Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
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- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
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Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
Chapter Fifty-five: Secret passage
Elgin Bindiel was still near exhaustion when he finally rolled out of bed the next morning, a full hour and a half after his usual rising time. In normal circumstances he would have lambasted himself for this scandalous breach in his self-discipline. Of course, this day’s circumstances hardly qualified as normal.
He awoke to the deeply reassuring aroma of a good bacon and eggs breakfast. His cousin Ardith, bless her heart, had fixed it before she left the house to begin her journey back to Emerylon. They’d talked until the wee small hours, one of the main reasons (or so he told himself) for his oversleeping; talked about many, many things. One of those things was the knotty question of how she should maintain her cover. Her husband wasn’t the brightest light globe in the temple of Luminosita – that was part of why she’d married him, after all – and as far as she knew, he had never figured out that he was married to, in effect, a Millenarian mole. When she fled to Saus, she’d left him a message saying there had been a family emergency and that she expected to be back in no more than three or four days. At the time, she had expected that her absence would last not those few days, but rather, for the rest of her life; much to her regret, as she did love her husband and their child. That long talk with “Elgie” had persuaded her that living up to the cover story would be better, for purposes of concealing her connection to Provatiel and what had happened there; risky, if her cover had been blown while she was gone, but she was … equipped … with means to enter into Luminosita’s Presence instantly and painlessly if it came to that. In the event, it did not; her voyage home was a great deal more comfortable than the one to Saus had been, in a coach and completely overtly, to resume her role as wife, mother and office worker, no one being the wiser for it, incredibly enough.
After a quick prayer, Bindiel ate his breakfast in silence, but despite his fatigue, his mind was hard at work. Ardie had told him some useful things. As she often did, she’d stayed briefly and gossiped with a few of the other mothers at school after she dropped off her son. None of them knew she was Millenarian, and she certainly wasn’t going to enlighten them; most were not highly religious at all, and as far as the few devoutly Orthodox women were concerned, she was just another stay-at-home wife of someone doing something somewhere. She’d never quite understood that; being a stay-at-home was fine, many of the Faithful were that way (and more than once, she’d envied them), but didn’t they have any sense of community?
And then … there was Mrs. Tatliel.
Marsha Tatliel was the wife of some moderately highly-placed officer in the Veracian army, and she liked nothing better than to brag about her husband’s military accomplishments – the latest of which was getting assigned to command the Patriarch’s guard unit. She had made sure, after dropping her daughter off, to inform the other mothers of this honor, at great length. Included in this veritable storm of boastfulness were some things about the Patriarch’s impending trip, and the security arrangements for it, that certainly should have been classified LUMINOSITA’S SECRET, and quite possibly were. At least that was how Ardith the Administrator viewed them … but Sister Ardith just listened patiently. And now, to her great surprise, her cousin had been interested in the details. Very interested.
As soon as breakfast was done (and, of course, the dishes washed carefully and tidily put away), Bindiel did two things. First, he went to the market, carefully disguised, and bought a large, but hardly notable, quantity of a common agricultural fertilizer. Common it may have been, but benign, it was not. Someone who knew a little about explosives could mix this disagreeable stuff with some other ingredients, which he would pick up tomorrow from a different shop, and make a crude but powerful high explosive. Elgin Bindiel knew a lot about explosives.
Second, he searched the safe house for the tunnel entrance that he knew was there; a concealed entrance leading to a tunnel heading toward the shattered Millenarian temple. He found this without much difficulty, verified that the rather powerful Ward was in place, and after the appropriate magic to deal with it, opened the trap door. The tunnel stretched darkly away in front of him, just as it should.
Satisfied with the morning’s work, he stashed the fertilizer some yards down the tunnel – no need to take it to its final destination yet – retraced his steps, closed and Warded the trap door. Of course, he prayed faithfully after that, thanking Luminosita for arranging it so that things were going so well … although the Patriarch and others who would be at that temple, directly above the underground explosive mixture, would not have agreed with that assessment.
Elgin Bindiel was still near exhaustion when he finally rolled out of bed the next morning, a full hour and a half after his usual rising time. In normal circumstances he would have lambasted himself for this scandalous breach in his self-discipline. Of course, this day’s circumstances hardly qualified as normal.
He awoke to the deeply reassuring aroma of a good bacon and eggs breakfast. His cousin Ardith, bless her heart, had fixed it before she left the house to begin her journey back to Emerylon. They’d talked until the wee small hours, one of the main reasons (or so he told himself) for his oversleeping; talked about many, many things. One of those things was the knotty question of how she should maintain her cover. Her husband wasn’t the brightest light globe in the temple of Luminosita – that was part of why she’d married him, after all – and as far as she knew, he had never figured out that he was married to, in effect, a Millenarian mole. When she fled to Saus, she’d left him a message saying there had been a family emergency and that she expected to be back in no more than three or four days. At the time, she had expected that her absence would last not those few days, but rather, for the rest of her life; much to her regret, as she did love her husband and their child. That long talk with “Elgie” had persuaded her that living up to the cover story would be better, for purposes of concealing her connection to Provatiel and what had happened there; risky, if her cover had been blown while she was gone, but she was … equipped … with means to enter into Luminosita’s Presence instantly and painlessly if it came to that. In the event, it did not; her voyage home was a great deal more comfortable than the one to Saus had been, in a coach and completely overtly, to resume her role as wife, mother and office worker, no one being the wiser for it, incredibly enough.
After a quick prayer, Bindiel ate his breakfast in silence, but despite his fatigue, his mind was hard at work. Ardie had told him some useful things. As she often did, she’d stayed briefly and gossiped with a few of the other mothers at school after she dropped off her son. None of them knew she was Millenarian, and she certainly wasn’t going to enlighten them; most were not highly religious at all, and as far as the few devoutly Orthodox women were concerned, she was just another stay-at-home wife of someone doing something somewhere. She’d never quite understood that; being a stay-at-home was fine, many of the Faithful were that way (and more than once, she’d envied them), but didn’t they have any sense of community?
And then … there was Mrs. Tatliel.
Marsha Tatliel was the wife of some moderately highly-placed officer in the Veracian army, and she liked nothing better than to brag about her husband’s military accomplishments – the latest of which was getting assigned to command the Patriarch’s guard unit. She had made sure, after dropping her daughter off, to inform the other mothers of this honor, at great length. Included in this veritable storm of boastfulness were some things about the Patriarch’s impending trip, and the security arrangements for it, that certainly should have been classified LUMINOSITA’S SECRET, and quite possibly were. At least that was how Ardith the Administrator viewed them … but Sister Ardith just listened patiently. And now, to her great surprise, her cousin had been interested in the details. Very interested.
As soon as breakfast was done (and, of course, the dishes washed carefully and tidily put away), Bindiel did two things. First, he went to the market, carefully disguised, and bought a large, but hardly notable, quantity of a common agricultural fertilizer. Common it may have been, but benign, it was not. Someone who knew a little about explosives could mix this disagreeable stuff with some other ingredients, which he would pick up tomorrow from a different shop, and make a crude but powerful high explosive. Elgin Bindiel knew a lot about explosives.
Second, he searched the safe house for the tunnel entrance that he knew was there; a concealed entrance leading to a tunnel heading toward the shattered Millenarian temple. He found this without much difficulty, verified that the rather powerful Ward was in place, and after the appropriate magic to deal with it, opened the trap door. The tunnel stretched darkly away in front of him, just as it should.
Satisfied with the morning’s work, he stashed the fertilizer some yards down the tunnel – no need to take it to its final destination yet – retraced his steps, closed and Warded the trap door. Of course, he prayed faithfully after that, thanking Luminosita for arranging it so that things were going so well … although the Patriarch and others who would be at that temple, directly above the underground explosive mixture, would not have agreed with that assessment.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
Chapter Fifty-six: Hiding place
A shaken Kassia Karvial, her light traveling bag packed, set out from the novitiate, unaware that her flight into hiding was no longer necessary.
