The Prometheus Cycle: the Star, the Sword, and the Mirror

The Prometheus Cycle: The Star, The Sword, and The Mirror

The First Novel set in the Prometheus Cycle Universe

By Silas A. DeBoer

THE PROMETHEUS CYCLE: THE STAR, THE SWORD, AND THE MIRROR Copyright © 2014 by Silas A. DeBoer.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For information contact; prometheuscycle.blogspot.com

Book and Cover design by Silas A. DeBoer

ISBN: 9781311509734

First Edition: July 2014

A Note from the Author

This novel and the supporting short stories were crafted from years of chronic pain, illness, and a desperate need for healing. Thus was Lanie Reed invented, and Leo was inspired by the meanest, most capricious cat in our household. While we were traveling to Nebraska to visit my mother, my wife played an audiobook that was written beautifully but told an unfulfilling, and ultimately vapid story. I believed if this other book got published, I could tell a better story; based on a concept of Huckleberry Finn in the Land of Faerie, this novel was rewritten after I found Lanie and Leo as my guiding stars. This novel was written chapter by chapter in a syndicated fashion with feedback from my wife. It is her interest in Pensey and Ovidius that fleshed out that aspect of the story, and ultimately gave me the second part of something I half heartedly called The Prometheus Cycle. The story is better for her input.

Why is this novel self published then? After twenty odd attempts at securing an agent, I lost my patience with the writing industry. It seems more efficient this way, and many authors are shedding the old cumbersome apparatus, so why exactly do I want to encumber myself?

It has been two dozen years since I bought a bag of dice and my first Role Playing Game; telling these stories is old hat, but writing for an audience larger than my group of friends? This is something new, and I hope you enjoy this story as much as I had writing it. My philosophy when telling a story is authenticity matters, especially in a fantasy setting.

The supplementary (and free) short stories are; "Waiting for the Scarlet-Raven Woman, The Gods' Own Voice, The Man Who Bought the World, The North Wind, and Prometheus' First Step." Read them in any order as you please, or not at all. The novel makes sense without them, but a careful reader may appreciate the connections drawn.

You can learn more about this novel and supporting short stories at prometheuscycle.blogspot.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Sanctuary

Chapter 2: Questions

Chapter 3: As the Raven Flies

Chapter 4: The Heathen Wood

Chapter 5: The Thrill of the Chase

Chapter 6: Fire and Water

Chapter 7: Of Death and Decay

Chapter 8: Death and Life

Chapter 9: The Judge’s Man

Chapter 10: The Road to Carlisle

Chapter 11: The Gates of Carlisle

Chapter 12: Imprisoned

Chapter 13: The Tristam River

Chapter 14: Crossroads

Chapter 15: Wings of Flight

Chapter 16: Hunters

Chapter 17: Hunters II

Chapter 18: Illyria and The Anchor

Chapter 19: Dangerous Allies

Chapter 20: The Court of Miracles

Chapter 21: Intrigue in Illyria

Chapter 22: Morgana’s Mirror

Chapter 23: Amnesty

Chapter 24: The Lord of Sorrows

Epilogue: Letters from Tyr

Chapter 1: Sanctuary

Family life itself, that safest, most traditional, most approved of female choices, is not a sanctuary: It is, perpetually, a dangerous place.

~Dame Margaret Drabble Holroyd

Every story’s beginning is arbitrary. Sister Henny bravely fought against the collective look of boredom from her pupils. What do I mean by this? Anyone?

The group of eight carefully avoided their instructor's gaze, instead concentrating on a dirty claw or cleaning the edge of a slate. Each orphan was nearing the end of tutelage and within an annum would leave the walls of Ostir Sanctuary never to return. Some would become apprentices to craftsmen, others might become laborers for farmers and the rest would lose the shred of respect the Sanctuary afforded its charges. Sister Henny must prepare her sheltered charges for the harsh reality of famine, war, and pestilence. Today's lecture was part of the Wheel of Fortune series.

Sister Henny was a large woman in her later years, with iron gray hair pulled into a single braid at her back and blue tattoos on her face from her previous life. Like all the Sisters she wore the gray and black robes of the Holy Order of St. Teresa. None of the Sanctified talked about their past, or why they sought sanctuary in the Elenian Church, but the Order asked few questions in their call for charity and penitence. The stern architecture of Ostir Sanctuary on the Penury Coast was ancient, nearly five hundred annums old since its reconstruction from the burnt out wreck of a heathen hill fort. There were still boulders with markings of the Old Gods at the base of the cliffs, washed by the rhythmic waves below, slowly being erased by wind and sea. The Sanctuary had a central keep, a watch tower, a central bailey, and masonry walls nearly thirty spans high and twenty spans thick. The fortress was built upon a rocky hill, and it was rumored that from the top of the watchtower a person might see for fifteen leagues in any direction. None could test the theory, since Mother Superior allowed none of the Sanctuary's charges near her office.

A single hand rose from Sister Henny’s charges, to which the instructor nodded. Do you mean that even King Athan’s story was influenced by events prior to his birth? Lanie Reed was the cleverest of Sister Henny’s charges this afternoon.

Such as? Prompted Sister Henny.

The prophet Tyber announced Athan’s birth, responded the fiery haired girl.

And?

And… well, Tyber’s mother Rialla was a knight’s daughter and married… some lord. So she was rich, which made Tyber respectable. Lanie beamed in response to Sister Henny’s smile.

Are there any other beginnings to Athan’s story? Sister Henny’s glance lighted upon each of her charges, but many kept their eyes on the thinning carpet. All the students sat on the material, a bare ward against the cold flagstones. Spring always came late to the Penury Coast.

Leo twitched his tail and spoke with his usual guttural purr Athan’s eventual body servant and squire, Sir Rawnos, escaped slavery and came into the service of Rialla, saving young Tyber from a green asp in the orchard. No Rawnos, no Tyber, no Athan.

