Hazel

by Rita Stradling

  I stumbled and regained my footing, looking up to the great portal before the templum. In stark contrast to the templum’s ivory façade, the double portal was carved out of obsidian.

  As we crested the wide stairway, inhaling the musty scent of the cavernous templum, I considered whether or not I should follow the old woman’s instructions. She was a self-professed murderer—and she was telling me I should plead guilty to the Congregation. I knew those who pled guilty did not leave the Congregations’ doors—those who pled innocent almost never did, either.

  All too soon, we had passed through the portal, and the great bone arcamagyk sat central in the receiving hall. In my fifteen anni of life, I’d seen many arcamagyks, the jeweled boxes that held the artifacts of the magicians, but none were as beautiful as the arcamagyk of the Ivory Templum. The entire box was carved from one spear of southern-mammoth ivory. It spiraled upward, crested with diamonds.

  In its center, within a thick layer of glass, the jeweled crown of the head magician, Potestas, glittered.

  So many times I’d wished to be closer to it. It wasn’t the lavishness of the crown that attracted me, but the magic it possessed—or was said to.

  As the monks marched me past the familiar case, it struck me as strange for the first time. Why should we worship magic but condemn sorcerers and iconoclasts—those humans who are gifted or cursed by magic, respectively?

  I had many strange thoughts as our footsteps echoed around the cavernous templum. What had happened in those tunnels? Some power protected me and murdered my uncle, I was sure of it. Could it have been Judith?

  She’d never shown any sign of magic before that night. And Uncle Oscar had already killed her—was a sorceress more powerful than death? If it had been her, I could not believe her evil. It made me doubt so many things in that moment. The delicately carved walls around me—a sight I had stood in awe of so many times—lost their splendor.

  It was that moment that my childhood dreams died. My thoughts may have been heretic, but I could not believe the sorceress was evil, not after what my Uncle Oscar did. I wished that I possessed those powers, that I could blow the entire Ivory Templum away. If Nirsha or any of the other gods could read my heretic thoughts, I challenged them to strike me dead.

  Nothing happened. If I offended the gods, they gave no sign of it.

  We approached the great stone orb that hovered central in the Templum’s apse. A milky, wispy substance churned within the orb, circling around.

  The monks all turned to me. I reflected back in dozens of lidless black eyes. “Prostrate yourself,” they said in unison.

  I almost refused.

  I wanted to scream, “Damn you! Damn the gods and the Congregation! I am guiltless! I will not submit to your scrutiny!”

  Hot tears splashed onto my cheeks, but they were tears of fury.

  “Save it, girl,” came a low murmur, and a strong hand gripped my shoulder and pressed down.

  Glaring forward at the great orb that hovered just before me, I submitted to the pressure of her grip and went to my knees. The templum felt immeasurably vast as I knelt there on the floor, its ceiling coming to an arch a hundred feet above. The carvings on the sloping ivory walls looked as delicate as lace.

  As I looked up, the tears would not stop falling, and I didn’t want to stop them. In my life, so many people had told me that my emotional nature, hot temper and willful heart were my greatest faults. The Congregation looked down on these traits, they would say.

  My father never said that.

  He had told me my heart was the source of my wisdom—and if nothing else, I would rebel against the Congregation’s condemnation by bearing the extent of my broken heart.

  The surging, wispy white substance in the orb dissipated, thinning to vapor before dissolving into nothing. Revealed by the vapor, three magicians towered over us. They stood perhaps forty-feet tall each, their long, crimson robes pooling at their feet. Their robes held the color of each of the gods, crimson for Weire, black sashes for Sun, ivory edging for Nirsha, and pure gold embroidered in patterns through it all for Ester.

  The three were nearly identical. Their faces had a gaunt quality to them, with hollow cheeks and sharp features. Contrasting with that were their waves of gray hair framing their faces, worn long and thick.

  “We are here to rule,” they said together, though their voices varied greatly. One had a very high-pitched voice.