Her father’s brain-fog had cleared just long enough to get the message across: an elf was looking for her, with malice in its mind, and she needed to be somewhere else for a while. Then the fog descended again, and Odilo Karvial, formerly Bishop Odilo of the Mechanist faction of the Veracian Church, had stumbled off to Luminosita knew where. A week or so later, in the aftermath of what would happen in Saus, his emaciated body would be found at the side of a country road between Saus and Emerylon. The puzzled priest in the nearest small town would prepare to give him a pauper’s burial … but then would be amazed at the number of hard-eyed, tight-lipped men from the Great Temple who would inform him that this unfortunate person’s return to Luminosita’s Presence would be their business, not his, thank you very much for your services to Our Lord, and don’t ask questions.
The news came as a double blow to her, her father’s appearance and behavior being the first part. Maybe that was why she did not stop to think about the improbability of what he had been saying, rather, just numbly obeyed. She did have enough of her wits about her that, when her roommate Tia came by between classes to find her preparing her traveling bag, she’d stammered out a story about a family emergency. This would pay unexpected dividends in making her harder to trace, because when Tia told one of the nuns why Cassie wouldn’t be in the afternoon catechism class, she happened to pick one of the few who knew that the girl’s father had been hospitalized, without knowing that he’d escaped from his confinement. (The first part of the coincidence was the more improbable; nobody outside the Great Temple knew about the second part.) Sister Eugenia wasn’t the brightest of the seminary’s faculty by any means, but she was long on empathy, and she promised Tia that she’d cover for her missing roommate until she got in touch. The next day, she would have second thoughts, but by then, the trail would have gone cold.
Cassie also retained enough of her thought processes – she was bright, after all, that was part of why she was there – to take certain steps to cover her tracks that few would have suspected her to be capable of doing. The shape-shifting skills that she’d learned from that nice Reformed nun hadn’t been stressed in the novitiate; too many of the nuns and priests were still suspicious of that very non-Luminositan magic, and she wouldn’t start the military side of her education for another year or two yet. Tia knew that she had the skills – late-night, whispered conversations, and a very carefully concealed example, had seen to that – but had never seen them fully demonstrated. That evening, Cassie would debate with herself whether she’d been holding one appearance in reserve all along, just in case a need came up, or whether Luminosita, praise His name, had planted the thought in her mind just now. It didn’t really matter, of course. What did matter was simply that she was able to make herself look shorter and heavier than ever before, with a different facial shape and (she hated to do this part) short dark hair rather than the blonde mane she’d worn for years. Would anyone think she’d succumbed to vanity because this new look fixed her complexion and teeth? Honestly, she didn’t particularly care.
There remained only the question of where to go. Clearly, returning to the family home in Emerylon was out. If an elf had done those horrible things to her father, it (she didn’t think of elves as “he” or “she,” just as something more or less monstrous) would surely know where the Kardials lived – such few of them as were still alive. After her mother’s death, she and her father had lived for a while in their modest home, but they had moved in with a cousin when the triple duty of father, bishop and householder had become too much for the man. This was no big secret in the Church (at least the Mechanists; she didn’t think about whether the statement was more generally true), so presumably the elf would know about it, since elves were rumored to know everything about the Church. It didn’t occur to her that the Mechanists might not have an entirely representative view about that.
As she walked away from the seminary (drawing no attention; that was good), she ran through her options. Anywhere associated with the Orthodox Church was also out, of course. The Reformed temple in town might be welcoming – Sister Rose wasn’t the only Reformed nun with a reputation for taking in strays – but it would be the first place the searchers would look, after the Orthodox sites (and her home) had been checked. Most of the other minor denominations would be unsympathetic, or worse. She’d always had the impression that the Millenarians were more welcoming than most, and besides, they allowed their clergy to marry, which was a good thing in Cassie’s mind. (There was that cute boy in her church history class that … well, her thoughts of him had not been entirely consistent with celibacy, nor had certain … joint experiments, even if none had proceeded to their natural conclusion; close, but not quite.) The rumor mill had it, though, that something had happened very recently to put them under a rather severe cloud. That wouldn’t help her evade –
Aha.
Vinnie, that cute boy in the history class, was big and strapping for his sixteen years, and he paid his seminary fees by doing handiwork for the Church. One night, while they were doing some things that a nun-to-be and a priest-to-be probably should not have been doing together (as much to spite her rival for his affections as anything else), he’d mentioned that he’d worked on cleaning up that old Millenarian temple that was being refurbished for some reason that he didn’t know. He bragged that he knew a way into it that nobody else knew about. (Well, nobody human knew about it, although he was unaware of that distinction.) And then, there was another night when they definitely were doing things that a priest-in-training and a nun-to-be shouldn’t have been doing together (and never mind that rival), and they decided to sneak into that temple to do them.
Could she remember the hidden entrance? She thought so. It hadn’t had a magical Ward or concealment, it was just hard to find amid all the carvings and engravings and other exterior trim that was supposed to show how much the Church loved Luminosita. It didn’t lead directly to the church’s interior, but rather, into a tunnel that ran underneath it, to a well concealed doorway at the bottom of the stairs up to the steeple. She’d never felt so adventurous in her life (not yet having met Rose, who seemed to be a magnet for weird adventures) as when they pried open that trap door; and she’d never felt as – aroused as when they climbed to the dusty steeple, and then they – they –
She put that last part out of her mind as best she could, and headed for the hidden entrance.
A shaken Kassia Karvial, her light traveling bag packed, set out from the novitiate, unaware that her flight into hiding was no longer necessary.
Her father’s brain-fog had cleared just long enough to get the message across: an elf was looking for her, with malice in its mind, and she needed to be somewhere else for a while. Then the fog descended again, and Odilo Karvial, formerly Bishop Odilo of the Mechanist faction of the Veracian Church, had stumbled off to Luminosita knew where. A week or so later, in the aftermath of what would happen in Saus, his emaciated body would be found at the side of a country road between Saus and Emerylon. The puzzled priest in the nearest small town would prepare to give him a pauper’s burial … but then would be amazed at the number of hard-eyed, tight-lipped men from the Great Temple who would inform him that this unfortunate person’s return to Luminosita’s Presence would be their business, not his, thank you very much for your services to Our Lord, and don’t ask questions.
The news came as a double blow to her, her father’s appearance and behavior being the first part. Maybe that was why she did not stop to think about the improbability of what he had been saying, rather, just numbly obeyed. She did have enough of her wits about her that, when her roommate Tia came by between classes to find her preparing her traveling bag, she’d stammered out a story about a family emergency. This would pay unexpected dividends in making her harder to trace, because when Tia told one of the nuns why Cassie wouldn’t be in the afternoon catechism class, she happened to pick one of the few who knew that the girl’s father had been hospitalized, without knowing that he’d escaped from his confinement. (The first part of the coincidence was the more improbable; nobody outside the Great Temple knew about the second part.) Sister Eugenia wasn’t the brightest of the seminary’s faculty by any means, but she was long on empathy, and she promised Tia that she’d cover for her missing roommate until she got in touch. The next day, she would have second thoughts, but by then, the trail would have gone cold.
Cassie also retained enough of her thought processes – she was bright, after all, that was part of why she was there – to take certain steps to cover her tracks that few would have suspected her to be capable of doing. The shape-shifting skills that she’d learned from that nice Reformed nun hadn’t been stressed in the novitiate; too many of the nuns and priests were still suspicious of that very non-Luminositan magic, and she wouldn’t start the military side of her education for another year or two yet. Tia knew that she had the skills – late-night, whispered conversations, and a very carefully concealed example, had seen to that – but had never seen them fully demonstrated. That evening, Cassie would debate with herself whether she’d been holding one appearance in reserve all along, just in case a need came up, or whether Luminosita, praise His name, had planted the thought in her mind just now. It didn’t really matter, of course. What did matter was simply that she was able to make herself look shorter and heavier than ever before, with a different facial shape and (she hated to do this part) short dark hair rather than the blonde mane she’d worn for years. Would anyone think she’d succumbed to vanity because this new look fixed her complexion and teeth? Honestly, she didn’t particularly care.