The other students glanced at the Catiin from the corner of their eyes, peevish at the beast-man’s temerity. Leo did not care for the approval of others, let alone his classmates; he was brave enough to answer questions. Sister Henny was sure Leo's courage would be the death of him. It made the striped Catiin one of her favorite pupils.

That is correct Leopold, well done. As we have just demonstrated, the beginnings of even Good King Athan are rooted in the past actions of other actors in the tableau of history. Sister Henny gave the Catiin the same smile she had awarded Lanie. Every child was the same in Sister Henny's eyes; in need of education.

What about Mount Sargon, and the Battle of the Heathens? Inquired Ethan Black, a pinch faced youth with brown hair and a gray smock. Few of Sister Henny's charges liked the boy, for he had a reputation of great cruelty. Talk of the Heathens often upset Pensey Savoy, but the child of the Isles' attention was fixed on the stained glass window.

Yes Ethan, that is also a beginning. Know that the actors in a story are not only Men, Catiin or Dogmen, but also the very land figures into the story. Sister Henny continued her lesson in bardic history through the lens of narrative theory; her pupils struggled to stay awake and remain attentive to the pertinent twists and turns of Athan’s career as knight, hero and king.

Sister Henny’s lessons took place in the Sanctuary’s library, a room ornately decorated with numerous book shelves, gilded reading chairs and the great stained glass window depicting the Goddess Elene performing the battlefield coronation of Athan, the First High King of the Realm. The glass was wondrously colored; with azure and cerulean waters, a viridian sward, an amber and citrine crown, carnelian drops of blood and a plum cloak. The noonday sun scattered prismatic rays of light upon the lecture group, illuminating them in celestial grace as surely as Sister Henny’s words strove to open their minds. Where the library was beautiful and decorated, the rest of the keep and the orphan’s lives were austere and plain. Sister Henny chose the library for their lessons on purpose; she wanted them to think beyond convention, to dream of what could be instead of accepting what already was.

Athan's blade was another beginning. Pensey Savoy was a thin child, dark of hair and eye who so rarely made a sound it was always a surprise when she spoke. When she did contribute, it was often in response to an earlier question during the lecture; Sister Henny knew it was just Pensey’s way. The girl would often daydream in a corner, watching squirrels or birds through a window or simply pile up stones from her pouch. Pensey had a large scar on her forehead in the shape of a circle where she had been branded as a babe. The common rumor said Pensey was saved from a Heathen sacrifice by noble knights of the Order of St. Michel, scourge to heathen magic and hunters of both the Dead and Fey. The latter had long since been relegated to myth and legend.

"Yes, indeed, the Goddess Elene brought the great blade Sartorious to Athan’s hand, for none among the heathen could wield it, let alone draw it from the Altar of Stars." Sister Henny smiled at the ebon skinned youth, pleased to draw out the most elusive mind among her charges. Pensey returned the gesture half heartedly, as if she did not really know how to smile.

This brings us to the difference between magic and stories. As I have told you numerous times, magic is a product of belief while stories set magic in context. It is this way that heroes have outwitted their Fey adversaries, through the use of riddles and games. The order of the story captures magic and structures it, but at the same time, it weakens magic through such measures. The more ordered the magic, the more it fades until it is no longer even noticeable. Thus, the story conquers magic, but no story is complete without part of the magical world being present. So the foes that King Athan and his knights conquered were driven from these lands, and wherever the Laws of Elene reside, no magic but what She permits is allowed. Barthes said it is through faith and reverence that the Fey were conquered and ultimately made extinct. I think that the sword destroyed the storytellers, and thus, the fiction of these monsters. There are no Green Men, no Banshees, no Goblins or Bobkins, no Elves or Brownies, no Sylphs or Barghests. These are the tales of another age, and no evidence exists that they were anything more than cultural tradition for barbarous tribes subdued centuries ago by sword and evangelism.

The door opened a hand span, and the hooked nose of Sister Nesia poked in.

Yes Sister?

Catboy is called for penance in the kitchens Sister Henrietta, intoned Nesia (the Nose among the charges of Ostir Sanctuary). The thin woman had a satisfied look on her face. Sister Nesia often made it her business to be in every one else's affairs.

Sister Henny sighed and motioned for Leo to be dismissed and follow Sister Nesia. Leo grumbled and got up, all the while his ears laid back against his head as his tail twitched. Leo was not dressed as the other charges, in a gray smock with a rope belt and sandals, but rather, the Catiin was furred from head to toe in a silky smooth coat, spotted and striped as a lynx, with white whiskers, white jowls, and a white chest. Leo's dark colored fur around his golden eyes always gave the Catiin a sinister look. Only his cathood was covered by a loincloth of the same gray material as the smocks of the other children. The Catiin's paws made his steps silent, and he absent mindedly stretched his claws on the doorsill as he left the room.

What ever has the beast done now? asked the pinch faced Ethan Black.

Lanie scowled at Leo’s perpetual tormentor.

That sort of speculation is not compatible with the Golden Rule. Now, pay attention Ethan, reminded Sister Henny. So if the beginning of a story is arbitrary, is also the end?

Lanie nodded at the appropriate times for Sister Henny’s lecture, thinking about her friend Leo in the kitchens. He was the only Catiin in living memory to reside in the sanctuary and yet had become a fixture of the place; constantly in trouble for pranks or jokes that often went beyond what he intended. He was far too bored and clever for his own good, and Catiin grew to maturity much quicker than the race of Men, reaching adulthood at only six annums. She remembered when he came eight annums ago; there was a commotion outside the gates, armed soldiers demanded entry into the sanctuary, but were refused of course. Leo was so cute in his little basket, with wide golden eyes and grasping fingers. Every girl in the sanctuary wanted their own Catiin kitten after seeing Leo. After the second annum, most agreed Leo was far too problematic to ever attempt to raise a Catiin from birth.

