by Mike Shel
“Three decades or so,” she replied. “I’ve only been here for the last ten years, by Lalu’s gentle command. I’m one of two priests of her blessed church in residence. Sister Colette is the other, and has been here twelve years longer. She could probably tell you more of the prior’s history.”
“I’d like to speak with her, if I could,” said Auric.
“That may be a challenge, Sir Auric,” responded the pretty cleric. “Sister Colette is a likely candidate to fill the shoes of Prior Quintus, and she’s served as Instructor of Harmony for much of her time at St. Besh. In that role, she’ll need to preside over the coming conclave and navigate some rather treacherous political waters. Some will inevitably accuse her of slanting the conclave in her own favor. She’s sequestered in prayer now, preparing for the assembly. You say you knew Prior Quintus?”
“No,” Auric answered, choosing his words with care. “I know of him. Before he came to St. Besh, he was based at the Blue Cathedral in Boudun and a frequent companion to Syraeic agents conducting Barrowlands expeditions. His last foray was beneath this very priory—a Djao temple that lies beneath its foundations. In fact, the Blue Cathedral was led to believe Quintus Valec had left the priesthood after that expedition. He certainly vanished from the cult’s cognizance.”
“A most peculiar revelation,” said Teelu, a look of puzzlement on her delicate features. “Perhaps it explains the prior’s attitude toward the place below.”
“How do you mean?”
“He often described our priory as a stopper that bottled up the Djao’s evil. He went so far as to preach against the Syraeic League and its mission to disinter the ancient past. ‘What the gods have buried, no man should unearth’ was a favorite phrase of his. He said the place below was a veritable gateway to the Yellow Hells.”
Auric suppressed a shudder at the thought.
“The last descent into the temple was a rather disastrous affair,” said Sira in her preternaturally calm alto. “Half of the expedition was killed, one permanently blinded, and the other two, your prior and another man, suffered sufficient trauma to abandon service of the League afterward. Our mission…”
Sira trailed off, glancing at Auric. Auric appreciated her deference, catching herself and allowing him to decide what would be revealed to the cleric. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up where she had left off. “We are here to re-enter the temple and return an artifact that Quintus and his surviving companions took from the place. We believe the relic is responsible for considerable evil that has befallen the League in the past two and a half months.”
Teelu frowned. “Ten weeks?”
“Thereabouts,” answered Sira. “Is that significant?”
“Ten weeks ago, when the prior fell ill.”
Everyone at the table sat up, attentive.
“Sister Olliah, our senior priest of Belu, she said it was a stroke—his right side was paralyzed, and his speech became slurred. It happened the same night as the storm and quake. Olliah believes it was the stress of the incident that brought it on. Prior Quintus was kept in his bed after he was struck down. Nothing Belu’s servants did made any difference with his condition. He was an elderly man, after all.”
“Could he be understood when he spoke?” asked Auric, willing his heart to quit its racing.
“With some effort, yes. Sister Olliah discouraged it because it was clearly excruciating for the prior to speak, and the effort left him exhausted.”
“This is most uncanny,” whispered Sira, staring at Teelu.
“Coincidence?” offered Lumari.
“For shit’s sake, woman,” snapped Gnaeus. “A storm, an earthquake, the old man has a stroke, and an incurable plague is loosed in the Citadel, all on the same night!”
“Do we know it was the same night?” asked Lumari, terse.
Gnaeus slapped a palm on the wooden table, making cups and tableware rattle. “What does a day or two matter? Must the gods come down personally and deliver the news? Perhaps a daisy and a kiss on the lips from Pember, Lumari?”
Auric held up a hand. “Calling it a coincidence does strain credulity. But none of this alters our ultimate goal: we must return the relic to the place beneath this house. And we must convince the person holding authority to allow us in. Sister Teelu, does Sister Colette have that power now?”
The priest of Lalu shook her head. “No. Her authority is limited to resolving conflicts between residents and adjudicating the conclave itself. No one has that power now. Until we’ve elected a new prior, no one can grant your petition. Therefore, you are barred from descending into your Djao ruin. For now, at least.”
