“You cut Daerun's throat,” Dirk said.
“I did,” Afra replied.
“Was he not sent to keep you safe?” Dirk asked.
“He and his brother were my leash, not my shield,” Afra said. “They both drank their deaths more than a year ago when they put Caddell in their red tent. It was time for them to choke on what they did.”
Outside, the wind moaned like a spurned lover. One of the coals shifted in the brazier, and a handful of sparks took to the air like lost fireflies. Dirk nodded, wincing as his head throbbed.
“Would you tell me the tale?” he asked.
“It is a long story,” Afra said.
“I have nowhere to go before dawn,” Dirk said. “And I have had my fill of sleep for now.”
Afra nodded, and pulled her shawl more tightly round her shoulders. Her tongue darted over her lips, and she folded her hands in her lap. Dirk waited. In time, she found both her voice, and the beginning of her yarn.
“Lanissara came during the time of winter peace,” Afra said. “No war is waged while snow blankets the ground, and all persons who come among us are welcome. To turn away someone into the teeth of winter, even an enemy, is forbidden if they swear their oath and do no harm. She came, and she spoke. Some jeered at her. Some tried to shout her down, but there were others who listened when she spoke. They stood in a cold she did not seem to feel, with their heads bent, and their ears open. They shared her counsel among each other in whispers, and around banked fires like children telling secrets.”
“What did she say?” Dirk asked.
“She spoke of ancient libraries she had visited, and of wise men and women who kept the past. Places she had traveled to, and prophecies forgotten by all but a few,” Afra said. “She told us that the Vor Dak'ham lied to us. That they kept secrets to maintain their places above us. She said they denied their daughters the learning they gave their sons, undermining the will of the gods and spirits alike. In the olden times, or so she said, priest kings and queens had both sat atop great thrones, and there had been prosperity among our ancestors. She said we had grown soft, and weak, and that the Vor Dak'ham wielded no true power any longer. They were nothing more than old men muttering toothless words over marriages and crops. She spoke of ancient pacts, of forgotten rites, and of the strength we had once held before we were cast out from our holy places. When we had not wandered like sheep beneath the everlasting sky, but raised ourselves up to its very doorstep to hold counsel with forgotten powers.”
“People love nothing more than to be told they are greater than they are,” Dirk said.
“Wise words.” Afra snorted. “Many of the Vor Dak'ham, and among the elder councils, spoke them as well. They said Lanissara peddled lies and half-truths to sow disorder. They believed that only fools and blasphemers would listen to her.”
“They ignored the serpent in their midst,” Dirk said. “Until she struck.”
Afra nodded, and stood. She poured two cups from the pitcher, holding it with both hands. She sipped slow, and swallowed hard. She handed Dirk his cup. He drank, then slowly set the cup on the table next to the bed. Afra stared down into her cup, and sighed.
“They thought she had no venom in her fangs,” Afra said. “They were wrong.”
A cold wind whipped by the window, rattling the shutter. The candle flames flickered, but steadied once the wind passed. Afra flinched, and set her cup aside. Her hand was steady, but the tendons stood out in stark relief on the back of her hand. Her pulse stuttered along the inside of her wrist, as if her blood had been startled into a run.
“The elders did not believe her claims,” Afra said. “But she showed us her power. She healed broken bones with a touch of her hand, and cured deadly sickness with naught but her breath. She summoned beasts from their caves, and they laid down at her feet for the slaughter when many were hungry. When too many people spread the tales of what she had done, and winter began to draw to a close, she was told by the elders she was no longer welcome among us. Rather than leave, though, she chose to walk the Karran Harr. She led the common people through the hills to where the black stones began, and bade us to wait there and watch for her. Krakell came, and he tried to reason with Lanissara before she set off. He tried to tell her not to go, and to walk away from the path she was on. No one would hear his words, no matter how he shouted. He was beaten by a dozen men that day, and driven away from the road. He was dead less than a fortnight after Lanissara returned from her journey, and spoke to all of us of what she had seen.”
