Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary (18 page)

     ‘Indeed.’

     ‘When does Olaff leave?'

     'Immediately. For the Brenna suspect he
has something to hide,' said Steth as he re-hung the tapestry on the wall.

     Josiath added, 'Malkrin must be found,
for there are growing rumours of great and nameless dangers rising from the deadlands.
We need his knowledge and talents to unify the Seconchane to meet this relentless
evil.'

     'What evil?'

     'As I say, we do not know exactly, but
we have contacts . . . err . . . outside of the Seconchane. I cannot reveal the
source for the time is not right.'

     ‘Malkrin must also be informed of
Cabryce's death.'

     ‘He must, but his inevitable return
for revenge must be redirected and wrought into a finely tuned weapon. For it
is necessary that a unified Seconchane meet the threat emerging from the deadlands.'

     Nardin thought of all that he had just
learnt and realised just how closeted his people were. He inhabited a very
small part of a huge and dangerous world. Now he felt like a grain of sand in a
great riverbed with water swirling and bowling him over and over with ever more
dangerous knowledge. 'How can I assist you with this quest? I realise I'm
merely a naïve beginner in what I now see is a complex problem,’ he said
nervously.

     'For now, continue learning,' began
Sire Steth, 'for I have seen your constant curiosity and absorption in the
great library. Your research ability will be useful, possibly vital.'

     Nardin felt embarrassed, Steth could
not have slept at all, as he had browsed the multitude of books.

     Sire Steth acknowledged his awkwardness.
'Yes, I have observed how skilled and selective you are becoming with your
choice of script. Somewhere amongst the multitude of texts there are lost
references to mysteries that we need to find.  These will aid us in the coming
struggle. What they are we know not, but we do know the ancients had great
powers. Somehow they attached wings to fly and even carried each other on their
backs when they did so.  They could swim far below the waves of great oceans
and dig far underground to mine mysterious ores. How they grew wings, gills,
limbs and tails to do this is another mystery. But it is your duty to research
and rediscover what you can. To this end I will show you the library’s greatest
secret. One of which you are well chosen to use, given your astounding progress.'

     Nardin's curiosity reached fever
pitch. He was about to be trusted with the hidden knowledge – it was everything
he had worked toward.

     Sire Josiath announced, 'We will leave
now to prepare Olaff for his search. He will leave Cyprusnia tonight.'

     Olaff reached over and gripped Nardin’s
hand.

     'Good luck Nardin, I will find
Malkrin, do not fear.'

     'Thank you Olaff, I am in your debt.'

     Olaff smiled, lowered his eyes and
followed Sire Josiath from the room.

     Nardin turned expectantly to Sire
Steth.

     'We will take a little refreshment,
for what I am about to show you is the priesthoods greatest secret. Strangely,
little used amongst my colleagues, even nowadays. For until recently it was
considered against Jadde’s teachings to indulge and learn from such blasphemous
ancient scripts. Consequently all of my brethren still shun this resource. I am
the keeper of our library and all it contains, so I do visit its secret; but
only very occasionally.’

     They drank a goblet of elderberry and
cherry cordial. It was Steth’s favourite beverage, but Nardin only drank his to
be polite. He found it too sweet, and after the evenings revelations he just
wanted to wallow in the hidden secret . . . to help Malkrin and avenge Cabryce.

     Eventually Steth rose from his deep
padded chair and gestured Nardin to follow. They entered the library after
Steth had checked the passage either side was empty of snoopers.

     The long rows of leather bound scripts
filled countless shelves and alleys stretching down to the far stone wall.
There was not a vast amount for him still to read – he’d browsed them widely by
now. Most were repetitions of older scripts, copied by priests in generations
past to aid their pious dogma and to help them memorise the original texts. Nardin
had discovered this when reading dedications on the first page of many. After
awhile the words, ‘In honour of Jadde I do copy her majestic sermons’ meant it
was just another badly transcribed copy. So he just returned it to the shelf and
moved on to another volume. He knew probably the very last book he examined
would contain the hidden knowledge that would help them all. But because he was
not reading every word he may have missed something vital already, some small disclosure
that could have added to another irrelevance to rebuild the location of Jadde. Maybe
somewhere in this full room a line of text would reveal how to summon the great
Goddess, and then he could ask her to regain justice for the people of
Cyprusnia.

 As they pottered along Steth stroked a
favourite volume here and there, and muttered as a distantly remembered author resurrected
memories. Nardin contained his impatience and wondered which volume Steth would
withdraw and which page would reveal the revelation.

