by David Hair
‘Crusaders, like me,’ replied a young man with pale skin and lank black hair. ‘I’m Valdyr of Mollachia. My brother and I were captured during the Second Crusade.
‘How old were you then?’ Elena asked – Valdyr looked no more than twenty, the same age as her nephew. They’d found him naked and tied to a bed, a Keshi girl hiding beneath it, trembling in terror. She didn’t know much about Mollachia; it was a mountain kingdom bordering Midrea and Schlessen, wild lands with strange customs and a bloody history.
‘I was ten. I was my brother’s bannerman,’ Valdyr replied. ‘We were ambushed, and I’ve been here ever since.’ His eyes bored into Elena, then trailed sideways and focused on Kazim. ‘I’m going to make these Noorie scum pay.’ A few of the others, men and women both, growled approval.
Of course he feels that way . . . most will. But it means he’s useless to our mission.
‘Where’s your brother?’
The boy’s face fell. ‘He went with the Godspeakers.’ The betrayal in his voice was painful to hear. His brother had clearly been his hero.
Lock a man in a room with no one but a priest to listen to and that’ll happen sometimes, Elena reflected. She’d seen it on both continents. She gave Valdyr a sympathetic look, then turned back to Rene. ‘How many children did we recover from the other compound?’
‘One hundred and eight under six. Nearly thirty women are still wet-nursing – I would guess half of those mothers have gained permanent gnosis through pregnancy manifestation.’ He shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Three more Keshi women are pregnant and also likely to gain the gnosis; they are bearing my children.’ His voice had a hollow tone.
‘We’ve recovered five windskiffs,’ Kazim put in, ‘but even with our own craft, that’s not enough to transport everyone.’
Odessa fixed Elena with a hard look. ‘Then the path is clear: those who are loyal to us, or aligned to the West, we take away. Those who aren’t must die.’ The controlled hatred in her voice spoke eloquently of what she, and the rest, had gone through.
Elena returned her gaze levelly. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re misunderstanding the situation, Magister D’Ark. We’re not here on behalf of the Crusade, and we don’t murder children.’
‘If you knew what we’d gone through, blood-sister, you’d feel less inclined towards mercy. I’ve been longing for the chance to strike back at these bastards.’
The other freed prisoners stirred uncomfortably.
‘Who are you, then?’ the matronly woman, Clematia, demanded of Elena. ‘And what are you? Your aura is very strange.’
‘And what of these snake-creatures?’ asked a grizzled Pallacian mage-knight called Beglyn, the oldest of the crusader captives. ‘What in Hel are they?’
Elena looked sideways at Kazim. Well, here goes . . .
‘They call themselves lamiae; they were originally constructs made by the Pallas Animagi,’ she said, starting with the simpler issue.
‘That’s illegal,’ young Valdyr said indignantly.
‘That’s never been a problem to the Sacrecours,’ Odessa replied disdainfully.
‘They’re abominations, nevertheless,’ Beglyn growled.
‘We didn’t ask to be made, but we were,’ Kekropius said. ‘We have children, we have lives and dreams. And we have the strength to deal with anyone who wishes us ill.’ His eyes trailed over the old knight, challenging.
‘Laws are made for reasons,’ Beglyn countered, not quite meeting his eye.
‘Are you always this grateful to those who save your life?’ Elena asked. She looked at Rene. ‘Can we agree that whatever the crimes of the Pallas Animagi, Kekropius’ people are alive and as sentient beings have the right to remain so? I believe that the Ordo Costruo have taken that view in the past, in similar matters?’
The Ordo Costruo magi looked at each other uncomfortably, then they all nodded agreement. The Crusaders were slower to do so.
‘What the empire sows, the world reaps,’ Rene said resignedly. ‘What troubles me more, Lady Elena, is the nature of your . . . erm . . . Kazim Makani. I’ve seen his kindred before . . .’
‘What are you saying, Rene?’ Odessa asked. ‘What is he? Another construct?’
This time the explanation took longer – the first mention of the word Souldrinker sent hands to periapts and wards tingling; the tension rose as Elena showed them the way her aura and Kazim’s were entwined. The abhorrence on the faces of all but a few was clear and she could see their attitudes were shifting from gratitude to fear that their rescuers were worse than their gaolers.