None entered the sanctuary from the outside unless they were part of the church. The orphans entered once, and left once, for to leave these walls meant never being allowed back inside. Children sometimes left of course, when a relative was found who would take them, or when the strictures were too much and the child petitioned to leave (Mother Superior often found a craftsman to take the youth on as an apprentice, once an aptitude was discerned). Sometimes, when sickness took hold or a severe winter laid siege to the fortress children left in burlap sacks, laid out on the single wooden cart in the stable. Supposedly there was a cemetery down the hill, but no one could see it from the ramparts. Lanie had seen many of her friends leave, one way or another, and she had not once received a single promised letter. Maybe Mother Superior had the correspondence burned.

Lanie herself was nearing the age of adulthood, fifteen annums come harvest season, and hopefully she would be allowed to try for the robes of a priestess in the church, on account of her natural hair color, said to be blessed by Elene Herself. She often wondered why her parents did not want her, but it had to be a good reason, or so Sister Henny assured the youth when confession strayed to the habitual topic. The children of Ostir Sanctuary had to confess their transgressions once a week, but could choose any sister of the order during their hourly times, and Sister Henny had always been kind, fair and discrete with Lanie's group of friends; All of which brought her thoughts to Ethan, the most contemptible of Leo’s detractors.

Ethan had come to the sanctuary already nine annums old, at the behest of his father, a lordling from Norbury. Why the sanctuary changed its rules for the boy was unknown; Mother Superior ruled from the highest tower without consultation, and did not walk the grounds. It was well known she detested the children under her charge. Perhaps the lordling had bribed Mother Superior? There were always rumors about the boy's arrival.

Ethan was tall, well built, and many girls thought him comely, but Lanie saw the cruelty in his heart at every turn. Once she found him in the bailey, at the base of the pear tree with a rock upraised and a bird with a broken wing underneath him; her cry had alerted Ethan but he still murdered the creature. He claimed later that he was putting it out of its misery, and had been publicly commended by Sister Agnis for his humanity. Something told her that Ethan had thrown stones at the nest, knocking the creature to the ground. She had never seen him do so or found anyone else who saw it. It made no sense, but she knew it as she knew the sun’s warmth. Besides, it fit Ethan’s personality; he tormented others to fill the gaping hole of his own heart, so wracked with feelings of inadequacy that manifested as spite.

One of Ethan’s compatriots was Billy Conner, a contemptible lout with pudding in the brain and a vicious leer for every girl. Once Miranda had found him spying at her keyhole with his hands down his pants; Miranda had been dressing after Ethan pushed her into a mud puddle. Billy was tall and lanky, the perfect servant for Little Lord Ethan. The pair seemed inseparable, and most of the children walked the other way rather than face the pair's ridicule and abuse. Billy Conner never cared for Sister Henny’s lectures; why Ethan was still in the class was beyond Lanie. He feigned contempt and boredom most of the time anyway. All of which brought Lanie's thoughts to the other charges, with their suggested histories; every orphan dreamed themselves the son or daughter of royalty, or perhaps a wealthy merchant who would one day take them away. Lanie knew the truth of it; most of them would be lucky to find a village or town where they could find work, let alone make a life for themselves. Some would end up enlisting in the Navy or Legions, or getting tricked into foreign service with one of the mercenary companies. Some of the girls would get with child and seek to foster it on the church, renewing the same sad cycle.

The sanctuary’s rules on accepting wayward waifs were fairly easy to discern for the inmates of its walls. First, the child’s parents or guardians must come to the gates and petition for the sanctuary to take them in. Then the parents must demonstrate that they are unable to care for the youth. Last, the parents must accept they will never see the child again until adulthood, if ever. Lanie doubted the parents cared two figs at all. Most of the charges truly were orphans, although a few were like Ethan, perhaps a bastard whose mother died and the father felt responsible.

Lanie? The question loomed and the young girl forced herself to stop the churning wheel of her thoughts and cast back for the question. All eyes were on her, expectant, some were smiling, but not Sister Henny. Lanie searched her mind and found nothing but the words hierophant and theft. The words meant nothing to her.

I’m sorry, but I’ll need more information, was Lanie’s reply.

Pay attention Lanie Reed. Sister Henny glowered and resumed her lecture on dissecting the story of Saul and the White Stork.

~

Leo stalked down the hallway, soundlessly following behind Sister Nesia. His foot-paws made each step as quiet as a leaf falling on the ground. He watched her, one of several Sisters who went out of their way to make trouble for him. For all their talk of leaving their old lives behind, many still felt something close to fear and anger at his very presence. He tossed the thought around like a mouse in his head, considering it one way and another. He was brought up in the sanctuary since a kitten, and never knew his people. Compared to Men he was stronger and more agile. He was as clever as any Man or Woman he ever encountered within the drab walls of this prison. At first he had made the mistake of thinking himself stupid since everyone treated him that way, but the more he watched Men the more he was sure that he could figure them out, given enough time. Once he understood their motivations, manipulating them was easy.

Sister Nesia glanced back to make sure her charge still followed and continued to take twists and turns in the inner halls of Ostir Sanctuary. The pair passed other Sisters, but none spoke. The ancient fortress was a place of solitude and peace, even in a crowd. There were numerous niches (and murder holes) that allowed for individual reflection, or reading, as Leo often had a want. He was told that few among his kind mastered reading, or learning the language of Men, but he enjoyed pawing fun at those authors Men called literary greats, and tearing apart the intricacies of philosophic ideas by the same proud dead. Few in the fortress knew exactly what Leo did in his spare time, and he was not about to tell anyone. He would only get in more trouble. Leo and Nesia approached the kitchen door, a huge oak monstrosity with a bronze lock. Steam emerged from underneath the door crack.

He hated the kitchens, and getting his fur wet, let alone touching the grimy pots. He never ate Men’s bread, or anything cooked or baked. He had tried of course, and according to the others the fare was fair. But something about bread always turned his stomach, and he would wind up vomiting up a hairball.

This is not the first time Catboy. We have told you many times that the rookery is for messages only, not for snack-time. Sister Nesia scornfully regarded his calm demeanor.

