by Brandon Barr
Her mind returned to the incident. She didn’t understand. Those men, they had wanted to kill Winter because she was an Oracle—but why? And of all places, here on Bridge, the hub of the Guardian’s power.
“Who were those men?” asked Karience.
Dicameron turned his head as he continued to walk. “Those were members of the Execrata. An extremist sect that hides within a larger movement called Humanity Kind.”
“I’ve never heard of it. What do they have against Oracles?”
“Humanity Kind is a philosophical order that prides itself in ridding the cosmos of the Makers and the Beasts. Your Oracle has a spirit connected to her—at least, that’s how I understand it. Anything associated with the spirit world is combated, usually philosophically, through education. But there are extremists, as you encountered today. The Execrata. These zealous adherents will not hesitate to use violence to—as they say in their pledge—purge the excrement from humanity.”
Karience found it disturbing that she had never known of these groups. The Guardians, in her mind, were a beacon star illuminating the Silver Hand Galaxy. Pure of heart, self-sacrificing in its endeavor to bring peace to every world it found. How could this Execrata sect exist within such a noble group as the Guardians?
The bright light of her order had dimmed today.
“What is the goal of the Humanity Kind movement?”
“Their goals?” Dicameron shrugged. “Worthy enough, I think. They want to progress humanity to its highest potential. Their three tenets are: immortality, morality, meaning. They have an impressive following amongst the scientists and philosophers.”
“Is this movement confined to Bridge?”
”No,” said Dicameron “It’s begun to spread everywhere. At least, to the upworlds. Humanity Kind is very good at instilling their ideals. Fervent preachers, all of them.”
“You seem to disapprove,” said Winter. “Do you follow the gods?”
Karience squeezed Winter’s shoulder gently, glad to hear her voice. She’d been so quiet since the attack.
“I don’t think much upon these matters. Their concerns about the gods seem legitimate, but it’s their zeal I dislike. They carry an air of certainty about them that I find distasteful and…potentially dangerous. As you saw today. Hiding amongst the good and decent adherents of the Mankies are the Execrata.”
“What are Mankies?” questioned Karience.
“A nickname for the vocal members of Humanity Kind.” Dicameron paused and turned to look at Karience. “Beliefs held with certainty can lead to radical actions.”
“I don’t think that’s always a bad thing,” said Winter. “It depends on what you’re being radical about. What you believe.”
“An Oracle, an Emissary, and a philosopher,” said Dicameron with a grin. “Remind me again, what world are you an Empyrean on, Karience?”
“Loam.”
“That’s right. Your domicile is just ahead. Are you sure you still want to meet with the Consecrators today?”
Karience looked at Winter. “It’s your choice? A day of rest might be best.”
“No,” said Winter. “I’d rather meet with them, and then go home. Back to Loam. I don’t want to spend anymore time here than I have to.”
To her surprise, Karience felt a measurable relief. Loam. She wanted to return home as well.
“Tell the Consecrators we will come after we bathe and dress. And we are expecting four more to join us; would you see that they make it safely from the security checkpoint?”
Dicameron stopped before a lit door in the darkened tunnel and extended his arm for them to enter. “Already done. All Loamians, and all Guardians assigned to Loam, are to be escorted by security. Now please, get some rest.”
Karience entered the small domicile which consisted of four rooms. She rarely came here, but it was nice seeing the familiar furniture, and there was Nikos, waiting for them, wearing a surprised expression.
“Nikos, let me introduce you to Winter, our new Emissary on Loam.”
“Good to meet you,” said Winter.
“Hello,” said Nikos with a bow. As usual, thought Karience, his words were akin to his stature. Very little.
“Nikos is from Loam. He is a permanent Emissary here on Bridge. Any who need to travel to Loam can come to Bridge and Nikos accompanies them through the portal.”
Nikos lifted his nose in the air. “What’s that smell? And why are there five security men standing outside our doorway?”
