Blood of the Fold (11 page)

Sister Verna returned the smirk. “So, Sister Dulcinia, you intend to back Sister Leoma, yes? Or are you just trying to conjure a task to get her out of your way while you seek the post?”

Sister Philippa spoke up in a quiet, authoritative voice. “Enough. We have more important matters to attend. Let’s get this sham over with so we can get on with the selection process.”

Sister Verna planted her fists on her hips. “And just what sham would that be?”

Sister Philippa turned gracefully toward the palace, her simple but elegant yellow robe flowing behind. “Follow us, Sister Verna. You have delayed us long enough. You are the last, and then we can be on with our business. We will take up the matter of your insolence at a another time.”

The other two Sisters fell in beside her as she glided off over the bridge. Sister Verna and Warren exchanged a questioning look, and then started after them.

Warren slowed his pace, letting the three Sisters lengthen their lead to a dozen paces. With a frown, he leaned close so he could whisper without them hearing.

“
Sister Verna, I sometimes think you could make a sunny day angry with you! It’s been so peaceful around here for the last twenty years that I had forgotten how much trouble that tongue of yours could cause. Why do you do this? Do you just enjoy making trouble to no good end?”

He rolled his eyes at her withering scowl and changed the subject. “What do you suppose those three are doing together? I thought they would be adversaries.”

Sister Verna glanced to the three Sisters, to make sure they couldn’t hear. “If you want to put a knife in the back of your opponent, so to speak, you must first get close enough.”

In the heart of the palace, before the thick walnut doors to the great hall, the three sisters came to such an abrupt halt that Sister Verna and Warren almost ran up onto their heels. The three turned. Sister Philippa put the fingertips of one hand to Warren’s chest and forced him back a step.

She lifted one, long, graceful finger to his face, letting it hover an inch from his nose as she fixed him with a cold glare. “This is Sister business.” She glanced to his bare neck. “And after the new prelate, whomever she may be, is installed, you will have to have a Rada’Han put back around your neck if you wish to remain at the Palace of the Prophets. We will not abide boys who cannot be properly controlled.”

Sister Verna anchored an unseen hand on the small of Warren’s back to keep him from retreating. “I took his collar off under my authority as a Sister of the Light. The commitment has been made on behalf of the palace; it will not be reversed.”

Sister Philippa’s dark gaze slid to her. “We will discuss this matter later, at an appropriate time.”

“
Let’s be finished with this,” Sister Dulcinia said, “we need to be on with more important business.”

Sister Philippa nodded. “Come with us, Sister Verna.”

Warren stood hunched, looking lost, as one of the Sisters used her Han to cast open the heavy doors, allowing the three to march through. Not wanting to look like a scolded puppy following them in, Sister Verna quickened her pace to walk beside them instead. Sister Dulcinia let out a noisy breath. Sister Maren invoked one of her famous looks, with which unfortunate novices were so familiar, but she didn’t voice a protest. Sister Philippa showed the slightest hint of a smile. Anyone watching might have thought that it had been at her direction that Sister Verna walked beside them.

At the inner edge of the low ceiling, between white columns with gold capitals carved to portray curled oak leaves, they came to a halt where Sister Leoma waited with her back to them. She was about Sister Verna’s size; her shock of straight white hair, tied loosely with a single golden ribbon, hung halfway down her back. She wore a modest brown dress that cleared the floor by a scant inch.

Beyond, the great hall opened into a vast chamber capped with a huge vaulted ceiling. Stained-glass windows behind the upper balcony cast colored light across the ribbed dome painted with the figures of Sisters, attired in the old style of robes, surrounding a glowing figure meant to represent the Creator. His arms outstretched, he looked to be extending his affection to the Sisters, all of whom, in turn, had their arms extended tenderly toward him.

At the ornate stone railings of the two-tiered balconies ringing the room, Sisters and novices stood silently gazing down. Around the polished, zigzag-patterned floor stood Sisters: those, Sister Verna noted, mostly older and of higher status. Sporadic coughs echoed around the huge room, but no one spoke.

In the center of the room, beneath the figure representing the Creator, stood a single, waist-high, white, fluted column bathed in a faint glow of light. The light had no apparent source. The ring of Sisters stood well back from the column and its obscure shroud of illumination, giving it as much room as possible, as well they should, if the glow was what Sister Verna suspected. A small object, she couldn’t tell what, sat atop the flat-topped column.

Sister Leoma turned. “Ah. Glad to have you join us, Sister.”

“
Is that what I think it is?” Sister Verna asked.

A slight smile crooked the creases lining Sister Leoma’s face. “If you are thinking it’s a light web, then it is. Not half of us, I would venture, have the talent, or power, to spin one. Quite remarkable, don’t you think?”

Sister Verna squinted, trying to tell what sat on the column. “I’ve never seen that pedestal before, not in here anyway. What is it? Where did it come from?”

Sister Philippa stared at the white pillar in the center of the room. Her arrogant demeanor had vanished. “When we came back from the funeral, it was here, waiting.”

Sister Verna glanced back to the pedestal. “What’s atop it?”

Sister Leoma clasped her hands. “It’s the Prelate’s ring—her ring of office.”

“
The Prelate’s ring! What in Creation is it doing there?”

Sister Philippa lifted an eyebrow. “What indeed.”

Sister Verna could just detect a hint of disquiet in those dark eyes. “Well what is—”

“
Just go and try to pick it up,” Sister Dulcinia said. “Not that you will succeed, of course,” she added under her breath.

