Chapter 37: A Clash of Wills – 160 AK, Early Spring
II Peter 3:9 The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.
East of Lorness
Mathu Duine, Steward to the Premier of Esthlanis, wondered quite how – at well past fifty years of age – he’d come to be camping in the woods, dressed in a dull cloak that hid the finery of his clothes, and discussing tactics with a youngster who could be no more than in his mid-twenties.
It had been sixteen years since he had met Jonathan O’Toole and been so impressed that he’d introduced the Knight of Joshua to the then-Premier. It had been less than a moon after that, when the Premier of Esthlanis had pledged himself, his successors and all of their apparatus of state to aid the knights in eradicating the pestilence that plagued Freislicht.
A pestilence that was named Melazera.
For the last three moons, the number of merchant caravans headed west from Esthlanis into Freislicht had doubled each week. Yet, only the usual number of them – plus a scant few extras that only the closest observer might detect – had arrived at their destinations in Lorness, High Castle, Farr Castle, Fairness Crossing, River Town, and Alexandria. The rest had turned off the westward road just prior to the range of hills that blocked Lorness Castle’s view to the east. Moving slowly into the woods, both north and south of the roadway, they had been met by raggedly-dressed but well-equipped youngsters ranging from ten-or-so to their mid-twenties.
The lad sitting cross-legged before Mathu was the perfect example. His clothes had seen better days, were clearly not washed or repaired as oft as they should be but had once been of good quality. The sword at his hip was the unadorned-yet-expensive product of one of Esthlanis’ better-known swordsmiths. The maker’s crest, its only decorative touch, was embossed into its pommel. From the wear on its handle and sheath, the weapon was in constant use.
“So,” the quirkily named James of the Wood continued, “with your arrival and deployment just below this hilltop, we are in position. It is unlikely Melazera or his minions will attempt to escape into your country…” he left the words hanging.
“I agree, it is unlikely but they are not wanted,” Mathu’s tone was firm. As was his country’s resolve. “Our Premier has no intention of helping Freislicht only to have Esthlanis contaminated by the filth that has been spawned and permitted to grow here.” He examined his companion yet again. There was something familiar about the lad that had nagged and harried his mind since they’d met three days earlier.
“Excuse me, Lord Steward,” a just-out-of-school Esthlanis-trained Knight of Joshua interrupted. “The trees and bushes are rustling again, indicating that another of your friends is likely about to arrive.”
“When he does…” Mathu did not bother to complete the sentence.
A boy of perhaps ten or eleven darted out of the trees, dropped to his knees, slid under expectant arms of a guard waiting to nab him, rolled and came to a perfect, breathless stop beside James. Only then did he fish a rolled-up parchment from within the near-rags he was wearing.
“I wish your people,” the Esthlani Knight grumbled, “would show a little more decorum. Just as I wish you, James-with-no-title, would control them in a more fitting and civilized manner.”
James only smiled as he read the document then passed it to Mathu. “We have our marching orders. I am instructed to bring you and a small escort to Sir Jonathan. He is moving south.”
The Steward read the message. “It says nothing here of where we’re to meet. How are we to find him?”
“That is simple. Quite by accident, we came into possession of some strange curved handguards for swords. One of your artisans had experimented with the idea of somehow fully protecting the wielder’s hand. But it was too heavy, so he could not make it work. We needed weapons and rather than melt down the guards, he gave them to us. We were grateful. Still are. His work is excellent. Yet, even we – who accept all offerings and contributions with thanks to Joshua – could not adjust to a bell-like protective cup around our hand.”
“I don’t see where this is going,” the Esthlani Knight lamented.
“Patience,” Mathu gently scolded, “and tolerance of foreign ways, are the signs of a true Knight of Joshua. Our friend,” he nodded to James, “has not been blessed as we have. We do not know his story but do know that living in the woods is far safer for him than being forcibly conscripted into Freislicht’s armies. Your haste does you no credit.”
The newly-minted knight took the hint. “I apologize, James. I cannot imagine having to live as you do. Please forgive me.”