There remained only the question of where to go. Clearly, returning to the family home in Emerylon was out. If an elf had done those horrible things to her father, it (she didn’t think of elves as “he” or “she,” just as something more or less monstrous) would surely know where the Kardials lived – such few of them as were still alive. After her mother’s death, she and her father had lived for a while in their modest home, but they had moved in with a cousin when the triple duty of father, bishop and householder had become too much for the man. This was no big secret in the Church (at least the Mechanists; she didn’t think about whether the statement was more generally true), so presumably the elf would know about it, since elves were rumored to know everything about the Church. It didn’t occur to her that the Mechanists might not have an entirely representative view about that.
As she walked away from the seminary (drawing no attention; that was good), she ran through her options. Anywhere associated with the Orthodox Church was also out, of course. The Reformed temple in town might be welcoming – Sister Rose wasn’t the only Reformed nun with a reputation for taking in strays – but it would be the first place the searchers would look, after the Orthodox sites (and her home) had been checked. Most of the other minor denominations would be unsympathetic, or worse. She’d always had the impression that the Millenarians were more welcoming than most, and besides, they allowed their clergy to marry, which was a good thing in Cassie’s mind. (There was that cute boy in her church history class that … well, her thoughts of him had not been entirely consistent with celibacy, nor had certain … joint experiments, even if none had proceeded to their natural conclusion; close, but not quite.) The rumor mill had it, though, that something had happened very recently to put them under a rather severe cloud. That wouldn’t help her evade –
Aha.
Vinnie, that cute boy in the history class, was big and strapping for his sixteen years, and he paid his seminary fees by doing handiwork for the Church. One night, while they were doing some things that a nun-to-be and a priest-to-be probably should not have been doing together (as much to spite her rival for his affections as anything else), he’d mentioned that he’d worked on cleaning up that old Millenarian temple that was being refurbished for some reason that he didn’t know. He bragged that he knew a way into it that nobody else knew about. (Well, nobody human knew about it, although he was unaware of that distinction.) And then, there was another night when they definitely were doing things that a priest-in-training and a nun-to-be shouldn’t have been doing together (and never mind that rival), and they decided to sneak into that temple to do them.
Could she remember the hidden entrance? She thought so. It hadn’t had a magical Ward or concealment, it was just hard to find amid all the carvings and engravings and other exterior trim that was supposed to show how much the Church loved Luminosita. It didn’t lead directly to the church’s interior, but rather, into a tunnel that ran underneath it, to a well concealed doorway at the bottom of the stairs up to the steeple. She’d never felt so adventurous in her life (not yet having met Rose, who seemed to be a magnet for weird adventures) as when they pried open that trap door; and she’d never felt as – aroused as when they climbed to the dusty steeple, and then they – they –
She put that last part out of her mind as best she could, and headed for the hidden entrance.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
[A few lines from some canon characters in a rather wordy chapter, but again, gotta get the players on stage ... Note also that the destroyed elven city of Nubecula mentioned below played a role in some other fanfic I wrote a long time ago. Finally, note a very belated edit here, to keep a canon character from gumming up the works too badly.]
Chapter Fifty-seven: Elven council
“This is taking too long,” High Commander Yenhael grumbled.
He and a few in-the-know elves from the Elven Council were reviewing the mission that had been set for the curiously silent Peregin Paukii, of whom nothing had been heard now for many days. To be sure, it was hardly unusual for a Peregin to drop out of sight for a while, and Paukii was about average in this tendency, maybe a bit more evasive than most. Still, the councilors were growing impatient for a report, never mind that time moved at a glacial pace in Praenubilus Astu.
Councilor Skena had condescended to attend this little kvetch session, and she shooed the scribe Renane out of the chambers so that what followed could be off the record. A different, say human, culture might have been puzzled that a people as magical as the elves had never found a way to record council proceedings magically and automatically, without need for a scribe. That kind of creativity, of course, wasn’t a hallmark of the elves. “What do we know about Paukii’s movements?” she asked, as soon as the room was secure – relatively speaking.
“Not much,” said Commander Numilo; he normally wouldn’t rate a seat among this august company, but he’d been kept in the chambers because he was “running” Paukii on this mission, to the extent that anyone in Praenubilus Astu could direct a Peregin. “About six days ago, she was in that smelly human port, ‘Lorenzel’ I think they call it, trying to get transportation to – the islands.” Elves reflexively avoided naming the place where Exitialis fell if possible. “She found one, hired it to take her, but they ran into a spill storm.”
“What’s a spill storm?” Councilor Skarix asked; she was not one of the few elves who knew about the Eastern Wastes.
Skena knew, but she wasn’t about to say. “Nasty weather system that forms over the open ocean,” she said. “Nothing of any consequence to us.” She was wrong about that, but the hard look she gave Skarix at the same time got the real point across. “Continue, please, Commander.”
He did. “Anyway, they survived that and landed at that miserable hell hole in what the humans call the Anuban Colonies.” Again, he dodged the elven name. “Her last report was from there, said they were doing quick repairs on the ship and were about to leave for Shield Island.” (No getting around that name.) “Nothing since then.”
“I might have something on that,” Councilor Famair broke in, in a mild breach of decorum. However, his brief included intelligence gathering in Veracia, so the interruption was not just tolerated but welcome. “Our contact in Phidelphiel, coastal city in Veracia, said a tramp steamer came into port from the Anuban Colonies a few days later. Nothing too unusual about that, she says there’s regular traffic between the two, but she said this wasn’t either a military ship or one of the smuggling outfits that does most of the port-to-port runs. She says that’s odd.”
“Any elves on board?” Skena wanted to know.
“Not as far as she could tell, but she said she couldn't be sure.”
Skena turned to Numilo. “Do we have a platform close to this Phidelphiel? It might be worth sending a Peregin to follow this up.”
“Wait one.” Magic flowered in front of his face, showing a system map that nobody else in the room (indeed, few else in the world) could see. As it dissipated, he said, “No. The nearest one was in one of our cities, called Nubecula, that was destroyed in the war.” Nobody in the room had any misconceptions as to just what “war” that was. “Afterward –“ meaning during the centuries when the elves retreated to Praenubilus Astu – “it didn’t seem important to rebuild it. Nothing left of Nubecula but a crater. How were we to know the humans would build a new city of their own nearby?”
Famair interrupted a theatric Skena sigh. “My source said one other thing. Not too long after the ship came in, a Veracian military airship left in a big hurry, she thought it was carrying VIPs but didn’t know anything about who. It headed west, toward their big cities, but no way to tell which one they’re going to.”
Yenhael, who had been silent for a while, snorted. “I know which one.” He proceeded to give the right bottom-line conclusion, for the wrong reason. “Their finger-wagglers don’t allow anyone into Emerylon who hasn’t been sniffing their god-construct’s ass for at least two weeks. Whoever is on that ship, they’re in Saus, I’d bet an Errant’s horns on that.”
Skena rolled her eyes, but she had to admit: he had a point. She turned back to Numilo. “Do we have anyone there? … Now why are you smirking like that?”
“Peregin Bauti,” Numilo answered, the smirk widening. “She came back from some mission in the Northern Confederacy with her tail between her legs, wouldn’t report on it except to say the Northerners are crazy, which they are. She said she was going to do some Errant hunting in northern Veracia to get her groove back, her exact words.” The smirk reached almost indecent proportions. “I expect we’ll getting a diplomatic complaint about some little town in the middle of nowhere getting blown up most any day now.”