     Suddenly Steth seemed to come to a
decision and darted for the furthest corner. Nardin had already carefully
examined the volumes in this secluded corner, surmising the darkest, furthest
shelf would most likely contain controversial scripts hidden away from casual discovery.
He had drawn a complete blank; someone had relocated the most illiterate of the
pious ramblings here out of the way.

     Steth began looking at the back wall
as if trying to remember something. He scratched his chin and muttered,
oblivious to Nardin's presence. Then he groped along the heavy stone blocks of
the far wall still mumbling.  Nardin realised he was counting. Counting the
number of blocks horizontally – and he had just counted the blocks vertically
down from the high vaulted ceiling.

     Steth pushed on a chosen point and
held Nardin back with his other arm. There was a click of some hidden mechanism
and a section of wall swung free on a well balanced pivot.

     Nardin looked down and saw stone steps
leading into midnight black – a black so dark it was like a huge pool of
writing ink. He guessed this must be the vault that Malkrin had highsensed.

     'Good, good,’ Steth muttered and
walked to the nearest oil lamp and held it before him as he walked down slowly
but purposely, dispelling the liquid black.

Nardin followed closely to keep in the
lamplight, because outside its glow the narrow passage seemed to be contracting
and pressing in on him. The air was unventilated, but not as stale as he
expected. A shiny wooden rail ran along the wall. It had been carefully
positioned to be the correct height for his arm. He guessed right away it was a
hand support, although no other stairs in the town or the Priests Keep had such
a thing. They reached the bottom of the steps and Steth paused. Nardin looked
at the stone floor which was covered in a layer of dust like a peppering of
grey snow. His footprints were plainly visible in the dust on each step. No one
had been down here for years.

     Steth whispered, as if to compound
Nardin's sense of mystery, 'when we go through this door something will happen.
I don't want you to be alarmed for it is a magic that is quite normal down
here.'

     Nardin nodded and looked at a wooden
door set into a dull metal frame. It had once been coated in a transparent
layer which now hung off it in strips. Flakes were lying on the ground mainly
covered in dust, with some fresh flecks lying on top. The door itself had a
small sheet of glass built into it at head height; but only the blackness of a
tomb radiated through it. At waist level, a light grey metal handle was set
into the door. It had no latch like doors he knew. He wondered how you unbarred
it.

     'Are you ready?' Sire Seth asked.

     Nardin braced himself for the
mysterious magic. Steth pushed on the handle and the door opened with a slight
squeak of hinges.

     Steth took a step inside and the whole
room lit up with the light of the sun.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    
T
he Wolf sentries helped in two more muddy
and dishevelled Sylve.

‘I named Dror,’ said the larger of the two
men with a bloody slash disfiguring his chin. He held shaking hands across his
chest and continued. ’We been hunting beyond the village and ran into wounded demon.
We fought it hard before slaying it with spears.’ Dror stared straight ahead
reliving the experience. ‘Then we so tired, rested, regained strength to return
to home village. And we find destruction, then you.’

     ‘My name Aldred and I say these vile
creatures are the spawn of evil Gods,’ said the other newcomer.

     Malkrin noted the muscular build of
hunters and realised the effort it must have taken to prevail over the quarter-man.
But at least it proved two men could prevail over one demon. Tabra handed her
tribesmen food and a hot beverage that smelt of herbs. Soon the Sylve men began
to look around acknowledging BerantWolf’s band.

     The conversation turned back to the quest.

     'We must travel at night to get past
the demons,' Malkrin
argued.
'We are too few to hope to prevail over them in daylight.'

     ‘We will stay here and rest till
dark,' BerantWolf decided.

     ‘The woman and child cannot go with
us, it is too dangerous,' Malkrin’s Wolf warrior adversary added.

     'Indeed they cannot TrathWolf,' BerantWolf
acknowledged.

     At last Malkrin learnt the man's name
and also that he had shown more compassion.

     'I stay here and look after Tabra and
the boy,' Palreth stated, ‘it is still our village that we know and love.'

      
Malkrin turned to the new Sylve arrivals,
'will you join us friends?'

     'I come along to avenge my people,'
said Dror.

     'I Aldred stay to bury my people then
look after my few brethren.'

     BerantWolf acknowledged the two Sylve
hunters decisions. Then he shifted his planning to how to efficiently dispatch quarter-men.
‘We must make an accounting,’ he snarled in frustration.

     Malkrin summed up the problem, ‘so far
it had taken a disproportionate amount of warriors and effort to overcome a
single demon. If necessary, accurate bow-shots would be the safest option – we
cannot afford to duel hand to hand.’

     'There is no honour in fighting at a distance,'
BerantWolf snapped, spraying spittle.

