The Verse of Sibilant Shadows: A set of tales from the Irrational Worlds

by JM Guillen

  I sighed, thinking of all my belongings. My vast clothing collection, the plush draperies, soft cushions, all the dainty jeweled fripperies and cosmetics would have to be gathered and carefully packed. It would take days.

  “Now we must document the situation that caused you to claim Rand,” she continued, “so that we may report to the proper city authorities and clear your authorization to him. That will also clear the temple in general, and you specifically, of any fines associated with claiming a Devoted without a permit.” She pushed another paper stack toward me.

  I groaned and sank my head into my hands.

  9

  Inkstains covered me while my neophyte Devoted brushed soapy water around my feet. When I was not in session with Sire Mattias, a client, or taking my turn at leading the temple worship, I would be working with Rand.

  I truly didn’t need more duties, but that didn’t much matter.

  We were strengthening his focus so that he would not lapse into his submissive kneel again. I had to repeatedly ask Rand what he was doing so that he might remember himself. I was reminded of a time in my childhood when I had been taken to see a circus. The ringleader had kept brandishing his whip while a beautiful woman stood on the back of a rare, pure white horse as it galloped in circles. I had paid more attention to the whip than the animal, but now I wished I had paid more attention to its antics.

  “Rand, what are you doing?” I asked for the thirteenth time.

  “I am washing the floor, Mistress.” He answered as he scrubbed the patterned flagstones.

  We were in the main sanctuary, a large dome of marble and polished amberwood decorated with several spiraling pillars surrounding the central altar. Lavished with plush cushions of velvet and silk, the rounded alcoves branched off the main room like the petals of a flower. Beautiful tapestries hung at each doorway, embroidered with scenes from the lives of many of the Patrons, not just Rydia alone. These might be drawn across the archways to the small alcoves so that a devotee might worship privately with the secluded attention of a Handmaiden.

  We had been there for so long that I had lost all track of time.

  I cleared my throat and asked for the thirteenth time, “Whose floor are you washing, Rand?”

  “Yours, Mistress. All I do is for your pleasure.”

  “It is Rydia’s floor,” I emphasized.

  “Rydia’s floor. I am scrubbing Rydia’s floor for you, Mistress.”

  “Very good, Rand. Now, keep scrubbing,” I said hurriedly as he raised his head, a wide grin on his face.

  “Yes, Mistress.” He pushed faster, crawling on his hands and knees, nearly bumping into Camille as she entered the room.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed as soapy water sloshed over her bare feet.

  I rushed forward. “Camille! My apologies,” I said hastily. “Rand, it is my pleasure that you scrub over there,” I pointed at a far corner, “until Teren is satisfied. It is also my pleasure that you do as she bids until I tell you differently. Teren will help you remember why you are doing the things that you do, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress. I will. I will scrub the fl—Rydia’s floor, over there, for your pleasure. Then I will do what Teren says you want.”

  “Good.” I turned back to Camille and gasped. “Handmaiden!” Reverence warred with concern. Camille’s long, blonde locks had been tied in a single high tail at one point, but the thick black tie she had used now dangled around chin level, held by a tangle. Watery black trails marked the death of her kohl and rouge. Vivid red marked her at neck, wrist, and ankle. Under the gauze that served as her robe, weal marks curved around her thighs. She trembled a bit as she slowly made her way to the chair I had recently abandoned.

  Camille had been chastised. Used. She had displeased someone.

  What made matters worse, she was in my circle. We shared the same Sire.

  “Sire Mattias?” It was both a statement and a question.

  She met my gaze with the tiniest of nods.

  She sat gingerly.

  I noticed that she took care not to let her back touch the chair.

  Her voice came in a hushed whisper. “He’s looking for you. He wants you immediately.”

  The expression in her eyes terrified me.

  Something was wrong.

  10

  Velvet darkness, sweet balsam, and myrrh incense awaited me.