A titter of disapproval ran around the table. None of the participants had any great love for Veracian farm towns, and certainly not for Errants, but this wasn’t the time for a diplomatic incident, not so soon after Viradior Matoy had been sent back to Praenubilus Astu with a fractured skull, a concussion, no memory of how it had happened, and a curt, downright insolent warning that this particular elf was now persona non grata in Saus and Emerylon. He would recover from his injuries, but would never remember what (or more specifically, who) hit him.
“Sarine?” Famair asked; events of two years later might not show it, but he actually rather liked the – unconventional ranger. “She may have the right skills for this job.” Numilo, however, shook his head. “She says she’s tied up with some unpleasantness up near the Veracia-Confederacy border.” Indeed she was; for once Sarine was engaged in an actual Errant hunt, after getting a tip that the border town of Albigenish might need some investigation. (She’d never told anyone where she got that tip, and she certainly wasn’t about to tell anyone that she’d also be helping the harmless half elves who were still in the city. Above all, she wasn’t going to say that focusing the elves’ attention in that area would keep them away from Santuariel.)
"Sarna?" Famair persisted. "Isn't Saus basically her base for patrolling that part of Veracia?"
Yenhael looked uncomfortable but answered. "She's unavailable. Off on a -- special mission." He didn't add that that mission involved researching just what had happened a couple of months earlier in the Senilis-forsaken Farrelian city of Rinkaiel. The Farrelites had been curiously tight-lipped about that, and Sarna's skill for blending in and listening (before dispatching an Errant if one was involved, of course) was going to prove useful there.
A few other options were discussed and dismissed, and finally Skena sighed again. “Well, I guess Bauti it is. But –“ She scowled at Numilo and Yenhael. “Make it damn clear to her that this is a fact finding mission, not an Errant hunt, and she is not to blow anything up unless it’s her only way to save her own precious, dissolute ass.”
-*-*-
Far away, outside a small Veracian villiage, Peregin Bauti felt her ears begin to burn. However, that was probably because of the never-explained fire and explosion that had consumed a granary at the edge of town, with an Errant among the fatalities.
Chapter Fifty-seven: Elven council
“This is taking too long,” High Commander Yenhael grumbled.
He and a few in-the-know elves from the Elven Council were reviewing the mission that had been set for the curiously silent Peregin Paukii, of whom nothing had been heard now for many days. To be sure, it was hardly unusual for a Peregin to drop out of sight for a while, and Paukii was about average in this tendency, maybe a bit more evasive than most. Still, the councilors were growing impatient for a report, never mind that time moved at a glacial pace in Praenubilus Astu.
Councilor Skena had condescended to attend this little kvetch session, and she shooed the scribe Renane out of the chambers so that what followed could be off the record. A different, say human, culture might have been puzzled that a people as magical as the elves had never found a way to record council proceedings magically and automatically, without need for a scribe. That kind of creativity, of course, wasn’t a hallmark of the elves. “What do we know about Paukii’s movements?” she asked, as soon as the room was secure – relatively speaking.
“Not much,” said Commander Numilo; he normally wouldn’t rate a seat among this august company, but he’d been kept in the chambers because he was “running” Paukii on this mission, to the extent that anyone in Praenubilus Astu could direct a Peregin. “About six days ago, she was in that smelly human port, ‘Lorenzel’ I think they call it, trying to get transportation to – the islands.” Elves reflexively avoided naming the place where Exitialis fell if possible. “She found one, hired it to take her, but they ran into a spill storm.”
“What’s a spill storm?” Councilor Skarix asked; she was not one of the few elves who knew about the Eastern Wastes.
Skena knew, but she wasn’t about to say. “Nasty weather system that forms over the open ocean,” she said. “Nothing of any consequence to us.” She was wrong about that, but the hard look she gave Skarix at the same time got the real point across. “Continue, please, Commander.”
He did. “Anyway, they survived that and landed at that miserable hell hole in what the humans call the Anuban Colonies.” Again, he dodged the elven name. “Her last report was from there, said they were doing quick repairs on the ship and were about to leave for Shield Island.” (No getting around that name.) “Nothing since then.”
“I might have something on that,” Councilor Famair broke in, in a mild breach of decorum. However, his brief included intelligence gathering in Veracia, so the interruption was not just tolerated but welcome. “Our contact in Phidelphiel, coastal city in Veracia, said a tramp steamer came into port from the Anuban Colonies a few days later. Nothing too unusual about that, she says there’s regular traffic between the two, but she said this wasn’t either a military ship or one of the smuggling outfits that does most of the port-to-port runs. She says that’s odd.”
“Any elves on board?” Skena wanted to know.
“Not as far as she could tell, but she said she couldn't be sure.”
Skena turned to Numilo. “Do we have a platform close to this Phidelphiel? It might be worth sending a Peregin to follow this up.”
“Wait one.” Magic flowered in front of his face, showing a system map that nobody else in the room (indeed, few else in the world) could see. As it dissipated, he said, “No. The nearest one was in one of our cities, called Nubecula, that was destroyed in the war.” Nobody in the room had any misconceptions as to just what “war” that was. “Afterward –“ meaning during the centuries when the elves retreated to Praenubilus Astu – “it didn’t seem important to rebuild it. Nothing left of Nubecula but a crater. How were we to know the humans would build a new city of their own nearby?”
Famair interrupted a theatric Skena sigh. “My source said one other thing. Not too long after the ship came in, a Veracian military airship left in a big hurry, she thought it was carrying VIPs but didn’t know anything about who. It headed west, toward their big cities, but no way to tell which one they’re going to.”
Yenhael, who had been silent for a while, snorted. “I know which one.” He proceeded to give the right bottom-line conclusion, for the wrong reason. “Their finger-wagglers don’t allow anyone into Emerylon who hasn’t been sniffing their god-construct’s ass for at least two weeks. Whoever is on that ship, they’re in Saus, I’d bet an Errant’s horns on that.”
Skena rolled her eyes, but she had to admit: he had a point. She turned back to Numilo. “Do we have anyone there? … Now why are you smirking like that?”
“Peregin Bauti,” Numilo answered, the smirk widening. “She came back from some mission in the Northern Confederacy with her tail between her legs, wouldn’t report on it except to say the Northerners are crazy, which they are. She said she was going to do some Errant hunting in northern Veracia to get her groove back, her exact words.” The smirk reached almost indecent proportions. “I expect we’ll getting a diplomatic complaint about some little town in the middle of nowhere getting blown up most any day now.”
A titter of disapproval ran around the table. None of the participants had any great love for Veracian farm towns, and certainly not for Errants, but this wasn’t the time for a diplomatic incident, not so soon after Viradior Matoy had been sent back to Praenubilus Astu with a fractured skull, a concussion, no memory of how it had happened, and a curt, downright insolent warning that this particular elf was now persona non grata in Saus and Emerylon. He would recover from his injuries, but would never remember what (or more specifically, who) hit him.
“Sarine?” Famair asked; events of two years later might not show it, but he actually rather liked the – unconventional ranger. “She may have the right skills for this job.” Numilo, however, shook his head. “She says she’s tied up with some unpleasantness up near the Veracia-Confederacy border.” Indeed she was; for once Sarine was engaged in an actual Errant hunt, after getting a tip that the border town of Albigenish might need some investigation. (She’d never told anyone where she got that tip, and she certainly wasn’t about to tell anyone that she’d also be helping the harmless half elves who were still in the city. Above all, she wasn’t going to say that focusing the elves’ attention in that area would keep them away from Santuariel.)
"Sarna?" Famair persisted. "Isn't Saus basically her base for patrolling that part of Veracia?"
