Season of Sacrifice

by Mindy Klasky

  “I’ve seen Duke Coren lots of times.”

  “Don’t talk back to me, young lord.” Nurse darted a glance at Maida. “And you, young lady. Straighten your hair.” Nurse fussed for a moment longer, and then she stepped back, still wheezing. “Well, there you go. Into the chapel.”

  “What?” Reade asked.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” Maida said.

  “Oh no. Not Nurse.” The old woman huffed. “His Grace was quite clear. I’m to wait for you here. Only the two of you go into the chapel.”

  Reade swallowed hard. He didn’t want to see Duke Coren again today. He didn’t want to be reminded of Kenwald. Maybe he should beg Nurse to come with them. Before he could say the words, though, he pictured the old herald lying on the solar floor. No. Better not ask anyone to break Duke Coren’s rules.

  “You’ll be fine, children. You’re only seeing the duke. You don’t need to be afraid of him. And just remember, I’ll be out here the entire time.” Nurse smiled, and then she stepped to one side. “You can do this, little ones. You’re my Sun-lord and my Sun-lady.” She nodded, as if she saw some response that she approved of, and then she pulled at the heavy door, grunting out loud.

  Reade hesitated for a moment, and then he reached down for Maida’s hand. He should help her into the chapel. He should hold her hand so that she wouldn’t be afraid. He took three steps forward with his sister, and he tried not to jump when the door clanged shut behind them.

  Smoke. Fire. An aisle that was grey with sweet-smelling fog. Maida sneezed twice.

  Reade squinted through the gloom. There were benches on either side of him, marching across the stone floor. Metal pots sat at the end of each bench, pouring out sweet smoke. Against the walls stood iron posts covered with candles, so many that Reade could feel the heat like little ocean waves. Beeswax dripped from some of the posts, sounding like heavy raindrops as it hit the floor.

  At the front of the room, barely visible through the fog, Reade could just make out Duke Coren. He stood on a platform, on top of four steps. An altar was behind him, and on the altar sat a wooden box.

  Duke Coren still wore his crimson tunic. His black boots were invisible in the fog, so that it looked like he was floating above the stone stairs, in front of the altar. He raised a gloved hand and beckoned with one finger. “Sun-lord,” the duke said. “Sun-lady.”

  Reade understood the order, and he dragged Maida forward. All the smoke made Reade’s eyes water. He raised his free hand to wipe his face. When he looked up at Duke Coren again, he was surprised to see the man shaking his head. Instead of talking to Reade, though, the duke spoke to Maida.

  “Sun-lady. I suppose your brother told you about his lessons this morning.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Reade could feel Maida’s hand shaking in his.

  “And I suppose he told you that I was very, very angry.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “And he told you that I punished Kenwald, for failing to teach the Sun-lord properly.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “And how have your own lessons gone?”

  “Your Grace?”

  “Have you been learning from your own tutors? Have you been learning everything that you need to know for the Service?”

  “I—I think so, Your Grace.”

  “You think so.” Duke Coren repeated Maida’s words. Reade knew that it was hot in the chapel. He knew that sweat was slipping down his backbone. But he felt chilled by the duke’s voice; gooseflesh rose on his arms. “You think so. And therein lies our problem.”

  Maida was shaking so hard that she could not have answered Duke Coren if he had asked her another question. Reade put his hand on his chest, settling his fingers around his bavin, and then he stepped forward. After all, Mum had said that he must protect Maida. He had to be like Da. He needed to clear his throat, though, before he could be heard. “Wh—what problem do we have, Your Grace?”

  The duke pinned Reade with his eyes, like a stinging eel grabbing its prey. “I was thinking, Sun-lord, after I left the solar. It occurred to me that for all your studying, for all your working with your tutors, you and the Sun-lady still don’t know what is expected of you at the Service. You don’t know what you will be called upon to do, and so you do not realize how important your studies are.”

  “We’ve studied, Your Grace!”

  “You’ve studied. But you’re not prepared.” Duke Coren took a step toward the twins, and Reade’s belly turned over as the man’s boot heel echoed on the stone platform. “I thought it was time to rehearse the Service. We thought it was time that you learned exactly what your people will expect of you.”