As you say, Sister. Leo would never admit to anything, and no one would ever believe his denials. So that was always his response. Sometimes things would go missing and no one would be the wiser; other times he would be punished without good reason to his mind. He was not the only practical joker among the orphans. Besides, sometimes he could not remember doing something but his paw prints would be all over it. Other times his pranks would be missed for days, weeks, or even years. So maybe he had snacked on a raven, perhaps in his sleep, of which, he took a good many naps, and preferably in the sunshine.

Leo looked at the mess of cauldrons, pots, pans and crusted baking sheets from lunch. Practice had made him a master pot scrubber, and penances were regularly given to teach moral character. The only problem for Leo was that every Sister in the sanctuary took it upon herself to build his character as if it must become the tallest tower in the world. Sister Nesia left and locked the door, leaving another youth (Reginald) as his door warden. Leo would only be let out if everything was ready for dinner. At least no one was around; he hated it when people watched him work. It set an itch between his shoulder blades that try as he might, he never could satisfy.

The kitchens were closed for the moment, as the scrub room was adjacent and locked behind stout oak doors. A single window high in the wall let in sunshine, so he arranged himself to work in the light, moving cauldrons and other stacks as the day’s work progressed and the light shifted. Red slate tiles made up the floor, and white plaster hid the mason rock walls. Large copper cauldrons steamed over a banked coal fire, from which his clay pitchers of hot water came. Leo hated water; he never smelled right until he was dry.

The Catiin youth took some near boiling water and poured it into a cauldron and vigorously used a two handed/pawed brush half again as long as he was tall. It looked like the potato mash cauldron. He disliked nearly all vegetables, but the Men seemed to adore them. It tasted like mush in his mouth, the potatoes as indistinct as the turnips. Sometimes when they used rare spices from the south his ears perked up, but meal time was dread time. He would look at the food and wonder how many hours it would take scrubbing it all. Leo figured his moral character was an impregnable citadel after so many annums of constant kitchen scrubbing duty.

The hours passed and Leo was using a thick bar of soap to scrub the pots and pans clean when the door opened a span and Nesia (the Nose) peered in. Catboy, you have been reprieved. Take your afternoon in the bailey; but do not climb any trees this time.

Leo’s eyes widened. Sister, my duties are not yet done.

The rookmaster made a mistake. Sister Nesia muttered.

Leo looked at his half done job and shrugged. Perhaps he had not visited the rookery lately. He cast back in his feline mind for what he did that morning; climbed the pear trees, stole Sister Agatha’s penury beads, hid Sister Agatha’s penury beads in Sister Tetra’s apartment, napped in the orchard, filched some fish from the kitchens… no, he had not visited the rookery today. Oh, but he did dare Billy Conner to send a raven to the village and order bread and wine. That must be it. So he set about cleaning the rest of the pots and pans, because once Billy Conner confessed, he might as well have his penance finished. Leo set about with the fine brush and brought more hot water. He always liked seeing his reflection in the copperware.

After finishing, Leo loped from the kitchen and down the halls to the Reliquary where he had a standing weekly appointment. The Sisters were all at tables, many with books or scrolls open, some copying down text, while others listened to student recitations. One in particular had an array of tools, measures and other apparatuses; Sister Roberta had been a noblewoman before her sons sent her to the sanctuary on pain of death for her eccentricities. She claimed to use reason alone and a variety of tools to discover knowledge; and Sister Roberta had latched onto him as a test subject, often calling him a control. He thought she was mad, as did everyone else, but she amused him.

Paws wet, curled whiskers… you have been given kitchen penance again.

As you say Sister.

Well then, let’s head to our list of questions. Do you feel well today? Sister Roberta took a tape measure and started with the litany of measurements; length of tail, height, paw width, length of forearm, length of leg, diameter of chest.

Yes Sister, very well thank you.

Diet for this week?

Leo recited his list of food for the week; Chicken every day, potato every day, peas, carrots and some kind of crunchy nut. Same as last week.

Double helpings every other day still? Roberta inquired as she dabbed a cotton swab into his ears, removing some ear wax and intensely studying the end, her monocle held by a hand and secured to her coat by a chain. All the Sisters wore robes except Roberta; she preferred a greatcoat, with trousers and boots, it was the native dress of far Caledonia.

Please step on the scale. It was her own invention, a portable scale, only 2 stone and made entirely out of brass, springs and some low steel. A needle pointed and indicated a number. Consistent weight Roberta muttered while checking off a box on her scroll. She even had a writing board and a spring loaded clip to keep paper on it, another original invention of her family. The thing was said to be a boon to bureaucrats and accountants. Roberta was very factual about her past, and did not observe the unspoken rules of the Sanctuary. She joined the order to have access to a consistent study population.

So Leo performed the ritual with Sister Roberta, who checked boxes on her scroll sheet, spoke in a clipped tongue and muttered under her breath. There had been no change in the last year other than his height, reach and whisker lengths. He towered over everyone at his full height of seven spans, but he tended to slouch and keep his legs only halfway extended when walking, which was more comfortable. He did not understand how Men’s legs at full extension could be comfortable. Their knees were different, for instance; his were springed according to Roberta.

Today, we need your monthly jumping height.

As you say Sister. Leo strode to the wall, where a length of parchment ran up the wall nearly 20 spans high. He looked up, and squatted low, his tail lashing about. A few of the Sisters glanced their way, and he paused, gauging where he wanted to touch. After a moment, he sprang with a piece of chalk in his paw and dabbed the wall. There were several marks already, roughly in the same span, a different color for each week of the month. When he landed, he purred with delight; he had outdone himself from last month by a quarter of a hand.

Improvement continues muttered Sister Roberta, her monocle dropping again to her coat’s breast. Now Leo, I want you to walk this board I have laid upon the ground for the entire length.

Leo looked at the board; it was only a thumb wide, and extended nearly thirty paces the length of the wall. Several tables were already removed. He shrugged and stepped on lightly. The board was held up in position by slotted bricks. This was new, and apparently meant to gauge his balance, which of course was flawless. Men were the clumsy ones. He easily walked the length and gave Sister Roberta a winning grin.

