The Inner Circle: The Knowing (38 page)

At the end of the
corridor
,
Gez-reil came to a large door with a small window sunk into
the ice near the top. He peered through to find a young woman
sitting at the table within the interrogation room. The first thing
Gez-reil noticed was what a striking resemblance she had to his
long-dead sister. Po-let, an ugly man, loomed over Seteal with a
mean smile splitting his face. Gez-reil rolled his eyes, sincerely
doubting that playing it tough would work with this young
lady.

She was not what he’d expected,
with dark brown hair, hazel eyes
,
and dirt smudged against her dress--hardly an
imposing figure. Turning her face toward the lantern light,
Gez-reil couldn’t help but feel a stab of regret. Seteal faced
Po-let, her eyes twin flames. Gez-reil hadn’t seen such fire since
the last time he’d seen Jil-e-an. Po-let dwarfed the skinny girl,
but her face lacked any signs of intimidation.

‘
Hello
,
Seteal. I’m Po-let. We’re going to spend some time
together. Now we can have a pleasant time, or we can have an
unpleasant time.’ He spoke as though one might to a small child.
‘You’ll make this easier on the both of us if you simply swear this
oath to any elder of your choice. It really is that simple.’ He
slid a piece of paper across the table toward
her.

‘
I want nothing to do
with your people.’ Seteal turned away.

‘
Oh?’ Po-let
tilted his head and frowned mockingly. ‘That
is
a shame.’ The man
pulled out a leather strap. ‘Ordinarily we’d starve you for a few
days, or perhaps prevent you from sleeping, but we’re short on time
so I’ll just have to cut to the chase.’ Po-let hefted his thick
leather strap and threw back his arm.

Unable to believe his eyes, Gez-reil
threw open the door and barged into the room. ‘What are you doing,
man? Have you lost your mind?’

‘
High Elder
Gez-reil.’ Po-let lowered his arm. ‘I was merely encouraging the
outlander to speak the oath.’

‘
Has the entire cleff
lost its mind?’ Gez-reil stretched out his open palms. ‘We do not
torture our future reis.’

‘
But the War Elder
said I had to use any means possible to make her commit the oath.’
Po-let shrugged and turned back, hefting the strap as he
went.

‘
That’s enough!’
Gez-reil cried.

‘
I’m sorry, High
Elder Gez-reil, but I cannot disobey the War Elder. He might send
me to Vish’el’Tei.’ Po-let dug around in his pocket to procure a
neatly folded letter. The big man handed it over and Gez-reil
wasted no time in reading it.

Gez-reil,

By now you
a
re probably aware of Seteal
Eltari’s impending misfortune. I assure you that this is for the
very best. I’ve had extensive experience with this young lady and
have come to the realisation that her spirit is too stubborn for
verbal persuasion to penetrate. I understand that you are not a
great believer in alternative forms of persuasion, however, I fear
to inform you
,
my old friend
,
that
your opinion is no longer relevant. Please note the following
excerpt taken directly from
Ancient Law,
book
five, chapter seventy, subtitle 'War Elder Rights':

In times of
pronounced war, all decisions whether minor or major, shalt thus be
made by the designated war elder.

If you read a little
further, the paragraph goes on to explain that in times of war,
decisions are processed far too slowly when an entire assembly of
elders is invoked, hence the use of a war elder.

Did you not declare
war, Gez-reil? Did you not all make that choice? Now I am
your
elder and I trust you will not interfere with the treatment
I’ve set out for our future rei.

Yours
faithfully,

War Elder
Far-a-mael

Unified
Cleffs

Gez-reil dropped the letter and watched
it fall to the polished ice floor. What had they done? Gez-reil
rushed out of the room to the sound of Seteal’s cries.

