Blood of the Fold

Chapter 6

On the arched stone bridge that led over the River Kern to Halsband Island and the Palace of the Prophets, Sisters Philippa, Dulcinia, and Maren stood in a row, shoulder to shoulder, like three hawks watching their dinner approach. They clutched their hands impatiently at their waists. The sun at their backs cast their faces in shadow, but Sister Verna could still make out the scowls. Warren walked onto the bridge with her as Swordsman Andellmere, his duty accomplished, hurried off in another direction.

Gray-haired Sister Dulcinia, her jaw set, leaned closer as Sister Verna came to a stop before her. “Where have you been! You’ve kept everyone waiting.”

The drums in the city kept up their beat in the background, like the slow drip of rain. Sister Verna put them from her mind.

“I’ve been for a walk, reflecting on the future of the palace, and the Creator’s work. What with Prelate Annalina’s ashes hardly cold yet, I didn’t suspect the backbiting was to begin so soon.”

Sister Dulcinia leaned even closer, her penetrating blue eyes taking on a dangerous gleam. “Don’t you dare get impudent with us, Sister Verna, or you will quickly find yourself a novice again. Now that you have returned to life at the palace, you had better begin bethinking its ways, and start showing your superiors the proper respect.”

Sister Dulcinia returned her back to straight, as if retracting claws, now that the threat had been delivered. She expected no argument. Sister Maren, a stocky woman with muscles like a woodsman, and a tongue to match, smiled with satisfaction. Tall, dark, Sister Philippa, her prominent cheekbones and narrow jaw giving her an exotic look, kept her dark eyes on Sister Verna, watching from behind an expressionless mask.

“Superiors?” Sister Verna said. “We are all equal in the Creator’s eyes.”

“Equal!” Sister Maren sniffed irritably. “An interesting concept. If we were to call an assembly of review to consider the matter of your contentious attitude, you would find out just how equal you are, and would likely find yourself once again doing chores with the rest of my novices, only this time you wouldn’t have Richard here to intercede and get you out of it!”

“Really, Sister Maren?” Sister Verna lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so.” Warren inched behind her, into her shadow. “I seem to recall, and correct me if I’m mistaken, that the last time I got out of it, you said it was because you had prayed to the Creator and it had come to you that I would best serve Him if I were returned to Sister. Now you say it was Richard’s doing. Am I mistaken in my recollection?”

“You would question me?” Sister Maren pressed her hands together so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “I was punishing insolent novices two hundred years before you were born! How dare you—”

“You’ve now told two versions of the same event. Since both can’t be true, that means that one would have to be untrue. Yes? It would seem you have been caught in a lie, Sister Maren. I would think that you, of all people, would work to keep herself from falling into the habit of lying. The Sisters of the Light hold honesty in high regard, and abhor lying—even more than they abhor irreverence. And what penance has my superior, the headmistress of the novices, prescribed for herself to make amends for lying?”

“My, my,” Sister Dulcinia said with a smirk. “Such boldness. Were I you, Sister Verna, and thinking of placing myself in contention for prelate, as you seem to be doing, I would get that presumptuous notion right out of my head. When Sister Leoma was through with you, there wouldn’t be enough left for her to pick her teeth with.”

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, whoever 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.

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 realized 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.

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.

Sister Verna lifted the parchment in her trembling fingers. The air hummed more intensely. She wanted to run, but broke the wax seal instead. The shaft of light coming from the image of the Creator above intensified to blinding brilliance.

Sister Verna unfolded the parchment and looked up, though she couldn’t see the faces around her. “Upon penalty of death, I am directed to read this letter.”

No one made a sound, so she looked down at the neatly scribed words. “It says, ‘Know all those assembled, and those not here, my last command.’ ”

Sister Verna paused and swallow as Sisters gasped.

“ ‘These are trying times, and the palace can ill afford a protracted battle to succeed me. I will not allow it. I am exercising my prerogative as Prelate, as set down in palace canon, to name my successor. She stands before you, wearing the ring of her office. The Sister reading this is now Prelate. The Sisters of the Light will obey her. All will obey her.

“ ‘The spell I have left over the ring was drawn with the aid and guidance of the Creator himself. Defy my bidding at your peril.

“ ‘To the new Prelate, you are charged to serve and protect the Palace of the Prophets and all it stands for. May the Light cradle and guide you always.

“ ‘In my own hand, before I pass from this life into the gentle hands of the Creator—Prelate Annalina Aldurren.’ ”

With a boom that shook the ground beneath her feet, the beam of light, and the glow around her, extinguished.

Verna Sauventreen let the hand holding the letter fall to her side as she looked up into the circle of stunned faces. The vast hall filled with a soft rustle as the Sisters of the Light began going to a knee and bowing their heads to their new prelate.

“This can’t be,” she whispered to herself.