Now, run back.

Leo shrugged and dropped to all fours, quickly running along its length with his tail outstretched, and not once did his paws slip. Sister Roberta had timed him with a pendulum and marked the time. She had him repeat the maneuvers twice more before setting him to sit in a chair and recite to the best of his ability the story she had read him the previous week. When he was done, she scribbled a note on her parchment. She had a scroll open during the recitation; he knew she was checking the words as he spoke, but he gave it a mediocre try, lazily flicking his tail from side to side and scratching on the chair leg with his right fore claw.

Excellent Leopold, next month will be our last sessions, so please do not miss them.

Sister? Why?

Do you not know? You are nearing adulthood Leopold and must be sent from the Sanctuary. There was sadness in Sister Roberta's eyes; not over his leaving personally, but at the thought of no longer having her control available for measures. This was probably the reason for the increased number of tests.

I… was not told my time is near.

Sister Roberta sniffed and dried her fountain pen on a piece of rag, stoppered the inkwell and lightly blew on her scroll. Were not the other children told?

Yes, they were.

Interesting, Sister Roberta made a note in graphite in the margin of the scroll. He thought he read subject not informed of departure, religious context continues to act illogically. Several times during the interview (a weekly occurrence) Leo saw Sisters glance his way as if trying to ignore him. Nearing the end, the main door opened and in rushed Lanie Reed, Ethan Black, Sister Ysabel, Sister Beretha and two sisters he could not name; between them on a litter was Pensey Savoy looking rather startled and frightened.

Doctor Roberts, this child has sustained a fall, if you please! One of the sisters imperiously commanded. Leo had never seen her before, which was odd; he made it his business to understand everyone in the Sanctuary, which means that this Sister must be from Mother Superior. His eyes glittered with interest and Leo melted into the shadows as Sister Roberta stood up with her black bag full of strange equipment. Every Caledonian Doctor carried one. Leo was always interested in the strange devices contained inside.

~

After Sister Henny’s lecture ended about narration theory, magic in narratives and historical examples of miracles, the class of young adults left the ornate library and went about their duties. Each charge was part of a rotating list of jobs around the Sanctuary, from sweeping halls to helping cook in the kitchen to tending the garden in the bailey. It was the latter that Lanie, Pensey and Ethan strode; because Leo was doing penance again, Ethan became the Catiin's stand in. Lanie hated it as much as Ethan. She and Pensey would often work together while Ethan wandered off by himself, but when Leo was around, the three of them shared tasks and time would fly by as work lost its drudgery. Pensey was quiet, but she always seemed to perk up when Leo was around; Leo would leap about, climb walls and otherwise endeavor to make Pensey laugh. Otherwise the dark skinned girl rarely talked or expressed much interest in anything. It was a shame, Lanie thought, because Pensey had unique and original perspectives, as if she was seeing something for the first time every time. However, when Ethan took Leo’s place, work became worse than if either was missing.

As it was, Pensey and Lanie paired together while Ethan was to perform the more strenuous chores. The two girls walked ahead of Ethan in the stone lined corridors, heading towards the bailey and the storage room which housed all the bailey’s pruning tools, metal trellises, bags of mulch, multiple pairs of work gloves and other odds and ends in the maintenance of a garden which spanned a full two acres. The garden itself was a picture of nature forced into law; cobble-stone paths, pruned bushes, trimmed fruit trees, mown sod, well ordered rows of vegetables and interspersed were granite and marble statuary crafted by artisans. It was said that Mother Superior enjoyed the gardens of the Capital so much she wanted a miniature of it in the bailey, although none of the wards ever saw her among its winding paths. Ever. At one time, the sanctuary grew much of its own food within the walls, but no longer. Utility had given way to aesthetics, one of the few places, like the library, where the austere was shaken away like rain drops from a cloak.

Lanie opened the storage door with a great brass key originally from the Mistress of the Garden, a silly title if ever there was one. Sister Ysabel never set foot in the garden other than to note what needed done for the week and set about a long stream of workers in their appointed tasks. Among the children it was whispered she had been a noblewoman of some disrepute, and sent to the sanctuary for carnal sins. The thin woman’s beauty had paled in her time behind the tall castle walls; a flower left to dry and fade of its original lustrous colors.

Hand over the gloves, I’ll take care of mulching the base. Ethan always put on a show of lording over the other children, but Lanie did not argue; the mulch smelled hideous, crawling with worms and other strange creatures of the dark that made her stomach crawl and her hair to stand on end. Ethan reached past Lanie and pulled out a great hayfork, its tines rusting and jagged. Many of the tools needed sharpening and the rust scoured away; but Mother Superior cared little for unseen tools, at least to Lanie's mind.

Today, it was time to trim the fruit trees; apples, pears, cherries, plums and nectarines. Each type of tree was planted for aesthetic effect, and harvested merely to keep food from wasting. Lanie and Pensey took a ladder from the back of the storage room, as well as long poles with curved and sharpened hooks at the ends. Each pole was nearly twice as tall as the girls and weighed much more if held out horizontally, but was manageable if held straight up. Somewhere more towards the hook end was where Sister Roberta called its center of gravity, the point where the entire thing could be balanced, and the easiest point to manipulate it.

Ethan trudged out and started checking the lashed barrels near the bailey walls. Inside was heavy soil that smelled sickly sweet and almost always warm to the touch, despite being in a dark barrel. Something unnerving was in those containers, and Lanie never liked working with the stuff. The two girls, armed with their pruning hooks and ladder, circled each of the trees and compared what they saw to the written list of instructions from Sister Ysabel. Upon finding a documented offender, the pair quietly set about with the pruning hooks, and when necessary, used the ladder to get at the tallest of offenders. Each fruit tree was different, but not allowed to touch or invade each other’s allotted space, denoted by iron rods stuck in the ground with an eyehole at the top. A yellow or red colored rope was used if the children could not simply eyeball it, which was not hard after years at the task. Pruning the trees was a semi-monthly event.