Yenhael looked uncomfortable but answered. "She's unavailable. Off on a -- special mission." He didn't add that that mission involved researching just what had happened a couple of months earlier in the Senilis-forsaken Farrelian city of Rinkaiel. The Farrelites had been curiously tight-lipped about that, and Sarna's skill for blending in and listening (before dispatching an Errant if one was involved, of course) was going to prove useful there.
A few other options were discussed and dismissed, and finally Skena sighed again. “Well, I guess Bauti it is. But –“ She scowled at Numilo and Yenhael. “Make it damn clear to her that this is a fact finding mission, not an Errant hunt, and she is not to blow anything up unless it’s her only way to save her own precious, dissolute ass.”
-*-*-
Far away, outside a small Veracian villiage, Peregin Bauti felt her ears begin to burn. However, that was probably because of the never-explained fire and explosion that had consumed a granary at the edge of town, with an Errant among the fatalities.
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Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
[Not proud of some of the writing here, but need to get this moving again ...]
Chapter Fifty-eight: Sister Margaret
“All very nice,” Sister Rose said, “but where’s Margaret? I haven’t seen any sign of her since I got back.” She and Father Red were standing in the sanctuary of the Veracian temple in Kiyoka. Her visit with Sister Agnes had ended just as everyone had expected, with her regretfully(?) declining the opportunity for a new posting and continuing on toward separation from the Veracian Church. First, however, there were weddings to perform.
Red produced the wry, gap-toothed grin that practically everyone in the mission had come to appreciate since he’d arrived there and ascended to the Abbot role. “You haven’t? She’s right up there.” He gestured to the upper reaches of the hall, festooned with flowers in anticipation of the weddings two days hence.
Rose paled and gasped. “Surely you don’t mean…”
Red’s eyes got big, and his amiable expression was replaced first by surprise, then by embarrassment. “Oh, no, she’s fine!” he clarified. “I just mean that’s her touch with the decorations. She won’t be able to be at the wedding, though. The people at the Pleasure Dome --“ he rolled his eyes – “decreed that somebody was needed from here for some big public event in Saus. And don’t give me that look.” The wry grin was returning. “First, they asked for me, but I’m needed here for Luminosita’s Tears. Then they asked for you. But I put my foot down, hard, at that.”
Rose subsided, abashed. “Th—thank you for that, Father.”
The wry grin was all the way back. “Don’t mention it. Actually, Margaret was the one who got the message, and she made it clear that she’d take one for the team so that you didn’t have to do it. Very clear.” He chuckled. “I don’t think she’s been back to Veracia in years.”
It was Rose’s turn to chuckle. “I don’t think it’s changed much.” She was going to say more, but they were interrupted by the two couples as they floated happily into the sanctuary to inspect the decorations.
-^^-
Sister Margaret was reaching the same conclusion, although perhaps from a different starting position than Red intended.
She’d gated into Saus without incident, and made her way to the Reformed temple, where a chamber for visiting clergy was waiting for her. As Argus and Brother Miguel had discovered, the accommodations were stark but serviceable, even comfortable if one did not care much about ostentation, which described Margaret, wedding decorations notwithstanding. She wasn't sure why she had been asked to proceed to the Reformed, rather than Orthodox, temple after arriving in Saus. She was glad she had, though; so many years of dealing with the predominantly Reformed staff of the Kiyoka mission had almost converted her from Orthodoxy to the ... intriguing Reformed denomination herself. Her traveling gear secured and her formal robe given to a maid for cleaning and pressing, she changed into civilian clothes to take a look at where the dedication would be held.
The things that followed almost certainly would have unfolded differently if she’d been wearing that robe.
She was about half way to the rebuilt temple when she realized she was being followed by three scruffy-looking young men; almost boys, actually. Margaret didn’t have Rose’s capacity for magical Empathy, but detection of the signals for “up to no good” didn’t require that. Well, like almost all the staff at the Kiyoka mission, she had a Special Forces background, nothing as elaborate as Rose’s or Miguel’s (or the late Father Egbert’s), but enough to know trouble when it came knocking. Unfortunately, she was unarmed. The rumors around the mission that she often packed a small pistol were well founded, but she’d decided that it wouldn’t do to carry it through a warp gate. That just left magic, and while Margaret was as magically skilled as the average Veracian nun or more, this was no place for a firefight. She hastened her pace, but the ruffians did the same, as they approached a small side street, almost an alley.
None of the four noticed a man emerging from a back door down that street.
The three hoods were too close, and they were moving to cut Margaret off at the side street. She was starting to prepare for the unimpressive Force Bolt that she could muster – she hadn’t cast one in a long time – when the men dispersed slightly. Had they mugged magic users before, to know to disperse and keep offensive spellcraft from working? It looked like it. That was … worrisome. They all had knives out now, and she recognized them from her Special Forces time; they were balanced for throwing, not just for hand-to-hand use. That was even more worrisome.
One of the three spoke. “Drop your bag, lady, right there, and nobody will get hurt.” He snickered. “At least none of us three will.” Well, that clarified the situation, didn’t it?
She was still trying to decide what to do in this increasingly dangerous predicament when magic crackled toward the hoods from somewhere behind her … with a command ”FREEZE!”
The spell, Margaret was relieved to see, had a wider area of effect than her Force Bolt would have, and the three men stood motionless as though made of stone. Margaret found she could move, and she was about to run away, when the man down the alley rushed past her, his own sword drawn. This he placed at the throat of the robber who’d spoken, and he said, remarkably calmly, “No. She’s not going to get hurt here. You are going to get hurt. Very badly. Unless you drop your weapons, now. Do you still have enough muscle control to do that? Or shall I just cut off your hands?”
The hood facing the sword gulped, as a wet spot appeared on his pants. He managed a nod as his knife clattered to the ground. The other men followed suit.
“Ma’am, you just go on your way,” the man said calmly. “These three won’t be following you. If they do, I will kill them.” All very matter-of-fact. “I can’t hold them forever, though, got things I need to do. But maybe they’ll think twice before doing something like this again. Won’t you?” A tiny trace of blood appeared where the sword and a throat met. No nods this time; none were needed.
Margaret was already in motion when she saw her rescuer stoop to pick up the knives. “Th-thank you,” she breathed to the man. “May I ask who –“
“Nope,” Elgin Bindiel smiled back at her, with a facial expression that she would remember long enough that Bindiel wouldn’t have intervened if he’d realized he could be identified. “Just being a good neighbor. Now go.”
She went.
Chapter Fifty-eight: Sister Margaret
“All very nice,” Sister Rose said, “but where’s Margaret? I haven’t seen any sign of her since I got back.” She and Father Red were standing in the sanctuary of the Veracian temple in Kiyoka. Her visit with Sister Agnes had ended just as everyone had expected, with her regretfully(?) declining the opportunity for a new posting and continuing on toward separation from the Veracian Church. First, however, there were weddings to perform.
Red produced the wry, gap-toothed grin that practically everyone in the mission had come to appreciate since he’d arrived there and ascended to the Abbot role. “You haven’t? She’s right up there.” He gestured to the upper reaches of the hall, festooned with flowers in anticipation of the weddings two days hence.
Rose paled and gasped. “Surely you don’t mean…”
Red’s eyes got big, and his amiable expression was replaced first by surprise, then by embarrassment. “Oh, no, she’s fine!” he clarified. “I just mean that’s her touch with the decorations. She won’t be able to be at the wedding, though. The people at the Pleasure Dome --“ he rolled his eyes – “decreed that somebody was needed from here for some big public event in Saus. And don’t give me that look.” The wry grin was returning. “First, they asked for me, but I’m needed here for Luminosita’s Tears. Then they asked for you. But I put my foot down, hard, at that.”
Rose subsided, abashed. “Th—thank you for that, Father.”
The wry grin was all the way back. “Don’t mention it. Actually, Margaret was the one who got the message, and she made it clear that she’d take one for the team so that you didn’t have to do it. Very clear.” He chuckled. “I don’t think she’s been back to Veracia in years.”