     TrathWolf added, ‘all must sell his
life dearly, if we can each dispatch a dozen quarter-men before we are slain
then it may discourage them . . .’

     ‘. . . From entering further into our
lands? No, we have little hope of that,’ Malkrin saw only unreasoned warrior’s
frustration.

     Halle added despairingly, ’we need
every man to return to Brightwater to fight later, at a place of our choosing.’

     'Why are we talking of engagement,'
Eighth responded sharply, 'our mission is to assess the demons, not attempt to
destroy a small number of them.'

     Malkrin added, 'if we attempt to
deliberately engage them we will surely fail – we are only a handful. We need
to keep to our original mission; evaluate them then return and prepare our
peoples.’

     ‘Yes, we’re getting carried away on
thoughts of vengeance, for which we’re ill equipped.’ Talgour agreed.

BerantWolf scowled in internal argument;
his inbred doctrine fought the need to plan for future survival of all their
tribes. Malkrin could see the almost tangible battle as BerantWolf fought
tradition, his face tense and reddened. TrathWolf looked on, his fingers
running lightly up and down a dagger blade as he prepared to back his master’s
decision. At last BerantWolf sighed and his frown eased. ‘Very well, we put warrior’s
virtue aside. I will go with the greater necessity of survival over honour.’

The whole room released a pent up breath.

     'We have another matter to think over,'
announced, Palreth of Sylva. ‘You are only a half days march from our sister
people, The Cembrie. They live as we do in harmony with the forests and streams.
We must warn them of the approaching demons.'

     Malkrin hoped they were not too late to
be warned.

     'We will detour there,' BerantWolf
announced instantly to re-impose his authority.

     Palreth and the other Sylve nodded in
hope.

     Malkrin's thoughts turned to weapons. 'My
Sylva friends would you let me use one of your fallen comrades bows and a
quiver of arrows? I have seen they are of superb quality.'

     'We would be honoured if you would avenge
our people with our weapons,' Palreth offered. 'I give you Trisher's husband’s
bow and quiver. He was master of our trees and joint Governor of Sylva with his
Trisher wife.'

     'I thank you.’

     Palreth nodded then added, ‘also I
will present you with a sacred dagger. It is of the sharpest metal, and has
been preserved for only the direst of needs by generations of our people. Many
suspect it once belonged to the ancients, even the warrior Goddess herself.'

     'I am greatly in your debt Palreth. Can
I ask your Goddess’s name?'

     'She is Jadden the greatest of
protectors. Until yesterday she had shielded us in her great hands.'

Malkrin had guessed who the Goddess would
be, Jadde was so mighty a Goddess all knew and worshipped her.

The night was dark with the full moon
hidden behind cloud when the band gathered to continue the reconnaissance. Dror
would lead as a guide through his peoples’ lands. Then BerantWolf would follow
with two Wolf warriors, followed by Halle and the two Brightwater men and the
other Wolf men. Malkrin took station at the rear so he could use his highsense
to detect any demons that may attack from behind.

     In the dark shadows a stream tinkled as
if alive. They followed the rippling water for an hour strung out in line one
behind the other. Dror took a right angled path into thick scented pine
woodland and travelled a distinct route between trees and boulder strewn banks.
The pines finally thinned and the oppressive night diminished. The band ran in
silence. Occasionally an owl hooted and periodic rustles in the surrounding
ferns suggested natures continual hunt to survive.

     BerantWolf signed a short rest.
Malkrin did not relax but kept slightly apart from the group and faced backward
to detect any developing demon assault.

     He had just eased his panting breath
when from behind a cold blade was applied lightly to his throat. He knew who
his assailant was – but crucially his highsense had flickered again at a
crucial moment, failing to warn him once again.

     'Do you remember me Malkrin of
Seconchane?' TrathWolf’s voice hissed in his ear.

     Malkrin’s mind raced. He'd never met a
Wolf warrior until they'd appeared at Brightwater.

His highsense flicked back on, filling his
mind with information. It was as if it had lurked in the depths of his mind
monitoring events all along.

He had a hand on the hilt of the sharp Sylve
dagger. It would be so easy to shove back into TrathWolf and try an upward
thrust into his chest.

     'I saw you Seconchane, from a distance.
My brother tried to draw your companions away by only wounding them. But you were
possessed and you slaughtered him.'

A memory arose of the Cyprusnian hunting
patrol past the frontier that day long ago.

     'I remember now. Be assured I have
always regretted the brave warrior’s death.'

The image of the Wolf bandit emerged
crystal clear in Malkrin’s memory. The damp cave returned to envelope him and
the memory of the smell of sweat and blood and damp mould returned. 'But it was
the way of our leaders to never negotiate with bandits. It was ingrained in us to
kill intruders. So I obeyed.'

