Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary (4 page)

     The shadows within held the kind of grey
that closed in with a press of ghosts reliving the judgements against them.
Malkrin used all his senses, normal and high to detect sound and movement. The
silence answered noisily with nothing but the hiss of the storm. He released
pent up breath and it steamed in the dim grey from the arched windows. Water
dripped from his cloak to form a puddle on the clean marble floor. He left the cloak
hooked over the
wall
brackets of an ancient iron candelabrum. T
hen he shook water from his leggings and ran
through the Citizen’s Gallery. Before him the Brenna Council’s carved chairs
loomed, then – Jadde’s ornate altar.

     There was just room behind the ancient
altar to squeeze between two statues of previous Brenna leaders. In the shadow
of the carved stone Malkrin crouched and took stock of his surroundings. The narrow
arched windows were glazed with multi-coloured glass which let coloured light dapple
the altar. It also brought a deception of life to the stone statues of previous
Seconchane rulers lining the near walls. Malkrin forced his attention from the foreboding
sculptures and concentrated on the inscription on the sides of Jadde’s altar.

He didn’t need to be able to read to know
what the lettering said, all the Seconchane had been taught the words from an
early age. It was embedded into their childhood memories. No ordinary folk were
able to read letters and words, but he repeated the memorised lines anyway. His
eyes followed the flowing script in a semblance of literacy – it helped to
focus his highsense.

     ‘All men and women whether high-born
or low shall be judged equally by my altar, which is the true symbol of
justice. Deceit will not reign when my surface is struck. My stone body is the
anvil of judgement where no falsehood will prevail. My vigilant eye and alert ear
will deliver righteous judgement to elevate the innocent and lower the guilty.’
 

Everyone believed that from within the
altar Jadde still emitted the potent magic that proved the inscription was not mere
empty words.

Malkrin was about to prove the truth or the
lie.

He touched the inscription. His hand felt
cold rough stone. In his mind it was warm and smooth. He pressed his ear to the
stone and faintly his highsense ear detected the sound of bees. But so distantly
he decided it was probably elsewhere in the Great Hall or just the returning murmur
of the clinging silence. He gathered his inner eye and cautiously focused on
the engraved stone before him. Then peered into the stone and slowly journeyed
through the structure of the slab to a hollow within. He peered into the space hoping
not to view dark emptiness again.

But within the enclosed space, lights flashed
in rainbow colours. Bright movement flashed through his mind – from all
directions.

His inner eye seared, as if he had been staring
into the bright sun and was ejected.

***

Cabryce and Nardin had always been close.
Their families had been neighbours since childhood and if Cabryce’s highsense
hadn’t been announced then fate may have predicted her marriage to Nardin. She
thought they would have been very happy. Then stopped her train of thought, she
was more than happy anyway – with Malkrin. He was all she desired and it was
right that the Council had decreed their union. Now looking at Nardin’s worried
features she realised continuous hunting and punishing labour had aged him more
than Malkrin and herself. Their highsense abilities had gained them an income
from the Brenna Council and the employment of the servant girl Danna had
alleviated the necessity for most routine tasks. Her good fortune had extended
from her childhood when her father had insisted she learnt the rudiments of
written letters and words. Sire Steth Harefoot of the Priesthood had taught her
as a favour to her father who had once saved him from a runaway cart. She was
proud of her ability to write her name and a few other letters and to read many
more words so they formed understandable lines in her mind. It felt like a
skill close in power to having a highsense. She hoped that one day she could
increase the skill of word reading.

Her mother had taught her well in all a
Seconchane woman should know. The Brenna and the High Priest had recognised her
highsense. It elevated her within Edentown beyond her wildest childhood
expectations. The best stitched clothes, the best cuts of meat, the solidly
constructed cottage. She was indeed fortunate and she looked forward to the
children to come. But it didn’t stop her feeling sorry for friends who
struggled daily. She watched Nardin thoughtfully spooning the bowl of hot
potato broth she’d handed him, then busied herself preparing a food parcel of
luxuries for his family.

‘Where has my Malkrin gone tonight?’ she
asked anxiously, knowing Nardin would be straight with her.

‘He has been frequenting the market outside
the Great Hall four times in the past three days. I worry for him. I’m afraid he’s
up to something that will get him in big trouble soon.’

