The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) (25 page)

Lizneth had been excited to finally see real live
calaihn
before Bresh had described them to her. Now, Lizneth wasn’t sure they sounded like
the kind of creatures she wanted to meet. They sounded crude and stupid;
fragile, even. Their larger size must have been the only reason the
ikzhehn
were their slaves, instead of the other way around.

Lizneth kept to her thoughts, letting some untold number of
hours pass beneath her oar as the slaves drove the ship onward. The next time
she looked out her oar hole, the waves were smaller, the sea was less choppy,
and a quiet calm had fallen over the hold. The reason for the calm soon became apparent:
Lizneth could see light on the surface of the water. Not the dim orange glow of
the lanterns, but inlays of shimmering gold that rippled over every wave. The
light worked its way across the surface as the ship sped forward, pulling on
the sea until the black depths rose up and Lizneth could see the bottom, lit a
deep green the color of wet leaves.

Dozhie leaned toward Lizneth between strokes so she could
speak more softly. “I think we’re close.”

Bilik appeared out of nowhere and gave Dozhie a lash across
the shoulders. She grunted, ground her longteeth, and set back to work.

“Port ahead,” came the cry from up the stairs.

“Let ‘er run,” the drummer shouted. With a palpable measure
of relief, the rowing slaves pulled up their oars and rested them inside while
the boat glided over the lapping waves.

Another shout came from above. “Prepare to take ‘er into
port.”

CHAPTER 23

The Priest and the Acolyte

The Order will fall to ruin
. The Cypriest’s grim
prediction repeated itself in Sister Bastille’s mind.
The Order will fall to
ruin. The Mouth proclaims it
. Father Kassic was no prophet—unless the
Ancients had some secret way of conversing with the Mouth itself—but his
prediction haunted Sister Bastille all the same.

The four priests known as the Most Highly Esteemed sat in
high-backed chairs along one side of the dark ironwood table in the meeting
hall. Bastille scraped a chair back and took a seat facing them.

“Brother Soleil has already explained what happened,” said
Sister Gallica, a middle-aged woman half a decade younger than Bastille.

Being in Gallica’s presence made Bastille feel her age;
Sister Gallica had been a follower of the Mouth for a far shorter time than any
of the other high priests, but she had already risen to the Order’s highest
rank. It was no wonder. Many in the lower echelons considered Gallica far wiser
than the others. Bastille didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

The fact that Sister Gallica was hideous had nothing to do
with her rapid rise to stewardship. She was missing most of her hair; her face
and scalp were masses of tissue, bubbled and raw. Her teeth were always visible
on one side of her mouth, where the lips never closed. She seethed and spat
when she talked, and suffered from aches and pains on a near-constant basis.

“We simply require your testament as to the condition of
Father Kassic,” Brother Liero was saying. “If it is time for his deposition,
steps must be taken.” Liero was a quick-witted old man, though he belied his
years with hair that was still growing thick and holding onto its mustard
color. He studied Bastille, his mouth and bulbous eyes spread across the width
of his face like some amphibian waiting for an insect.

“Father Kassic expressed his sorrow over leaving his
station,” Bastille said. “But he stayed on the parapet far too long before he
finally gave in. He was wounded, and he needed attention days ago.”

Brother Soleil turned in his chair to address his fellows. “Quite
right. Kassic was in a bad state.”

“We have heard your testimony, Brother Soleil,” said Brother
Liero. “Let the kind Sister give us hers.”

“What else did Father Kassic say to you?” Sister Dominique asked.
She was a dark woman, black in everything but her skin, which was
feather-white. Her hands were whiter still beneath the slender cotton gloves
that ran almost to her elbows beneath her robe sleeves. She was taller than the
others, her face long and thin, with sharp cheekbones that gave the skin an
overstretched appearance. Her small mouth was always drawn up in a subtle smile,
but it was never one that imparted happiness.

Sister Bastille hesitated. Hesitation was rather unlike her,
she supposed. She often made a point of speaking as though she were certain of
herself, even when she wasn’t. Being before the Most Highly Esteemed after the
things she’d seen today was making her nervous. No matter how she tried to
shake the feeling, she couldn’t overcome the nagging sense that the high
priests knew her every thought. They were reading her secrets in the lines on
her face. She wondered if she seemed as right a fool as Sister Adeleine often
did, stumbling and bumbling over her own words. “He said… that the Order would
fall to ruin,” Bastille admitted, after a long pause.

“Quite right,” said Brother Soleil, mumbling the words. He was
staring off into space, scratching at something on his head, his mouth
betraying half-uttered thoughts. Perhaps the reality of his predicament was
setting in, although his troubles were even worse than he knew.

