will leave Cyprusnia tonight.'

  Olaff reached over and gripped Nardin’s hand.

  'Good luck Nardin, I will find Malkrin, do not fear.'

  'Thank you Olaff, I am in your debt.'

  Olaff smiled, lowered his eyes and followed Sire Josiath from the room.

  Nardin turned expectantly to Sire Steth.

  'We will take a little refreshment, for what I am about to show you is the priesthoods greatest secret. Strangely, little used amongst my colleagues, even nowadays. For until recently it was considered against Jadde’s teachings to indulge and learn from such blasphemous ancient scripts. Consequently all of my brethren still shun this resource. I am the keeper of our library and all it contains, so I do visit its secret; but only very occasionally.’

  They drank a goblet of elderberry and cherry cordial. It was Steth’s favourite beverage, but Nardin only drank his to be polite. He found it too sweet, and after the evenings revelations he just wanted to wallow in the hidden secret . . . to help Malkrin and avenge Cabryce.

  Eventually Steth rose from his deep padded chair and gestured Nardin to follow. They entered the library after Steth had checked the passage either side was empty of snoopers.

  The long rows of leather bound scripts filled countless shelves and alleys stretching down to the far stone wall. There was not a vast amount for him still to read – he’d browsed them widely by now. Most were repetitions of older scripts, copied by priests in generations past to aid their pious dogma and to help them memorise the original texts. Nardin had discovered this when reading dedications on the first page of many. After awhile the words, ‘In honour of Jadde I do copy her majestic sermons’ meant it was just another badly transcribed copy. So he just returned it to the shelf and moved on to another volume. He knew probably the very last book he examined would contain the hidden knowledge that would help them all. But because he was not reading every word he may have missed something vital already, some small disclosure that could have added to another irrelevance to rebuild the location of Jadde. Maybe somewhere in this full room a line of text would reveal how to summon the great Goddess, and then he could ask her to regain justice for the people of Cyprusnia.

  As they pottered along Steth stroked a favourite volume here and there, and muttered as a distantly remembered author resurrected memories. Nardin contained his impatience and wondered which volume Steth would withdraw and which page would reveal the revelation.

  Suddenly Steth seemed to come to a decision and darted for the furthest corner. Nardin had already carefully examined the volumes in this secluded corner, surmising the darkest, furthest shelf would most likely contain controversial scripts hidden away from casual discovery. He had drawn a complete blank; someone had relocated the most illiterate of the pious ramblings here out of the way.

  Steth began looking at the back wall as if trying to remember something. He scratched his chin and muttered, oblivious to Nardin's presence. Then he groped along the heavy stone blocks of the far wall still mumbling. Nardin realised he was counting. Counting the number of blocks horizontally – and he had just counted the blocks vertically down from the high vaulted ceiling.

  Steth pushed on a chosen point and held Nardin back with his other arm. There was a click of some hidden mechanism and a section of wall swung free on a well balanced pivot.

  Nardin looked down and saw stone steps leading into midnight black – a black so dark it was like a huge pool of writing ink. He guessed this must be the vault that Malkrin had highsensed.

  'Good, good,’ Steth muttered and walked to the nearest oil lamp and held it before him as he walked down slowly but purposely, dispelling the liquid black.

  Nardin followed closely to keep in the lamplight, because outside its glow the narrow passage seemed to be contracting and pressing in on him. The air was unventilated, but not as stale as he expected. A shiny wooden rail ran along the wall. It had been carefully positioned to be the correct height for his arm. He guessed right away it was a hand support, although no other stairs in the town or the Priests Keep had such a thing. They reached the bottom of the steps and Steth paused. Nardin looked at the stone floor which was covered in a layer of dust like a peppering of grey snow. His footprints were plainly visible in the dust on each step. No one had been down here for years.

  Steth whispered, as if to compound Nardin's sense of mystery, 'when we go through this door something will happen. I don't want you to be alarmed for it is a magic that is quite normal down here.'