As she shuffled across the polished floor, she let the letter slip from her fingers. Sisters cautiously scurried in behind to snatch it up, to read for themselves the last words of Prelate Annalina Aldurren.

The four Sisters came to their feet as she approached. Sister Maren’s fine, sandy hair framed an ashen face. Sister Dulcinia’s blue eyes were wide, and her face red. Sister Philippa’s usually placid expression was now a picture of consternation.

Sister Leoma’s wrinkled cheeks spread in a kindly smile. “You will be in need of advice and guidance, Sis . . . Prelate.” Her smile was spoiled by the way she swallowed involuntarily. “We will be available to help in any way we can. Please consider us at your disposal. We are here to serve . . .”

“Thank you,” Verna said in a weak voice as she started out again, her feet seeming to move of their own accord.

Warren waited outside. She pushed the doors closed and stood in a daze before the young, blond-headed wizard. Warren went to a knee in a deep bow.

“Prelate.” He glanced up with a grin. “I was listening at the door,” he explained.

“Don’t call me that.” Her own voice sounded hollow to her.

“Why not? It’s who you are, now.” His grin grew. “This is—”

She turned and started away, her mind at last beginning to function again. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

Verna crossed her lips with a finger and over her shoulder shot him a scowl that snapped his mouth shut. Warren scurried to catch up with her as she marched off. Once beside her, he lengthened his stride to keep pace as she proceeded out of the Palace of the Prophets. Whenever he looked as if he might open his mouth again, she crossed her lips with the finger. He at last sighed, stuffed his hands in the opposite sleeves of his robes, and set his gaze ahead as he strode along beside her.

Novices and young men outside the palace, who had heard the riot of bells proclaiming the new prelate named, saw the ring and bowed. Verna kept her eyes ahead as she passed them. The guards on the bridge over the River Kern bowed as she crossed.

Once over the river, she descended to the bank and walked along the path through the rushes. Warren hurried to keep up with her as she passed the small docks, all empty now, the boats out on the river with their fishermen casting nets or dragging lines as they rowed slowly upriver. They would soon be returning to sell their fish at the market in the city.

A ways upriver from the Palace of the Prophets, at a deserted, flat patch of ground near an outcropping of rock around which the water gurgled and splashed, she came to a halt. Scowling into the swirling water, she planted her fists on her hips.

“I swear, if that meddlesome old woman wasn’t dead, I’d strangle her with my bare hands.”

“What are you talking about?” Warren asked.

“The Prelate. If she weren’t in the hands of the Creator right now, I’d have mine around her throat.”

Warren chuckled. “That would be quite the sight, Prelate.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Warren frowned. “But that’s who you are now: the Prelate.”

She snatched his robes at each shoulder in her fists. “Warren, you have to help me. You have to get me out of this.”

“What! But this is wonderful! Verna, you’re Prelate now.”

“No. I can’t be. Warren, you know all the books down in the vaults, you’ve studied palace law—you have to find something to get me out of this. There has to be a way. You can find something in the books that will prevent this.”

“Prevent it? It’s done. And besides, this is the best thing that could happen.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why did you bring me way down here?”

She released his robes. “Warren, think. Why was the Prelate killed?”

“She was killed by Sister Ulicia, one of the Sisters of the Dark. She was killed because she fought their evil.”

“No, Warren, I said think. She was killed because one day, in her office, she told me that she knew about the Sisters of the Dark. Sister Ulicia was one of her administrators, and she overheard the Prelate voice her knowledge.” She leaned toward him. “The room was shielded, I made sure of it, but what I didn’t realize at the time is that the Sisters of the Dark might be able to use Subtractive Magic. Sister Ulicia heard right through the shield, and came back to kill the Prelate. Out here, we could see if anyone is close enough to hear us talk, there’s no corner for them to be hiding around.” She nodded toward the babbling water. “And the water masks the sound of our voices.”

Warren glanced nervously about. “I see what you mean. But Prelate, water can sometimes cany sounds quite a distance.”

“I said stop calling me that. With the sounds of the day all about, and if we speak softly, the water will mask our voices. We can’t risk talking about any of this in the palace. If we must discuss any of this, we must always go out into the country, where we can see if anyone is close. Now, I need you to find a way for me to be removed from the post of Prelate.”

Warren sighed out in exasperation. “Stop saying that. You’re qualified to be Prelate, perhaps more qualified than any of the other Sisters; besides experience, the Prelate must be one with exceptional power.” He looked away when she lifted an eyebrow. “I have unlimited access to anything in the vaults. I’ve read the reports.” His gaze relumed. “When you captured Richard, the other two Sisters died, and in so doing passed their power on to you. You have the power, the Han, of three Sisters.”

“That is scarcely the only requirement, Warren.”

He leaned forward. “As I said, I’ve unlimited access to the books. I know the requirements. There is nothing that would disqualify you; you fit all the requirements. You should be elated to be Prelate. This is the best thing that could happen.”