  Reade barely managed to ask, “We?”

  “Aye, Sun-lord. High Priest Zeketh and I.” Duke Coren lifted one gloved hand and gestured toward the altar. Reade followed the duke’s finger, and caught his breath as a man appeared from out of the shadows. Maida was even more surprised—she cried out loud and grabbed at Reade’s arm.

  Appeared from nowhere…. That was impossible. Even the Guardians couldn’t appear from nowhere. They needed songs to make them become visible. They needed prayers.

  “Sun-lord, Sun-lady, I present to you High Priest Zeketh.”

  The high priest took another step toward the twins, and Reade realized that he had not just appeared behind the altar. No. High Priest Zeketh was wearing black robes, all the way from his neck to his feet. Even his curling dark brown hair was underneath a black hat, a funny hat with four sharp corners at the top of it. High Priest Zeketh had been standing behind the altar the entire time, with his back to Reade and Maida. The twins had not been able to see him until he turned around, until his face and his hands stood out against the black cloth in the dark, foggy chapel.

  Figuring out the man’s trick made Reade a little braver, and he managed to say, “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

  He tugged on Maida’s hand until she whispered, “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

  “Good afternoon, Sun-lord. Sun-lady. I am honored by your presence.” The high priest’s voice was deeper than any person’s Reade had ever heard. It sounded like thunder rolling far off the Headland, like the storm that had brewed the night that Da disappeared forever. Reade remembered Duke Coren saying that the high priest had more power in his beard than Alana Woodsinger had in her entire body.

  Well, it was a very long beard, curling halfway down the man’s barrel chest. Without thinking, Reade pulled his woodstar out of his dirty tunic. The bavin pricked his fingers, but Reade felt better holding on to it. The high priest might be stronger than Alana Woodsinger, but Reade welcomed any power he could get.

  Duke Coren stepped forward. When he stood beside the high priest, Reade realized just how tall the new man was. Duke Coren only came up to his shoulders—shoulders that were as broad as any fisherman’s. Duke Coren waited for Reade to swallow hard, and then he said, “High Priest Zeketh wants to ask you some questions, questions that will be a part of the Service.”

  Reade forced himself to look into the priest’s eyes. They were as black as the man’s robes, and they were set close together on his face. They narrowed as High Priest Zeketh stared first at Reade, then at Maida. It seemed like he was looking inside of the twins, seeing past their robes and their hair and their skin. Reade swallowed hard and tried not to take a step away.

  The high priest finally nodded, and he raised a hand—a hand as big as a ham—to gesture at the chapel. “Welcome to this house of the Seven Gods, Sun-lord, Sun-lady. We light your way with candles and send your prayers skyward on the breath of incense.” Incense. That must be the name for the sweet fog, the smoke that made the back of Reade’s throat itch. “Do not be afraid. You’ll find the Service is not frightening. I’ll only ask you a series of questions, questions that you must answer from the truth that is at the bottom of your hearts.”

  “Questions?” Reade repeated. He had tried to learn. He had tried to study hard. He had tried to memorize everything
old Kenwald taught him. Old Kenwald, whose neck had sounded like chicken bones when it crunched against the floor….

  Reade wanted to turn around and run for the door of the chapel. He wanted to leave behind the smoking pots, and the dripping candles, and the fog that tickled his nose. He wanted to leave High Priest Zeketh and Duke Coren and even Maida. Nurse was waiting for him outside. She would take him back to the nursery and feed him milk-sweets. She would give him bread and honey. She would fold him against her hip, and smooth his hair, and tell him that everything was going to be fine.

  But Reade had to stay. He had to prepare for the Service. He had the power of the Sun-lord. Maida had the faith of the Sun-lady. Duke Coren had the strength of Culain. Reade would not be afraid.

  “Aye, Sun-lord.” The high priest took a step forward, towering over the twins. “You must listen to my questions and answer with your heart of hearts, for you and the Sun-lady are special. You are powerful and glorious to all the land. You are peace for Smithcourt. You are the power of the Iron Throne.”