Cabryce nodded in weary agreement, ‘I hope
not. He won’t listen when I warn him to focus his gift on hunting. I tried
asking what he’s being so secretive about. He just says it’s best I don’t know.’
She paused while adding a slab of mountain goat cheese to the parcel.

 ‘I also have tried to warn him. But I have
no gift so he takes little notice of me.’ Nardin rubbed his eyes. ‘But I help
people as best I can. It pleases him that I share that same ideal.’

Cabryce knew Nardin only fiddled with his
ears or soothed his eyes when thinking hard, which he did a lot of – and in
great detail. He’d always been that way. Some found it beyond their patience
when he spoke slowly, at great length for a whole hourglass about his thoughts.
Most walked off, but Cabryce loved him for it and had always listened.

‘Can you tell where he is now? And do you
see him in your mind?’ Nardin asked as he thought about one of his theories.

‘My highsense will not change or enlarge to
encompass those talents I’m afraid. For the love of Jadde I’ve tried, but to no
avail.’

They lapsed into silence as Nardin
assimilated the negative titbit leaving the sound of the storm to fill their
minds.

‘Malkrin believes the priests know more
than they are prepared to tell ordinary folk and possibly the Brenna too,’ said
Nardin, who then reeled off a list of priest’s names.

Cabryce waited until the chanted list was
completed. ‘Yes, he’s always believed in the treasure legend. Recently, in his
sleep, he has muttered of a new highsense and trying in vain to find the prized
hoard. He’s also been troubled about discovering a secret vault beneath the
sacred keep.’

‘It’s interesting what you can find out
from your partner when they are sleep-troubled. I have memorised tales from
three other neighbours who say . . .’

Cabryce didn’t want to be sidetracked from helping
Malkrin, so just this once she stopped Nardin before he moved from their
discussion. ‘I’ve told no one Malkrin has developed a new gift to seek the
great treasure.’ She looked at Nardin, imploring him to keep the secret.

‘Thanks Cabryce – for telling me. It helps
to tie up a few theories I have.’ Nardin paused and she sensed a long
explanation. But he straightened and resolve firmed his features. ‘It has
helped me come to a decision I’ve been meaning to make for some time . . . to
help everyone in Edentown.’

Cabryce looked questioningly at him.

‘I’m going to ask the priests to teach me
to read the histories and the scriptures.’

Cabryce was stunned. It was the peoples’
right to learn to read, but few had the time, even as children. The priesthood
discouraged it with tales of the ancient tribes obtaining too much knowledge
and destroying each other with it. That excuse put people off as they envisaged
the curse of written knowledge destroying their families and friends.

‘I and Malkrin will support you, but are
you sure?’

‘I am, and when the priests trust me, I
will in time find a way down into this hidden vault, and from there . . .’

‘They will never leave you alone to explore.
You will only be there to learn the lettering and then only the words they wish
you to see.’

‘I know, but I am determined to learn things
in the histories – as well as sneaking off to explore. It will help you and
Malkrin to aid the townsfolk, of course.’

‘How will you feed your family?’

‘I will hunt as usual, and till my father’s
fields later in the day and learn the scriptures during the evenings.’

Cabryce nodded, her eyes watered. Nardin
was surely the people’s truest friend.  ‘But you will exhaust yourself with no
time to sleep.’

‘I sleep little, there have always been too
many questions spinning in my head. And I am determined.’

Nardin finished his broth with fast sips;
then as the shriek and roar of the storm against the cottage windows increased he
got up to go.

The door crashed open and let in a howl of
wind to flicker the candles. Smoke sucked out of the chimney from the hearth fire
and filled the room.

     Malkrin staggered in as if ten goblets
of corn liquor filled his stomach. He was white faced and shaking, water
streamed from his face, cloak and leggings.

‘Close the door.’ Cabryce shouted.

‘Wait Cabie, he’s unwell . . .’

Nardin grabbed Malkrin as he tottered
against the wall. They removed his soaking cloak and helped him to his
hearthside seat. Cabryce wrapped her arms around him oblivious to his damp
clothing.

He rambled for almost an hourglass of time
before intelligence returned, expelling the wildness from his eyes. His breath
smelt stale – he had not touched any liquor. Cabryce and Nardin waited
patiently for an explanation. Malkrin’s breathing slowed and in the reflected
firelight colour returned to fill his pale features.

     ‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

‘What have you seen?’ Nardin added.