The raggedly-dressed mid-twenty-year-old chuckled gently. The boy beside him suppressed a snigger. “You have no need to make amends. I had taken no offense. Are you interested in the end of my tale?”
Mathu bit the inside of his lip. No offense taken? James had rebuked the Esthlani Knight as surely as if he had hit him “Please continue,” the Steward instructed. Not willing to risk a young hothead – well, either of them – starting something here or now.
“It turns out that the strangely shaped hand protectors had an unexpected use.” James dug into the cloth bag sitting on the ground beside him and pulled one of the objects out. It was battered, had many dings and scars on its surface, and probably had not been polished since it was cast. Then he turned its interior toward the Knight and a sunbeam briefly played across the Esthlani’s face.
“What?” Mathu exclaimed, then held out his hand. “May I?” The object was passed over as the trying-not-to-be-insulted Knight suppressed a scowl.
Carefully, the Steward maneuvered the object around. When it caught the light, it required just the right angle, it concentrated it and shone it in only one direction. If you were not directly in its path, or very nearly so, it could not be seen. “This is a marvelous discovery. Why haven’t you shared it with anyone?”
“We have,” James responded hesitantly, “but only a very few. And the artisan who created the original for us has kindly provided a few more every other moon so that we can experiment with it. At some point, I shall probably have to travel to Esthlanis explain how we have been using them and apologize. We should also pay him something appropriate. Its value to us has been—”
“Has been what?” the Esthlani Knight demanded.
Mathu sighed. “With such a tool and a simple code, Sir Broden, I could instantly communicate with others over a distance that I could not ride in an entire afternoon. This is not like using a mirror. That can be seen by everyone. This, along with pre-arranged message transmission and receiving points, could be used without giving away your location. A most excellent application, James. Please pass my appreciation on to whoever came up with it.”
“I shall. Although,” James sighed, “I doubt Jonathan will acknowledge his part in it. He never has before…”
High Castle – The Queen’s Drawing Room
Melyssa strode back and forth nervously within her drawing room. She had excluded everyone she could but that still left Ladies Ush-Wha and Ush-Lus, three more Alexandrian ladies-in-waiting, an additional two from Farr, another from some remote village on the Tarinland border, one of her own spies, and a brand new but delicate-looking female bodyguard. All of whom had proved their loyalty and were trusted.
It was still far too large a group for the queen’s comfort.
She would have liked to limit it to only Ush-Wha but with Freislicht’s armies in the field, the king – wisely, she begrudgingly admitted – had insisted no royal would be without a sizeable escort. This had also applied to Kennah, who had traveled north with a mixed force of Alexandrians and those from below the Shining Mountain.
At least my daughters think it's a great game, having more attendants fussing around them amuses them intensely.
There also was that, with Blackhawk discovering she’d been his Little Soldier, she was frightened that more people would learn her secrets. And that, at some point, she was going to have to explain certain… oddities… about her life to her husband. Little things like having three sets of parents.
There were the parents whom she’d been stolen away from. Parents who, despite Blackhawk’s investigations, she still knew next to nothing about.
There were the parents who had adopted her. Although Kennah Beecher’s husband had died in 158, reducing her number of living parents from six to five, which was still an extraordinary number.
Then there were Gregory and Ellyth Locke, who had been the second couple to adopt her… plus the siblings, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and so on – and their servants, lackeys, administrators, minstrels, cooks, gardeners, and untold others – who had come along with them.
All in all, there were simply too many people who could accidentally let slip something at the wrong time or in front of the wrong person. That also explained why Kennah was dressed as a servant. Just as she always was when she visited as the Queen’s Midwife.
The initial howls of displeasure by various guilds, midwives who served members of Freislicht’s nobility, and others seeking the job had died down when Kennah had not permanently relocated to High Castle. Having the Lockes of Alexandria’s preferred midwife fill the role only during each of Melyssa’s pregnancies still annoyed many. Yet that concern too had died down when Kennah accepted the recommendation of the local guild as to who would act as her assistant. But it had not silenced all complaints. It had reduced them to a whisper as openly crossing the Lockes was about as sane as criticizing the Melazeras.