‘This is not what you think,’ she said forcefully. ‘Since Kazim and I fell in love, he has not needed to renew his gnosis as other Dokken do. He draws from me.’
The Crusaders looked sickened – no doubt as much from the fact that her lover was a Noorie as that he was a Souldrinker; she expected that and she didn’t care.
But Rene and Odessa, the opinion leaders of the Ordo Costruo, were intrigued: they were clearly still scholars at heart.
‘So this link . . . you feed each other gnosis-energy . . . and Elena replenishes as normal . . . and it’s enough for both of you . . . ?’ Rene’s eyes grew round. ‘That’s incredible!’
‘No,’ Elena told him, ‘it is credible. It’s real.’
‘And you . . . ?’ Odessa put in. ‘You’ve not become as Nasette? You’re not a Dokken yourself now?’
‘No – although we’ve been careful to avoid pregnancy.’
Odessa cast an ambiguous look at her own midriff. ‘Lucky you.’
‘So if he doesn’t need to kill . . . then you’re saying he’s effectively like any other mage?’ Beglyn eyed them both with a troubled expression. ‘This is a hard matter, Lady Anborn.’
‘I know,’ Elena replied. ‘Believe me, I’ve had all my own preconceptions overturned in the last few years. I scarcely know my life any more. I’m a Noroman mage, yet here I am in Ahmedhassa, sharing my life with a Dokken. Kazim’s journey has been just as strange.’
‘He has evidently taken at least one life, to gain the gnosis,’ Rene noted. ‘Tell us of yourself, Kazim Makani.’
All the eyes in the room went to Kazim: the man who’d killed the head of the Ordo Costruo and taken his soul.
Elena and Kazim had already debated what they would say at this juncture; every instinct, drilled into Elena during her years with the Grey Foxes, was to conceal the truth, especially one so inflammatory. But Kazim thought the opposite. Lies rebound on the liar, he had repeated during the debate: it was a quote from the Kalistham. She took some convincing, but she herself could cite recent events where secrets had indeed been corrosive and deadly. Lies had a way of outing at the worst time, and destroying everything in their path.
She gritted her teeth while Kazim told the truth.
‘My father was a Souldrinker, but I never knew that,’ Kazim began. ‘He lived in Lakh, and I was born there. He never used his gnosis in all the time I knew him – I never even knew he had it – though he had burn wounds that gave him constant pain. I believe that he must have renounced his powers, perhaps without ever kindling them. Either way, I was ignorant of that part of my heritage, until I joined the shihad, and was seduced into joining the Hadishah.’
That revelation caused a stir among the listeners, and Elena braced herself for the worse that was to come, sure that the room was about to explode.
‘In the Hadishah I was taught to hate all white people, and to give total obedience to my masters, so I didn’t question – indeed, I was proud to be given a great task.’
He paused, and all present held their breath, caught up in his story.
‘I was ordered to slay Antonin Meiros.’
Strangled cries came from everyone in the room, but most especially those of the Ordo Costruo. Odessa’s face was bewildered, Rene’s flummoxed; all of them looked appalled, looking at each othe
r for guidance.
Then one of the young women, the blonde girl, screamed and threw herself at Kazim.
Elena grabbed her; the girl was too enraged to stop so she flipped her and slammed her on her back. ‘HOLD!’ she shouted. The room reverberated to her cry as shields kindled on all sides. She glared at Rene. ‘Open-minds, Magister! It’s a core tenet of your order!’
The Ordo Costruo Magister’s eyes narrowed, but he raised his hands and the rest of his people, while not exactly relaxing, settled to await developments. But the girl Elena was holding wasn’t the only one with hatred in her eyes.
‘Afterwards, I was stationed at the Krak di Condotiori,’ Kazim went on. ‘I killed one of your number, and I aided in your capture – I am sorry for that, now.’
‘You’re sorry?’ Clematia wailed. ‘You murdered our Lord and helped destroy us and you’re sorry—’
‘I was raised to view you and your kind as enemies . . . afreet, even,’ Kazim replied evenly. ‘I believed the shihad to be a glorious thing.’
