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Chapter Two- The Saracen

Her under armour was still glued to her skin when she entered the Great Hall. Lard candles in the cast-iron chandeliers burnt with the humming hiss of a wasp hovering over rotten fruit, sipping feeble light onto the majestic oak table in the centre. An emblem of lightning, carved onto its top, reminded everyone about the infinite power of Light over Darkness. Candlelight trickled through a great many crystal wine chalices, licking chunks of the night around. The wine was a luxury in the Order, and a welcome change to the staple diet of bread, tripe, and water. There was barely enough of it left, but it did not bother her. She had never derived much pleasure from its taste, and its mercury colour reminded her of rust.

 The hall was buzzing. All veteran inquisitors were scattered around it, buried in conversations one could only have with a friend not seen for a long time. She knew most of them; draper Kelmendi with his bristling beard and teeth as uneven and worn out as fence planks in the Lower Town; the barrel-bellied turcopolier Shala with his eyes flashing with desires unfit for a celibate; the chortling standard bearer and the sour-breathed key keeper with his hunch and puny chest. All of them wore bone-carved chest plates, except for Shala, who could barely squeeze into the bursting reinforced vest. 

 Her eyes stopped at the lofty, dark-skinned inquisitor at the right-hand side of the table. A Saracen inquisitor. Unlike the others, he remained distant, drumming his fingers on an untouched goblet of wine, buried in thought. Rayla didn’t know him, but the coats of arms on his scaled chest piece revealed that he was the new commander. The one of such kind, as far as she knew, but with Lord Amaro dead in the summer raid, and three others recently buried, someone must have taken his place. 

 Rayla had never seen a Saracen before, and she couldn’t help but stare at his exotic features, very much unlike her own. Tightly weaved, obsidian braids slithered down his back like a nest of desert snakes. Unyielding, steel grey eyes contrasted with his complexion like the midday sky with the witching hour and his lips, pressed into a line, were a tight knot. The elaborate patterns carved onto his bone armour told the stories of Darkness and Light, sin and torment, of pain and revenge and no hope for redemption. High armoured collar guarded every inch of his skin. Whether it was to ward off the cold, or unexpected touch, Rayla did not know. The commander caught her curious gaze and graced her with a silent glare. 

 Bleinheim was sitting at the head of the table, with an empty chair at each side, scanning the room. At her sight, he rose to his feet, and everyone returned to their seats. The chamber became dead quiet. The Master pointed to an empty chair on his left, opposite the commander and Rayla took it. The seat on his right remained empty, and she wondered who it was for.

 ‘Welcome, brothers,’ Master’s deep voice filled the room. He picked a goblet of wine and examined it under the chandelier light. ‘Apologies for such an inconvenient time of night and a short notice. I am aware that some of you have travelled from afar, but it is a matter of great urgency’. With the goblet in his hand, he strolled around the table, burning each of the inquisitors with his gaze. ‘One of us,’ he nodded towards Rayla, ‘has made a rather disturbing discovery. Would you care to tell us more?’ 

 A silent glance darted her way, and she felt everyone’s eyes upon her. Her voice trembled as she, once again, recalled what she had discovered at the swamps. The stench, the cold and the oily film on the rotting flesh came back with full force, and her chest tightened.

 ‘Inside out?!’ Turcopolier Shala roared in disbelief. Rayla nodded. The room exploded with gasps and whispers. ‘This confirms what I feared,’ he frowned. ‘The State is under attack. The faction is probably mounting a raid as we speak.’ Once more, the room erupted with protests. Rayla calmed herself with a few breaths, trying to overcome the surging wave of unease. The Savage Faction. The ones who dare to go against the sacred gift of Light and bow to no one but to the Lady Darkness herself. The ones who use their powers to torment, disfigure and mutilate. The ones who took the lives of her parents.

 ‘Impressive story, indeed.’ Harsh Rs, mixed with hissing Ss, hit her like a sand storm. The commander folded his arms, watching her with a mixture of bemusement and apprehension. ‘Trying to go after the Witch, are we?’ A corner of his lips twitched, and Rayla felt her stomach tighten. 

