Chains of a Dark Goddess (7 page)

The convalescence ward was an extensive building in the back of the compound. A number of windows and balconies opened onto the ornamental gardens that surrounded it. High Priest Artorio opened the door to the ward.

“If you will allow me to forsake humility for a moment, I must say that your daughter has had the best care possible. Under the care of anyone else, anywhere in the Issalian Empire, she would have died.”

Breskaro stepped in but Nalsyrra didn’t follow. “I must see to Zyr. We will talk later, Breskaro.”

“Please understand, my lord,” said the high priest, “that when we undertook her care, we thought we could heal her entirely. We truly would not have made the attempt otherwise. When she arrived, she was paralyzed from the head down, her spine broken in three places. She could respond only with her eyes. Her mind seemed good, but she could not speak for some reason. We repaired her spine, as we have done successfully with a few other patients. Our operations went perfectly, but for some reason, she still cannot talk or move. It is a mystery.”

“Why did you let her live? It’s not much of a life for her is it?”

Artorio stopped before a closed door. He fidgeted. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. “Many would be angry if we kept a loved one alive in such a state. I know. But please understand that it’s against our edicts to let a patient die if we can help it, no matter the circumstances.”

“How did she come here?”

“She was found floating in the River Ayre. The fishermen who recovered her brought her here immediately, knowing that we were the only ones who might could save her.”

“They found her north of here?”

“No, to the south. They didn’t know where she had come from, and no one came looking.”

“Did you put out the word?”

“We asked in the area and sent notice to a few temples nearby. But we could give little information other than a description. She had no possessions and wore only a simple peasant’s dress. We had no reason to suspect that she might be of noble birth.”

His qavra heart racing, Breskaro stepped through the door. 

Orisala
.

She lay on a sleeping couch, staring out into the garden. Unmoving. She had heard their voices outside her door. Her eyes flickered with hope.

“Leave us,” Breskaro said to Artorio.

The high priest bowed and withdrew.

Breskaro walked over and gazed down upon the waste that was all that was left of his once-beautiful daughter who had so strongly resembled her mother, Adelenia. Her muscles had atrophied without use. Her skin was pallid and drawn. The plump cheeks Breskaro remembered were sharp and sallow. Her caregivers kept her hair cut short. She used to complain fiercely as Metra combed her long, dark curls each night. Only her eyes remained bright and alive. But she was here and yet breathed, just as Nalsyrra had promised.

Those vibrant eyes followed him as he knelt beside her. He touched her arm. Tears rolled from his decrepit eyes. But beneath his sadness seethed a deep anger. An anger that wanted to break whoever was responsible for this.

“Orisala. My daughter. How much I have missed you.”

Her eyes swept across him, absorbing every detail. Her cheeks spasmed. Her lips trembled awkwardly as they curled up on the ends. And then, Orisala smiled.

“My little dove. You must think yourself insane. How can I be here now?” 

Tenderly he stroked her cheek. Her eyes glimmered, tears rolled.

“I died, but Seshalla didn’t take me to Paradise. I was cast into the Shadowland where I remained until a week ago when I was given an offer to return to life. It’s a cruel half-life in a decayed body. I think I’m more sorcery than flesh. But I’m here.
For you
.

“If I complete a difficult task for our benefactor, she will heal you. Don’t get your hopes up too much, for I will most likely fail. Our benefactor wants the impossible.”

He hugged her. “If you can respond to me, I have a few questions for you. Give me one long blink for yes. Two blinks for no.”

She took one long blink and the corners of her mouth trembled, attempting another smile.

“Does my appearance frighten you?”

Yes, she blinked.

“You were always honest, to a fault. I remember.”

Her face twitched, as if she were about to laugh.

“Were you attacked?”

She blinked once.
Yes
.

“Was Kedimius with you?”

No
.

“Was he alive when last you saw him? Were you still in love with one another?”

Yes
.

“Have the Keshomaeans treated you well?”

Yes
.

“I will see to it that you remain safe here while I go off to do what I must. But don’t worry. I will stay for a few days first.”

He stroked her hair then looked out through the open doors that led from her room into the garden. Her view showed many flowers, a fountain, and a moss-covered statue of Keshomae. 

“I wish I hadn’t campaigned so much during your youth. I should have stayed home with you. My devotion to Seshalla was a waste.” He placed his left hand on her chest. “What is left of my heart loves nothing but you.”

She blinked rapidly many times. He took her hand. “I cannot tell what you want.” She stared at his chest and blinked. “The death wound? You wish to see
that
?”

Yes
, she blinked.

He removed his chest armor and shirt to let her see the jet qavra stone pulsing within the once-empty cavity. She blinked rapidly again, this time staring him at his face.

“The death mask? I’m a waste. A corpse. In no way do I resemble the man I was. My face now is this bronze mask.”

She continued to blink emphatically.
She might as well see the truth
, he thought. He removed the mask.

She snapped her eyes shut then opened them a little, moment by moment, until she could look at him fully.

“Nauseating?”

Yes
. And she looked away.

“I’m a terror to look upon.” He replaced the mask. “And I will be a terror to our enemies. I will smite whoever did this to you. I will see you healed, little dove.”

Chapter 10

Seven Days Earlier

Tendrils of dawn-lit fog snaked between weathered mausoleums, cracked tombstones, and statues of little gods worshiped and little gods forgotten. With leaden steps, paired knights and priestesses drifted along the fog trails. After a half-night of aimless searching for some unknown, supernatural threat, they were leaving.

One pair paused in front of a small mausoleum typical of what the lesser nobility could afford. Engraved above the entrance was the Varenni name alongside the family crest.