  Nardin nodded and looked at a wooden door set into a dull metal frame. It had once been coated in a transparent layer which now hung off it in strips. Flakes were lying on the ground mainly covered in dust, with some fresh flecks lying on top. The door itself had a small sheet of glass built into it at head height; but only the blackness of a tomb radiated through it. At waist level, a light grey metal handle was set into the door. It had no latch like doors he knew. He wondered how you unbarred it.

  'Are you ready?' Sire Seth asked.

  Nardin braced himself for the mysterious magic. Steth pushed on the handle and the door opened with a slight squeak of hinges.

  Steth took a step inside and the whole room lit up with the light of the sun.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Wolf sentries helped in two more muddy and dishevelled Sylve.

  ‘I named Dror,’ said the larger of the two men with a bloody slash disfiguring his chin. He held shaking hands across his chest and continued. ’We been hunting beyond the village and ran into wounded demon. We fought it hard before slaying it with spears.’ Dror stared straight ahead reliving the experience. ‘Then we so tired, rested, regained strength to return to home village. And we find destruction, then you.’

  ‘My name Aldred and I say these vile creatures are the spawn of evil Gods,’ said the other newcomer.

  Malkrin noted the muscular build of hunters and realised the effort it must have taken to prevail over the quarter-man. But at least it proved two men could prevail over one demon. Tabra handed her tribesmen food and a hot beverage that smelt of herbs. Soon the Sylve men began to look around acknowledging BerantWolf’s band.

  The conversation turned back to the quest.

  'We must travel at night to get past the demons,' Malkrin argued. 'We are too few to hope to prevail over them in daylight.'

  ‘We will stay here and rest till dark,' BerantWolf decided.

  ‘The woman and child cannot go with us, it is too dangerous,' Malkrin’s Wolf warrior adversary added.

  'Indeed they cannot TrathWolf,' BerantWolf acknowledged.

  At last Malkrin learnt the man's name and also that he had shown more compassion.

  'I stay here and look after Tabra and the boy,' Palreth stated, ‘it is still our village that we know and love.'

  Malkrin turned to the new Sylve arrivals, 'will you join us friends?'

  'I come along to avenge my people,' said Dror.

  'I Aldred stay to bury my people then look after my few brethren.'

  BerantWolf acknowledged the two Sylve hunters decisions. Then he shifted his planning to how to efficiently dispatch quarter-men. ‘We must make an accounting,’ he snarled in frustration.

  Malkrin summed up the problem, ‘so far it had taken a disproportionate amount of warriors and effort to overcome a single demon. If necessary, accurate bow-shots would be the safest option – we cannot afford to duel hand to hand.’

  'There is no honour in fighting at a distance,' BerantWolf snapped, spraying spittle.

  TrathWolf added, ‘all must sell his life dearly, if we can each dispatch a dozen quarter-men before we are slain then it may discourage them . . .’

  ‘. . . From entering further into our lands? No, we have little hope of that,’ Malkrin saw only unreasoned warrior’s frustration.

  Halle added despairingly, ’we need every man to return to Brightwater to fight later, at a place of our choo
sing.’

  'Why are we talking of engagement,' Eighth responded sharply, 'our mission is to assess the demons, not attempt to destroy a small number of them.'

  Malkrin added, 'if we attempt to deliberately engage them we will surely fail – we are only a handful. We need to keep to our original mission; evaluate them then return and prepare our peoples.’

  ‘Yes, we’re getting carried away on thoughts of vengeance, for which we’re ill equipped.’ Talgour agreed.

  BerantWolf scowled in internal argument; his inbred doctrine fought the need to plan for future survival of all their tribes. Malkrin could see the almost tangible battle as BerantWolf fought tradition, his face tense and reddened. TrathWolf looked on, his fingers running lightly up and down a dagger blade as he prepared to back his master’s decision. At last BerantWolf sighed and his frown eased. ‘Very well, we put warrior’s virtue aside. I will go with the greater necessity of survival over honour.’

  The whole room released a pent up breath.

  'We have another matter to think over,' announced, Palreth of Sylva. ‘You are only a half days march from our sister people, The Cembrie. They live as we do in harmony with the forests and streams. We must warn them of the approaching demons.'