’The bitter heart eats its owner, commander Selza,’ A soft voice spoke from a corner of the room. At the other side of the Great Hall, a thin, fragile man emerged from the shadows. Rain washed down his chopped locks and whirled down his rugged cape like a murky river. In silence, he lumbered across the chamber, enveloped by the flickering dance of candle flames. ‘Kind heart raises above the Pestilence.’ 

 Selza straightened up, watching the seneschal with restrained contempt under the stormy frame of his eyes. The newcomer lumbered across the room shuffling his feet, his steps slow and persistent like a tooth surgeon’s drill. He groped his way along the table and rested in the empty chair by Bleinheim’s right side. The seneschal, Rayla realised. The second rank in the Order, not counting the now retired, founding father, Johan von Rygg, but he, of course, was the holy man, no longer expected to fight. Was he here because of her find, too? 

 ‘May I remind you, that you are to address each inquisitor by their surname, title or rank, as all civilised men do.’ Bleinheim hissed. Selza shifted in his chair. The room became so quiet that Rayla could hear raindrops hammer against the stained glass. 

The commander nodded, reluctantly. 

’Good to see you in good health, Adriel,’ The corners of Bleinheim’s lips turned up. ‘Just about time.’ Rayla had heard his name before, but she didn’t know much about him. Unlike the rest of the brethren, he wore a bleached, soft leather armour with the emblem of an eye. She marvelled at the intricate pattern in which it was woven, and at the ornately embroiled insignia of the Order. The seneschal, however, paid no mind to everyone’s probing looks and slouched in his chair, shaking off the raindrops.

 ‘The Order has stomped upon more savages this year than in the last decade.’ Bleinheim resumed. ‘There will be blood.’ The seneschal leaned over the table and poured himself a glass of wine. His milky eyes reflected the dim light of the candles and Rayla realised that the man was blind. 

’I have brought back to justice more savages than there are days in a year,’ Selza cut off the Master, ‘but this is something entirely different. Handling any powers requires great skill, a child knows that. To be able to disfigure a victim completely and to turn them inside out, requires years of practice and a truly depraved heart.’

 The seneschal held the chalice nearly missing his lips and took a sip with a loud slurp. Then, he took out a ridged knife, licked the tip of it and started cleaning his nails as if it was the most natural thing to do, grunting and humming in concentration. The commander turned away from him at an angle. ‘It’s obvious Serpent Tongue is behind this!’ he hissed. 

’Serpent tongue?’ Rayla blurted out, surprised at the name of the Queen Witch and all the eyes were on her again. Seneschal Van der Vaarde paused and blankly looked in her direction. ‘Did she kill them with serpents?’ Rayla quickly came up with a question, burning under commander’s glare.

 Selza sucked his teeth, piercing her with his eyes. ‘Of course not!’ he barked. A few inquisitors snorted in laughter. Shala fixed his eyes on her, licking the rim of the glass with a grin.

 ‘She does.’ The seneschal butted in. ‘In a way.’ The commander shifted in a fury, as if all of a sudden, he felt too restrained by his high collar. ‘She rips them to shreds. She tears them apart. She mesmerises them. She sends the visions which muddle their senses and crush everything they hold sacred.’ The rain subsided outside the keep, and even the flames in the fireplace seemed to sizzle more quietly. Rayla glanced down as her face burnt in embarrassment. ‘We have lost many brothers in our attempts to fight the Queen Witch, and many children have lost their parents.’ Bleinheim’s deep voice boomed across the room as he glanced at Rayla. ‘If that’s her, Serpent Tongue is not further than three days from Adlerburg.’ 

’What do we do?’ The draper gasped. His chin wobbled, and for a moment Rayla thought that his teeth would fall out. ‘We can hardly cope with the savages and the sorcery we deal with every day, let alone this.’ Standard Bearer groaned. 