His high voice made him sound almost annoyed.
“Some men tried to kill us,” said Winter. “But the gods helped us escape.”
Nikos was silent, only it was a different kind of silence than the uninterested quiet that normally kept his tongue at rest. This, thought Karience, was genuine bewilderment.
CHAPTER 15
AVEN
The strange cave-like room was crowded with uniformed strangers. Aven had found Winter the moment he entered, and now stood beside her. Nearby them were Karience, Arentiss, Pike, Zoecara, and the short little man, Nikos, whom he’d briefly been introduced to. Aven couldn’t help gathering fragments of their conversation as Karience told of her and Winter’s encounter. One thing was clear someone had tried to kill Karience and his sister. But why?
“What happened?” whispered Aven. He could see the strange mix of fear and elation on his sister’s face—she’d had another vision, he felt certain of it, and it had led her through some danger. How else could he explain the massive security escort he and Arentiss received, and then only to arrive here, in this cave room, which was also under guarded protection.
The look on Winter’s face told him she was hesitant to explain.
“I know three men are dead. The security forces told us that much.” Aven took Winter’s hand and tapped, “You had another vision.”
Winter smiled. “Yes. You don’t have to fear. The Makers are protecting me as they lead.”
Aven glanced at the carved opening where the security forces stood. He shook his head. “How are we so different?” he said in a low voice. “You’re so confident in your safety.”
Winter’s smile had a soothing effect on him. A calm had come over her face. She reached out and put her arms around him, and he held her. Feeling her warmth, her slender frame, within his arms, refreshed his desire to protect her, his only family. But he couldn’t. She was beyond his ability to care for. In his own way, he was forced to entrust her to the very beings he feared.
Winter lifted her head and put her chin on his shoulder. “Circumstances have shaped our mindsets over the years,” she said quietly. “But I was always the wild one, remember. The forest dweller who’d climb the highest tree or jump across boulders in the ravine. You never liked me doing things like that. You’re the cautious one. You want others to be safe. If I didn’t have you, who’d be my voice of reason when I’m about to spring into some mischief?”
He laughed as vivid memories rushed into his mind’s eye.
“The Makers have given us these traits,” said Winter. “I believe they will use them until the day we die. We both have a mix of choice and destiny. That’s what shapes us.”
Despite his fear, a flicker of admiration warmed his heart. His sister was strong. And she was right. At least about who they were.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” came Karience’s voice. Then it grew to a whisper that only he and Winter could hear. “Dicameron is back from the Consecrators. Do you feel up to going now?”
Winter nodded, and Karience motioned with her head for them to follow. She led them outside, to a security officer.
“This man saved our lives,” tapped Winter.
The man’s face was freshly shaven, and his eyes held untold stories. Aven had seen those same characteristics in many of the older farmers. A certain weight resting in their gaze from the unspoken experiences in their lives.
“Officer Dicameron, this is Aven, he’ll be joining us.”
“Very well,” said Di
cameron and faced his sister. “Are you ready, Winter?”
Winter nodded, “I am. Can you tell me a little about the Consecrators?”
“I can tell you a lot about them,” said Dicameron starting down the darkened tunnel. A light glowed in his left hand, illuminating that side of his face. “They are the smallest order that I know of in the Guardians. Eight total, plus one man called Galthess, who is beyond my security level to investigate.”
“How can someone be beyond your security level?” said Karience. “Your sigil marks you as a Captain.”
“In my twenty-seven years of service, I’ve encountered three such individuals. They are accountable only to the Sentinels, I have no authority over them. Galthess is one of them. He serves some alternative function for the Consecrators; what that is, I haven’t discovered.”
Aven noticed that, though Karience remained silent, the information seemed to trouble her.
Dicameron continued. “In the Consecrator’s order, the women are called Sanctusses and the men are Sanctors. A Sanctuss called Voyanta is the one who will be interviewing Winter.”