It was Rose’s turn to chuckle. “I don’t think it’s changed much.” She was going to say more, but they were interrupted by the two couples as they floated happily into the sanctuary to inspect the decorations.
-^^-
Sister Margaret was reaching the same conclusion, although perhaps from a different starting position than Red intended.
She’d gated into Saus without incident, and made her way to the Reformed temple, where a chamber for visiting clergy was waiting for her. As Argus and Brother Miguel had discovered, the accommodations were stark but serviceable, even comfortable if one did not care much about ostentation, which described Margaret, wedding decorations notwithstanding. She wasn't sure why she had been asked to proceed to the Reformed, rather than Orthodox, temple after arriving in Saus. She was glad she had, though; so many years of dealing with the predominantly Reformed staff of the Kiyoka mission had almost converted her from Orthodoxy to the ... intriguing Reformed denomination herself. Her traveling gear secured and her formal robe given to a maid for cleaning and pressing, she changed into civilian clothes to take a look at where the dedication would be held.
The things that followed almost certainly would have unfolded differently if she’d been wearing that robe.
She was about half way to the rebuilt temple when she realized she was being followed by three scruffy-looking young men; almost boys, actually. Margaret didn’t have Rose’s capacity for magical Empathy, but detection of the signals for “up to no good” didn’t require that. Well, like almost all the staff at the Kiyoka mission, she had a Special Forces background, nothing as elaborate as Rose’s or Miguel’s (or the late Father Egbert’s), but enough to know trouble when it came knocking. Unfortunately, she was unarmed. The rumors around the mission that she often packed a small pistol were well founded, but she’d decided that it wouldn’t do to carry it through a warp gate. That just left magic, and while Margaret was as magically skilled as the average Veracian nun or more, this was no place for a firefight. She hastened her pace, but the ruffians did the same, as they approached a small side street, almost an alley.
None of the four noticed a man emerging from a back door down that street.
The three hoods were too close, and they were moving to cut Margaret off at the side street. She was starting to prepare for the unimpressive Force Bolt that she could muster – she hadn’t cast one in a long time – when the men dispersed slightly. Had they mugged magic users before, to know to disperse and keep offensive spellcraft from working? It looked like it. That was … worrisome. They all had knives out now, and she recognized them from her Special Forces time; they were balanced for throwing, not just for hand-to-hand use. That was even more worrisome.
One of the three spoke. “Drop your bag, lady, right there, and nobody will get hurt.” He snickered. “At least none of us three will.” Well, that clarified the situation, didn’t it?
She was still trying to decide what to do in this increasingly dangerous predicament when magic crackled toward the hoods from somewhere behind her … with a command ”FREEZE!”
The spell, Margaret was relieved to see, had a wider area of effect than her Force Bolt would have, and the three men stood motionless as though made of stone. Margaret found she could move, and she was about to run away, when the man down the alley rushed past her, his own sword drawn. This he placed at the throat of the robber who’d spoken, and he said, remarkably calmly, “No. She’s not going to get hurt here. You are going to get hurt. Very badly. Unless you drop your weapons, now. Do you still have enough muscle control to do that? Or shall I just cut off your hands?”
The hood facing the sword gulped, as a wet spot appeared on his pants. He managed a nod as his knife clattered to the ground. The other men followed suit.
“Ma’am, you just go on your way,” the man said calmly. “These three won’t be following you. If they do, I will kill them.” All very matter-of-fact. “I can’t hold them forever, though, got things I need to do. But maybe they’ll think twice before doing something like this again. Won’t you?” A tiny trace of blood appeared where the sword and a throat met. No nods this time; none were needed.
Margaret was already in motion when she saw her rescuer stoop to pick up the knives. “Th-thank you,” she breathed to the man. “May I ask who –“
“Nope,” Elgin Bindiel smiled back at her, with a facial expression that she would remember long enough that Bindiel wouldn’t have intervened if he’d realized he could be identified. “Just being a good neighbor. Now go.”
She went.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
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Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
[Sorry this has taken so long; a death in the family gobbled up most of August. All OK now, we're out from under the resulting pile, and I should be able to resume writing more or less normally.]
Chapter Sixty: Carly Bindiel
Meanwhile, yet another person with an interest in the restored temple, or at least in what was about to happen there, was approaching Saus, via a most unusual means of transportation.
The day of disaster for the Millenarian Church had started joyfully for Carly Bindiel, also called Sister Carleen. She’d learned she was pregnant with her second child – well, her second biological child, to go along with the others to whom she was one of the social mothers in the polygamous family headed by Elgin Bindiel. In normal circumstances, this would have been a blessed time that she would celebrate with her husband before proceeding to the far reaches of the fields around Provatiel, as was her sect’s tradition. However, her master (may as well call him what he was) had been sent on some manner of vital mission for the Millenarian Church, to a location that, as one of his junior wives, she of course had no need to know, except that it was very important and very dangerous and involved going to Saus. She hadn’t the slightest idea about the international part.
And thus it was that she was out in a distant wheat field with her first-born – that was part of the tradition, too – when Luminosita’s Wrath was released against the castle.
She hadn’t even noticed what was happening at first. The field was far enough from the castle that Luminosita’s first, thunderous malediction had only been a low rumble to her and the other wives clearing the irrigation ditches. One of the other new mothers-to-be working in her field, Sapphira she thought, had been the first to see what was happening, and emitted a scream that caught the others’ attention. As soon as they saw Luminosita, most either fainted on the spot (some rather theatrically), or screamed again and went tearing back toward the castle as it was being demolished, as quickly as their expanding bellies would allow – an error that, in many cases, would cost them and their unborn children their lives.
But Carly had not. For the remainder of her life, she would wonder why. It was almost as though she had been possessed by some intervening spirit to keep her safe. (Little did she know what that “safety” would lead her to.) A devout Orthodox Luminositan, at least one unaware of what was going on at the castle, might have concluded that it was the intervention of Luminosita Himself that gave the young woman strength to do a remarkable thing. A Millenarian might have believed it was the intervention of one of the saints that that denomination venerated, one of the doctrinal sticking points between them and the Orthodox. Sister Rose and those who’d traveled with her might have imagined it to be an action by one of the mysterious forces they’d seen at work in southern Veracia, and their explanation might, or might not, have been closest to the truth. And a half elf aware of the elven pantheon might have attributed her rescue to one of them, although an elf certainly would have dismissed that as out of the question; even if Anilis or Senilis or one of the Paedagogusi had been awakened from their slumber, they certainly wouldn’t bother to interfere in the affairs of mere humans. Would they?
Whatever the reason, she scooped up her not-quite-two-year-old son and started to walk – not toward the carnage developing at the castle, but away from it, toward her birthplace of Ramanzel, as best she could guess where it was.
Again, she could not have articulated why she chose to do that, nor why she headed in the direction she did. As Sister Rose and her colleagues had learned to their astonishment, Ramanzel was a village with an inexplicable inability to stay in one place. Somehow, though, its residents knew approximately where it was, and many had some kind of subconscious ability to home in on its hiding place in the Veracian forest. Carly had never tried it before, but she was one of those people. She set off in almost a mechanical way, cognition and emotion having all but shut down in her mind, which was probably just as well.
She hadn’t got very far, a mile at most, when a storm cloud appeared in the west. Her first reaction was to prepare to shield her child, and then herself, from the storm’s wrath. But then … this storm looked different. There had been that very strange Kankaniel boy that she’d gone to school with in Ramanzel, the one who’d claimed to be able to control the weather. No, he hadn’t been able to “control” the weather; he said he was friends with it, with a storm. That was different. He’d said you couldn’t control a storm, it did (he’d said “she” did, but that just seemed ridiculous) what it wanted to, but maybe you could talk it into wanting the same things you did. Well, whatever, he’d been nice enough to her before she went to Provatiel to get married. Surely it couldn’t be …
… But it was. The storm was getting close enough to be frightening when a strange-looking cloud dropped from its base … and cradled in it, as though in a giant hand, was Elric Kankaniel. The howling winds and rumbling thunder ebbed for a minute as he waved cheerily. “Hey, Carly!” he said. “Goin’ somewhere? Stormie thinks it looks like you could use a ride.”