  Of the eight great magicians, these were perhaps the least famous and powerful. For some strange reason, I had expected Potestas himself to stand before me, flanked by all of the others.

  It seemed I would be honored to confess a pretense of guilt before less than half of the lesser magicians. How honored I was. How very honored.

  In perfect sync, the monks turned upward and called, “We’re here to obey. We have brought before you Lady Hazel Hampton, heiress of Hampton holdings. She is accused of two crimes: murder and sorcery.”

  From high above, the magicians’ sharp eyes all pinned on me. “Confess,” the nearest one ordered as all three glared down.

  In my periphery, the elderly woman turned her head slowly to face me. I did not look up into those crystal blue eyes, but I knew they peered down on me.

  My whole world fell still in that moment. I had never committed a crime—not in my entire fifteen anni of life—not so much as pinching a candy from a shop. But to survive, they would force me to lie before the magicians themselves, a crime punishable by death.

  Inhaling deeply through my nose, I steadied myself and called up, “I confess to killing my uncle, Oscar Hampton. Of the crime of sorcery, I am innocent.”

  One of the magicians stepped forward. “How did you kill this man?” His voice had a booming yet nasal quality to it that sent a stab of pain into my skull.

  I had no idea what to say. Not only had I not killed my uncle, I’d barely seen him as I sped by, carried by the wind. So I confessed everything I saw. I told the details of twisting my ankle and waiting for the doctor. I spoke at length about the doctor’s visit and the spat between Judith and Lady Bourges. As I recalled the details of when my Uncle Oscar burst into the room with my father, I wept through the words. I paused as I told how Judith pushed me into the secret passage while I watched my father fall. I paused because I was overcome with emotion; I paused because I knew this was where I would have to lie.

  “He followed me into the passage—I ran. He chased me, and so I killed him.” My shoulder sank as I knew the explanation sounded as inadequate and false as it truly was.

  “You admit to this crime?” the magician said.

  I nodded. “He intended to kill me; he was hoping to inherit.”

  “Hazel Hampton shows no sign of being in a fight. There is barely a scratch on her skin,” the monks announced as one.

  “He had a gun,” I said as loudly as I could.

  “We found no gun,” the monks replied.

  “I threw it into the tunnels. It was the same gun he used against my family!” As my breaths rasped out, loud and harsh, I realized I was yelling at the monks and magicians. I was yelling at them. Closing my eyes, I continued, “I’m not exactly sure what happened in there. I was scared and running, and then I hid and slept, and time got away from me. Eventually, I made it out. But I do know that I never committed anything like sorcery.” I looked up into their gaunt, merciless faces. “Don’t you think if I had any power, I would have used it by now to try to escape?”

  “Not if you are loyal to the Congregation,” one magician said.

  “Would a sorceress be loyal to the Congregation?” I asked, and even to my own ears, the words sounded as if I was sassing him, though I far from meant them that way.

  I was doing this all wrong.

  They didn’t respond. For a moment, I thought perhaps I did not misspeak, and I truly did convince them.

  The nasal-voiced magician stepped forward. “We are not persuaded. Your arms are too weak to have beaten Lord Oscar Hampton to death or
to have lifted the stone that ended his life. It was only by magic that you could have achieved this feat.”

  The words pounded into my skull as they pounded into my heart. Fresh sobs racked my chest. “I am innocent of sorcery!” I cried up. “I swear it on my immortal spirit!”

  “Will anyone support your claim?” he asked, looking at me down the bridge of his long nose.

  I had no witness. I looked up to the elderly woman, thinking perhaps she would speak up, but she just stared off as if she wasn’t even paying attention.

  “There is a lord who would support her claim of innocence,” the monks said.

  I spun to look up at the monks. There was?

  My father had many friends and allies, but for some reason, I had believed that they had all deserted me. Wasn’t that the way of things? When a lord or lady fell afoul of the Congregation, I’d always seen all the others attempt to forget they had ever existed. Even my father had seemed to follow this strange, cold practice.

