‘How do you know?’
‘Do you think that a girl from Highforth or Meriton or Liston would be taken, whatever she had done?’
Orla sat quietly for a moment. She hadn’t even wondered at that. In her experience, from all she’d heard, the Confessors were above everyone. They would take anyone they chose. Even the King himself was not invulnerable, or so people said. That is why he’d barely been seen since the Treaty had been signed. But her experience and all she’d heard were from those who lived around her.
‘Even for a Metkaran girl, she’s young though. They must have evidence against her.’
Orla shook her head. ‘A book. Some gossip…’
‘It would not be gossip. I’m sorry, but whatever the charges, they are based on direct accusation. Of course, there are all sorts of ways people might be… encouraged… to make such an accusation.’
‘Please, I don’t know why she’s been taken but I need to get her out. She’s only a child. She’s terrified. She’s done nothing wrong.’ Orla felt the tears fill her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She still couldn’t believe that this had happened. All her life she’d prepared herself for the day when someone would discover her power, when she would be taken. She’d never thought it would be Merryn…
‘Of course,’ Ani said. ‘I understand.’
Orla sniffed and wiped her face with her sleeve. Ani’s manner made her own weakness feel unforgivable. She had to be strong.
‘Can you help me?’
‘You won’t be able to rescue her from the square.’
‘Can you help me get into the Vaults then? And get Merryn out?’
‘Killing yourself tonight by almost any means you can conceive would be quicker and less painful than what is likely to happen to you if you turn up to the Vaults uninvited.’
Orla swallowed.
‘But still, it’s a better option than what you had planned.’
‘I didn’t really have a plan,’ Orla confessed.
Ani grinned for a moment, an expression that made Orla think of the flash of a blade. ‘As I said.’
She stood, stretching. She was tall. Her clothes, though plain at first glance, were well made, perfectly fitted, of simple but expensive cloth. Whoever Ani really was, she was only playing at pauper, Orla thought.
‘Drink?’ Ani asked, taking a small flask from a pocket of her coat and uncorking it.
‘Um –’
‘Your sister has been taken by the Confessors. You’ve fled your home. You’re having to trust a stranger with the most important task of your life. And you’re readying yourself to enter a place that almost anybody would give almost anything to avoid. The answer, when I ask you if you’d like a drink, is yes.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and Ani passed the flask to her. Orla tipped and took a mouthful, coughed for a moment as the fierce heat of the liquid filled her chest. She passed it back and Ani took a long swallow.
‘Good,’ Ani smiled at her. ‘Now. If you are going to trust me, I believe I should also trust you.’
Ani sat down once more, settling herself, and Orla felt something urgent behind her gaze; it was as though she were searching, seeking for something. Orla said nothing.
‘What do you think happens to people once they are released from the Vaults? They’ve been punished according to the determination of the Confessors, they’ve served whatever sentence they were given. They are released, free to go.’
‘They go home?’
‘Some. A lucky few. Children returned to their parents, lovers to the arms of their beloved. But even for those few the homecoming does not often last long. The shame and fear of Penitence is powerful. Nobody comes out of the Vaults unchanged.’
Orla felt a dizzying horror. Merryn. Her bright, beautiful, innocent, infuriating sister. The thought of Merryn being hurt, being hurt so much that she would no longer be herself, was unbearable.
Ani must have seen the look on her face. She reached across and took Orla’s hand. Orla pulled away, but for a moment there was contact, skin to skin, and she saw something as focused to a single purpose as a finely-honed knife. Ani did not break her gaze.
‘Do you believe that some people are born with a calling, something that they are required by the Gods to do?’ Ani spoke carefully. Using the forbidden plural, Gods, so clearly in her hearing was a token of trust, Orla understood. ‘I have found my calling, here. I help people once they’re released from the Vaults. I heal their bodies. I do what I can for their minds. There are… others who assist me. We return Penitents to their families if that is their wish, and if not we find them places to live, useful work to do.’
‘And the Confessors –’
‘Do not know. Our work is not strictly illegal, at least not in the broad sense, but it would not be welcomed. Penitents are intended to bear the scars, the shame, for life. Anything that lessens that shame…’
‘…would be seen as a challenge to the Confessors’ authority,’ Orla said.
‘I can help you,’ Ani said slowly, ‘but I need you to do something for me.’
This was what Ani had been waiting for: this moment.
‘What?’ She would do anything, Orla thought, anything at all if it helped free Merryn from that terrible place. Alive, whole, unchanged.
‘I need you to pass a message on. I’ll give you something to carry. It’s very small, it won’t slow you down. And I’ll give you the instructions as to how to deliver it.’
‘Why can’t you do it?’
‘I’d be recognised. You’re a stranger here. I can disguise you and there’s a chance you’ll pass unnoticed. Will you do this for me?’
‘Yes,’ Orla said, without hesitating.
‘You’re not even going to ask what it is?’
Orla shook her head.
‘Good,’ Ani said. ‘Let’s drink to our agreement.’
Ani passed her the bottle again, and again Orla felt the fiery sting of the liquid in her throat, warming her belly. With the warmth came courage. Tomorrow. She would see Merryn tomorrow. She would get her sister out, she would find a way.