“
We don’t know what it’s doing here,” Sister Leoma said, her voice taking on a more familiar, Sister-to-Sister, intonation. “When we came back, it was here. We’ve tried to examine it, but we can’t get close. In view of the peculiar nature of the shield, we reasoned that before we proceed, it would be wise to see if there are any of us who could get near, and maybe discern the purpose. We’ve all tried to approach, but none can. You are the last to endeavor to reach it.”

Sister Verna drew up her shawl. “What happens when you try to approach?”

Sisters Dulcinia and Maren looked away. Sister Philippa held Sister Verna’s gaze. “It is not pleasant. Not pleasant at all.”

Sister Verna wasn’t surprised by that. It surprised her only that no one had been hurt. “It borders on criminal behavior to ignite a light shield and leave it where some innocent could accidentally walk into it.”

“
Not likely,” Sister Leoma said. “Not considering where it is, anyway. The cleaning staff found it. They were wise enough to stay away.”

It was ominous in the extreme that none of the Sisters had been able to break the shield to get to the ring, as Sister Verna was positive they had attempted. It would be a significant accomplishment if one of them could demonstrate that she had the power to recover the Prelate’s ring, on her own.

She glanced over at Sister Leoma. “Have you tried linking webs, to drain the shield?”

Sister Leoma shook her head. “We decided that first, each would be given a chance, on the theory that it might be a shield keyed to an individual Sister. We don’t know what could possibly be the purpose of that, but if true, and it is a defensive shield, then linking and trying to drain its power could very well destroy what is being protected. You’re the only one who hasn’t tried.” She let out a tired sigh. “We even brought Sister Simona up here.”

Sister Verna lowered her voice in the sudden silence. “Is she any better?”

Sister Leoma stared up at the painting of the Creator. “She still hears voices, and last night, while we were up on the hill, had another of her deranged dreams.”

“
Go and see if you can retrieve the ring so we can get back to the selection process,” Sister Dulcinia said. She shot a forbidding look at Sister Philippa and Leoma, as if to say there had been enough talking. Sister Philippa noted the look without expression or comment. Sister Maren glanced impatiently to the soft glow under which sat the object of their desire.

Sister Leoma gestured with a gnarled hand toward the white column. “Verna, dear, bring us the ring, if you are able. We have palace business to get back to. If you are not able, well then, we will be forced to use a link to drain the shield and attempt to retrieve the Prelate’s ring. Go now, child.”

Sister Verna took a deep breath, deciding not to make an issue of being called “child” by another Sister, a peer, and started off across the polished floor, her footfalls echoing around the vast room the only sound except the muted, distant beat of drums. Sister Leoma was an elder, she supposed, and due a certain amount of deference. She glanced up toward the balconies and saw her friends, Sisters Amelia, Phoebe, and Janet, offering her weak smiles. Sister Verna set her jaw and marched onward.

She couldn’t imagine what the Prelate’s ring would be doing under such a dangerous shield, a shield of light. Something was wrong. Her breath quickened at the thought that it might be the doing of a Sister of the Dark. One of them might have keyed the shield to her, suspecting she knew too much. Her pace slowed a bit. If that were true, and it was a trick to eliminate her, she very well could be incinerated without so much as a hint of warning.

Only the sound of her footsteps echoed in her ears as she felt the outer bounds of the web. She could see the glint off the gold ring. Muscles tense, she expected something unpleasant, as the others had obviously experienced, but she felt only warmth, like a summer sun. Slowly, step by step, she proceeded, but it grew no hotter.

By the few, small gasps she heard, she knew that none of the others had gotten this far. She also knew that that didn’t mean she would be able to go all the way, or to escape. Through the soft white glow, she could see the Sisters beyond, their eyes wide as they watched.

And then, as if in the hazy light of a dream, she was standing before the pedestal. The light at the center of the shield had become bright enough that she couldn’t make out the faces of those beyond.

The Prelate’s gold ring sat on a folded piece of parchment sealed closed with red wax imprinted with the sunburst pattern from the ring. Writing was partially visible underneath the ring. Sliding the ring to the side, she turned the parchment with one finger so she could read it.

If you wish to escape this web alive, put the ring on the third finger of your left hand, kiss it, then break the seal and read my words inside to the other Sisters,
it said, and was signed,
Prelate Annalina Aldurren.

Sister Verna stared at the words. They seemed to stare back, waiting. She didn’t know what to do. She recognized the Prelate’s handwriting all too well, but it could be a forgery.

If it was a Dark Sister’s trick, especially one with a flare for the dramatic, following the instructions could kill her. If it wasn’t, then not following them could. She stood frozen a moment, trying to come up with alternatives. None would come to mind.

Sister Verna reached out and picked up the ring. Gasps of surprise came from the darkness beyond. She turned the ring over in her fingers, inspecting the sunburst pattern and the wear of age. It was warm to the touch, as if heated from an inner source. It looked like the Prelate’s ring, and a feeling in her gut told her it was. She glanced down at the words on the parchment again.

If you wish to escape this web alive, put the ring on the third finger of your left hand, kiss it, then break the seal and read my words inside to the other Sisters. 

—Prelate Annalina Aldurren.

Sister Verna, her breath coming shallow and labored, slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. She brought the hand to her lips and kissed the ring as she said a silent prayer to the Creator seeking guidance and strength. She flinched as a beam shot from the figure of the Creator above her, bathing her in a bright shaft of light. The air about her fairly hummed. There were short, clipped screams and squeals from the Sisters around the room, but in the light as she was, she could not see them.