  Sire Mattias sat in his plush chair, with a low fire flickering in front of him. I could see the table at his side, and the drink he had sitting on it. Faintly, I could smell the cinnamon tang of Siab, his favorite liquor.

  “Come in.” His voice was crisp, controlled.

  I softly shut the door behind me, then slipped off my shoes and left them by the door. Quickly, with no direction, I walked in front of him, knelt into the thick carpet, and met his silvery eyes with mine.

  “Sire.”

  Oh, his eyes. The flickering fire glittered in their depths, giving him a feral mien, the gaze of a predator. As his eyes roamed over me, my breath quickened. The fire behind me leapt higher just for an instant.

  “Handmaiden.” Only one word, yet it said so much. The light in his eyes wasn’t lust, it was fury.

  His anger, though tightly bound, heated the room like the wrath of a forge. His right hand curled into a white-knuckled fist, while the left casually lifted the sweet liquor to his lips.

  He looked right through me.

  A long moment passed, where I simply sat, awaiting him.

  His eyes were glittering ice-diamonds.

  “It was for nothing.” His words were flat, emotionless.

  “Sire?”

  “Lithia. I have presented her with ample evidence of Devariis’ sorcery. We have proof of human-kin slaves, have traced the transport of strange and rare materials that could only be ritual components, have tracked the gold entering his accounts. I even sent you, so you could return with a Handmaiden’s proof.” He shrugged. “It’s not enough.”

  He was cold, distant.

  More than anything, I wanted to reach for him, wanted to please him, make him smile. At times his smile had been the only light in all my world.

  He stared past me, his lips tight, his knuckles white on the goblet.

  “Sire, I—” I didn’t know what to say. He had been chasing Devariis for months. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  He shrugged again, small and non-committal. He lifted his glass and took a long draw. “It doesn’t matter. The Headmaiden gets the final say. I have no more control of her will than you do mine.” His eyes narrowed. “The man is filth. He is a sorcerer and a heretic. I know it. I know it.”

  The truth burned like a fire in the night. Sire Mattias didn’t care what the Headmaiden said. Devariis was a sorcerer. Sorcery was an art that could not be allowed to flourish, no matter what the cost.

  It was simple.

  “Sire…” I reached for him, and rested a hand on his knee. More than anything, I wanted to turn away his dark mood. “Let me tend to you. Let me give you ease. Then, we can discuss—”

  He set his goblet on the table. “I didn’t call you here to give me ease, Handmaiden.” His voice was like a tightly coiled spring. “My passions are my burden, every bit as much as your passions are yours.” The tiniest of smiles pulled at the edge of his mouth. “Is that why you thought I called for you? To be a balm for my fury?”

  I flushed. “I saw Camille, Sire. I thought—”

  He chuckled. “Camille was punished for being forgetful with her disciplines. She is a spoiled girl who needs tempering.”

  Some hard knot in my heart, which I hadn’t even known was there, released. I hadn’t even realized the tension in my back, the worry in my brow. My Sire wasn’t the kind of man to take out his own anger on one of us. That made up no part of who he was.

  I had been foolish.

  “I—” I looked down. “I want to help you, Sire. Let me gift you. Some bed play will ease—”

  “I will not be eased.” His
voice stung like a razor. “My ease, my calm, will not help those that Devariis has taken. It will not stop his blasphemy.” He took up his drink again and finished it in one gulp. “No, if Lithia will not commit the House of Pleasure, then I will take action myself.” He eyed me again, his gaze glittering in the firelight. “I’m going after him.” He smiled, tightly. “I want you to come with me.”

  What he asked didn’t oppose Lithia’s will exactly. Only she truly had the power to commit the temple to sanctions. However, as the Children of Rydia, we retained the capability to pass judgments ourselves, as long as our judgments lined with the edicts of the Lady.

  That didn’t mean that Lithia would like it.

  Still, his will was mine. I had no choice, not really.

  He was my Lady’s rod, Her lash, and Her tongue of fire.

  Breathe.

  When I glanced up at him, I had already committed. My body, my heart, and my mind all bent to his purpose.