The knight was Captain Kedimius Threnna, a dark-haired man of twenty-seven years who with plump, boyish cheeks barely looked seventeen. Over chainmail he wore a white surcoat bearing the emblem of the Imperial First Lancers: a gold heart overlaid by a vertical crimson sword. 

The priestess Ilsimia Ulla, a sister of the Grand Order, the highest echelon of clergy within the Issalian Empire, stood beside him. Her face had fine, delicate features that gave her a classic beauty. Her limbs were long and slender. Honey-colored hair hung down her back, twisted into the knotted braid worn by all Seshallan priestesses. Her deep brown eyes studied Kedimius’s face as he gazed upon the mausoleum.

“I know the cemetery guards didn’t make up the attack,” she said. “But there’s nothing out here. Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

“You think this succubus they saw will come back?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the mausoleum.

“I don’t know. But if it does, we’ll be back here again. Fast. The Matriarch was extraordinarily upset by this. I think her intuition—” Frowning, she paused mid-sentence. Several moments passed in silence and he didn’t respond. “Are you listening to me at all?”

His head flicked toward her. “The Matriarch’s intuition … um … sorry.” He flashed a sad apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was just—”

“Thinking about
her
?” Ilsimia snapped. She touched his cheek. “Am I not enough? Why can’t you let her go?”

“I’m trying. I am. But it was more than love. I was trained from a young age to protect her. For Master Varenni, teaching me to adore Orisala was no different than teaching me to wield a sword. A man does not overcome such training in a day. But I
will
get there.”

Her face showed no emotion. “When did you last come here?”

“Three months ago. I swear I stopped coming, just like I promised I would.”

Ilsimia sighed. “I’m going to visit my parents’ graves. That will give you a few moments to make your peace. Make it well. You
won’t
be coming back here.”

She trudged away, her robes of palest gold skimming across the thick grass that grew alongside the cemetery’s paths.

“I failed you, Master Varenni,” Kedimius whispered, pushing a lock of brown hair from his face. “And you, Orisala. You most of all. I miss you so much. Gods, why can’t I get you out of my mind.” He cursed and tugged at his hair. “I love Ilsimia. She is kind and beautiful and so patient with me. But if I can’t get over you soon, I’m going to lose her.”

By the time Ilsimia returned, he’d shed a few tears and wiped them away. The sun was high enough now to illuminate the front of the mausoleum. With a puzzled look, Ilsimia scanned the ground.

“Did this place have a lot of visitors recently. Look how the turf was churned but has grown back.”

Startled out of his reverie, Kedimius glanced about. He knelt and studied the tracks. His brow furrowed. “I’m no scout, but I’d guess two or three horses were here, plus their riders.”

“But horses are forbidden in the High Cemetery.” 

He shrugged. “It doesn’t look recent. Unless …” He ran his fingers along the ground. “I think these tracks were covered. They’re not as old as they seem. How they were covered, I have no idea.”

She knelt at the door of the mausoleum. “Ked, you had better come see this.”

Clumps of grass had been torn loose from where the door had been pulled open and shut again. The clumps had been pressed back into place. The door was still, almost imperceptibly, ajar. 

Kedimius drew his sword.

“Would any of the living Varenni have had reason to come here?” Ilsimia asked.

“Not that I know of. I haven’t heard of any deaths in the family, though I was never close to any save Breskaro and Orisala. Even if family had come here, they couldn’t have come with horses. This was done under the cover of darkness … after the guards were neutralized. Then the signs were covered.”

Kedimius moved toward the door. Ilsimia looked about the cemetery. 

“We’re the only ones left,” she said. “Everyone else has already left the cemetery. Should we summon help?”

His eyes were focused, his jaw set. He shook his head. “We can handle it.”

Kedimius heaved the door open. It went easily enough. Sword at the ready, he stepped in. Ilsimia slid in alongside him. She took a fist-sized crystal matrix from her pouch and spoke a simple prayer from the Book of Seshalla. Only priestesses of the Grand Order were trained and allowed to use these stones. Blessed by the Matriarch and imbued with the power of Seshalla, the crystal glowed, illuminating the open gate leading to Breskaro’s chamber. The stone’s light would have repelled any lesser demons or foul spirits. Anything greater than that she could attack with the matrix.

Nothing moved within sight. Ilsimia closed her eyes and chanted again. “I’m not sensing anything.”

He moved up and down the corridor, glancing through the iron gates that led to each chamber. He went to Breskaro’s chamber last. He took two deep breaths then entered. Ilsimia followed.

An empty marble slab awaited them.

Ceremonial armor and burial clothes lay discarded in the corner.

Kedimius’s sword arm went limp and the sword’s tip tinked against the floor. Ilsimia gasped. Both stood for several minutes, just staring at the blank slab of stone where Sir Breskaro Varenni should lie.

Kedimius squatted down and touched the armor pieces his master had been buried in. Kedimius had brought the body in here himself along with General Togisi. Gritting his teeth, he spoke at last.

“Mia, you report to the Matriarch. I’ll notify the White Guard.”

~~~

The sun bore down on the High Cemetery as Kedimius met Ilsimia again, this time on a slight hill overlooking the Varenni Mausoleum. Below them, knights of the White Guard in their gold-trimmed white cloaks meticulously combed the grounds inside and outside the mausoleum.

“How did it go with the Matriarch?” Kedimius asked.

“Not well. She was shaken by the news. I know I meet with her rarely, but I’ve never seen her disturbed by anything before. No wonder she was worried last night.”

“Does she know something we don’t?”

Ilsimia shrugged. “If so, she’s not going to tell me. How were things for you?”

“The White Guard grilled me for two hours, as if I were a suspect.”