”Praise Luminosita for His deliverance,” Carly gasped, but the strange boy waved again. “Naw, ain’t Luminosita this time, she’s called Stormie. 'Least that's what I call her. Anyway, she says she owes you one. Where ya goin’?”
Say this for Carleen Bindiel: she may have been short on schooling, and been under the thumb of the Millenarian Church, but she was quick on the uptake and light on her feet. (Of course she was; that was part of why she’d been “recruited.”) “Thanks, Ricky,” she said, using his childhood nickname. “I – I need to go to Saus and find my husband. He’s in danger.”
Lightning flickered at the top of the towering storm cloud. Elric Kankaniel, “Ricky” in this moment, thought. “Hmmm … fair ways from where Stormie usually hangs out … but she’s willing to get you most of the way there. Hop on.”
The cloud-hand moved closer, and mother and child boarded their unlikely conveyance, which turned north on the wind.
Chapter Sixty: Carly Bindiel
Meanwhile, yet another person with an interest in the restored temple, or at least in what was about to happen there, was approaching Saus, via a most unusual means of transportation.
The day of disaster for the Millenarian Church had started joyfully for Carly Bindiel, also called Sister Carleen. She’d learned she was pregnant with her second child – well, her second biological child, to go along with the others to whom she was one of the social mothers in the polygamous family headed by Elgin Bindiel. In normal circumstances, this would have been a blessed time that she would celebrate with her husband before proceeding to the far reaches of the fields around Provatiel, as was her sect’s tradition. However, her master (may as well call him what he was) had been sent on some manner of vital mission for the Millenarian Church, to a location that, as one of his junior wives, she of course had no need to know, except that it was very important and very dangerous and involved going to Saus. She hadn’t the slightest idea about the international part.
And thus it was that she was out in a distant wheat field with her first-born – that was part of the tradition, too – when Luminosita’s Wrath was released against the castle.
She hadn’t even noticed what was happening at first. The field was far enough from the castle that Luminosita’s first, thunderous malediction had only been a low rumble to her and the other wives clearing the irrigation ditches. One of the other new mothers-to-be working in her field, Sapphira she thought, had been the first to see what was happening, and emitted a scream that caught the others’ attention. As soon as they saw Luminosita, most either fainted on the spot (some rather theatrically), or screamed again and went tearing back toward the castle as it was being demolished, as quickly as their expanding bellies would allow – an error that, in many cases, would cost them and their unborn children their lives.
But Carly had not. For the remainder of her life, she would wonder why. It was almost as though she had been possessed by some intervening spirit to keep her safe. (Little did she know what that “safety” would lead her to.) A devout Orthodox Luminositan, at least one unaware of what was going on at the castle, might have concluded that it was the intervention of Luminosita Himself that gave the young woman strength to do a remarkable thing. A Millenarian might have believed it was the intervention of one of the saints that that denomination venerated, one of the doctrinal sticking points between them and the Orthodox. Sister Rose and those who’d traveled with her might have imagined it to be an action by one of the mysterious forces they’d seen at work in southern Veracia, and their explanation might, or might not, have been closest to the truth. And a half elf aware of the elven pantheon might have attributed her rescue to one of them, although an elf certainly would have dismissed that as out of the question; even if Anilis or Senilis or one of the Paedagogusi had been awakened from their slumber, they certainly wouldn’t bother to interfere in the affairs of mere humans. Would they?
Whatever the reason, she scooped up her not-quite-two-year-old son and started to walk – not toward the carnage developing at the castle, but away from it, toward her birthplace of Ramanzel, as best she could guess where it was.
Again, she could not have articulated why she chose to do that, nor why she headed in the direction she did. As Sister Rose and her colleagues had learned to their astonishment, Ramanzel was a village with an inexplicable inability to stay in one place. Somehow, though, its residents knew approximately where it was, and many had some kind of subconscious ability to home in on its hiding place in the Veracian forest. Carly had never tried it before, but she was one of those people. She set off in almost a mechanical way, cognition and emotion having all but shut down in her mind, which was probably just as well.
She hadn’t got very far, a mile at most, when a storm cloud appeared in the west. Her first reaction was to prepare to shield her child, and then herself, from the storm’s wrath. But then … this storm looked different. There had been that very strange Kankaniel boy that she’d gone to school with in Ramanzel, the one who’d claimed to be able to control the weather. No, he hadn’t been able to “control” the weather; he said he was friends with it, with a storm. That was different. He’d said you couldn’t control a storm, it did (he’d said “she” did, but that just seemed ridiculous) what it wanted to, but maybe you could talk it into wanting the same things you did. Well, whatever, he’d been nice enough to her before she went to Provatiel to get married. Surely it couldn’t be …
… But it was. The storm was getting close enough to be frightening when a strange-looking cloud dropped from its base … and cradled in it, as though in a giant hand, was Elric Kankaniel. The howling winds and rumbling thunder ebbed for a minute as he waved cheerily. “Hey, Carly!” he said. “Goin’ somewhere? Stormie thinks it looks like you could use a ride.”
”Praise Luminosita for His deliverance,” Carly gasped, but the strange boy waved again. “Naw, ain’t Luminosita this time, she’s called Stormie. 'Least that's what I call her. Anyway, she says she owes you one. Where ya goin’?”
Say this for Carleen Bindiel: she may have been short on schooling, and been under the thumb of the Millenarian Church, but she was quick on the uptake and light on her feet. (Of course she was; that was part of why she’d been “recruited.”) “Thanks, Ricky,” she said, using his childhood nickname. “I – I need to go to Saus and find my husband. He’s in danger.”
Lightning flickered at the top of the towering storm cloud. Elric Kankaniel, “Ricky” in this moment, thought. “Hmmm … fair ways from where Stormie usually hangs out … but she’s willing to get you most of the way there. Hop on.”
The cloud-hand moved closer, and mother and child boarded their unlikely conveyance, which turned north on the wind.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
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Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
Chapter Sixty-one: Brass tacks
“So,” Father Red said to Sister Rose as they went over the logistics for the impending weddings, “are you sure you don’t want me to marry you and Argus at the same time as the other two couples, just to be on the safe side?”
Rose had known this was coming, and had an answer ready. She was also well aware that the answer was lame. She summoned her considerable acting skill and aplomb, succeeding in not looking away as she gave that answer. “Red, Argus and I were married in the Northern Confederacy. We’ve gone over that. Our governments have agreed to respect each other’s customs on such things.” Because we really don’t have any choice when dealing with states in the Confederacy that far away from Veracia, she thought but did not say. She also thought she knew what was coming next, as indeed it was.
“Rose … I listened carefully to the way you phrased that. You didn’t say you ‘got’ married. You said you were married. So when and where did you get married up there?”
Rose had to look away this time. “I … I don’t know, Red.” She shuddered. “There were a lot of things about our time in Goriel that I’ve really tried to forget.” (This was true.) “A hell of a lot of things, if you don’t mind my use of the term. It’s appropriate.”
Red wasn’t buying it. “One would hardly think a wedding would be one of them, though.”
Rose swallowed hard. “There wasn’t a wedding.” There, I said it.
Most abbots might have erupted at this admission, but this one just smiled. “So you were married without any wedding.”
Rose noted the verb usage, as Red had a few seconds earlier. “Yes. Different places in the Northern Confederacy feel differently about weddings, and marriages. As long as the Gorielites accepted that we were married, we weren’t going to push it.” She almost felt as if she was pleading at the end of that.