  Reade’s head whirled as he listened to High Priest Zeketh. Reade knew he wasn’t special. Da had always said that Reade was just one little boy, and he had better learn to live with that.

  The People didn’t plant their gardens just for him, Da had said when Reade wanted an extra serving of stew. The People didn’t hunt just for him, Da had scolded, when Reade carried his bow and arrows to the Upper Pasture with the men, but got lost on the way back. The People didn’t fight the sea just for him, Da had hollered when Reade got trapped on White Rock, when the tide came in while he was catching stinging eels.

  Well, Da was wrong.

  Da had gone off without Reade, leaving him alone. Da was gone, but High Priest Zeketh was here. High Priest Zeketh and Duke Coren. They understood that Reade was special. Reade was the Sun-lord.

  Reade realized that he was gripping his bavin even tighter than before. Its pricks hurt his hand, but he did not want to set it aside. It was his, because he was special. It belonged to him, not to any of the other boys back at the Headland. Not to Maida, or even to Duke Coren, not anymore.

  “Are you ready to answer some questions?” High Priest Zeketh asked. Reade nodded, and he felt Maida move her head up and down beside him.

  “Sun-lord and Sun-lady, will you freely join Duke Coren and me, leaving behind your false home and false faith?”

  False home? That must be the Headland. And false faith? That would be the Great Mother and the Guardians. And the Tree, which wanted to drink their blood. Reade squeezed Maida’s hand, and they answered at the same time, “Yes, Your Grace.”

  As Reade answered, he felt the woodstar stir a little beneath his fingers. The bavin moved, as if it wanted to pull him back toward his false faith, back toward his false home. The woodstar wanted him out of the chapel and away from High Priest Zeketh, away from Duke Coren. Reade held the bavin tighter, as though to control it, and High Priest Zeketh nodded.

  Then the man asked his second question. “Will you work with us for good and not for evil?”

  That was an easy question. Maida almost answered first; Reade had to rush so that he said at the same time, “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The woodstar shifted again. This time, when Reade closed his hand around it, he could see a white glow between his fingers. He felt the bavin pull at his mind, whisper to him about the People and the Tree. He lifted it up a little, to stare at it, and he heard Duke Coren and High Priest Zeketh catch their breath.

  The high priest went on, though, as if he were used to seeing glowing woodstars in his chapel. His words were faster, as if he needed to finish all his questions before the bavin got brighter. “Sun-lord and Sun-lady, will you lead your people in the ways of righteousness for however long you shall live? Will you rise up against the shadows of your past and lead your new people? Will you fight to save your new people from the unholy power of the Tree and the Guardians and the false god of the Great Mother? Will you offer up your souls to all the Seven Gods?”

  Before Reade could answer, the light flared high from his bavin, cutting through the incense fog and the candlelight.

  It was wrong to answer “yes!”

  It was wrong to agree to what the priest demanded.

  For one instant, Reade thought that he could take his burning woodstar and turn his back on High Priest Zeketh, on Duke Coren. He could walk down the aisle. He could leave the chapel. He could stop being the Sun-lord and go back to being just Reade. Everything seemed so simple in the white light. Everything seemed so easy.

  Before he could turn away, though, Maida said, “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Her words made Reade look away from his woodstar, look away from the blinding white light. Maida was staring at the high priest, looking right in his black, black eyes. High Priest Zeketh, though, was looking at Reade. The priest was, and Duke Coren was, too. All of a sudden, Reade was afraid that he had disappointed the duke, that he had ruined everything by missing the right response. Duke Coren leaned forward, eyeing him like a snake watching a baby mouse. Reade swallowed hard and answered, more loudly than Maida had, “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The woodstar flared as he spoke, so bright that Reade’s fingers looked like stripes of blood across its prickly surface. Duke Coren darted a glance at the high priest. The men seemed to have some secret conversation; they shared some grown-up words that Reade was not allowed to know. Then, High Priest Zeketh stepped forward and pointed at the bavin.

  “What is that trinket you wear, Sun-lord?”