The two girls continued to work quietly. The only sounds in the bailey came from Ethan muttering to himself and cursing. There were a few bloody hells and quite a few cockrels slung about by the bully, but nothing new for Lanie’s lexicon to absorb. The boys always learned the most ear burning oaths first, usually from the peddlers who came up the road from the village down in the bay selling produce, tools and other handicrafts. Somerset was always talked about, but never seen. To leave the walls meant never to return.

Once Lanie and Pensey were at the pear trees, their work was half done. All the tree bases were mulched over and Ethan took his leisure against the wall, throwing stones in the girls’ general direction, but rarely coming close. It was just something Ethan did; particularly when he was bored. It always annoyed Lanie, but she had learned long ago not to let bullies know they had gotten her goat. It was best to be cool and sharp, like the icicles that formed in the winter from the battlements. An icicle was pretty, but if it fell on you, it could kill.

Come my way Pensey, there’s one poking out over here. Lanie struggled with her pruning hook.

A stone skipped near Lanie’s leather shoe and she flashed a look of irritation at the malignant boy, who stuck his tongue out at her. Cool and sharp. Lanie ignored the malcontent.

Pensey saw what Lanie was talking about and brought the hook over, pulling the edge of the tree branch down, but only stripped the end. This usually happened with ends. Sometimes you got lucky and the hook would catch, other times you simply took the bark off. Sister Ysabel would add the damage to the list of woes on her never ending list of tasks.

Another stone hit the ladder Pensey was standing on as Lanie held the bottom. The dark haired girl looked over Ethan with a scowl.

Do stop that Ethan, you’re going to get someone… Lanie broke off as Pensey fell as a stone hit her in the head. Everything happened quickly, and Lanie had little time to move; the dark haired girl toppled down on top of Lanie while Ethan brayed with laughter. Lanie crawled out from Pensey’s dead weight. Pensey did not move. Something cold and shrill gripped Lanie tightly around her throat and only hoarse words escaped. Ethan’s laughter cut off as the scene refocused for him from something hilarious to something dreadful.

Lanie knelt beside Pensey and held the girl's limp hand, scanning up and down her prone form like Sister Roberta. The dark haired girl stared sightlessly into the sky, blood dripping from her mouth. Lanie heard Ethan cry out and start running out of the bailey. Horror pulsed through her body when her hand touched Pensey’s dark springy hair and came away with warm blood. Lanie's eyes welled with tears and a shriek finally escaped her throat as she hugged Pensey’s warm body to her, sobbing great gobs of emotion out. She pulled Pensey up towards her, bringing a lolling head against her shoulder. Her eyes searched the sky for meaning and latched upon the sun, which burned her retinas and something more than breath escaped.

Lanie fell, her skin pale and cold to the touch at the same moment Pensey opened bleary eyes, her hands going to the back of her head.

When Ethan came back with Sister Ysabel and Sister Beretha, they found Pensey trying to revive Lanie by patting her cheeks and slapping the back of Lanie’s hand. What is this? I thought the Isle girl was the one who fell?

Ethan regarded the prone Lanie and laughed nervously. Yes mum, I… I guess Lanie fainted at the sight of blood.

Sister Ysabel ran stiff fingers over Pensey’s head and checked inside the girl’s mouth, finding only her tongue nicked and a small wound in her scalp. The sister clucked her tongue, Miss Savoy appears to have survived her fall, but this is too much blood for so small a wound.

Head wounds do bleed quite a bit, piped up Beretha, once a farmer’s wife with ruddy cheeks and calloused hands. Beretha was picking up Lanie, whose eyes rolled and gasped a great heave of breath. Ah, Miss Reed is recovering.

It… was Ethan… stones… Lanie said between deep gasps. Beretha shot the nervous boy a look of suspicion but Ysabel ignored it.

Come now, Miss Savoy is the one injured and it is my experience that a proper doctor is needed to assess her health, particularly with a head wound. Come, grab the burlap sack and we’ll use it as a litter. I believe I saw Sister Roberta in the Reliquary.

Along the way, two other sisters helped with Pensey Savoy’s litter, taking another corner as Lanie’s sagged. She was barely able to put one foot in front of the other and was practically dragged along by the larger Sisters. The group made its way through the sanctuary with Ysabel in the lead while Beretha and Ethan walked backwards at the front of the litter, and the two other sisters took the rear. All the while dark skinned Pensey was looked about, alert but quiet. Once the group entered the Reliquary, one of the two sisters at the back called out Doctor Roberts, this child has sustained a fall, if you please?

Doctor Roberta Roberts, Sister of Ostir Sanctuary and practicing physician for the community walked over with her black bag of instruments. She wore her greatcoat even indoors, particularly when she was practicing medicine. There were many types of healers in the lands of the Athanian Real, from the rural Wise Women to the urban Doctors. Some even spoke about in whispers of desperate people seeking the aid of the Heathen witches, who always exacted a terrible price from those who sought help from the damned.

As Doctor Roberts looked Pensey Savoy over, checking her pulse, listening to her heart, examining the back of her head with probing fingers, it was Leo who stood near Lanie and waved a paw in front of her face. Lanie… are you all right?

The scarlet haired girl visibly shook and her eyes refocused on her feline friend. I… do not know Leo. I want to lie down I think. I’m so tired. Leo motioned her to sit on a bench nearby.

A circle of Sisters gathered around Pensey until Doctor Roberts proclaimed Sisters, please give my patient space. I have determined Miss Savoy is not in any immediate danger, but I want her brought to my rooms for personal observation. The tall Caledonian packed up her tools while the others carried the dark haired girl out of the room. As the Doctor was leaving, she stooped to speak quietly to Leo and Lanie. Be sure to join us in 10 minutes. And despite your fatigue Miss Reed, you will not be sleeping for the next ten hours. Make sure of it Leopold.

Leo nodded and helped Lanie to her feet, putting a strong paw under her arm and pulling her along. Lanie’s eyes could barely stay open.