     Malkrin’s eyes took on a deep and
haunted look. ‘I have seen the flight of a million invisible birds. I have been
to the ends of the earth and returned without even leaving. I have seen
fireflies in myriad hordes dancing in procession down invisible streets. I have
travelled through the windows of countless buildings – all flashing with magic.
I witnessed the migration of lightning as it sped on a thousand journeys. Then I
watched the lightning return before it began its travelling again.’

He shuddered and brief sanity entered his
eyes. ‘And yet I know and recognise nothing. I have learnt naught and been
nowhere.’

Cabryce caressed her husband’s shoulders.
‘We know you’ve been to the Great Hall – I need the whole tale please.’

Malkrin took no notice of her stern words. ‘Jadde’s
magic is limitless. I have been taught a lesson by a great Goddess, majestic
beyond mortal eyes. I am a mere worm before the great Warrior Goddess.’

Slowly he shook his head as if attempting to
regain his senses. Then sagged and fell silent again. Cabryce continued
massaging her husband’s shoulders and ignored Nardin.

Suddenly Malkrin sat bolt upright and
stated, ‘my new highsense, it is seared to blindness. It is gone.’

Nardin took a step toward Malkrin, changed
his mind, went to ask a question, then stuttered an apology and took his leave.

Cabryce laid with her husband that night as
he muttered and turned in restless confusion. She thought of the mysterious burden
he had assumed. How she and Nardin were not going to allow him to fight the suffocating
priesthood, reform the bronze fist of the Brenna and alleviate the poverty of
the folk of Edentown – alone.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘
M
alkrin Owlear you have again been proven
guilty before the Council of the Brenna. Your fellow hunters have once more testified
under oath to your crime.’

Like a recurring nightmare the Councils’
verdict repeated. The words smashed Malkrin’s prestige. They would leave him
not just a commoner but worse: an outcast.

There would be no
third chance.

He was back in Jadde’s great echoing Hall
of Justice, before the same Brenna Council and Jadde’s all seeing eyes.

Two winters had passed since his furtive
visit to the altar. Now looking at the mysterious monolith he could again imagine
the flickering fireflies within the stone shrine. He felt the hairs on the back
of his neck stand up and remembered the events after that terrible hourglass.
Particularly his battle to regain his sanity, and then the decisions he had
made when he had recovered.

He had pronounced himself sick and unable
to hunt. His inner ear and his ability to create small highsense talents
remained, but he was physically consumed by dread. He had violated Jadde in her
hidden abode. The sin was greater because he could confide it to no one but
Cabryce. She counselled him to take a period of recuperation. Gladly he had
taken the time to watch his chickens peck and listen to Cabryce console and
chat. He saw no one and sought no other for advice or news. Then after an
autumn season of bad hunts the people had implored him to return, their tallies
had been terrible and winter was approaching. The people were now extracting an
existence on what they grew, what fruit was available on their stunted trees
and which captive goats they could afford to slaughter. Eventually Sire Josiath
Nighthawk quietly warned Malkrin.

‘The Brenna are about to test you. I have
been passed a message that Sire Helm Rantiss will be sent to collect you in two
days.’

Malkrin had nodded aghast. He had nearly
failed his people – the realisation hit him like an icy blast.

‘They believe your highsense has completely
vanished.’

He returned to the hunt the next day, the
first day of snow. By the fifth sunset he had created the biggest tally of game
ever recorded. The exhilaration of the hunt had been the cure.

Malkrin was ecstatic – he was in Jadde’s
favour again.

He had used the time since returning as
peoples’ favourite wisely, in the knowledge that the inevitable flicker would reappear
in his highsense. He grew wiser and better skilled at concealing his sudden
highsense blackouts. But he had also become angrier as he collected information
and reports on the stranglehold the Brenna had on the people of Cyprusnia. ‘The
free people of the Seconchane’ was a mere phrase in the mouths of the
controlling Brenna. In reality the people were closely observed – and heavily
taxed and disciplined for the privilege.

He had grown better at being a good
husband. Or so Cabryce said, although it was obvious to him he was on borrowed
time and still no children blessed them. Jadde had ordeals planned for him he
was sure. She would not at present allow him to teach a son to hunt, or give
Cabryce a daughter to help her.

And then unknown gods sent the sudden mental
breeze that had carried away the highsense flame before he could pause and reignite
it. It could not have been Jadde; surely she would not have been this cruel.