“I know only her name and title,” said Karience. “And that her rank is powerful enough to alter protocol for me and my Magnus Empyrean. What is this interview?”
Dicameron led them onto a moving platform in a larger tunnel. “It is not just an interview, but I am not allowed to say more than that. I wish I could. If you haven’t picked up on my tone, let me make myself clear. I very much distrust the Consecrators.”
“Why is that?” questioned Karience, her concern etched on her face.
“Do you remember what I told you about Humanity Kind?”
“Yes,” said Karience.
“If Humanity Kind were compared to a body, the eight Consecrators would be its heart and soul.”
“Then the Guardian leadership have accepted Humanity Kind?”
“They’ve largely been embraced, all but the radical members, like the Execrata. The Guardian order’s purpose, and reason for being, is at the very heart of Humanity Kind’s underlying philosophy of life.” He glanced at Karience. “You, being an Empyrean should know this. You’ve been given charge of a world to nurture and protect. To guard against the malice of the Beasts and the indifference of the gods. This is not a new thing, this philosophy. It’s just been given a name and the focus of a movement.”
“I was trained as an Empyrean to counteract the Beasts,” said Karience. “But the gods—I received no training about them. They do nothing to hinder our mission to bring peace to the galaxy. Why have they become important?”
“If you find out,” said Dicameron, “let me know. All I can say is that the Oracles have always been of interest to our order. The Consecrators, I am told, are as old as the Guardians themselves.”
“Is my sister going to be in any danger?” said Aven, anxious for Winter.
“No physical danger will come to your sister.”
Aven mulled Dicameron’s answer over, and it quickly took on a sour taste. Something was not being said.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” tapped Aven.
“I’m curious about it,” tapped Winter. “I’m not afraid.”
“Listen to your voice of reason then.”
“What does my voice of reason have to say?”
“He thinks it might be good if you were a little afraid?”
“I am a little, I suppose.”
The moving platform slowed to a stop.
Aven looked at Winter. Her eyes were waiting confidently for his, and though there was no smile on her lips, her entire face seemed to be glowing with a sly grin.
“Why do I even bother worrying?” tapped Aven
“Because you love me.”
Aven nodded. “Stupid love.”
_____
WINTER
Sanctuss Voyanta’s kind but intense eyes combed Winter’s face under the glow of fireless candles fastened to the earthen walls. Winter was glad Aven and Karience were seated beside her, and that Dicameron stood by the door, as if keeping watch.
The journey to where they now sat had taken a long time, as they had to weave their way through a large underground city, turning right and left so many times that she would be hopelessly lost if she tried to return to where they had started from. Once they’d reached what Dicameron called the Consecrators Den, Winter found herself awestruck as they had passed through a vast library of books in large vaulted rooms, before finally stopping here, in this small and seemingly insignificant room at one corner of the library. There were a trio of chairs, a bench, and candles.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Winter.” The Sanctuss smiled at Karience and then glanced at Dicameron. “It is protocol that I speak with Winter alone. If you’ll kindly excuse yourselves and give us some time alone.”
Karience turned to Winter at the Consecrator’s words and their eyes met. A silent understanding passed between them.
“After our ordeal today,” said Karience, “I’m sure she would rather not be alone with strangers.”
Winter appreciated how protective Karience was of her. She squeezed Aven’s hand and looked the Sanctuss over.
The motherly-looking woman did not wear the traditional uniform of the Guardians, but was wrapped in an elegant cloak that looked light and silky and had a shimmering green color that reminded her of a lizard common to the farmland. Her sigil, partially obscured by her frizzy red hair, was sewn to the cloak and had a pattern of white-black-white. There was a warmth about the Sanctuss’s face that made Winter feel comfortable. It was round, smooth, and light brown in complexion, and a youthfulness to her features made her age uncertain. But something about her eyes betrayed her years. She must be close to fifty, like Karience.