“Your Majesty,” Kennah Beecher curtsied deeply, then waited to be acknowledged. Even in private they kept up the pretense. Even in front of Ush-Wha and the other ladies-in-waiting of Melyssa’s inner circle.
“Rise and welcome back. I hope my summons did not inconvenience you too much.”
Mother Beecher stood with her head slightly bowed in deference. “I am always happy to see you and have prayed for you every day. Why have you summoned me? Are you with child again so quickly?”
Melyssa hesitated, not wanting to draw yet more attention to Kennah. Not wanting to place her in danger, even after having sent for her. Yet, there was no one else to turn to. “I require assistance, Mother Beecher, that I cannot obtain elsewhere. I have heard that you’ve some experience with tormented and possessed souls. Is it true?”
“I have had some, your Majesty. Who is the sufferer?”
Lady Ush-Wha snorted. “Someone who deserves her fate.”
“A remarkable comment,” Melyssa scolded, “Lady Ush-Wha, given that you are the only one to have lessened the severity of the former Lady Melazera’ bouts of madness.”
Kennah Beecher shook her head. “Forgive me, your Majesty but I must have misheard. For a moment, I thought you named Cailleagh Melazera. Isn’t she dead? That’s what her husband claims. Some vile attack by followers of… but King Sagen has cleared Sir Jonathan O’Toole of all of those charges… What are you saying?”
“The former Duchess of Lorness was beaten nearly to death by her husband… or, so I was informed. She was rescued and brought to safety by some of those loyal to the king.” Melyssa snatched a reproving glare at Ush-Wha and Ush-Lus. There were moments she forgot their clan followed neither the God of Truth nor the God of this Age. Refocusing on Kennah, the queen continued, “As you have probably noticed, things are afoot. That is why so many surround me. Come this way,” she began, only to have her delicate-looking female bodyguard, step forward and guide the midwife to where Cailleagh was being kept.
The queen followed, amidst her ladies-in-waiting.
The cell could be said to be connected to the Queen’s Drawing Room, in a very roundabout fashion. Whatever its original purpose, it had been furnished and refurbished so a noble woman could be imprisoned there for many moons, without suffering too much hardship, without being kept in filth, and without possibility of escape. Those guarding the cell could not see or hear anything of its occupant, who was secured behind a series of doors, connected by curving corridors. At the king’s command, those visiting the prisoner could number no less than four and no more than six.
Melyssa, accompanied by Ush-Wha, Kennah and the delicate-seeming bodyguard, had passed through four guarded doors before reaching the final barrier. Unlike its predecessors, it was guarded by two darkly-tanned women wearing customized armor and carrying short swords sheathed on their hips.
“What’s been done to…” Mother Beecher clapped her hands over her mouth as she tried, and failed, to look away.
The queen looked at Kennah, then at the familiar guards, then at Ush-Wha, who was failing to hide her amusement. It was only then that she realized what the midwife had reacted to. “They were tortured by both Cailleagh and Geleib Melazera. Hence the scars you see on their faces, the brands on their arms, and the remnants of their burned-away ears. They were deafened so that they could not overhear anything they… shouldn’t… according to Melazera.”
“That’s barbaric,” Kennah hissed.
“When first rescued, they were even worse off. They had been tattooed with runes, sigils and other marks of power. Ush-Wha and the wise women of her clan did what they could to heal them, by undoing runes, breaking sigils, and converting the marks burned, branded or dyed onto them into less malignant forms.” Melyssa looked over at Ush-Wha, who nodded. “Ush-Wha has attempted to do the same for Cailleagh but with very limited success.”
“Why,” Mother Beecher’s tone was a rebuke, “are these women here, forced to work in close proximity to…?”
“May I?” Ush-Wha brashly intruded into the conversation.
“No one is forcing them to do anything,” Ush-Wha’s tone brooked no opposition. “They and more than a dozen others are here because they begged to be, because they want to be of use, because their very deafness renders them safe from the temptations and curses spewed forth by the woman they guard. The woman that they would see recover. The woman that they would see come to her senses, then take stock and responsibility for the immense harm she has done. They want her to live a long, long life of atonement.”