  I turned back as I heard footsteps echoing through the apse. A line of men entered the great chamber. I immediately recognized the three in the front of the line. Tall, imposing Lord Klein entered the space with his two sons flanking him. They each wore a ceremonial suit and cloak lined in gold thread. Like his father, the elder Klein son had a trim beard and a stern expression. They could be identical aside for the fact that Lord Klein was late in his forties. The youngest of the three, Warren, had a clean-shaven face, as always. All three wore their dark hair long and flowing over their shoulders. None glanced down at me as they stopped feet away.

  Behind the three men, what must have been fifty servants carried in as many trunks. They stopped just behind the lords, and with a raised hand gesture from Lord Klein, they set the trunks onto the marble. They hit with a low rumble that echoed through the chamber.

  All fifty servants leaned over, and there was a resounding snick as all of the cases opened. Gold gleamed from each case, reflecting off the marble and glowing.

  “We offer testament to Lady Hampton’s character,” said Lord Klein. None of them looked at me. They show no sign whatsoever of knowing my presence. But Warren’s right hand clenched into so tight a fist that I could see the tension in his fingers.

  Then Lord Klein’s words truly hit me. Lady Hampton. I was Lady Hampton in their eyes now. My childish honorary title of Lady Hazel was gone.

  “Speak,” said the magicians.

  “I have known Hazel for the duration of her life. I swear before you that I have seen no sign of heresy, sorcery, iconoclasm, or guile. If there is a sorceress or sorcerer, I would believe that they are still at large over believing that she is the one.”

  The magicians looked on placidly before their gazes all swung to me and past me to the old woman. “What say you, commoner?” one of the magicians asked. It was the first time this one spoke on his own. Of the three, his expression was not so sour.

  The old woman blinked rapidly, seeming to come out of a sort of trance before she looked upward. “I see nothing special about her. Just a normal, everyday girl,” she said.

  “Why did you hide in the tunnels after you killed your uncle?” the less-sour one asked as he turned back to me.

  Hoping the explanation would work, I said, “I did not so much hide as lie down so distraught that I lost time. I slept a little, but mostly I despaired.”

  The magicians looked back up to Lord Klein. “Is this in her nature?”

  “It is. She is an emotional girl—something her father believed time and experience of the world would remedy.”

  “She claims to have killed her uncle but to have little memory of the event. Is that in her nature as well?” the magician asked.

  “If it was to defend her life or to avenge her father, I could believe it of her,” Lord Klein said.

  “Do you say she is prone to fits of extreme emotion?” the nasal one asked as he regarded me as one would a clot of dirt on a clean floor.

  Warren stepped forward, but a glance from his father stopped him.

  Lord Klein pinched his lips and then nodded. “In a childish way, yes, she has been prone to these fits. I do believe she will grow out of this tendency.”

  “Would you put your word behind this claim?”

  Lord Klein nodded.

  The magicians peered over at each other. “On the charge of sorcery?” the nasal one asked.

  “Not guilty,” the less sour one said.

  “Not guilty,” said the second.

  “Guilty,” said the nasal-sounding one. He nodded and then continued with, “On the charge of murder?”

  “Guilty.”

  “Guilty.”

  “Guilty.”

  They all slowly rotated to face me. “Lady Hampton,” the nasal one pronounced. “Of the charge of sorcery, we pronounce you not guilty. Of the charge of murder, we pronounce you guilty.” He paused, perhaps to let the horrendous nature of his words sink in. “Due to the circumstances in which the act was committed, we are prepared to offer you great leniency—you will leave here today with your life.”

  Hot tears again coursed down my cheeks.

  “We find your emotional nature—however, appalling.”

  “To have high winds of emotion is the province of the goddess Nirsha alone,” another one of the magicians quoted.

  The nasal magician slashed his hand through the air. “We find you undeserving of one of the highest stations in Domengrad. Hampton holdings—along with all of its possessions—will be assumed by the Congregation. You will be allowed to keep your title only. You will never return to the Hampton seat on pain of arrest and holding within the Congregation.” He peered down his nose at me. “You are now allowed to express your gratitude.”