A thin, young man named Theurg stood beside the Sanctuss, hands clasped in front of him, face expressionless. His eyes flashed from face to face, but his head never moved. Theurg had been introduced as Sanctuss Voyanta’s apprentice.
A foul smell pervaded the room. Though she and Karience had bathed and changed into new attire, Dicameron’s security uniform still smelled strongly of smoke, and burnt flesh.
He leaned forward. “Sanctuss Voyanta, you do what the girl wants.”
The Sanctuss turned her calming eyes on the man. “You know it is against our practice to interview an Oracle in the presence of others. Do your job, Captain, and I will do mine.”
Dicameron stared at the Sanctuss. “I didn’t save the girl’s life just to hand her over to your kind. Mankies—all of you—and I wonder if I do not smell the scent of Execrata.”
“Why must you be so brusque? There are only eight of us in the Consecrator’s order, plus Galthess, and not one is an Execrata. And despite your assumptions, I do care about the girl. Her name is Winter, by the way, and my heart is to heal the inner wounds she has accrued as an Oracle.”
Sanctuss Voyanta turned and looked at Winter. “Being an Oracle comes with challenges far removed from most humans.”
The Consecrator’s words drew Winter in. They also seemed to steal the edge off Dicameron’s anger.
Dicameron’s eyes broke from the Sanctuss and fell upon Winter for a moment, then shifted to Karience. “I spent two years infiltrating that Execrata sect that attacked you,” said Dicameron. “They are devotees of the Consecrators’ work, as I’m sure Sanctuss Voyanta and Sanctor Theurg will admit. Is that not right?” he said turning back to the Sanctuss.
Winter got the distinct impression Dicameron was simply throwing jabs at the Consecrators. Much of what he said, he’d already told her and Karience.
“You make it black and white, trying to connect the two groups,” said Sanctor Theurg, the Sanctuss’s apprentice. He looked earnestly at Karience and Winter, as if hoping to alleviate any concerns Dicameron had raised. “Humanity Kind is a peaceful movement. What happened to the Oracle earlier today was not from Humanity Kind, but the radicals. I hate the Execrata as much as you, Captain.”
“I doubt that,” said
Dicameron. “The Execrata live and breathe the same air as Humanity Kind. You know this well, Theurg. You are one of the Mankies. The lack of cooperation from your movement leads me to wonder how many peaceful Mankies are nothing more than shields for the Execrata. Humanity Kind, after all, is the mother group whose teachings spawned these radicals.”
“You are deluded, Captain, and please, do not call us Mankies. It’s insulting.”
Dicameron stood and walked around the chairs, stopping a finger width from Theurg. His face seemed perilously close. Winter waited for one of the two men to turn away, all the while her mind reeling at the idea that there were people dedicating their lives to fight the Makers.
“I know you have a sympathizer among you,” said Dicameron, “Someone within the Consecrators let slip that an Oracle was coming. I’ll be paying close attention to you and your friends. I promise you that.”
Dicameron stepped back. “Karience, if you have any further problems, do not hesitate to contact me. The four security officers outside will stay with you until you leave Bridge. We can’t be too careful.”
With that, Dicameron turned and left.
The moment he was gone, Sanctuss Voyanta stood. “I suppose after that hostile tirade I’m going to have to alter protocol this one time.” She turned to her apprentice. “Theurg, you are dismissed. You are to go to Sanctuss Exenia and give her a full account of today, including your poor behavior. An apprentice should not open his mouth in front of an Oracle unless instructed to do so.”
Theurg lowered his eyes and managed a stiff nod, then turned to leave but stopped. “Do not play with your life again, Sanctuss. Please, cover yourself.”
“I’ll decide if and when to gamble with the gods. Now leave us.”
Theurg turned with a hesitant air and left the room.
Winter noted how the Sanctuss’s eyes softened when they turned upon her. The woman’s presence, despite all that was said moments ago, made her feel safe. Winter felt true concern flowing from her.