It had been the worst possible moment; again
on a hunt. He had been pursuing a herd of white tailed deer. He was in the lead
and the other hunters had been pounding after him. He was determined to keep
ahead of Guy Beartooth who he sensed was equally driven to overtake him and
spear a deer. Beartooth thought of it as some kind of contest to claim his
position as the peoples’ favoured hunter. Malkrin’s highsense flame had suddenly
extinguished, he couldn’t sense Beartooth and the other hunters. His normal
hearing told him they were running, panting somewhere behind him. He couldn’t even
stop to try to reignite his inner ear; it would be obvious to Beartooth’s keen
eye. Worse still, he couldn’t use his highsense to work out where the prey was
in relation to the hunters. There was no way he could position his companions
to trap the deer.

Malkrin’s thoughts returned from sampling
the evil luck, to viewing the inscription on Jadde’s ornate altar. He pondered
the enigmatic words inscribed on the stone. Guy Beartooth would do well to
remember them, for it was he who had again reported Malkrin to the Council. But
Beartooth could not be touched by Jadde’s law, for he was a truthful witness to
Malkrin’s lost highsense in a moment of importance.

Malkrin returned again to his memory of the
fated hunt.

They had lost the whole herd of deer. He had
made some kind of excuse to appease various hunters accusing stares. Then he
hadn’t heard the stealthy approach of the wildcat. Again indiscipline split the
silent hunt apart as the wildcat leapt. It had ripped out Talbert Lionlung’s
throat before Malkrin could even lift a spear. His arm had felt leaden. It was
as if deep down he had already accepted this was the moment his highsense was
to utterly fail him. It had been up to Beartooth and one other, to shoot arrows
into the cats flank as it wrenched at Talbert’s throat.

As the eldest son of Brenna Captain Engred
Lionlung his death meant someone had to be punished. He Malkrin was clearly at
fault, his highsense had failed him. With Beartooth bullying the other hunters
to testify it meant Malkrin could be undeniably blamed. He knew he should have
sensed the furtive movement and then the sudden rush, but his gift had remained
firmly snuffed out. He had taught himself a few new mental tricks to reignite
his gift. None of them had worked. It was as if some evil god was gagging his
highsense from speaking to him. It was Beartooth’s opportunity not only to
denounce Malkrin’s loss but to further accuse him of already knowing of the
failing – thereby deliberately leading Talbert to his death.

And now here he was, standing in Jadde’s Great
Hall before the gathered dignitaries of the Seconchane. Malkrin thought
bitterly, he was the fool who had once intruded on the Goddess in her realm, and
was to be rightfully punished. Now Beartooth would be given his opportunity to
be peoples’ favourite. Although only endowed with normal hunters abilities Guy
Beartooth was wily and clever. He would gain the title easily.

Malkrin wished Jadde had never cursed him with
highsense gifts and worried how Cabryce would fend of Beartooth in his absence.

     He lurched away from the desperate
memory as Bredon the Fox shouted with all the authority his voice could muster.

‘ . . .
And now show Jadde’s verdict
.’

The ancient elder feebly raised the staff
of justice and pointed it at the Council. Malkrin watched the golden runes chiselled
beneath the altar plinth begin to glow with a bright aura. He envisaged the
fireflies within buzzing frantically. His time with the Seconchane was coming
to an end.

‘Now vote wise men of Brenna,’ Bredon
commanded.

Malkrin’s highsense read a collective expectation
in the priesthood lining the hall sides in their ornate seats. The keeps
priestly population looked suitably pious and sombre and at the same time
expectant. The Brenna viewed proceedings with equal interest from the
intricately carved gallery above the ordinary people. Tribe’s folk sat behind Malkrin
on crude benches, he heard the rustle of their rough clothing and intakes of
breath loaded with sorrow. Malkrin felt weighed down with their resignation as
they awaited the verdict.

The Council of twelve each raised a palm
upward, responding in the age old custom. ‘
We decide according to the ancient
lore
,’ they bellowed in unison. A quiver in their old vocal chords
resounded in the cold stone hall. Their faces were resolute before the all seeing
altar of Jadde. They had deliberated on the overpowering evidence presented to
them, reached a decision and would now seek conformation from Jadde’s
all-seeing presence. Their stony faces underlined their vast age and apparent
wisdom. Malkrin just saw their flabby flesh enriched by the crippling taxes
they leavened on the people. With a jangle of ritual adornments and rustle of embossed
leather cloaks each took two unsteady steps forward. The Council, as one,
reached under their red satin cloaks revealing polished scabbards containing
ceremonial swords. Each Council member had kept their time scarred sword
carefully packed in the finest scabbards, ready to administer justice when
required. Passed down from their fathers and their fathers, fathers before them
they were a badge of authority for the Brenna.