‘Now, the details…’ And Ani stood and loosened a stone above the fireplace, then carefully withdrew a small metal cylinder. She took the top off and pulled out a roll of paper which she smoothed out on the ground before them.
It was a map that showed a tangle of passageways, small rooms leading into larger rooms, spirals indicating staircases, a web of tunnels. It was huge and incoherently complex. Whole quadrants of the map were blank.
‘Um, it looks like there’s a bit missing…’ Orla said.
‘People come out of the Vaults and they do not want to remember.’
Orla felt the bite of fear. Her moment of optimism faded almost as quickly as it had come.
She studied the map more closely. The Vaults were a maze. And if she and Merryn were to survive she only had this one night to memorise her path in and her path out.
Chapter nine
‘We’re getting close now,’ Ani said, her voice echoing in the darkness.
‘How can you tell?’
‘The smell.’
That bit of the plan Ani seemed to almost have taken pleasure in explaining. Orla would surface through a small entranceway beside the tanks that served as a sewer to the Vaults. It was a service entrance, rarely used thanks to the unholy stench that filled it. It was dangerous too, because of the accumulation of gases and lack of venting. If you lit a flame in the vicinity of the tanks a whole square mile might explode.
Orla fingered the small package that Ani had sewn into the scratchy grey robe she wore. A message, Ani had said, and Orla hadn’t asked for details, but now she wondered. Perhaps it was better that she didn’t know. She was there for Merryn. If running Ani’s errand helped her to reach her sister that was all that mattered. And if it happened to harm the Confessors, well all the better.
‘We’re here,’ Ani said at last and Orla felt a rush of excitement. The stench was like a hand in her gut
squeezing and churning, but the need to find her sister had grown as urgent as the need for clean air and light.
Ani caught her arm.
‘Tell it to me again,’ she said.
Orla closed her eyes and visualised the map. They had gone over it and over it the night before. ‘Turn right when I Ieave the first room, follow the corridor twenty paces, then left, left, right, up the stairs, right, right and left.’
‘And where will that take you?’
‘To a small cell. I use the code and the door will be opened. I deliver the package.’
‘Good. Rian will help you from there. Once you let her know I sent you she’ll be able to tell you how to find your sister.’
Ani had told her only the barest details of the task she had entrusted her with and Orla had not tried to learn more. Rian was, apparently, someone associated with Ani who had managed to gain access to the Vaults in the guise of a servant. ‘You don’t think the Confessors scrub their own floors do you?’ Ani had said, when she’d seen Orla’s expression.
‘Why don’t they get the Penitents to do it?’ Orla had asked.
‘Oftentimes when the Confessors are done with them, Penitents are not capable of scrubbing floors or preparing food. I’m sorry Orla, but it’s the truth. You will see it for yourself soon enough.’
Now, Orla pushed the words aside and swallowed. ‘And what if Rian can’t help? What if she doesn’t know Merryn or hasn’t seen her? Or what if Merryn’s being held somewhere I can’t reach her?’
She felt Ani tense.
‘Orla, you understood when we made this plan that the odds were long. I promised to get you into the Vaults and I have held to that promise. I can make no guarantees as to what happens once you’re in. Nobody can.’
It was true, she knew. Ani had warned her it would be difficult. Orla had known she might fail and she’d gone ahead anyway, because what other choice did she have?
Orla stiffened as she felt a gentle touch on her arm.
Ani spoke into the darkness. ‘It’s not too late to turn back. I will guide you out through the tunnels if you’ve changed your mind.’ Orla sensed an immense conflict within the other girl. Fear and a desperate need and something deeper, darker. Regret?
Orla stepped back. She was having enough trouble dealing with her own terror without adding Ani’s to it.
‘I have to find Merryn,’ she said.
‘May all the Gods protect you,’ Ani spoke softly, and Orla sensed her relief.
Orla turned, found the rungs of the ladder that ascended from the tunnel into the Vaults, and began to climb.
Chapter ten
The first corridor was deserted as Ani had promised. The walls were constructed of pale grey stone that shimmered in the low light, and the ceiling was high after the constriction of the tunnels. While it was unlit near the tanks, further along there were torches, and the brightness seemed almost blinding after the hours Orla had spent in the dark.
Orla closed her eyes a moment and recalled the map again. She could not afford to take a wrong turn. Her entire plan relied on being able to pass as one of those grey-robed servants who spent their lives within these walls. She had left everything behind that might identify her. She’d left her knife. She’d even left the necklace Din had given her, the only physical reminder she had that he had ever lived.
‘I’ll look after it for you,’ Ani had said. ‘You can have it back when you’re done.’
If I’m still alive, Orla had thought darkly.
The one thing that stood her at an advantage, Ani had explained, was that the Vaults were a place of such horror that the Confessors would not expect anybody to try to break into them.
So. She would find Rian and then she would find Merryn. And then they would get out. She need not think any further than that yet.
She paused for a moment longer and let her mind reach out and touch her surroundings. Her head throbbed from all the effort and the exhaustion of the past days, but she forced herself to concentrate. She knew it was unlikely, but there was just a chance that she might sense Merryn. Her sister’s thoughts were so familiar to her. She knew the pattern of Merryn’s feelings and memories and imaginings almost as well as she knew her own. She emptied herself out and listened.