“The senile ramblings of a very old man,” said Brother Liero,
blinking his froggy eyes at Soleil.

The old man paid Liero no mind, still wandering alone in his
thoughts.

“What if it’s a prophecy?” said Sister Dominique.

“Then we’re all doomed, and Father Kassic’s fate is no
different than yours or mine,” said Sister Gallica.

Brother Liero was unmoved. “The issue at hand is whether or
not Father Kassic is to be deposed. Whatever he may have said is of little
relevance, except where it pertains to his physical condition. If he is deemed
unfit for further service and is conferred to the Hall of Ancients, then a new
host must be elected to take his place in the Cypriesthood. If there is anyone
here who deserves the honor of being our host-elect, then surely it would be
you, Sister Gallica.”

“Brother Liero, you are far too kind and gracious.” Spittle flew
from Sister Gallica’s exposed teeth as she spoke.

It should be me
, Bastille wanted to say.
I should
be next in line. I’ve been pledged to the Order longer than this she-mutant. If
not me, then it should be Brother Soleil. Anything that puts an end to the old
man’s corruptions would serve the Order well
. “If I may, Kind Brothers and
Sisters,” she said instead, “I do not think it is time. Father Kassic is still
sharp, and quite capable. It is my assessment that he has months or years of
faithful service left in the Cypriesthood.”
And plenty more ‘prophecies’
with which to entertain us, I’m sure
.

“As you say, kind Sister. We will defer to your judgment.
Unless your superior has anything to say for himself.” Liero gave Brother
Soleil an unamused look.

Soleil gave him an abrupt nod in return.

Bastille saw her opportunity. “If this incident occurred
because the people of the city south are unhappy with us, perhaps it’s time we
resumed our charitable work. It would be best to save the Cypriests any further
unnecessary torture at the hands of a restless and needy people. Kind Brother?”

Soleil drew in a breath. “While the gesture would be prudent,
I don’t believe we’re in a position to do such a thing.”

Now is as good a time as any to test the waters
,
Bastille told herself. “Brother Froderic would know for certain. He
would
be the person to speak to on these matters, as he’ll know immediately whether
our inventories can sustain a renewed humanitarian effort with the heathens. He
should be nearby; I believe I saw him not fifteen minutes ago. Shall we summon
him?”

Brother Soleil shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

That’s right. Squirm, you fornicator
. “Kind Brother
Liero? Kind Sisters? What say you?”

“Yes. Summon Brother Froderic at once. We’ll reconvene in a
few minutes.” Sister Dominique stood, rubbing her upper arm with a gloved thumb
and forefinger as she left the chamber.

The witch-woman’s spasms have grown worse, unless she’s
fretting because Soleil is in a bind. Perhaps Dominique is another one of his
pets after all
. Bastille poked her head out a side door and sent two
acolytes scurrying in opposite directions down the hallway in search of Brother
Froderic.
This will take longer than a few minutes
, she thought,
smiling.

“You seem distracted today, kind Brother,” Bastille said when
she had returned to the chamber. “Is something the matter?”

The other high priests had recessed, leaving her alone with
Soleil again. This time there was no Cypriest to disrupt their isolation.

Brother Soleil fidgeted with the coarse white scruff growing
at his chin. “Nothing at all, my dear. Nothing. Except that I’ve had this
terrible feeling of doubt since we sent Father Kassic back to the parapet. It’s
not that he’s
bodily
unfit. It’s only that—well, who knows when a man
like that will lose his head.” Soleil’s stare was direct, inquisitive.

Bastille’s heart skipped like a stone.
The Mouth… does he
know? Did he see me down there in the labyrinth after all? Could he have
noticed me pressed up beneath the stair or crouched in the tunnel?
Bastille
replied without missing a beat. “His inane ramblings aside, Father Kassic is a
dedicated Cypriest. His mind is resilient, and I have no doubt that throughout
the course of his former life he steeled himself against such weaknesses.”

“That may very well be, but it would seem that he is on the
verge of something quite hazardous. A malfunctioning Cypriest would be a very
big problem for us to have indeed. One must never be too certain that they are
beyond the reach of harm, you know.”

Bastille searched Soleil’s face for meaning. He was a bundle
of nerves; that much was clear. But if there was some underlying threat behind
the statement, he was masking it with the keenest of skill.
He’s toying with
me. That, or I’m reading too far into it
. “You told them you would defer to
my judgment.”

“I do, kind Sister. I do. It’s high time you started taking
more responsibility for the maintenance of the Cypriests. Soon you’ll be able
to perform the Enhancements without me. You should get all the practice you
can. I won’t be around forever, you know.”