“Before,” Melyssa commanded, “either of you says a single word more, you need to examine Cailleagh, Mother.”
North of Lorness
Jonathan frowned at the lad handing out oddly-shaped hand protectors. Not the swords which went with them, just the bell-shaped pieces of metal. He recalled playing with one years ago but it was nothing more than a novelty.
He then smiled as he saw Mathu Duine climbing the hill. It had been many years. Accompanying him were three Esthlani wearing the robes and cloaks of Knights of Joshua. The eldest of which was around thirty and bore a long scar running from below his left eye to the point of his chin. The second was in his mid-twenties. The last could be straight from the Knights’ School.
A smiling, if scruffily-dressed, James was following them. Inevitably, he would have a reason for being so disheveled. Yet the sword on his hip looked right there. Just as his easy stride and good humor, no matter how bad a situation got, were integral to the young man. But his defining characteristic was his unwavering faith and willingness to follow Joshua’s guidance. Both had shone forth from their very first meeting almost ten years earlier.
Rebekah continued to insist on fussing about Jonathan. As did several others, despite the fact that he was no longer an invalid. He might not be as fast as he once was but his strength had largely returned and his co-ordination was as good as ever.
In contrast, Commander Blackhawk all too often anticipated Jonathan’s orders, carried them out without hesitation, and was willing to offer opinions as to the strengths and weaknesses of any stratagem. He was a living exemplar of military efficiency.
And still, Jon did not know what to make of the man. Had he done terrible things? Yes, unequivocally. Was he repentant for them? While unable to perceive the Commander’s innermost feelings, Jon thought so. More importantly, the still small voice spoke of Blackhawk’s pain, his path out of the darkness, and of a pale shining light that had saved the Commander from the path of damnation. The spark of illumination that the officer would give his life to defend and, if necessary, his soul.
Jonathan could only admire and aspire to such dedication.
Yet, there was no time for such deliberations.
Alexandrian banners accompanying a dozen or so horsemen announced the arrival of the last attendees for this, the final planning session, before besieging Geleib’s fortress. Rodyn and Danyth Locke dismounted and strode rapidly up the hill.
The tent was set just below the crest, low enough that it could not be seen from any vantage point within Lorness. Seats had been set at the table for each group’s senior officer and their second-in-command.
It surprised Jonathan when Danyth took the Alexandrian supporting officer’s chair. He was, after all, Gregory Locke’s eldest and heir. However, it simplified matters as Rodyn was a known quantity: a skilled fighter, officer, tactician and strategist.
Jonathan sat as the king’s commander, with Blackhawk as his lieutenant.
Mathu Duine represented Esthlanis. The eldest of that country’s Knights at his side.
Daikon Sylvanus Baxter led the Knights of Joshua from Freislicht. Daikon Norin sat as his deputy. There had been some discussion about this as Daikon Sunak would have been better to have in the field at Lorness. However, the need to deliver Caswell from Drake’s allies was greater, so Sunak was riding hard to their aid.
There was a moment of consternation from those already seated when Rebekah took the seat marked for Licht Gegen. She was joined by Vincent Donofrio… and the king’s minstrel, Dwain. “King Sagen, whom I have never met,” she insisted, “demanded through the intermediaries that keep us safely apart, that he had to contribute something today. Indeed, he several times insisted in being directly involved. Happily, he bowed to our advice, and that of others, and did not venture forth from High Castle. Instead, he sent us the gift of music.” She gestured to the minstrel, who began playing softly.
The last two seats at the table were still empty when James of the Wood moved to sit down and the youngest of the Esthlani Knights attempted to intercept him.
The foreign knight went sprawling.
Jonathan laughed. “I take it, James, that you’ve neglected to introduce yourself properly. Again. For everyone who has not been so introduced, this is Sir James of the Wood who, amongst many other failings, is excessively modest. He is also, for want of a better description, Daikon of the Second Knights’ School in Freislicht.”
“I prefer Roving Knights’ School,” James corrected with a grin.
Daikon Sylvanus beamed.