     ‘Wolf warriors always show mercy,
unlike your kind. I am of a thought to treat you as you treated my brother.'

     Malkrin realised in that instant how
empathy had been bred out of the Seconchane's dealings with the Wolf people. How
a simple understanding would have allowed the Wolf tribe to continue their
sacred journey through the lands of Cyprusnia. He deserved death and relaxed
his grip on the dagger. Then a need to complete the journey and save his people
invigorated him. He spoke quickly whilst steeling his legs to spring against
the Wolf warrior.

'I know now why the Wolf people travelled
to our lands. I now understand you were not wishing to raid us, merely pass
through. I am truly sorry for my people’s attitude, and my slaying of your
brother. But it cannot be undone. We must put to one side the past and hope to
change my people. But we must also put aside personal differences to conquer the
demon curse that is descending on us.'

     He felt the pressure of the cold knife
hesitate then the grip round his throat relaxed.

     'You begin to learn Seconchane, just
keep out of my way. We will deal with the demons then perhaps I’ll let you
return alive to your intolerant people.' He released Malkrin and faded silently
into the night.

     Malkrin had never felt so ineffectual,
and frustrated. More than ever he saw the wrong in killing the Wolf bandit.
TrathWolf had just insured the memory of the slaughter of his brother would
live with Malkrin forever. The Wolf warrior had good reason for his hatred.
Malkrin resolved to somehow try to rectify the man's opinion of him and the
ordinary Seconchane. He picked himself up and brushed leaf litter from his
clothes. BerantWolf called for the band to continue. Soon the familiar panting
and whispered curses of the men filled Malkrin’s returned highsense.

     Later, through the trees flickering
lights appeared, and Dror indicated they were approaching the village of the
Cembrie.

     A challenge rung from dense
undergrowth and they stopped. Dror spoke with a hidden guard and a short debate
ensued. Then Dror gestured them forward as a Celembrie guard ran to take the
news of their arrival to their chieftain.

Ten strange warriors appeared from behind
nearby trees as if woodland spirits had previously rendered them invisible.
They were dressed in hooded garments and breaches in a similar patchwork of green
and brown. Weaponry adorned them as numerous as a Brenna woman’s jewels.
Swords, spears and daggers were slung around their backs and in scabbards
hanging from multiple belts. Malkrin realised the clothing was a superb way of
choosing colour to blend with their surroundings similar to the effect the
Skatheln had utilised. He made a mental note to recommend the alliance take on
this idea.

BerantWolf’s band walked with the ten
Celembrie through the wood and toward flaming torchlight. Soon the dense trees
thinned at the woodland edge to reveal low mounds. Each had a bright coloured
token pinned to the head, following the same burial tradition as the Seconchane
and Brightwater peoples. Malkrin counted twenty nine of them.

The procession strode warily into a large
woodland clearing where bonfires and torches fended off the night. Immediately
Malkrin noticed a sharp smell, he now recognised the stink of demons. The quarter-men
had paid these people a visit.

     They entered the clearing and squinted
in the mellow flickering light. The flaring torches lit the Celembrie homes
which Malkrin noticed were entirely constructed of split pine logs with roofs
of turf. Most had been slashed and shredded and people were repairing them
under the torch-glow. Malkrin estimated the community was of at least two
hundred residences all sturdily constructed. It was a much larger tribe than
that of the Sylve.

     An imposing figure left a particularly
ornate central dwelling and strode purposely to meet them.

     'Greetings friends. I am Thicheal
leader of the Celembrie, and you are welcome.’ He paused, his face set into
genuine grief. ‘I am deeply saddened by the destruction of our Sylve cousins.
We will pray every sunset to Jadden and ask her to look after their spirits.’

BerantWolf, Malkrin and the others nodded
with downcast eyes.

 ‘You have also chosen a sad time to visit
us here. We could have used your weapon arms this morning.'

     'The black demons?' Talgour questioned
unnecessarily.

     The man nodded, 'I would normally
offer you refreshment but I am informed you are on an urgent quest to observe
the host of the fiends.'

     'We are,’ confirmed BerantWolf.

     ‘Then I will send with you two of my best
warriors to bring me information. Then when you return we must all exchange
plans on how to crush these hell creatures.'

     'We welcome your help.’ BerantWolf
spoke with gratitude. ‘We had detoured to warn you of the approaching horde,
but unfortunately no warning is necessary. We must leave now, but will talk on
our return.’

     Well spoken, Malkrin thought, and ten
minutes later his companions moved out with Dror and the two chosen Celembrie now
leading.