“Aban told me of this,” Dirk said, reaching for his cup. It took him two tries before his hand obeyed. “That was when blood flowed through the hills.”
“There were some who tried to talk,” Afra said. Her voice grew quiet as she spoke. Quiet, and calm. As if she were talking about events that had happened to another girl, in another time. “The time for talking was done, though. More elders died, and for every one that fell, a dozen of us fled. I saw no bodies with my own eyes, but with every death the tales grew taller and stranger. Burrand was found in a ditch, his back torn and charred as if a beast with burning talons had flayed him alive. Gorrel fled to the high rocks, and starved there as if he were too afraid to venture down. It was as if something waited for him, but there were no tracks in the snow, and there is nothing ferocious or hungry enough to linger that long waiting for a lone old man. Ertrand disappeared into the night as if the earth had swallowed him whole. Some said Murranel, the Vor Na'Kep, had been lashed to the arch stones atop the Kingsmount, and given as tribute to Lanissara's nameless gods before his head was stoved in with a rock.”
“Vor Na'Kep,” Dirk said, the word slow and awkward on his tongue. “What does that mean?”
“The highest voice,” Afra said, the answer distracted and automatic. “They are the first among equals of the Vor Dak'ham.”
Dirk nodded, and shifted. He rubbed at a drop of moisture hanging from the end of his nose. Afra toyed with another of the tassels on her shawl, winding it tightly round her finger before unwinding it again. A nervous gesture, and one that left pale grooves in her skin from where the threads squeezed.
“In the end, there were only three of the Vor Dak'ham left,” Afra continued. “Shadrun, Narras, and Ferrell. An old cripple, a coward, and the youngest in a begetting to wear the white robes. The three of them gathered those of us left together in the high meadows, and named Lanissara the Vor Na'Kep among them. The whole thing was a lie, but it felt true enough then. Like a true spring had finally come to us.”
“How long did that feeling last?” Dirk asked.
“Not long,” Afra said, shaking her head. “Once the ceremony was over, we broke our bread, and roasted some of what herd remained to us. We ate well, and we slept well. The the next morn, Lanissara told us we were no longer safe among the hills and pastures as we had been before. She said we had made enemies, and that they would return for us. To keep us safe, she had to take us somewhere the heretics would be too afraid to follow. Enough blood had been spilled already, and she wished for no more... or so she said. She blessed us, and told us that she had been to the holy seat of Kann Dak'ham, and that all our people were welcome there. That we always had been, but that we had been kept from it by those too afraid to embrace our past. She promised she would protect us, and teach us the ways we had once known. So we took what little we had left after the long winter, and approached the Karran Harr in the dark of the night. Many of us balked, but in the end, Lanissara led us to her holy land.”
“Kann Dak'ham,” Dirk said, frowning. “What is that?”
“An ancient name, for an ancient place,” she said, after a time. “The Hann She'lah have lived in these hills longer than anyone remembers. We were here before farmers, and long before the town. We built the grave mounds, and we raised the standing stones atop them. We have been here so long we have forgotten more than anyone has known about this land, and that place was something we had chosen to forget.”
Afra wrap
ped her arms around herself, and leaned forward. A chill went through her, despite the warmth of the glowing coals, and the wool wrapped around her shoulders. She took slow, deep breaths, and bit at her bottom lip as if she was trying to hold her mouth closed. When she spoke again, the words poured from her in a torrent, each falling over the other as she forced them out.
“All roads led to Kann Dak'ham. That was what Lanissara told us. The black roads covered the world like the veins of a net, catching everything in its path. Kann Dak'ham was where the old kings sat, and spoke to the voices beyond the sky. In the center of the city stood a huge, black palace. Stones a dozen times the size of a man, each stacked atop the other with no room to fit a knife blade between them. A cold, dead place, but something still lived in it. Something haunted it...”
Afra went silent. Her lips moved, and her throat clenched, but nothing else came out. It was like she had poured out her sickness, but a part of her didn't believe it was gone and was still trying to purge her. Tears trembled on her lashes. Dirk reached out for her, resting his hand gracelessly on Afra's knee.