Daikon Norin’s mouth opened in shock.
“James,” Jonathan shook his head mock reprovingly, “why do I have the feeling that Norin is not the only knight about to be shocked. Where… and who… is your deputy?”
The tent’s flap opened to admit another scruffily-dressed lad and a young woman.
“Debryn…?” Norin squeaked.
James shook his head in the same manner Jonathan had. “It seems my deputy – this is Sir Egalt – is remiss in dealing with certain civil matters. I thought you’d asked her father for her hand already?”
“I have reminded him,” Debryn noted coolly, “but events keep getting in the way. And, speaking of that, father, he could no more stop me from coming, than you could. It’s not how you raised me.”
Jonathan chuckled, as the still small voice whispered to him. “Were we really so brash when we were young? You would not have entered this tent, Debryn, without good reason. What is it?”
She withdrew one of the oddly-shaped guards from a bag at her waist and began tossing it from one hand to the other. “Our overly immodest leaders, Sir Jonathan and Sir James, noted that these oddities had a strange property. They can shine a light in a single direction. With a simple code that James of the Wood and others created, they can pass messages quicker than the fastest horse.”
For a reason that was unclear to Jonathan, Mathu suppressed a laugh.
“However,” she continued, “we may have a problem…”
High Castle – Cailleagh’s cell
Kennah followed the queen into the room… cell… there were not words for it. The furnishings were beautiful, exquisite. There was a small table with four seats, three double-width chairs that formed a conversation area, a place for washing and doing ablutions, and a bed.
Cailleagh was tied spreadeagled to a wall, her mouth filled with a gag, from which flecks of spit and spittle cascaded to the floor. Her muffles screams and pleas unintelligible. At sight of her visitors, she thrashed wildly.
Two more armored deaf women were also in the room, monitoring the prisoner’s health.
“Remove the gag,” Kennah instructed., “I must know what I am dealing with.”
“Help… me…” were the first words from Cailleagh’s parched lips, her eyes pleading. Then she laughed. It was a slow, superior, condescending sound. “…for you’ll never help yourselves. This woman is ours, given unto us to use as we see fit. We shall do with her what we will. Just as we shall do to you, when your earthly power crumbles, as it must…”
The midwife set down her bag, ignoring the threats and promises the demon spewed. “Until I give everyone permission not to do exactly as I say, when in this room, mine is the only authority, for I serve as an ambassador for the God of Truth.”
Melyssa and the bodyguard nodded immediately. Ush-Wha did so after a few seconds.
“Gag the prisoner. Then, woman from clan Ush, show me exactly what you have done, what progress you have made.”
What Kennah witnessed was, for the most part, worse than she had imagined. Yet, there was still hope. Most of the scars, runes and tattoos that adorned Cailleagh’s body had not been done by her but to her. “We have our work cut out for us.”
“You are stronger than the spirits that possess you,” Kennah informed Cailleagh, who writhed and screamed.
“We claim this woman for the Son of the God of Truth. Be healed, in the name of Joshua Ha Mashiach,” Kennah continued. “In the name of Joshua Ha Mashiach, come out, spirits of iniquity. You are banished from this vessel. Be gone!”
Cailleagh’s body contorted. Iron chains bolted into the room’s stone walls threatened to stretch and snap. Yet the true battle was fought within that woman’s soul. A pitifully thin strand of light illuminated depths that had long ago succumbed to darkness.
Cailleagh was lost in inky blackness. Naked, beaten and bloody. Memories of her mother using her as a sacrifice, as payment for a new husband, and of being raped, sodomized and befouled threatened to overwhelm her.
Rituals that she had organized, planned and conducted, showed her the endless suffering she had imposed on others.
All was darkness.
There was no hope.
There was no light.
On the endless plain that stretched into infinity all around her, impossibly far in the distance, a pale shaft of light came into being.
The light moved closer, then pierced her.
No, it was not a light, it was a sword.
A golden sword.
A golden sword that had been prophesied, that had threatened to take everything from her, that…
…might be her only salvation.