  “When do we leave?”

  11

  Shortly after dawn the next day, I found myself already in the Downmarket. I had the purse Sire Mattias had given me and his instructions. Eschewing my ritual gear, I wore nothing that would identify me as a Handmaiden. No, today required a simple dress and a hooded cloak. I looked the part of a governess or some merchant’s wife. A woman of moderate means.

  I could smell the wind off the ocean, even this far into the city. The fog seemed to portent a day where the sun might never pierce the mists.

  Typical in Stormhaven.

  The name Downmarket confused some newcomers to the city. Typically they sought it out near the docks, near where the water lapped at the feet of our fair city. They would scour the tiers of buildings rising into the surrounding mountains and think they were as ‘down’ as they could be. The lucky ones wandered into the Fishmarket, never to know the difference.

  No, the Downmarket was located on the northern side of Stormhaven, nestled at the base of the main road out of the city, the very base of Trade Road.

  It meandered out among the streets, creating tiny roads of its own, barely wide enough to squeeze through three abreast. Tents and carts switched out every few days, set side by side with more permanent structures. Vendors hawked exotic cooked delicacies, prepared right before the patron’s eyes, caged animals, for consumption or novelty. Even fortune-tellers and various entertainers made their daily coin by travelling through the Downmarket.

  For such an early hour, the market did a brisk trade, mist be damned.

  I wandered, keeping a careful eye about myself. In the veiled sunlight of day, the Downmarket made for a less-than-reputable destination. After dark, it turned treacherous. At least during the day I could count on the presence of an occasional town warden walking his route.

  Still, I kept to myself. Prudence cautioned me to be wary.

  The goods offered under a green and orange striped awning caught my eye, but the large baskets of brightly colored spices greeted me with nearly overpowering odors. I hurried away as fast as I could while still remaining gracious. The next stall held dried fruits that the vendor claimed hailed from the faraway lands held by the Clyndiir peoples. I smiled at the story and moved along.

  In the end, I bought some juicy cereis fruit and a couple of small potives that a lady might buy when out by herself, tending to her needs.

  It was all very typical. Nothing suspicious.

  My Sire had cautioned me.

  “Lithia has no say in this matter. She has surrendered that right.” He paced, as he often did when he thought. “Still, she knows I am unhappy with this outcome. She might have us watched.”

  “Wait then.” I thought my counsel reasonable. “Give it a few days. Watch. See if you are being followed.”

  He shook his head. “My people say that Devariis is up to something. We have no time to wait. I need you moving tomorrow.” He leveled his gaze at me. “We can’t be seen. It can’t be noted that we are preparing. I don’t know why Lithia won’t move against him, but we have to make certain she doesn’t try to stop us.”

  Therefore, I moved through the city as an average woman might, stopping here and there, shopping. I kept a wary eye, trying to note if anyone tracked my movements or watched from the shadows.

  I seemed alone, even in the busy street.

  I checked twice more as I moved toward Billows Street. Once there, I stopped for several moments, shuffling my small packages while actually watching the street.

  Certain no one followed, I stepped to the outer door of Gryn’s.

  The door had a glass window, but it was smoky and dark. No sign hung above the door nor painted on the outside to designate this shop.

  None knew of the alchemist unless they had cause.

  Quickly, I opened the door and pushed my way into shadows, mysteries, and strange, exotic scents.

  Gryn trafficked in exotic herbs and bubbling concoctions. He was heavy-set but sharp witted. His entire shop brimmed with drying herbs, musty books, and bottles of things strange and horrifying. Gryn had tracked Devariis’ purchases of rare, delicate, and hard to find plants and compounds.

  I stepped gingerly over the discolored stone floor. Odd smells greeted my nose; sharp vapors that bit at the nostrils and watered the eyes. I blinked rapidly around the crowded room. It was close and poorly lit, the only source of brightness a hearth fire, burning merrily as it gave off an oddly cheerful, orange smoke that hazed the room.