*

The red slippers were thin-soled
and yet her toes felt warm. El-i-miir rubbed her arms in an attempt
to create as much warmth as possible while she still had the
chance. Once outside, the blood-red robes draped around her
shoulders would provide no more protection from the cold than the
slippers on her feet. Unlike most worn in the Frozen Lands, these
clothes had not been designed to keep the wearer comfortable. It
was a simple gown designed to show El-i-miir for what she was:
forsaken.

Raising her face as much as she dared,
El-i-miir peered around the poorly lit cave. Having been carved
from stone, the space lacked the crystalline beauty found
throughout the rest of the cleff. It was the only place El-i-miir
had ever seen in the Frozen Lands where yellow flames--as opposed
to green--burned in the holders attached to the walls.

Light danced and flickered eerily
as it bounced and reflected off crude surfaces, only just managing
to illuminate the hunched-over old man standing in the corner where
he chanted unceasingly. El-i-miir cringed at a middle-aged woman
who circled her slowly, a stone bowl clasped tightly in hand. She
dipped her fingers into the bowl and ceremonially flicked hot water
at El-i-miir’s face. A voice boomed loudly from somewhere in the
gloomy cavern, ‘Do you
,
El-i-miir of Sixth Cleff
,
understand what has brought you
here today?’

El-i-miir winced as hot water was
splattered into her eyes, but she dared not wipe it away. The
Elglair were a people steeped in old traditions and writs and even
though it would inevitably lead to her death, El-i-miir still felt
the need to treat the ancient ceremony with respect. The idea
behind the heat within the cavern and the hot water being thrown
against her flesh, was that the soul warmed so as to be caught
off-guard when the prisoner was released to Vish’el’Tei.

‘
I do,’ El-i-miir
squeaked. She was terrified beyond the point of
indignity.

‘
Do you understand
that your gil has seen fit for you to be punished under the ancient
law of the gil’rei?’ The voice echoed with notable
regret.

‘
I do,’ El-i-miir
whimpered.

‘
Then you are
hereby condemned to Vish’el’Tei for gross sin and an abandonment of
respect for Elglari law. You are stripped of name and title. Hence
forth, we know of no such person as Rei El-i-miir of the Sixth
Cleff,’ the voice said with finality. ‘Such a name shall never be
spoken again, so help us
,
Maker.’ The words were repeated twice in unison
by a circle of darkly clad figures standing around the
circumference of the room.

Only a short time
ago
,
El-i-miir
had clothed herself in these robes, walked along the dark hallway
and into this chamber. Soon the northern door would be opened and
she’d step outside into the blistering cold. Thereafter she’d be
escorted several miles from the cleff by a small group of armed
gil’hadoans. At that point
,
she’d be left to carry on north, shunned and
condemned. And yet somehow the final part of the ceremony seemed so
much more difficult to withstand than any of that which was to
come.

‘
Arl-an-dor and
Mil-i-que of the Sixth Cleff,’ droned the voice belonging to a
figure hidden beneath a black mask and dark clothing. ‘You may step
forward for your final moment. You have a short time.’

El-i-miir’s heart sank as her father
and mother stepped out of the shadows, both qualified gils
themselves. As they approached, a flash of euphoria rocked
El-i-miir to her core. Her mother barely raised a hand or showed
any outward sign as she infiltrated El-i-miir’s aura sending her
persistent waves of well-being. The soft streams of golden yellow
and pale blues poured into El-i-miir, making her gasp with relief
in the knowledge that everything would be okay. Summoning up all
her strength, El-i-miir formed a crude block to prevent her
mother’s manipulation.

‘
I’m so sorry, Mama,’
El-i-miir sobbed, her grief returning.

‘
Shh,’ her father
hushed. ‘It’s our fault. We never should’ve forced you down this
path.’

‘
Oh
,
Maker . . . El-i-miir, you foolish girl.’ Her mother burst
into tears and wrapped her in a tight hug. ‘What will we tell your
sisters? They won’t stop crying. Oh
,
Maker! I love you so
much.’