High Castle – Outside Cailleagh’s cell
Melyssa leant against the wall and shook. She had felt the malignant spirits inhabiting Cailleagh as if they were physical beings that she could confront and fight. Yet, she had no sword to slay them. She had only faith, time, and perseverance.
Perhaps, she also had the love and support of those around her. She still felt that she had imposed upon Mother Beecher to come, to deal with something…
She looked at her companions.
Ush-Wha’s expression was thoughtful. The queen had known her long enough to be sure she was evaluating what had been done, how effective it had been, and how it could be improved.
At some point, Melyssa wanted to curl up in a chair and watch Kennah and Ush-Wha argue the merits of this method of fighting demons versus that. It would not only be fascinating but educational. For, she was sure, something had happened.
The diminutive bodyguard was a pale shadow of herself. Her hands trembled. Her body shivered and was slick with sweat. Kneeling before the queen she begged, “Give me a target I can stick a knife into, from the front, the back or the side. Instruct me to seduce someone and slip my blade beneath their skin at the moment of maximum distraction. Ask me to… debase… myself. I shall do all of those things without hesitation. But please, I beg of you, your Majesty, do not ask me to enter that room again. I…”
“You did well,” Kennah interrupted, looking down at the young woman. “We all have strengths and weaknesses. You protect the queen’s physical body. That is right and proper. It is honorable. It is admirable. But what must happen within that… cell… is not a battlefield that you are prepared for. There is no shame nor any recrimination in that.
“Nor,” the midwife’s attention shifted to Melyssa, “can I permit your Majesty to enter that room again. Not while I battle for the Melazera woman’s soul. I cannot risk being distracted. I have known you since you were a child. Recall you, and others, trailing after me as curious youngsters are wont to. But my fondness for you, weakens me. Worse, it lessens my chances of guiding that tormented victim into the light. You, your Majesty, are a beacon, a shaft of light that guides others.”
“I…” Melyssa was embarrassed to be spoken of so. All she had done was allow herself to be guided to a man she could love, marry him, support him and bear his children. As she was doing so again. She would have sent for Mother Beecher in a week or two to assist with the pregnancy. Summoning her this way had allowed a few more days, perhaps weeks, before it became evident to all that she was with child.
“You are a golden sword, held aloft that catches the sun and inspires those who follow you. You do not need to perform extraordinary deeds. You only have to be, to allow the light within you to shine forth.” Kennah glanced at Ush-Wha. “Do you think I’ve become overly romantic in my old age?”
“I note,” Ush-Wha turned to face Mother Beecher, “that you made no comment about my re-entering that room with you. I have struggled to free that woman for almost three moons, achieving naught. In less than an hour, you made visible progress. Grant me the honor of standing beside you in this fight. I had thought myself prepared for such, and am humbled by your first efforts. That does not mean,” she addressed the bodyguard, “that you should join us on this battlefield. I have received some training to fight there, you have not.”
“I understand,” the shivering woman replied, “I cede that ground to you. Good hunting.”
“You, youngster,” Ush-Wha stated, “just became interesting enough for me to learn more about. But first, Midwife, you have yet to respond to me.”
“Is there any need? We made progress. Of course, I require you beside me. However, we shall do things my way. That means Cailleagh remains restrained on a bed, not chained to a wall. It means that the guards monitoring her will read constantly from the Writings. It means her needs will be seen to in a civilized manner, not in accordance with the more… robust… ways of the Ush clan.”
“If you insist,” Ush-Wha acknowledged.
“Then,” Kennah continued, “before we re-enter the fray, I have questions about what you have done… and why you have done it. I do not doubt that you want the Melazera woman to recover. Yet, I sense something dark in your motivation.”
“What you call darkness, I call balance,” Ush-Wha challenged. “She needs to live a long life. Long enough to, at least, begin to atone for what she has inflicted on others.”
Melyssa pried herself from the wall that was so generously holding her upright. “Ladies, this is not the location for a long conversation. May I suggest somewhere warm, with soft chairs, hot food, and chilled wine? Preferably, somewhere with servants to wait on us. As I am the queen, I know precisely where to find all of those things.”