Auric sighed. More delays! Is Agnes still alive? Does anyone at the Citadel still draw breath?
“And this assembly happens when?” asked Gnaeus.
“Tonight. The conclave takes place tonight, when Sunless Vespers are complete.”
“After midnight, then,” said Sira. “May we attend the conclave as well?”
“Certainly, unless someone objects, and Sister Colette finds the objection reasonable. But you must remain silent. You aren’t members of the house, so you will have no voice.”
“I promise,” said Auric, with a stern side glance at Gnaeus, “that we will maintain a respectful silence during the proceedings.”
The residents of the White Priory of St. Besh assembled in the tabernacle after midnight, gathered around the funerary bier of Prior Quintus. A priest of Marcator, clad in a robe black as tar, walked around the other priests, swinging a brass censer hung on a chain. Misty gray plumes escaped through slots piercing its sides, filling the chamber with a sharp exotic scent. At last, Sister Colette, a tall, handsome woman of Auric’s age clad in white robes like those Teelu wore, raised her arms. She had a beatific smile, prominent laugh lines, and expressive eyebrows that reminded him of Lady Hannah.
“Brothers and sisters,” she began. “We gather here, past the midnight hour, three days since our dear prior, Quintus Valec, beloved of Belu, passed from this life. He hovers between worlds now. Soon he will be forever cradled in the bosom of Heaven. We who remain must decide which of us takes his place to lead our order in the coming days, should the gods permit us to bear witness.”
“There are strangers in our midst,” growled a grizzled old man in pale brown robes, face covered with stubble, leaning on a great lacquered cudgel of twisted hickory. “I object to their presence here.”
“Why is this, Venerable Benlau?” asked Sister Colette, her lovely smile unwavering.
“This matter concerns them not,” he retorted, his voice rugged and stern. “They cannot contribute to our deliberations here. They are members of the League, and all are very much aware of our departed prior’s feelings about their kind. There is no reason they should attend.”
“I rise in support of Brother Benlau,” said a serious-looking, balding priest in black robes, his nose bulbous, a single thick brow over his close-set eyes. “This is a sacred duty that falls upon the shoulders of our ecumenical family alone. We need no prying eyes, skulking in the shadows.”
“Sub-Prior Narlen, Venerable Benlau” answered Sister Colette, smile as sincere as ever. “As you say, they will not contribute to our deliberations, so their presence won’t affect the outcome. And I must remind you that not everyone here was in harmony with the prior’s beliefs regarding the Syraeic League. They are our guests, and as such may observe our discussion. After all, by tradition we conceal nothing. They understand that their silence is compulsory. Sir Auric?”
Auric stood, doffing his riding cap to Sister Colette. “Of course, Sister. We acknowledge that our attendance is a privilege, secured by our respectful silence. We thank you for the honor of our inclusion, and your hospitality. We will not interfere.”
Narlen and Benlau appeared neither pleased with Sister Colette’s ruling, nor reassured by Auric’s promise. Nevertheles
s, they settled back among their peers, tacitly acknowledging the priest’s authority over the assembly. Colette continued. “I call for a submission of candidates for the post of prior, high priest of our order, whose word is law for all those who have pledged themselves to this house. The floor is open.”
There was silence for several moments, finally broken by a young, blond-haired man wearing the pale blue robes of Belu. He spoke to the crowd, eyes shifting nervously, uncomfortable with the attention stepping forward earned him. “Prior Quintus was a priest of Belu, and led this house wisely for thirty-one years. His devotion to the Blue Queen of Heaven served us well. It is my…opinion that for the sake of continuity, the post should be occupied anew by another wise servant of our Blessed Mother. I nominate for consideration Sister Olliah, senior of the five priests of Belu remaining at the priory.”
This elicited polite applause from the cluster of blue-robed clerics standing to the right of the deceased prior’s bier, and a few others gathered near them. Auric counted those clapping and judged the faction to include no more than nine or ten clerics, not counting the blue-robed, wizened old woman at their center, presumably Sister Olliah herself. She instead closed her eyes and bobbed her head, acknowledging the nomination.