‘
Your time is up.’
The man in the black mask stepped forward. ‘The escort must
leave.’

‘
No, please, just
another minute,’ Mil-i-que begged. ‘Please!’

‘
My dear woman, the
law is clear.’ The man’s voice softened as he stepped into the
light. ‘Open the door.’

Stone grated on ice and every candle
died as the temperature was diminished to a deathly chill.
El-i-miir gasped as freezing wind tore through the room causing her
robe to billow about her feet. The last tendrils of Mil-i-que’s Way
vanished back into her aura. El-i-miir shook from shock, not having
realised that any remained. The water on her face froze to beads of
ice that bit her cheeks.

‘
Move.’ There was a
sharp jab to the middle of her back.

El-i-miir stepped out into the snow and
her red slippers soaked through immediately. The cold burned her
feet, but she continued onward as the group of eight gil’hidoans
encircled her. By the time the gils came to a stop, El-i-miir was
shaking so hard that she thought she might collapse. The only
kindness she’d been granted was the fact that she could no longer
feel her toes. The gil’hidoans didn’t look at her, or even
acknowledge her, as all but one turned and headed back the way
they’d come.

El-i-miir lifted her gaze at the
heavily clad figure as he pulled back his hood to reveal himself.
‘High Elder Gez-reil,’ El-i-miir said through chattering teeth. He
was the last person she’d expected as part of the escort. Instead
of replying, the elder stood transfixed lost in thought. At last he
removed a satchel hanging over his shoulder and pulled out a pair
of thick mammoth-leather boots. He then took off his heavy fur coat
and handed it to El-i-miir. Without a single word or sign of
recognition, he turned and hurried back toward the cleff, leaving
El-i-miir to stand alone in utter confusion.

What was this act of kindness? With
such an extraordinary act of mercy, he’d disobeyed the very laws
he’d vowed to uphold. El-i-miir forced swollen feet into the boots
and wrapped herself inside the coat. She stood fixed in place,
gazing regretfully at the great dome peeking out over the top of
the bowl shaped valley in the distance.

Gez-reil had acted against
something he’d worked to uphold his entire life, Elglair law. Did
he want for El-i-miir to live? Did he disagree with her
condemnation? Where did he expect her to go? Did he really think
she’d move south and live among the outlanders as Seteal’s mother
had? Jil-e-an was loathed by thousands for committing such an act.
Surely Gez-reil didn’t expect El-i-miir to do something so
shameful. El-i-miir had known that her life in the Frozen Lands was
over the second she’d sought to free Ilgrin. It was Gez-reil’s
motivation that confounded her. As the confusing thoughts raced
through El-i-miir’s mind, she continued to stand
bewildered
,
with absolutely no idea of what to do next.

CHAPTER
Twenty-Six

Ethereal Loathing

Ilgrin’s head felt like it was about to
explode from the pain. He’d never known suffering such as the
Elglair could deliver. Ilgrin bit his teeth together to stifle a
scream as the whip snapped across his back, splitting his flesh.
How long had he been there? Time didn’t matter anymore. It was a
blur of agony. Ilgrin braced himself as the whip stung again, this
time cutting across his wings.

His hands were bound by thick
rope, which was also tied to a bar that ran along the ceiling. His
feet were chained to an iron loop protruding from the frozen floor,
which had since been painted blue with blood. The torture chamber
was small and musty, leading Ilgrin to believe it hadn’t been used
in some time. His persecutor had a weak stomach. Ilgrin knew this
because although there were more elaborate machines surrounding
them, he chose only to use the whip. For that, Ilgrin was
grateful.

The blows came to a stop and Ilgrin’s
head fell forward. He panted heavily and his heart raced, knowing
what was to come. A single droplet of bright blue blood trickled
down his face and fell from the tip of his nose. He watched its
descent. He watched it splash upon his toe. Ilgrin swallowed and
squeezed his eyes shut, pleading Maker for mercy.