Chapter 2: Questions

Having been admonished by this Holy Office [the Inquisition] entirely to abandon the false opinion that the Sun was the center of the universe and immovable, and that the Earth was not the center of the same and that it moved... I abjure with a since.

~Galileo Galilei

Are you sure of the symptoms?

Yes Mother, the Isle girl's injuries heal quickly. Her bit tongue is already as if it never happened, and no scar will mar the back of her head. Even more curiously, the heathen's brand is disappearing. Sister Tania held a ledger open, standing in front of Mother Superior Caroline Lee Waters' massive walnut desk.

Remarkable. Is it a miracle or something else? Mother Superior was a tall woman in her sixties, said to be related to one of the current Counselors in the Capital. She had iron gray hair, deep wrinkles and fine bony fingers. Today she wore a grey silk robe, chains of white gold, a silver belt with a polished jade inset buckle and fine bronze pins for her hair. The noblewoman sat in a massive chair, set upon ingeniously crafted ball bearings which allowed mobility across the hard tigerwood floor.

It is unknown at present. Sister Tania did not even have to read her ledger; she had the talent to remember anything she ever read, which made the woman an excellent Spymaster, even now in their joint exile.

You have told no one else?

Correct Mother. Doctor Roberts has the two girls in her apartments. Officially, Miss Reed is under special dispensation to learn medicine from the Caledonian woman. Beretha arranged it with Ysabel. Cat-boy continues to make daily visits, bringing the entire lot their victuals.

Mother Superior snorted in disgust. The Catiin was always poking his nose where it did not belong. What about the Reed girl. Is there anything in her file to mark her as one of Elene's Touched?

No Mother. By all accounts, she is a most unremarkable charge; lazy and not overly clever. She does have red hair, but that sign is only a rural superstition.

Indeed. Many whores in the Capital dye their hair red, to guard against venereal infection. Mother Superior chuckled without mirth.

As you say, mum.

Mother Superior smiled coldly to her trusted friend, together thirty annums in their solitude. Now was the time to win back the Counsel’s favor. Whether it is a miracle or witchery, only an Inquisitor may decide. Keep an eye on the Caledonian woman and the children.

Will one arrive in time? It is less than two weeks until that cohort is turned loose.

Mother Superior’s face grew grim; I am the supreme ruler behind these walls. Those little brats will not graduate until their true nature is determined. In the meanwhile, dig into the records for the entry of all actors involved in our little drama. I want a stack of reading material for whomever the Church sends us.

Sister Tania closed the ledger and smiled. As you please Mother?

Mother Superior excused Sister Tania with an imperious wave, and set about writing a message on a short roll of paper. After re-reading it to herself, she rolled it up and sealed it into a bone cylinder with brass ends. She used red wax for the seal, the color of the Church. After second thought, Mother Superior duplicated the message twice more. It would be best to ensure the message arrived. Sometimes, among witches, animals behaved oddly. Even the ravens of the Empire were not immune to eldritch ways.

~

Two weeks before graduation day, Ethan found himself cleaning the rookery. It was in the South Tower, away from the cold winds of the sea, protected by the keep's massive walls. Inside, at its top lay two stories of cages with only an iron spiral staircase to give purchase. This was Master Finch’s domain, a birdlike man with a craned neck and long bony fingers. Mother Superior had hired him herself, insisting on the luxury of a Rook although prior, the Sisters themselves had maintained the few birds kept to warn the Capital of raiders. The other children thought Master Finch to be a frightening visage, whispering to one another that he often spoke to himself, cause for further anxiety. Ethan actually liked the dark fellow, for their thoughts often traveled in the same places, and arrived at the same destinations.

Accustomed to solitude, the rookery’s charges were every bit imprisoned as the orphans, although sand littered the bottom of the ravens' cages. The orphans made do with cold stone floors. The ravens' black eyes rarely blinked, and they paced along deadwood perches, twitching their gaze toward the slightest movement. Sometimes they prattled at one another in their own queer language, incomprehensible to all but the Fey (and Master Finch the children half-jested). Each avian was worth two month’s labor, being well trained, and manually transported away from their birthplaces along the roads of the Empire. Each creature had a natural drive to find their first nest. The Rookery Ravens were separated into cages according to origin. The largest cage held ravens from the Capital, but many of the others lay empty. After five annums of stocking a full flock had nearly bankrupted the sanctuary, Mother Superior relented in her quest for self importance. That was twenty-five annums ago. Now, only birds from the main cities and fortresses were stocked.

Both Master Finch and Ethan wore the black of the rookery, a tradition dating back to the time of King Athan’s sons. The younger son of King Athan, Prince Ethan, took the emblem of the raven as his standard, and it was the younger son for whom half of all male bastards in the Empire were named. It was said that the King’s youngest son was born of the love between the maid Sylestra and King Athan during the regent's imprisonment at Castle Krag. After escaping with Sylestra's help, King Athan returned to his kingdom, but several annums later Sylestra introduced her son to the court. Rather than bow to tradition and disenfranchise the bastard, the King kept the youth as a Knight of the Realm. The King’s mercy proved fortuitous, as the Raven Prince saved the lives of both Athan and Crown Prince William at the Battle of Devon. As a consequence of his bravery, the Raven Prince was grievously wounded by an axe blow as he shielded the prone form of Athan from the Giant of Mantua. When Prince William took to battle the Giant, it was the Raven Prince who blinded the creature with the King’s shining helm. By the grace of Elene, a chance ray of sunlight from clouded skies reflected from the helm, giving the Crown Prince opportunity to dodge the giant’s blow and strike home. Ever since, any who handle Imperial Ravens honor the Raven Prince by donning the black livery.

Ethan Black always felt important with the Raven’s Cloak about his shoulders, the imperial seal upon his left breast and the edges of the fabric finely stitched in silver thread. Many Rooks became Spymasters for their lords or ladies, and a bastard could do well in such a position. Ethan imagined what it would be like to wear fancy clothes again, instead of the drab gray smocks that all the orphans donned every morning. Soon, he knew his father would send for him, perhaps to enter service as a squire or maybe as a household page. He would show his father that he was dependable, clever and loyal. He would rise to the very top of Lyons family politics.