There was whispered conversation now among the priests. After a few minutes, a cross-eyed man, dressed in Marcator’s black robes and with his brown hair cut as though he had worn a shallow soup bowl for the barber, stepped forward and raised his arms over his head for silence. It took a few more moments for a hush to fall on the assembly before he could speak. “It is true our Prior Quintus was wise and guided this house well for more years than some of us have walked the earth. Indeed, he has already wisely made the decision for us in his selection of a sub-prior. Brother Narlen was chosen from among our number by the prior for his steely will, his devotion to our order, and tireless service to all at St. Besh. He was trusted with the most sensitive matters, including instruction of our novices. How natural, then, that he moves from an already exalted post into that of prior? I nominate Brother Narlen for consideration.”
The bald man who had spoken earlier in support of Venerable Benlau folded his hands together and looked to the ground, nodding while several priests applauded. Auric sensed a man trying on a garment of humility that did not fit him well. He estimated this faction included fifteen or so adherents, counting Narlen himself. Venerable Benlau, an exaggerated frown on his face, nodded his white-haired head and banged the butt of his cudgel on the tabernacle’s stone floor, adding his vote of confidence to the nomination.
“Neither he nor that old fart are our friends,” Gnaeus whispered in Auric’s ear. Auric gave him a severe look that shouted, speak no more.
Murmured chatter among the priests resumed for a full quarter hour or more. At last, Sister Teelu stepped forward in her white robes, opening her arms as if embracing all gathered in the sanctuary. “Brothers and sisters,” she began, a peaceful smile on her full lips, “we are an unusual order, to say the least. Prior Quintus began shepherding this disparate flock of priests with a firm hand long before most of us arrived here.” She looked meaningfully at the clerics around her, pointing to them one at a time as she continued. “Priests of Marcator, Belu, Chaeres, Vanic; of Tolwe, Pember, Velcan. And others, such as Lalu, of course, sublime goddess of love, peace, and mercy. The priory’s mission is cooperation, understanding, harmony among the faiths of Hanifax. Through our prayerful cooperation, we do our part to assure the survival of the empire and the safety of our monarch. Here in the wilderness, we break bread with one another and reason, learn from one another, and teach. Who better to lead us in our mission than our Instructor of Harmony? I put forward the name of Sister Colette to assume the supreme post of our house.”
Fewer priests clapping for this nomination, Auric noted, scowls from a few, but quiet nodding of many heads. Perhaps more modest displays of support?
Sister Colette smiled kindly at Teelu, who responded to the older woman with a broad grin, making her look like a little girl with her yellow locks. The chatter did not resume, but Colette allowed time for additional nominations. Finally, with none stepping forward, she spoke again. “Three possible nominees, then. Sister Olliah of Belu, Brother Narlen of Marcator, and Sister Colette of Lalu, myself. Before we proceed with our discussion, do any of the nominees wish to exclude themselves from consideration?”
Aged Sister Olliah stepped forward, her voice hoarse. “While I question my worthiness for this honor, I will defer to you, my brothers and sisters, to judge which of us is best suited for the role.”
Immediately after Olliah’s speech, Narlen stepped forward and spoke in a booming voice, as if to erase memory of the elderly woman’s soft words. “It is true that I learned much at the feet of Prior Quintus: the demands of the post, the history of our order, the dangers we must guard against. And while he did not say so explicitly, I believe if he were here he would be pleased to see that I am considered for this elevation.” This drew murmurs of support from the priest’s faction.
Finally, Colette spoke. “Though I am aware of the many demands of the post, I pray that by Lalu’s grace I could fulfill those duties, should the assembly choose to honor me. Now, because I am among those under consideration, I will ask Venerable Benlau, as the eldest of our house, to assume the role of moderator for our deliberations. Brother Benlau, you are our guide.”
Sister Colette bowed to the grizzled old man and joined Teelu and the priests of the lesser gods with whom she stood. Benlau gave the cleric of Lalu a curt nod, his expression sour, and stepped from the sidelines, directly in front of the corpse of Prior Quintus. Gnaeus started to say something to Auric. Auric quickly gave the young swordsman a death stare, silencing him. Benlau rapped his lacquered cudgel on the ground hard, producing a loud echo off the high ceiling of the tabernacle.