  “It’s called a bavin, Your Grace. It’s from the Tree.”

  “From the Tree?” High Priest Zeketh roared. “From the Tree that lives on child-blood?”

  “Y-yes,” Reade whispered.

  “And you wear it here? In the house of the Seven Gods?”

  “I—I thought…Duke Coren gave it to me.”

  “Duke Coren gave it to you.” The priest glared at the duke, his white face turning red beneath his long, curling beard. Then, the high priest pulled himself up even taller, taking a step to tower over Reade. Reade had to crane his neck back to stare up at the man’s face. “It was a fine gift, Sun-lord. A fine trinket for your journey to Smithcourt. Now that you are home, though, it does not serve as well.”

  “Does not serve, Your Grace?” Reade knew what the priest was going to say. Reade was going to have to give up his woodstar. Even now, the bavin seemed to sense what was going to happen. Its light began to fade, streaming away into the dark chapel as fast as it had grown.

  “Sun-lord, you must set aside your past if you would serve as Sun-lord to all your people. You do wish to be the Sun-lord, don’t you?”

  Of course, Reade wanted to be the Sun-lord. That was why he had come all this distance. That was why he had studied so hard. That was why he had fought to prove that he was brave. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Very well, then. Why don’t we exchange gifts, then?”

  “Exchange gifts?”

  “Yes, Sun-lord. I have brought you a present, a token of my appreciation for your hard work in preparing for the Service. You give me your woodstar, and I’ll give you and the Sun-lady the thing in that box.”

  The high priest nodded to the wooden box on the altar.

  “Do I have to share it, Your Grace? Do I have to share the thing in there?” For just an instant, Reade thought that High Priest Zeketh might actually laugh. He defended himself. “The woodstar was given to me, not to Maida. It’s not fair that I have to give it up, and then share what I get for it.”

  “The woodstar is old, though. See, even now its light has faded.” Reade looked down at the bavin. It looked like an ordinary piece of wood now. Its prickly points were cold and black, without a hint of the white light.

  “But—”

  “Here’s a bargain. You give me the woodstar. Then you get to open my gift for you and the Sun-lady.”

  “That’s not fair!” Maida cried.

  High Priest Zeketh looked at her and smiled coldly
. “Do you have anything to trade?”

  Reade could see Maida try to think of something, try to dream up a gift for the high priest. She had nothing but the gown on her body, though, and the ribbon in her hair. At last, she was forced to shake her head. “No, Your Grace.”

  “Very well, then. Sun-lord? Do we have a deal?”

  Reade did not want to give up his bavin. Fishermen got bavins. Da had a bavin. But there was a present sitting in the wooden box. If Reade did not hand over his woodstar, then Maida would certainly get to open the wooden box. High Priest Zeketh and Duke Coren might even let her keep the gift inside, all for herself.

  Slowly, carefully, Reade nodded. “We have a deal.”

  Before Reade could change his mind, before he could say that he wanted to keep his woodstar, and Maida could have whatever was in the wooden box, High Priest Zeketh nodded to Duke Coren. The duke retrieved the casket from the altar and held it out toward the priest. Zeketh took it and turned back to the twins. “Sun-lord. Sun-lady. The first twins who bore your name, at the beginning of this age, had a special friend.”

  “I know,” Reade interrupted. “They had Culain.” Reade realized that he had cut off the high priest, and he caught his breath. The towering man only smiled, though, his cherry lips curling in his black beard.

  “This was a different sort of friend.” The high priest nodded toward Duke Coren, who lifted the lid off the wooden casket.

  For just an instant, Reade could not figure out what was inside the box. He could see fur—black and tan and white—and he could pick out a long, straight tail. Only when the creature squirmed did Reade see the muzzle and the whiskers. The animal yawned, and Reade saw down its throat, past its black gums and blood-red tongue.

  “A dog!” He gasped and jerked backward, hitting Maida and almost falling down the stairs.

  “For you, Sun-lord.” The high priest nodded, and his own white teeth stood out against his red lips, his black beard. “For you and the Sun-lady.”