‘Like a Crusade,’ Elena put in, as they all opened their mouths to protest. That shut a number of them up. She looked down at the winded girl on the floor. ‘Are you going to play nicely now?’
‘Fuck you,’ the girl wheezed.
‘Lunetta,’ Clematia said warningly. ‘We’re Ordo Costruo.’
‘I’m not,’ Valdyr said, coming to his feet. ‘We’ve been rescued by monsters. That’s not a rescue at all.’
‘Then perhaps I’ll lock you back up and leave you here,’ Kazim snapped. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer that, chotia? On your back with a girl on top: better than fighting, yes?’
‘I’ll kill you for that, mudskin,’ Valdyr snarled at him, his pale, haughty face looking almost bestial. But he didn’t move, not yet. There was a ghost of fear at the back of his eyes, a haunted quality Elena had seen on the faces of many young women but seldom a man . . .
Rape victim . . . Even if it’s by a girl, and you’re chained to a bed, you’re still the victim. The Mollachian was just a boy; he had been humiliated, made to perform, over and over again. He’d doubtless been mocked and teased, beaten, maybe other things. His self-respect had been crushed.
‘Valdyr,’ she said sympathetically, ‘we’re not your enemies.’
The young man didn’t take his eyes from Kazim, his aggression wavered, as if he’d just recalled everything that he’d been told of Kazim’s gnostic strength. Crusader honour commanded him to attack anyway, but each passing second visibly leeched at his resolve. Elena waited him out, and when he wilted, the tension in the room eased noticeably.
They were all waiting for guidance, she realised, confused by the weight of everything that had been revealed. She couldn’t blame them, but she focused on Rene Cardien, spoke silently into his mind.
At his faint nod she went on aloud: ‘Kazim and I were thrown together in Javon. He forsook the shihad and joined the struggle of the Javonesi against the Dorobon invaders. I was the protector of the Javon queen – we have killed many Dorobon, in the name of freedom for Javon.’
‘What care we for Javon—?’ Sir Beglyn began, but Cardien cut him off.
‘Your name is known to us, Elena Anborn,’ Cardien said. He looked at Kazim with heavy reproach. ‘I weep at the damage you caused our Order, young man. Antonin Meiros was a great man.’
‘Blame Rashid Mubarak,’ Kazim told him calmly. ‘He pulled my strings and I danced.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘When I slew Antonin Meiros, I gained an insight into his nature. I had believed him to be Shaitan himself . . . but he wasn’t. From that moment, I doubted everything I’d ever been told. And then I met Alhana . . .’ He stretched out his left hand and touched her. ‘Everything changed for me then.’
The rescued magi looked at each other, bewildered, but at least they were now seeing that there was another side to this issue. Elena allowed Clematia to help Lunetta to a seat and Valdyr shuffled backwards, his shoulders crumpling. Silence fell again, though Elena could sense debate between them.
At last Cardien turned back to her. ‘Lady Elena, what is it you are here to achieve?’
More explanation: the situation in Javon, her certainty that it was to be the new permanent base for the Rondians in Antiopia, and the battle raging even now in Forensa – if it wasn’t already over – that would most likely see the end of Javon’s self-rule. ‘I am Javonesi now,’ she said. ‘I’m here for them.’
‘We’re the Ordo Costruo,’ Clematia sniffed. ‘We don’t take sides in wars.’
Elena focused on Rene. ‘My Lord, the Javonesi Regency Council have authorised me to offer you the following terms for your aid: the eternal bequeathing of the Krak di Condotiori to your Order as your new base. The protection of the Javon Crown. And a permanent seat upon the ruling council of Javon.’
Cardien didn’t reject the offer out of hand, which she took as a good sign. ‘In return for what?’
‘Aid against Tomas Betillon and the Dorobon, and Gurvon Gyle’s mercenaries.’
‘To fight against the empire in Javon?’ Sir Beglyn asked derisively. ‘You must be insane, woman! Look what the Kore-bedamned shihad has done to us!’
‘Look what your Crusades did to Dhassa and Kesh!’ she snapped back. She turned back to Rene. ‘Javon is an independent kingdom, Magister. They’re offering you sanctuary in your time of need. Their cause is just. Who else is going to take you in? The empire hates you and so do the Keshi!’