“Whoever wishes to speak in support of or in opposition to any of our nominees, please share your thoughts with us,” he grunted, as though petitioning for volunteers to scrub the latrine.
A warrior-priest of Vanic, clad in the deep red robes of his order, raised his arms, causing the chain shirt he wore atop his clothing to sing like a cluster of cymbals.
“I speak in support of Brother Narlen,” said the dark-haired man in a gruff voice, redolent with condescension. “While Sister Colette is fine at securing amity when this brother or that sister has a simple grievance with another, I do not believe that our house is best served by her—please forgive me, sister—soft-hearted faith.”
There was a rumble of umbrage which Benlau silenced with another rapping of his cudgel. “Speak you with such contempt for one of the ordained faiths of the empire?” challenged Teelu in an icy tone. “Is there no place for love and mercy in your world?”
“Contempt? Hardly,” the man continued, emboldened by Benlau’s silencing of those aggrieved by his talk. “Love and mercy have their place, but you forget where we are planted, sister! We sit in the stony, barren hills of the Barrowlands, surrounded by fell beasts, ancient spirits of dark malevolence, and the ruins of a culture that practiced human sacrifice, among its other iniquities. Yes, I said soft-hearted! There may be need of peace within our walls, I grant you that—this is why we have an Instructor of Harmony. But we do not live apart from the evil of this land, any more than a fish lives apart from the water through which it swims.”
“Perhaps you would have us declare war on the Barrowlands, Brother Corley?” said a slight, moon-faced priest in the deep green robes of Chaeres, who looked as though he had only recently begun to shave. “Blessed St. Besh founded our house in these lands not as a beachhead in some confrontation, but to remind us of the folly of defying the will of the gods. The ruin that surrounds us is an eternal testament to the price of rebellion against Heaven.”
“He does not counsel war!” shouted a man, also clad in red robes and chainmail. “Brother Corley counsels us to be vigilant. Harmony
has its place, but we must acknowledge the creeping chaos that bubbles outside these walls—not just in the Barrowlands, but in the provinces and islands of Hanifax itself.”
A symphony of gasps and a few angry shouts erupted. It was apparent that many gathered in the sanctuary were uncomfortable with this man’s potentially seditious talk, but just as many seemed to agree with his sentiments. He attempted to continue his speech, but could not be heard above the din. Benlau at last banged his cudgel with brutal force. “Finish your piece, Brother Ghedda!” he snapped.
“Simply put, Brother Narlen will maintain Prior Quintus’s vigilance. Sister Olliah lacks the stamina to do so, and Sister Colette would have us sing soulful hymns in prayer circles. We must arm ourselves—spiritually and physically—against the rot that pervades the world as we know it. Evil hesitates to strike when Good stands ready to defend itself! These are my thoughts, and I have made my decision.” Brother Ghedda folded his arms with a look of smug satisfaction. A few priests near him patted his shoulder or whispered in his ear.
“Will no one make the case for Sister Olliah?” asked Venerable Benlau after allowing the grumbling to continue for several minutes. The blond-haired man who had nominated Olliah started to speak, but Benlau silenced him abruptly. “You spoke your words when you nominated her, Brother Rencis,” he said with a snarl. “Please keep any further counsel you may have to yourself. Would any others speak for Sisters Olliah or Colette?”
A burly priest in pale gray robes smudged with soot stepped into the center of the circle and scratched his cheek before speaking, leaving another ashy blemish on his pockmarked face.
“Velcan is god of forge and hearth. As his lone cleric in this house, I see to it that Brother Cook has fuel for his stoves and all of you sleep cozy in your cubicles each winter with coals for your bed warmers and braziers. I repair those items requiring hammer, anvil, and flame, and I do so with contentment, knowing my function in this place. But it is simple for me. I would not know how to manage a dispute between two of our number, let alone the entire house, with its rivalries and petty contentions. Sister Colette would. Compromise. Cooperation. These are the things to which we aspire at the priory. And I am confident she would assure that this noble mission continues. These are my words. I will speak no more.”