  Malkrin hoped they were not too late to be warned.

  'We will detour there,' BerantWolf announced instantly to re-impose his authority.

  Palreth and the other Sylve nodded in hope.

  Malkrin's thoughts turned to weapons. 'My Sylva friends would you let me use one of your fallen comrades bows and a quiver of arrows? I have seen they are of superb quality.'

  'We would be honoured if you would avenge our people with our weapons,' Palreth offered. 'I give you Trisher's husband’s bow and quiver. He was master of our trees and joint Governor of Sylva with his Trisher wife.'

  'I thank you.’

  Palreth nodded then added, ‘also I will present you with a sacred dagger. It is of the sharpest metal, and has been preserved for only the direst of needs by generations of our people. Many suspect it once belonged to the ancients, even the warrior Goddess herself.'

  'I am greatly in your debt Palreth. Can I ask your Goddess’s name?'

  'She is Jadden the greatest of protectors. Until yesterday she had shielded us in her great hands.'

  Malkrin had guessed who the Goddess would be, Jadde was so mighty a Goddess all knew and worshipped her.

  The night was dark with the full moon hidden behind cloud when the band gathered to continue the reconnaissance. Dror would lead as a guide through his peoples’ lands. Then BerantWolf would follow with two Wolf warriors, followed by Halle and the two Brightwater men and the other Wolf men. Malkrin took station at the rear so he could use his highsense to detect any demons that may attack from behind.

  In the dark shadows a stream tinkled as if alive. They followed the rippling water for an hour strung out in line one behind the other. Dror took a right angled path into thick scented pine woodland and travelled a distinct route between trees and boulder strewn banks. The pines finally thinned and the oppressive night diminished. The band ran in silence. Occasionally an owl hooted and periodic rustles in the surrounding ferns suggested natures continual hunt to survive.

  BerantWolf signed a short rest. Malkrin did not relax but kept slightly apart from the group and faced backward to detect any developing demon assault.

  He had just eased his panting breath when from behind a cold blade was applied lightly to his throat. He knew who his assailant was – but crucially his highsense had flickered again at a crucial moment, failing to warn him once again.

  'Do you remember me Malkrin of Seconchane?' TrathWolf’s voice hissed in his ear.

  Malkrin’s mind raced. He'd never met a Wolf warrior until they'd appeared at Brightwater.

  His highsense flicked back on, filling his mind with information. It was as if it had lurked in the depths of his mind monitoring events all along.

  He had a hand on the hilt of the sharp Sylve dagger. It would be so easy to shove back into TrathWolf and try an upward thrust into his chest.

  'I saw you Seconchane, from a distance. My brother tried to draw your companions away by only wounding them. But you were possessed and you slaughtered him.'

  A memory arose of the Cyprusnian hunting patrol past the frontier that day long ago.

  'I remember now. Be assured I have always regretted the brave warrior’s death.'

  The image of the Wolf bandit emerged crystal clear in Malkrin’s memory. The damp cave returned to envelope him and the memory of the smell of sweat and blood and damp mould returned. 'But it was the way of our leaders to never negotiate with bandits. It was ingrained in us to kill intruders. So I obeyed.'

  ‘Wolf warriors always show mercy, unlike your kind. I am of a thought to treat you as you treated my brother.'

  Malkrin realised in that instant how empathy had been bred out of the Seconchane's dealings with the Wolf people. How a simple understanding would have allowed the Wolf tribe to continue their sacred journey through the lands of Cyprusnia. He deserved death and relaxed his grip on the dagger. Then a need to complete the journey and save his people invigorated him. He spoke quickly whilst steeling his legs to spring against the Wolf warrior.

  'I know now why the Wolf people travelled to our lands. I now understand you were not wishing to raid us, merely pass through. I am truly sorry for my people’s attitude, and my slaying of your brother. But it cannot be undone. We must put to one side the past and hope to change my people. But we must also put aside personal differences to conquer the demon curse that is descending on us.'