Sister Verna sighed. “Have you lost your wits along with your collar? What possible reason would I have for wanting to be Prelate?”

“Now we can ferret out the Sisters of the Dark.” Warren smiled confidentially. “You will have the authority to do what must be done.” His blue eyes sparkled. “Like I said, this is the best possible thing that could happen.”

She threw her hands up. “Warren, my becoming Prelate is the worst possible thing that could happen. The mantle of authority is as restricting as the collar you’re so happy to be rid of.”

Warren frowned. “What do you mean?”

She smoothed back her curly brown hair. “Warren, the Prelate is a prisoner of her authority. Did you often see Prelate Annalina? No. And why not? Because she was in her office, overseeing the administration of the Palace of the Prophets. She had a thousand things to attend to, a thousand questions that demanded her attention, hundreds of Sisters and young men that needed to be overseen, including the constant dilemma of Nathan. You don’t know the kind of trouble that man could cause. He had to be kept under constant guard.

“The Prelate can never drop in to visit a Sister, or a young man in training; they would be in a panic, wondering what they had done wrong, what the Prelate had been told about them. The Prelate’s conversations can never be casual, they are always charged with the perception of hidden meaning. It’s not because she wants it that way—it’s simply that she holds a position of sweeping authority and no one can ever forget that.

“When she ventures out of her complex she is immediately surrounded by the pomp and ceremony of her office. If she goes to the dining hail to have dinner, no one has the courage to carry on with their conversation; everyone sits silently and watches her, hoping she won’t look their way or, worse yet, ask them to join her at her table.”

Warren wilted a little. “I never thought about it that way.”

“If your suspicions about the Sisters of the Dark are true, and I’m not saying they are, then being Prelate would hinder my discovering who they are.”

“It didn’t hinder Prelate Annalina.”

“Do you know that? Maybe if she wasn’t Prelate she would have discovered them ages ago, when she would have been able to do something about it. She might have been able to eradicate them before they began killing our boys and stealing their Han, and became so powerful. As it was, her discovery came too late, and only resulted in her death.”

“But they may fear your knowledge and reveal themselves in some way.”

“If there are Sisters of the Dark in the palace, then they know of my involvement in discovering the six who escaped, and if anything, they will be glad to have me be Prelate so as to tie my hands and keep me out of the way.”

Warren touched a finger to his lip. “But, it must be of some help to have you be Prelate.”

“It will only prove a hindrance in stopping the Sisters of the Dark. Warren, you have to help me. You know the books; there must be something that can get me out of this.”

“Prelate—”

“Stop calling me that!”

Warren winced in frustration. “But that’s who you are. I can call you no less.”

She sighed. “The Prelate, Prelate Annalina, asked her friends to call her Ann. If I am the Prelate now, then I ask you to address me as Verna.”

Warren thought it over with a frown. “Well . . . I guess we are friends.”

“Warren, we are more than friends; you are the only one I can trust. There is no one else, now.”

He nodded. “Verna, then.” He twisted his mouth as he thought. “Verna, you’re right: I know the books. I know the requirements, and you fit them all. You’re young, for a Prelate, but only by precedent; there’s no prohibition in law about age. More than that, you have the Han of three Sisters. There is no Sister, no Sister of the Light, anyway, who is your equal. That in itself makes you more than qualified; power, the command of Han, is a prime consideration to be Prelate.”

“Warren, there has to be something. Think.”

His blue eyes reflected the depth of his knowledge, and regret. “Verna, I know the books. They’re explicit. Once lawfully named, they specifically forbid the Prelate from abandoning her duty. Only in death may she cede the calling. Short of Annalina Aldurren coming back to life, and reclaiming her office, there is no way for you to disqualify yourself, or to resign. You are Prelate.”

Verna could think of no solution. She was trapped. “That woman has been twisting my life for as long as I can remember. She keyed that spell to me, I know she did. She trapped me into this. I wish I could strangle her!”

Warren laid a gentle hand to her arm. “Verna, would you ever allow a Sister of the Dark to become Prelate?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you think Ann would?”

“No, but I don’t see—”

“Verna, you said you can trust none but me. Think of Ann. She was trapped, too. She couldn’t allow the chance of one of them becoming Prelate. She was dying. She did the only thing she could. She could trust no one but you.”

Verna stared into his eyes as his words echoed in her mind, and then she slumped down on a smooth, dark rock beside the water. Her face sank into her hands. “Dear Creator,” she whispered, “am I this selfish?”

Warren sat down beside her. “Selfish? Stubborn, at times, but never selfish.”

“Oh Warren, she must have been so lonely. At least she had Nathan there with her . . . at the end.”

Warren nodded. After a moment, he glanced over at her. “We’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t we, Verna.”

“A whole palace full of it, Warren, all wrapped up nice and neat with a gold ring.”