“That was where the Karran Harr led?” Dirk asked. “The place your holy men pilgrimaged to, before they were allowed to take up their white mantles?”
Afra nodded. She drained the remnants of her water cup, gasping. She rubbed her face, and shook her head slowly. When her breathing was back to normal, and she had herself reined once more, she continued.
“The place was a ruin,” Afra said, her voice quiet. “There were a dozen other buildings, all crumbling, but the temple stood high above all. The trees wouldn't grow near the place, and those that tried were stunted, twisted things that barely rose past the height of a man. We camped in the shadow of the place, and we huddled against each other. Most of us refused to even look at it. All but Lanissara, who seemed blissful to have returned. A bride betrothed, and now to be married.”
Afra raised her cup to drink again, but found it empty. Instead of re-filling it, though, she set it aside. Her hands didn't seem to know what to do, her fingers busy twining and untwining. She licked her lips, worrying at a small cut near the corner of her mouth.
“Lanissara remained among us for three days after we arrived. Then she climbed the crumbling stairs of the black mountain during a moonless night. Tharn went with her. We waited below, but we heard nothing. By the morning light, there was still no sign of her. Riders circled the whole of the temple, but they found no fallen bodies. Some said we should climb the stairs to see if she was up there, but no one was brave enough to go. So we waited. Three days later, Tharn descended the stairs, and summoned the Vor Dak'ham. They went, and Tharn came behind them carrying food and kindling. They were gone for two more days. When they returned, there was a strangeness about them that had not been there before. A gleam in their eyes as if they had been told some great secret, and though they wanted to share it, each knew they could not. When we asked them what had happened, they told us that the Vor Na'Kep had entered the ancient temple where our ancestors had once sat among the spirits themselves. She would remain within, as there were many secrets that even she in her great wisdom had not yet learned. If she had need of any of her people, then she would send word through the Vor Dak'ham. And if we had need of her, we were to come only if it was a matter of true import.”
“And?” Dirk asked when Afra fell silent.
“And nothing,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Life moved on. Spring came soon, the grass nearby was lush, and there were streams filled with fish. Lanissara remained unseen, but occasionally Tharn would descend from the temple to fetch people to her. Some returned with the same, mad spark we had glimpsed in the Vor Dak'ham's eyes. Others returned with white faces, and would not speak of what they had seen within. Whenever we needed something, though, we told one of the three holy men. After a season, Coro put a roof on one of the old, stone watch buildings. He repaired the sagging walls as best he could, and it became a place for us to store food, and seek shelter if the weather turned terrible.”
“Did most settle in the old buildings?” Dirk asked.
“No.” Afra shuddered, her mouth twisting in revulsion. “Coro and his sister Mela made some of the stone piles livable, but none stayed in them by choice. They brought bad dreams, and those who stayed within them too long were plagued with sickness.”
“And the Hann Dak'ham?” Dirk asked. “Where do they fit into all this?”
“They are boys and break-necks,” Afra said. “It all began a year ago, when Tharn told us that the men, and the boys old enough to think themselves men, would be trained to keep us safe. They were given white tunics from the last season's shearing, and when they were deemed ready, they were given blades brought from on-high by Tharn. They were old, but clean. The older boys, the ones who had stood in blood during slaughter season, knew what their task would be. That made some of them uncomfortable. There were others, though, who pushed out their chests, and who were all too eager to bare their steel. As if a blade in their hand proved they had courage in their hearts.”
“Others like Daerun and Gerd?” Dirk said.
Afra's face darkened. “Yes.”
Dirk nodded. “Did the training begin when Caddell found you?”
Afra smiled. It brought tears to her eyes again, but she swiped them off her lashes. “I should have known he would come for me. A farmer he may be, but he was a boy with a boy's heart. He would no sooner abandon me than he would cut off his foot to lighten his burden.”