I hope not
. “Oh, stop it. That’s nothing to speak of.
Although I do look forward to taking some of the pressure off your shoulders.”

Their conversation dwindled into uncomfortable silence after
some time. They never strayed from the topic of Father Kassic, but Brother
Soleil’s nervous prattle kept Bastille guessing, analyzing his every word and
facial expression.

When the two acolytes returned to the hall, so too did the
other high priests. Both acolytes were panting and out of breath, a stocky man
with hazel eyes and a tuft of brown hair called Brother Eustis, and a buxom
woman at the cusp of forty with pulled-back blonde hair named Sister Helliot,
whom Bastille knew was weeks away from taking the priesthood.

“What of Brother Froderic?” Liero asked. “Where is he?”

“No one knows where he is, kind Brother,” said Brother
Eustis.

“Strange.”

“Yes. And what’s more, it seems Brother Mortial never showed
up for his duties this morning. Sister Larue said they’ve looked everywhere and
haven’t been able to find him either.”

Brother Mortial. Of course
, Bastille realized.
His
absence must mean he’s the one I was chasing this morning. He left the basilica
through the fountain and hasn’t found his way back inside yet
.

Brother Liero was concerned. “So there are two of us missing
now. A high priest and an acolyte.”

“Members of the Order are not permitted to leave the basilica
grounds unless they are given express permission to do so. Have the courtyards
and parapets been checked?” A glob of spittle landed on Brother Soleil’s hand
when Sister Gallica spoke. Soleil withdrew the hand from the table.

“Yes, kind Sister,” said Helliot. “The grounds have been
thoroughly searched. No one seems to have seen either Brother Froderic or
Brother Mortial all day.”

“Sister Bastille.” Brother Liero’s eyes darted toward her.
“You said you saw Brother Froderic not a quarter-hour before this meeting, did
you not?”

Bastille felt her face go hot. “I did, most certainly, unless
my eyesight is failing.”

“Then he’s got to be somewhere around here. Send out an
alert. All priests and acolytes are to be on the lookout for Brothers Froderic
and Mortial, and are to report to me at the first sign of either of them.”

Brother Soleil looked stricken. “Let us adjourn this meeting
and reconvene later.”

“What’s to be done about the heathens?” Bastille wanted to
know. “They’ll be no more appeased until we offer them new trade. The threat to
our Cypriests will continue unless we do something.”

“Patience, kind Sister,” said Brother Liero. “All will be
decided when we find Brother Froderic and get an up-to-date report on our
inventories.”

Bastille was fuming as she paced the long hallways toward her
bedchamber.
I’ll have that fornicator yet. Soleil has wormed his way out of
this one for now, but it won’t be long. He’s got no right to be in a position
of such power when his supposed dedication to the Order is counterfeit. How many
of the high priests already know of his activities, I wonder? I have to find
out more before I make myself vulnerable. A public indictment will only
backfire if I haven’t first learned who my allies are. Perhaps there’s another
way…

Once the door was locked behind her, Bastille withdrew the
iron key from her robes and studied it more closely. It was an ancient thing,
rusted and rough to the touch. Aside from the distinct pattern of holes, there
was nothing remarkable about it. Now that Bastille had access to the labyrinth, she
decided they’d have to take the key from her before she’d ever give it up. She lifted
her mattress and slipped the key beneath it, wrapping the leather cord around
one of the bed slats to hold it in place. Then she snapped up her borrowed
scrolls and made for the athenaeum. She would finish reading them later. There
was too much else to be done.

When she entered the athenaeum, Brother Ephamar was sitting
on his usual high stool, leaning against the return shelves and reading from an
old leatherbound book that didn’t appear to have a thing to do with the
scriptures.
Rubbish
, Bastille thought.
Fairy tales and rubbish
.
Of all the rooms in the basilica, Bastille loved this one the most. Two stories
of packed shelves and sliding ladders beneath a high flat ceiling checkered in
skylights, the athenaeum smelled of parchment and ancient book bindings. The
old electric lamps were never lit, but they were beautiful nonetheless.

“Here you are, kind Brother. Thank you,” Bastille said,
laying the scrolls side by side on the counter.

“Thank
you
, kind Sister,” said Brother Ephamar,
looking up from his reading. “I presume you got all that business with Father
Kassic cleared up, did you?”

“Yes, kind Brother. A bit of a worrisome thing, really. Seems
he took a strange sort of wound from outside the walls. A heathen with a
slingshot making mischief, Brother Soleil and I suspect.”