Mind the sand or you whelps will be dredging the beaches early this annum.

Ethan snapped to Master Finch’s warning and tried to peel more of the dried viscous droppings from the sand litter rather than just dumping the whole of it into the barrel he carried. While working on the third floor of cages, the bell below chimed for a message. Master Finch sat up from his stool and hurriedly opened the door. A message cylinders was passed from outside the door to Master Finch, who bowed low, but Ethan could not hear any conversation. The robed Master of Ravens strode to the largest cage, preparing to remove birds meant for the Capital. Ethan wondered what Mother Superior needed from the Capital so urgently.

Ethan continued his chore of cleaning cages but noted to himself that Master Finch took his time with the message cylinders, tying them to the birds with ribbon. The color of the ribbon declared whose business the raven carried. Ethan noted that these ribbons were red, meaning the messages were for the Church. Ethan found this interesting, especially for so quick a message. If it was to the Imperial Legions, then he might have assumed raiders from the North had finally returned. But Church business was always kept in house. Something had happened then, something that required outside help. But what? It took a few minutes before the idea came to him; the Reed and Savoy girls. Something had happened after all. Cerebral wheels turned creakily in Ethan’s head. He needed a copy of that message.

Ethan mulled over the events of the previous day. After idly casting stones toward the two girls, the dark skinned savant’s fall was just as he had hoped. Better, in fact and rather funny at first because she fell on top of the Reed girl. He quickly realized however, that Savoy did not move and Reed continued to struggle under the dead weight. Then he saw the pool of spreading blood watering the garden. Excitement flushed his face and something warm, ecstatic and pleasurable coursed through his body. Finally, reason caught up to his exultation; he would be blamed.

He had sprinted down the halls searching for escape. It was only chance that Sister Beretha had caught him by the nape of his tunic, dropping Ethan on his back to the cold flagstones. Sister Beretha had demanded to know his hurry; He had stammered out, She has fallen in the garden, so much blood. Before he could name the Reed girl as criminal, Beretha started lifted the hem of her robes and ran the way he had come, back to the gardens. Ethan cursed, got up and ran after the sister. He could still spin the story to his advantage. A passing sister joined the pair towards the garden, and the afternoon became a blur of chaos. All the while he waited for the Reed girl to indict him, but strangely no retribution came; Savoy was unconscious and Reed seemed confused.

Naturally, beast boy would author vengeance, perhaps leaving a Sister’s stolen article among his belongingst or booby trapping his bed with nails. Both incidences had caught Ethan unawares. Once, the beast had simply handed a bag to Ethan, who opened it to find a snake. Even in memory, Ethan flushed with shame at the fright of that experience; he did not like snakes at all. It was a constant series of skirmishes, this back and forth between the Catiin and Ethan’s Army. They called themselves Ethan’s Army because they were his army. He was captain of course, while Billy Conner and Eugene Mattis were foot soldiers, following his lead. Sometimes they cajoled Pyter Willis into helping them with a prank or two, and sometimes Pyter was the butt of their jokes. It depended on whatever Ethan decided that day. Besides, Pyter was squeamish and could not be trusted to keep his mouth shut. Ethan’s Army ruled the orphans with fear and spite; they always got the best off everyone’s plate at dinner, except for beast boy and the Reed girl. How Ethan hated her, but he hated her bestial bodyguard even more. The creature was an abomination, and should never have been allowed behind the walls of the sanctuary. The Catiin stank, it was dirty, and its slitted eyes glittered with malice like a serpent.

Master Finch broke Ethan’s reverie when he thrust a cage into his arms. Inside was an Imperial Raven, squawking and calling. Under Finch’s arms were two more cages. Up to the rooftop you, we have our duty.

Ethan lagged behind, pretending to struggle with the cage. When Master Finch was up the first flight of stairs, Ethan opened the cage door; the raven went limp, as trained. Ethan felt its heart beat pulse in his hand and struggled to resist the urge to crush the life held there. Ethan mastered himself and slipped the bone canister from the creatuer's leg and tucked it into his robe pocket. Sometimes the cylinders fell off in transit; no one would be the wiser.

Master Finch was already at the top, releasing his charges. Joining him, Ethan brought the raven up roughly and threw it into the air. Finch squinted and suddenly backhanded Ethan, knocking him against the wall. Fool! The message is already lost. Lost to your bungling! You did not check the binding before release. Finch slapped Ethan again, splitting the boy's lip.

Ethan licked the blood from the corner of his lip, tasting copper. Ethan steeled himself, bottling up his anger. I am sorry Master Finch, it won’t happen again. He fingered the canister in his pocket. Three copies of the same Church message; this was going to be the best week ever.

~

I feel fine Dr. Roberts, really I do.

That is for a doctor to determine. Are ye a doctor? Ah thought not. Dr. Roberta Roberts held a lantern high above Lanie's head, pressed a flat wooden stick against the girl's tongue, and peered into the girl’s throat. The doctor squinted and clucked to herself before setting the instruments down, checking off boxes on a small notepad at her side with the smallest of pencil nubs. Lanie thought she read upside down pupil size uniform after 9 days. Reading upside down was a trick Leo had taught her; it was more about recognizing the first and last letters than trying to figure out the entire word.

Leo was not yet back from the kitchens, performing penance for something to do with snails in Billy Conner’s bed. Or maybe it was the snake Leo had left in Ethan's knapsack? Dr. Roberts rarely left the cell, and the children dared not relate pranks in the Sister's presence. Pensey Savoy sat in a chair watching Lanie intently. Ever since her fall, the girl was not the same. She had lost her perpetual daydream and now scrutinized everything, although she still did not say much. It was as if everything was new to Pensey's eyes. The Isle girl was more focused, more solidly there. Even the scar on the dark skinned girl's forehead had faded to near obscurity. It was really