“Why did you not go with him when he found you?” Dirk asked.
“He had not been as clever as he thought,” Afra said. “Daerun and Gerd had both seen him, and followed him. Caddell had been gone no more than a handful of minutes before they pulled open my tent, and dragged me out. They brought me before Lanissara, and made me confess. Then she bade them to fetch Caddell.”
Afra wiped away a tear that had crept to the tip of her nose. She swallowed, and there was a dry click in her throat. “Before Lanissara came, those two goat lovers were outcast. Thieves and bloodletters both, they were banished from all but the most open ceremonies. Even then, there was no one among us who would call them friend. It was when they dragged me to her, and captured Caddell, that they gained Lanissara's favor. When she decreed the Hann Dak'ham should be made, those two were its right and left hands.”
“Caddell told me his tale,” Dirk said. “What happened after? After they took him away, and dragged him back here?”
“It was like the shadow of the temple began swallowing us,” Afra said. “Around the evening fire, Bera said it was foolish to stay the winter in that broken place. That we had made a mistake. She vanished in the night, and if anyone heard or saw what had happened to her, they said nothing of it as we huddled. Narras counseled patience, and Ferrell said he would bring our words to Lanissara's ears. He did, but she had no words for him to bring back to us. Some of the new-wrapped white boys rode out with the older men at their head, claiming they would follow Bera's trail. It was all for show; we knew she had gone nowhere on her own. No tracks led away from camp, and Bera was too frail to have gone far without aid. She had even left her walking stick behind, which she never went anywhere without. Some days later, Coro spoke out about it over the evening meal. Two days after his words had been heard, Tharn came to Coro's tent. Coro yelled at him, and demanded that Lanissara tell them what had happened to Bera. To tell us what what she was doing, and why she was forcing us to stay in that awful place. It was not long after that Coro was gone, too.”
Dirk sipped at his water. Just as he reached the end, his fingers spasmed, and the cup slipped out of his grip. Water splashed across his chin and chest, and the cup clattered to the floor. Afra picked it up, and filled it again before setting it back on the side table. Dirk wiped his face with the back of his forearm, and made slow fists with his left hand. His knuckles popped, and he grunted.
“Less than a fortnight after Coro disappeared, Narras, Ferrel, and Shadran called us all together.
They told us that just as the boys would protect our bodies, so too the daughters would protect our spirit. Lanissara had decreed that we were all to become her acolytes, and that we would attend our duties as such.”
“And no one spoke out after that,” Dirk said. It was not a question.
“No,” Afra said, shaking her head.
“No, I imagine not,” Dirk said. “Stealing children has a way of stilling wagging tongues, and bowing even the proudest heads. So they brought you all to Lanissara?”
“There were no more than a score of us,” Afra said. “Kenna was the eldest at twenty, and Ciree the least. Kenna went first, and I last. Tharn followed at my back, and Daerun and Gerd stood at the bottom of the steps. No one ran. Only Filene tripped, but she made it to the crest with little more than a skinned knee.”
Afra trailed off. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Bent in on herself, with her thick shawl swaddling her, she looked even younger than she was. Like a girl recalling a nightmare she'd been trying not to think about until the morning, but who found the dream was no less terrifying when she looked at it in the light of day.
“She sat the stone seat atop the temple like a queen, waiting for us to bow before her. When each of us had lowered to our knees, she opened her arms, and pronounced us all her daughters. There were smiles from the girls who were proud, and tears from those who thought it meant they could never go back to their own mothers and fathers waiting below. She guided us to a door, and opened it. We each took a candle, and descended into the dark.” Afra shook her head slowly, her thick hair shushing across her shoulders. “There were wonders below, she told no lie about that. There were chambers of black stone laced with veins of silver and gold that twisted into pictures that told stories of times long past. I saw places of prayer hung with colored glass, whose very walls glowed with pale light. We drank from fonts of cold, clean water that were ever full. Several caverns had mapped the stars, and if you knew where to stand in them, it showed you where they would be even though you could not see the sky.”
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