 ‘I’ll take my men and hunt her down before she brings upon another war or Pestilence.’ Selza’s voice cut through like lion’s claws. ‘With the permission from the grand master, of course.’

 ‘The Great Hunt might not be the necessary answer,’ the draper raised his voice over the commander. ‘…the people want peace, and we are all tired. An official ultimatum, on the other hand….’ Standard bearer’s suggestion sank in a wave of angry voices. 

’No healing, no trial.’ Selza carried on, paying no mind. ‘Cut the infection out before it spreads any further.’ 

’Wipe the whole Everdark out once and for all!’ rasped Shala, ‘Savage women belong in the brothels of Adlerburg.’

 ‘How many more raids can we endure?’ Key keeper buried his face in his hands, and his thin frame sank. Rayla looked around. Everyone was talking, and no one was listening.

 ‘War brought us together.’ The seneschal whispered, but his soft voice drowned in the sea of claims and demands. ‘Why not end it once and for all with another one?’ Rayla didn’t know what to say.

 Selza noticed her, smirking at her attempts to think as if she was a child. ‘Let men deal with it.’ He mouthed, loud enough for her to hear him. She looked at Bleinheim hoping to get his opinion. Master was looking into flickering flames, unable or unwilling to meet her eye.

 ‘We need to come to a conclusion.’ Bleinheim requested and rose to his feet. ‘It’s important we stay united at this pivotal time’ he added. ‘Those of you who think the Order should mobilise, put their weapons on the table. Now.’ Immediately, his morning star found its place on the oak table, followed by the seneschal’s battle staff, turcopolier’s scimitar, and draper’s mace. The key keeper kept his dagger in his hands, looking down, reluctantly. Standard bearer fumbled with his rapier, which still lay on his lap. The commander glanced down his scabbard but did not make a move. 

 One by one, all the brothers voted. 

Six in. Six out. Bleinheim stared at Rayla, silently requesting her to take part. Surprised, she reached out to her side. She had no weapon. Having rummaged through her pockets, she picked a mud-coated sling stone instead. The war will unite us, the seneschal’s voice rang in her ears. She placed her stone on the wood. The commander’s eyes widened. He stared at the little rock, and then back at her, and then back at the rock again. The hall erupted with cheers, sighs, and protests, and the voting was over.

 ‘War it is,’ the Master added ‘Serpent Tongue will stop at nothing, we must mobilise at once.’ Seneschal stretched his arms and legs, raising to his feet clumsily.

 ‘Be careful, brothers.’ He glanced towards Rayla with his milky eyes. ‘And sisters. If you ever cross paths with the Witch, thread with caution. Use the Light to bind her, and call for reinforcements. Do not attempt to heal her on your own.’ His eyes swept over the commander, who sat with face buried in his hands. ‘No one in this room is strong enough to face her unaided. Light only knows what she may conjure up if you do.’

 ‘Meanwhile,’ Bleinheim continued. ‘Adriel, my child, send your emissaries to the Isolation Island. Savages might have nested there. Matthias,’ he pointed at the draper, ‘Fortify all the armours and weapons with Light. Morden,’ he glanced at the key keeper, ‘double up guards at all the gates, audit Light-bounds and ensure the safety of the Book of Light, particularly at the announcements. Arun,’ he nodded towards Shala, ‘Recruit mercenaries, money is not an issue. Find the fiercest and the most efficient.’ Bleinheim took out a book of scrolls and jotted down the instructions. 

 Rayla waited for her task, amusing herself by looking through one of the oriel windows. At the other side of the stonewalled keep, the night was lifting its anthracite curtain, announcing the beginning of the new day. Gilded aura rose above the horizon spattering amber and rosebud swirls on the charcoal surface of the earth. Rayla devoured this silent performance with her eyes like one of those puppet-theatre plays that the Order would stage to re-enact the defeat of Lady Darkness, wondering what the next day would bring.

Bleinheim motioned towards the commander, jotting something down on the scroll. ‘Oversee the trials.’ 