  He felt the pressure of the cold knife hesitate then the grip round his throat relaxed.

  'You begin to learn Seconchane, just keep out of my way. We will deal with the demons then perhaps I’ll let you return alive to your intolerant people.' He released Malkrin and faded silently into the night.

  Malkrin had never felt so ineffectual, and frustrated. More than ever he saw the wrong in killing the Wolf bandit. TrathWolf had just insured the memory of the slaughter of his brother would live with Malkrin forever. The Wolf warrior had good reason for his hatred. Malkrin resolved to somehow try to rectify the man's opinion of him and the ordinary Seconchane. He picked himself up and brushed leaf litter from his clothes. BerantWolf called for the band to continue. Soon the familiar panting and whispered curses of the men filled Malkrin’s returned highsense.

  Later, through the trees flickering lights appeared, and Dror indicated they were approaching the village of the Cembrie.

  A challenge rung from dense undergrowth and they stopped. Dror spoke with a hidden guard and a short debate ensued. Then Dror gestured them forward as a Celembrie guard ran to take the news of their arrival to their chieftain.

  Ten strange warriors appeared from behind nearby trees as if woodland spirits had previously rendered them invisible. They were dressed in hooded garments and breaches in a similar patchwork of green and brown. Weaponry adorned them as numerous as a Brenna woman’s jewels. Swords, spears and daggers were slung around their backs and in scabbards hanging from multiple belts. Malkrin realised the clothing was a superb way of choosing colour to blend with their surroundings similar to the effect the Skatheln had utilised. He made a mental note to recommend the alliance take on this idea.

  BerantWolf’s band walked with the ten Celembrie through the wood and toward flaming torchlight. Soon the dense trees thinned at the woodland edge to reveal low mounds. Each had a bright coloured token pinned to the head, following the same burial tradition as the Seconchane and Brightwater peoples. Malkrin counted twenty nine of them.

  The procession strode warily into a large woodland clearing where bonfires and torches fended off the night. Immediately Malkrin noticed a sharp smell, he now recognised the stink of demons. The quarter-men had paid these people a visit.

  They entered the clearing and squinted in the mellow flickering light. The flaring torches lit the Celembrie homes which Malkr
in noticed were entirely constructed of split pine logs with roofs of turf. Most had been slashed and shredded and people were repairing them under the torch-glow. Malkrin estimated the community was of at least two hundred residences all sturdily constructed. It was a much larger tribe than that of the Sylve.

  An imposing figure left a particularly ornate central dwelling and strode purposely to meet them.

  'Greetings friends. I am Thicheal leader of the Celembrie, and you are welcome.’ He paused, his face set into genuine grief. ‘I am deeply saddened by the destruction of our Sylve cousins. We will pray every sunset to Jadden and ask her to look after their spirits.’

  BerantWolf, Malkrin and the others nodded with downcast eyes.

  ‘You have also chosen a sad time to visit us here. We could have used your weapon arms this morning.'

  'The black demons?' Talgour questioned unnecessarily.

  The man nodded, 'I would normally offer you refreshment but I am informed you are on an urgent quest to observe the host of the fiends.'

  'We are,’ confirmed BerantWolf.

  ‘Then I will send with you two of my best warriors to bring me information. Then when you return we must all exchange plans on how to crush these hell creatures.'

  'We welcome your help.’ BerantWolf spoke with gratitude. ‘We had detoured to warn you of the approaching horde, but unfortunately no warning is necessary. We must leave now, but will talk on our return.’

  Well spoken, Malkrin thought, and ten minutes later his companions moved out with Dror and the two chosen Celembrie now leading.

  In a deeply shadowed gulley a tangled heap of black corpses lay; their carapace armour still black in death and blade fingers still razor sharp. Soon they had left the beleaguered Celembrie village behind and the pace quickened along a clear flat track. Malkrin had time to think about what he had just seen and realised no one had asked how the Celembrie had slain so many demons. He turned to Halle who was panting in a steady rhythm at his side and mentioned the omission. 'I don’t know how they did it, but they made a good accounting. How many demons did they kill?’’