A discordant hiss sliced the charged
atmosphere as they drew their jewel encrusted symbols with a firm clasp on the
hilts. Holding the gleaming relics vertically in front of their bearded faces
they chanted the names magically endowed to each sword.

‘Act justly Onkred,’ uttered Councillor
Boele the Bear to his blade.

Another Councillor in an equally grim tone
said ‘Nagell – let truth prevail.’

‘Let justice be done.’

‘Act well Ethered.’

‘Serve Jadde’s justice, Nothrall.’

Just get on with it
, Malkrin clenched
his teeth impatiently.

The Council completed various incantations
to a twisted justice.

Malkrin no longer believed in Brenna justness,
he now knew well their interpretation of Jadde’s’ ancient code. But Jadde and
her altar had the last say.

She was about to decide.

The Council had no sway over what the altar
would decree. Malkrin awaited her decision defiantly, feeling fire seething
behind his eyes. Outwardly he showed no emotion, but under his warm furs he
broke into a cold sweat. This was the moment he had seen coming for many
seasons, it approached him like a mountain lion finally cornering its prey.

Together the Council took two steps toward Jadde’s
ancient stone. Its finely crafted lines contrasted the plinths chipped edges, a
testament to many lifetimes of verdicts. He noticed the swords were lightly
held by each Councillor to allow Jadde to direct them. It looked like the
slightest contact with stone would send the weapons ringing from the ancient
hands. The decrepit Council raised the swords above their heads. As one they
flashed the swords downward with the coordination of carefully rehearsed
dancers. They released their grip on the hilts a moment before the iron smashed
into the stone plinth. Now the owners were mere passengers to the act, having
charged the magic endowed weapons to enact justice.  The released swords were
now guided by Jadde’s ancient charm. A fraction before hitting the marble each
sword angled to the horizontal to act out her judgement.

Innocent – these were the ornate blades
left magically hovering above the altar.

Guilty – a collection of shining blades
somehow gripping the altars marble plinth.

The magic of Jadde’s justice had been revealed
yet again.

Gasps rose from the seated audience of
tribe folk. They had witnessed the rare spectacle described by the elders and priests
and seen only four times before in living memory. The Brenna guards either side
of Malkrin stood immobile and stony faced before the ancient magic, but their
eyes spoke their awe. Malkrin stole a glance at his accuser. Guy Beartooth
stood with a triumphant look in his eyes.

He may never see Cabryce and his friends
again. If his parents had still been alive they would have been mortified with
shame. He was glad that Jadde now sheltered them from their son’s downfall. Guy
would now be favoured and his succession to the people’s hero would surely be
approved.

Bredon the Fox cleared his throat, bringing
Malkrin’s numbed mind back from the bitter thoughts.  In an unsteady voice the
Fox warbled, ‘two show innocence, six proclaim guilt – Jadde’s justice is done.

He stared at Malkrin and shouted. ‘
Malkrin
Owlear is guilty
.’

A growl rose from behind Malkrin; his
highsense heard Nardin snarl through gritted teeth. ‘Some justice, the divine
stone has judged without pity.’

He stabbed a thought back,
quiet you
idiot, k
nowing Nardin had no highsense to hear him
.

The Fox’s eyes fastened on Nardin. ‘Still
your tongue Nardin Fleetfoot’, he hissed, ‘lest you suffer a similar fate.’ His
words were as cold as the verdict.

The swords showing innocence hovered for a
moment longer then clattered onto the altar. Their owners formed a processional
line and reverently retrieved the symbols of Jadde’s justice. They returned the
swords to their scabbards with a mere rustle of leather. Then the old men
returned to their stone seats as if controlled by a single mind.

The whole hall was hushed as the gathered
Seconchane people waited for the final summing up.

The Fox pointed the court staff at Malkrin,
the runes embedded within now glowed a fierce blue.

Malkrin again felt that strange tingle from
Jadde’s altar. His resurgent highsense, now finely tuned, detected a shaft of
magic connecting the glowing staff to the altar.