  I bowed low, letting my blonde hair fall forward. I couldn’t be grateful to the magicians. They did nothing but steal my life—a life that had already mostly been ripped away. I did feel a deep well of gratitude to Lord Klein, however, so I focused on that feeling as I said, “I am so humbled and grateful for your kindness toward me. I only hope that the god Weire will judge me as fairly when I eventually do stand before him.”

  “These proceedings are dismissed,” the nasal-sounding magician said as he again waved a hand through the air.

  A mist rose in the orb. It billowed up so quickly that within minutes it obscured the magicians. The entire orb filled, only to churn and swirl before falling still.

  As one, the monks turned and walked away deeper into the Templum.

  Warren broke from the formation first, running across the Templum floor. His steps echoed loudly as he rushed to my side.

  I tried to stand, but the pain in my knees was crippling. Until that moment, I had barely noticed the shooting pain that came from my knees on the hard stone.

  Warren didn’t wait for me to fully stand. He lifted me in his arms. He was only an annos older than I was, but he held me easily. Perhaps I had diminished in the last minutes. I felt as if I had.

  My anger, fury and pain had all deserted me—leaving only exhaustion.

  “Are you sure you want to hold me?” I asked him as I laid my head against his shoulder.

  He smelled of clean soap and sandalwood.

  “More than anything, Hazel,” he whispered back. “Always.”

  “Bring her this way,” Lord Klein said as he turned from us, heading for the great portal of the Ivory Templum.

  Somehow, the elderly lady had left without me noticing. There was no sign of her in the apse at all.

  And then we left. I left. I was allowed to leave with my life and nothing more.

  Chapter Eight: A Quiet Life

  A doctor and Fauve waited in the carriage, and after my foot wounds were tended, I only remember weeping. Warren and Fauve both held me as the carriage bumped under us and took us far away from my home that was no longer my home.

  The journey to Western Domengrad took nearly a week. Before we had even left, Lord Klein had insisted on hiring on a chaperone and buying me a sma
ll wardrobe of dresses. They were fine quality and plain as anything I’d ever seen. Fine and plain, two characteristics that I’d always noticed about everything the Kleins owned. Only Fauve showed any flare.

  At some point in that journey to the West, all three young men rode their mounts while I rode alone with the lord and my chaperone. My chaperone was another elderly lady. Her appearance was kind and grandmotherly, yet she seemed to want to get no closer to me. From the wary looks she shot my way, I suspected she knew exactly who I was and what I had just been through.

  “Hazel . . .” Lord Klein said as he regarded me.

  “Sir, I wish there were words enough in the world to thank you for saving me,” I said quickly, needing to get the words out. I was already crying. Truly, I had never stopped crying.

  He raised a hand. “Your father was a dear friend of mine. There is no sum I could pay that would equal the worth of his friendship. This is a tragedy, both in what Oscar Hampton did and in how his heinous crimes affected you. I would never criticize the Congregation . . .” He let the words trail off. And, strangely, it sounded very like Lord Klein was criticizing the Congregation. I would never believe that, though. No one criticized the Congregation, not out loud, anyway. “If it is agreeable to you, I will take you on as ward until you are eighteen. At that time, you will be allowed to stay on, if you wish, but I will also bequeath you one of my townhouses in Hopesworth and a small allowance. I wish it to be more, but at present, that is all that I have to offer.”

  “It is more generous than I deserve,” I said.

  He leaned over and patted my hands. “I do not believe that, Hazel. I cannot, at present, offer much of a dowry, but I hope that, in the anni between now and when you will consider marriage, some of my investments will pay off in a way that will make that possible.”

  I looked up into his eyes, and though the words crushed me, I said them all the same, “Lord Klein—I am ruined. I don’t think that is an issue that will ever need to be addressed. I plan to spend the remainder of my life in the company of my friends, for that is the only thing that matters to me now. I will never be married.”