Selza froze. ‘You will be released as soon as the circumstances allow.’ Bleinheim added, avoiding his gaze. ‘Meanwhile, a private bed chamber is awaiting you in the keep, with all the comforts you may require.’

 Selza stood up, nearly level with Bleinheim in height, and nodded with deliberate defiance. ‘And my meals, which are not sick insipid.’ The commander hissed. 

 Bleinheim furrowed, scribbling furiously. ‘Of course.’

 ‘And an apology.’ The scribbling stopped, and the master glanced at Selza. ‘The bitter heart eats its owner, my son,’ he said still writing. Rayla suppressed a smile. The commander pressed his lips into a fine line and strode out of the door. The storm outside swirled and swished, slapping the glass in a fury. 

 ‘How about me, my lord?’ Rayla asked when Bleinheim didn’t stop writing. He twitched as if surprised that she was still there. ‘You, my child?’ Without lifting his eyes, he nodded into the direction into which the commander had disappeared. ‘You, help him.’ 


 ***

 Scriptorium, usually dim at that time of day, was now bathed in azure light. At the very heart of the cloister, lay a lavishly illustrated manuscript, its leather-bound pages majestic like hawk’s wings. A current of pearl and silver rays flew out of its centre, hovering over the room and covering the walls in featherlike patterns. The translucent pages rustled, flapped and fluttered, waving up and down as if the book was trying to free itself from the intensity of its force. Cracks of Light made each hair on her body stand up at the ends as she approached it shyly, lowering her head in prayer. The Book of Light. Right in front of her eyes. In all its glory. 

Rayla looked at the bright constellation of words and gasped. She knew all the litanies by heart, Revelation by Revelation and nothing in the world could bring her more pride. Her face beamed as the Light radiated through her body. Quivering, she focused, trying to read at least one sentence. The words, however, kept changing their shapes and forms. The lucent ink continued to glow, blurring the emerging words with the ones that were already gone. She would never dare to touch them, tracing the intricate ghosts of the phrases instead

 And a lightning cut through the night sky separating the Light from the Darkness. And people saw that the Light was good. A verse manifested itself in the luminescent cloud before the words faded into dust. Curious, she lowered herself too close to the parchment, and one of the Light rays slithered out of the page to meet her careless fingers. A sudden bolt of energy went through her flesh. A sharp hiss tore out of her mouth, as her body received the wave of shock. The Light healed sins, she knew that, but it was not to be tampered with. Only the holiest men could touch the Book. And for a reason. The Light could only be handled by those of the purest heart.

 Her hand pulsated. The journey through the swamps sucked her vital forces, but there was no time to rest. The Savage Faction waited for no one. She reached down her collar and drew the empty silver vial. The chain links, made from Light tempered Acadian steel, were unbreakable, timeless, impossible to take off. Unless, of course, someone chose to take the vial off. But that meant treason and slow death. And rightly so, the Master had always said that death should welcome all the traitors. Carefully, Rayla stretched over the book, filling the flask with Light, mindful not to attract too big a bolt. Even the fiercest, most seasoned inquisitors could only handle small drops, and she was not one of them. Anything above one minuscule speck would burn her into ashes and Rayla, in spite of her tiredness, wanted to live.

 She resumed her prayer. As always, she was blessed with the memory of her loved ones. A smile lighted up her face followed by a wince of pain. Her mother’s eyes brightened up by her pearl laughter. Her father’s whisper when he lay her to sleep. Her baby brother, trying to climb a four poster bed, giggling. The vision floated in front of her eyes for a while until, like fumes, it fizzled into nothing. Another image followed. The rotting, glistening mass of flesh. Rayla flinched and opened her eyes, blinking in an attempt to suppress the memory. The drop of Light buzzed in her vial, as a mixture of pride and pain swirled into her heart. The luminescent letters danced once more, just for her eyes only. The Book of Light whispered invitingly, beckoning her to sing her song of revenge and hate. Tear for a Tear and Blood for Blood.