The pain came at her like a whip crack. She was thrown back against the wall, unable to breathe, unable to think. She opened her eyes and tore her mind free but it was too late. She could not take back what she’d seen.
All around her, in myriad cells and rooms, were the Penitents: terrified, agonized, despairing, driven to mad incoherence by what had been done to them. Bodies burnt and torn but still, somehow, living. Eyes gouged, tongues slit, fingers useless they were so bent, so broken. And Orla sensed worse things too, things she could not even conceive, things there were no words for. Their thoughts, their thoughts, their broken minds, inhabiting a world of darkness and despair –
Orla’s heart was thudding and her eyes were flowing tears. Merryn, her Merryn… She had let them take her, she’d let them bring her here, to this. Orla wanted to fall to the ground and cry. She drew herself back. She was here now. She was here to save her sister. And maybe she would find Merryn before any real damage was done. There was still a chance.
But she had to move quickly and keep her thoughts clear, and that would be the hardest thing of all, she realised, because as much as she was desperate to, she couldn’t just cut her mind off from what she’d seen. She had to listen. Amidst the roaring horror might be information, some vital clue that would lead her to Merryn, that would allow them both to escape. She shuddered as she thought of opening herself again to all that pain. Enough thinking. Time to find Rian.
She repeated the instructions over and over in her mind as she walked, for reassurance as much as reminder.
Turn right, follow the corridor twenty paces, then left, left, right, up the stairs, right, right and left.
She recalled Ani’s advice: if she encountered a Confessor she was to keep her eyes low and say as little as possible
The corridor reached an end. Somewhere she could hear moaning. Further away she heard footsteps, but they weren’t headed in her direction. She turned left and picked up her pace. Ani had told her there was a chance she might not meet anybody on this first leg. Orla’s entrance was timed to coincide with early prayers. The Brethren would be cloistered for a short period, with only a skeleton of guards maintained. The servants were exempt from religious duties in preference of more practical ones. If she were questioned Orla would say she was on her way to collect the buckets of nightdew, a delicately poetic word for the piss and shit that filled the tanks where she had entered. This was a task she was unlikely to be quizzed too closely on.
Orla took the next turn to the left. The corridors were long and empty. The air was cool, and she felt her skin prickle, the roughness of the robe she wore adding to her discomfort. Her footsteps echoed too loudly on the stone. She tried to visualize the map she had studied so carefully: the tangle of passages branching off around her. Merryn was here somewhere – if only she had some idea where…
‘You! At last –’
She felt the shock of it dead in the centre of her chest. She had let her thoughts wander and had not sensed him approaching. A Confessor. He was unmasked. To her surprise he had one of those faces that looked soft and open, almost like a boy’s, though of course the smoothness of his cheeks was broken by a dense web of scars. She looked at the ground.
‘Well don’t just stand there, I need help.’
Damn it. Orla was dressed as a servant and now she would be expected to act as one. She had no choice but to keep up the part.
The Confessor led the way and she followed. He led her through a twist and turn of corridors. She tried to keep track but soon was lost. She wanted to cry. She had no idea where she was.
‘In here,’ he threw open a door and for a moment, as the smell hit her, she thought she was going to throw up. ‘Well don’t just gape. It needs cleani
ng. Piroxi will be inspecting this afternoon. Come and find me when you’re done.’ With a glare he left her.
She took a step into the darkness. The cell was small. If she stretched her arms out she could reach from one side to the other, and if she took a couple of steps she would touch the back wall. There were no external windows, just a small grate in the door that allowed a little lamp-light and air to enter from the corridor outside. She imagined the door being slammed shut behind her and shivered; the thought was horrifying.
As her eyes adjusted to the low light she began to see evidence of what the cell was used for. There was a single stone chair in the centre of the room which was circled by a moat-like gutter. On the arms and legs of the chair were heavy chains and around the centre of the chair was a leather strap. The gutter was stained with blood and the floor wet with other things that her eyes could not identify but her nose and gut told her came from a person. Her stomach turned as the vision came – of someone strapped and chained to that cold stone, helpless, hooded and tortured, bleeding, blind. Had they survived, she wondered? Would Merryn be taken to a place like this? She let out a sob, and weakness took her limbs. She almost crumpled to the floor.
Be strong, she reminded herself. You have to be strong. You’re here now, so Merryn has a chance. You can’t give way to fear.
She backed out of the room and glanced back down the corridor. It was empty in both directions. She turned back the way she had come. She would have to try to retrace her steps. She’d have to stay alert, to make sure she would sense if someone was coming. There was no other choice. She had to find Rian.
✤
She wandered for what felt like hours, though time was hard to track within these walls. She was exhausted and her head ached, her whole body felt stiff and sore from the combined effort of listening and trying to block the horror that surrounded her. She only needed what was useful, and to take everything in was far from useful; it would destroy her. Finally, she passed an open doorway to an empty cell. She saw, in the doorway, a bucket.
The Dying Flame Page 4