  A large man hovered over a cauldron suspended above the flames and upended a vial of teal-colored powder redolent of incense into it. He cocked his head as he turned to face me. His face was seamed and bore mottled red patches as if he’d been steam scalded, a horrifying visage.

  He was also Sire Mattias’s man.

  I pulled the hood from around my head and let my tresses shake free. Free of my persona, I could be the Handmaiden again.

  “Lil’ late, aren’t you?” Gryn’s voice was like gravel and broken glass. “The man said you’d be here at sun-up.”

  “I was careful. You’d prefer that, I’m certain.”

  Gryn grunted and nodded. He reached underneath his counter, moving an alembic aside. He set the alchemical still carefully out of my reach. A whiff of something caustic wafted by as he moved it, and I wondered what the connected bottles contained.

  “Got a message for the Sire. I was gonna send a runner, but I reckon you’ll do as well.” He gave me a heavy scowl. “Devariis sent his man last night. He had a long tally-list. I had most of what he needed, but some of it was pretty rare.”

  My curiosity poked its head out. “Like what?”

  Gryn shrugged. “Quicksilver, draw-iron, that was easy enough.” He fixed me with his gaze. “But he wanted more than I could give him. He asked about sanguine ink.”

  An oddity, that ink took much to prepare and had few legitimate uses.

  “That seems like a foolish request. The kind of request that would draw attention.”

  Gryn shrugged. “They trust me. Seem to think I’m a man who can get anything.” He cracked a lazy smile.

  I pulled Sire Mattias’ coin purse from my belt. “I only hope you have what my Sire requires.”

  The man grinned again. “I keep myself stocked for Sire Mattias’ needs.” He pulled out a heavy box and opened it.

  I peered inside. Two vials of essential salts in aqua atramentum, one of civet musk and another of lavender essence, plus a gently glowing tumbler of ignis vitae.

  Perfect.

  I handed Gryn the purse and closed the box.

  “Thank you, Gryn. Of course, if anyone were to come asking—”

  He appeared offended. “I wouldn’t be in business long if I couldn’t hold my tongue.”

  I simply smiled.

  Soon, Gryn’s shadows and exotic scents lay behind me.

  12

  Sire Mattias had been very specific when he gave me the street and number. Though somewhat distant, I must not take a fare-carriage all of the way to the villa
he had rented. Our safety rested on our secrecy. None must know of our meeting place.

  There we would prepare.

  He had selected a villa isolated along the distant northern wall. If we made ready at the House of Pleasure, then stocks would show that he requisitioned the reagents for our ritual and other Handmaidens would certainly hear my cries as he wove our workings. None must know of our preparations.

  I had never seen the villa before this day. When I did, I’ll admit that I was pleased.

  It was beautiful. It was artistic and old, with climbing vines and scarab roses all along the whitewashed wall. The roof of midnight-black shingles had several small chimneys peeking up. Stained windows faced the garden, great multicolored things that caught the light and sent it dancing. The pathways through the garden were bordered with low, stone walls, and each garden section was unique, filled with dizzying fragrance and bursts of wild color.

  Though Sire Mattias obviously selected this villa to meet his stringent requirements, part of my secret heart could not help but feel proud that my Sire had gone to such extravagance. Yes, I knew that it wasn’t about me—my Sire would never show me that kind of special favor—but I found it difficult to look at the stately house and not feel giddy. Like a secret retreat, we rendezvoused in such a lovely place.

  Still three stories of ivy-covered stone seemed extravagant for our purposes, better suited to families who had traveled to our port city. Oftentimes, a well-to-do merchant might sail from Caed or the Empire and needed to stay for a hand of days while setting up his operations. In that instance, a villa such as this one was perfect for his needs.

  Beyond the gate, I noted a pond with shallow stone steps leading toward the house while several flowerbeds of vibrant, dancing blossoms surrounded a water fountain. Next to the water, a small patio boasted a freestanding hearth, surrounded by pillars of squared-off stone. They supported thick wooden beams that formed a rough roof.