‘And if we refuse?’ Beglyn demanded. ‘I’m not Ordo Costruo myself.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Odessa snapped at him. ‘You’re a Crusader, who thinks it’s your right to march into Dhassa and take whatever isn’t nailed down. I don’t care what you do – you can go to Hel for all I care.’
‘HOLD!’ Elena was forced to shout again. She turned to Beglyn. ‘You are free to go where you will. We’ll even give you a skiff. Javon doesn’t want people who think that the right to freedom doesn’t extend beyond Yurosians.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Beglyn snarled, but Valdyr shouted, ‘I’ll never take a damned Noorie’s side! Never!’
Rene Cardien stood, and the weight of his authority as presumptive leader of the Ordo Costruo – everyone knew he’d been Antonin Meiros’ heir – meant they all fell silent again. ‘Lady Elena, these are hard matters: your nature, your history – yes, I know about you and Gurvon Gyle, Lady – and there are Master Makani’s deeds . . . all these things colour what would be a difficult and complex choice in any event. We need to talk openly among ourselves. Will you give us leave to do so?’
She sighed. ‘Of course. We want your willing aid, Magister Cardien. Nothing else has value. But we cannot give you long: those Hadishah who escaped will be informing their superiors. This place won’t be safe for long.’
*
While the rescued magi talked amongst themselves, Kekropius went outside to ensure that his people had set a watch, and to oversee the arrival of the windship. Kazim retrieved Molmar’s skiff from the rooftop, while Elena saw to the Keshi pilot himself. She found him on a bed which had broken chains at each corner, staring into space. Someone had dressed his burns and given him a sedative. She checked the wounds and found them well-cared for.
Molmar watched her distantly, then reached out and put a hand on hers. ‘I have done as you asked, Lady: I have betrayed my oaths, for you.’
‘Believe me, Molmar, I know how that feels,’ she said. ‘I don’t ask you to take pride in it. I think you’ve done the right thing, but right and wrong are not easy to measure in such choices.’
‘I know. I was born in a place like this, Lady, thirty-five years ago, after the First Crusade. I grew up like those children out there, believing everything that I was told of the evil of the magi, yet knowing that I was one myself. I’ve been dealing with that contradiction all m
y life. It strains my faith on days like this.’
Elena realised he needed a listener, so remained silent.
‘It’s hard to believe one is a good person when the Godspeakers preach each and every day that your blood is evil,’ Molmar continued. ‘So I ask myself continually: can a person be born evil? I cannot allow myself to believe it is so. I want to believe that I am a good man.
‘I believe evil is a choice,’ Elena said carefully. ‘But some take to it easier than others.’
‘Truly,’ Molmar agreed. ‘I have met people whose future evil is apparent from a young age. Some are so predisposed to harm others that it is impossible to see them and not believe in inherent evil. Gatoz was such a one: causing hurt gave him pleasure from the time he could crawl.’
‘Nurture or nature, we call this quandary. No one knows the true answer.’
‘That is understandable, but I believe I know now what the answer is not,’ Molmar replied. ‘We should never condemn an entire race – or a religion – as evil. Such generalisations are clearly wrong. It is individual deeds that we must judge, in the context they are made. It is a harder path, stripped of the simplicity that princes and priests love.’ He gestured to indicate the compound. ‘I have no issue with Rashid wanting magi of his own, to aid the shihad against the unjust Crusade. He can screw as many willing girls as will have him for all I care. But to condone rape and forced begetting: that is a line we should never have crossed.’
‘Desperate times make desperate men,’ Elena replied. ‘If the Rondian Empire had not invaded the East . . .’
‘Rashid Mubarak instituted the breeding-houses well before your Crusades, Lady Alhana,’ Molmar replied in a low voice. ‘He always planned to move against his own Order.’ He pulled a copper brooch from his pocket: a jackal head. He looked at it sadly, then threw it into the corner of the room. ‘I’m with you now, Lady. There is no going back.’
An hour later Rene Cardien and Odessa D’Ark found her sitting beside the compound gate. She was watching the remaining soldiers herding the pregnant women and the young children away into the night, towards the nearest village. Their torches were receding down the valley. We don’t murder children.