“But we’re not in Goriel now, are we?”
Rose felt like she was in a debate contest back in school, and she was clearly losing. “No. But we have these agreements –“
Red rarely interrupted, but he did now, holding up a hand. His face was its usual amiable, gap-toothed self, but his voice had just a tiny bit more authority in it when he spoke. “I know, and if you want to feel as if you’re married here, as you did there, that’s up to you. But –“ He gestured toward the far end of the sanctuary, where an incongruously dressed young woman was entering. “There are a lot of people here who admire you greatly, Rose. Here comes one of them now.” The young woman in the improbable miniskirt-robe, of course, was the inimitable Sister Marilyn, soon to be one of the brides in the wedding that the abbot and the celebrant were preparing for. “For their sake,” he continued, “and for yours, I urge you to do what will keep that admiration intact. Talk about it with Argus when you get back – home.” Both of them knew full well that that meant the vineyard, and that the temple wasn’t “home” to Sister Rose any more.
Rose gulped. “I will, Red, I promise you that.” She was going to say more, but here came Marilyn, looking happy (which was no surprise) and breathless (which was).
“Father Red!” the young woman said, using about as formal a title as Abbot Redmond ever went by in Kiyoka. “I heard the most amazing rumor! Is it true that –“ She didn’t finish the sentence before pausing for breath.
Red’s smile had been turned up about ten degrees. “I don’t know. Rose, is it?”
Rose blushed. “It – it’s under discussion, negotiation, maybe –“
Marilyn didn’t have Red’s patience, and she cut the other woman off. “No, I don’t mean about you! I mean about my –“
The door to the sanctuary opened again. Red’s grin was even wider as he also gestured again, toward a middle-aged but very fit-looking woman who was standing in the doorway.
“MOM!” Marilyn screamed, in a voice that could probably have been heard at the vineyard. The two women rushed toward each other, meeting at an impossibly high speed (well, Rose and Red both knew that it wasn’t so impossible for someone with Marilyn’s unusual skills, at least) in the middle for a deep, lasting, heartfelt hug.
Rose had a hunch what was going on, but she hadn’t met the older woman yet, so she raised an eyebrow toward the Abbot. “The mother of the bride,” he said through his widest gap-toothed grin yet.
-^-^-
The hug really only lasted a minute or so, although that was enough to put smiles on the faces of everyone present, Rose included. Seeing this, I think I’ll try seriously to persuade Argus, she decided. She started to edge forward to introduce herself, but to her surprise, the other woman pushed past her to where Red was standing. “Abbot Redmond,” she said – she didn’t know Red’s penchant for informality yet – “before we get started here, there’s something I think you need to know, about something I saw in Saus on the way here. It – it involves your church, and it scared me …”
The encounter between Elgin Bindiel, Sister Margaret, and the muggers had had an observer after all.
“So,” Father Red said to Sister Rose as they went over the logistics for the impending weddings, “are you sure you don’t want me to marry you and Argus at the same time as the other two couples, just to be on the safe side?”
Rose had known this was coming, and had an answer ready. She was also well aware that the answer was lame. She summoned her considerable acting skill and aplomb, succeeding in not looking away as she gave that answer. “Red, Argus and I were married in the Northern Confederacy. We’ve gone over that. Our governments have agreed to respect each other’s customs on such things.” Because we really don’t have any choice when dealing with states in the Confederacy that far away from Veracia, she thought but did not say. She also thought she knew what was coming next, as indeed it was.
“Rose … I listened carefully to the way you phrased that. You didn’t say you ‘got’ married. You said you were married. So when and where did you get married up there?”
Rose had to look away this time. “I … I don’t know, Red.” She shuddered. “There were a lot of things about our time in Goriel that I’ve really tried to forget.” (This was true.) “A hell of a lot of things, if you don’t mind my use of the term. It’s appropriate.”
Red wasn’t buying it. “One would hardly think a wedding would be one of them, though.”
Rose swallowed hard. “There wasn’t a wedding.” There, I said it.
Most abbots might have erupted at this admission, but this one just smiled. “So you were married without any wedding.”
Rose noted the verb usage, as Red had a few seconds earlier. “Yes. Different places in the Northern Confederacy feel differently about weddings, and marriages. As long as the Gorielites accepted that we were married, we weren’t going to push it.” She almost felt as if she was pleading at the end of that.
“But we’re not in Goriel now, are we?”
Rose felt like she was in a debate contest back in school, and she was clearly losing. “No. But we have these agreements –“
Red rarely interrupted, but he did now, holding up a hand. His face was its usual amiable, gap-toothed self, but his voice had just a tiny bit more authority in it when he spoke. “I know, and if you want to feel as if you’re married here, as you did there, that’s up to you. But –“ He gestured toward the far end of the sanctuary, where an incongruously dressed young woman was entering. “There are a lot of people here who admire you greatly, Rose. Here comes one of them now.” The young woman in the improbable miniskirt-robe, of course, was the inimitable Sister Marilyn, soon to be one of the brides in the wedding that the abbot and the celebrant were preparing for. “For their sake,” he continued, “and for yours, I urge you to do what will keep that admiration intact. Talk about it with Argus when you get back – home.” Both of them knew full well that that meant the vineyard, and that the temple wasn’t “home” to Sister Rose any more.
Rose gulped. “I will, Red, I promise you that.” She was going to say more, but here came Marilyn, looking happy (which was no surprise) and breathless (which was).
“Father Red!” the young woman said, using about as formal a title as Abbot Redmond ever went by in Kiyoka. “I heard the most amazing rumor! Is it true that –“ She didn’t finish the sentence before pausing for breath.
Red’s smile had been turned up about ten degrees. “I don’t know. Rose, is it?”
Rose blushed. “It – it’s under discussion, negotiation, maybe –“
Marilyn didn’t have Red’s patience, and she cut the other woman off. “No, I don’t mean about you! I mean about my –“
The door to the sanctuary opened again. Red’s grin was even wider as he also gestured again, toward a middle-aged but very fit-looking woman who was standing in the doorway.
“MOM!” Marilyn screamed, in a voice that could probably have been heard at the vineyard. The two women rushed toward each other, meeting at an impossibly high speed (well, Rose and Red both knew that it wasn’t so impossible for someone with Marilyn’s unusual skills, at least) in the middle for a deep, lasting, heartfelt hug.
Rose had a hunch what was going on, but she hadn’t met the older woman yet, so she raised an eyebrow toward the Abbot. “The mother of the bride,” he said through his widest gap-toothed grin yet.
-^-^-
The hug really only lasted a minute or so, although that was enough to put smiles on the faces of everyone present, Rose included. Seeing this, I think I’ll try seriously to persuade Argus, she decided. She started to edge forward to introduce herself, but to her surprise, the other woman pushed past her to where Red was standing. “Abbot Redmond,” she said – she didn’t know Red’s penchant for informality yet – “before we get started here, there’s something I think you need to know, about something I saw in Saus on the way here. It – it involves your church, and it scared me …”
The encounter between Elgin Bindiel, Sister Margaret, and the muggers had had an observer after all.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
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Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
Just in case anybody is still watching: No, things haven't run out of steam with Sister Rose and colleagues. It's 10% that I'm having a hard time writing the next chapter, which needs to get one more player on stage for the stuff in Saus, and 90% that between Covid-19, a death in the family (and the protracted cleanup of the estate), and impending surgery, I'm not exactly focused here right now.
Next chapter in about three weeks if all goes well. I hope to speed things up after that, once the surgery is recovered from and we're closer to settling the estate. As for Covid, well ... stay safe, everybody, and please make good decisions with those around you in mind.
Next chapter in about three weeks if all goes well. I hope to speed things up after that, once the surgery is recovered from and we're closer to settling the estate. As for Covid, well ... stay safe, everybody, and please make good decisions with those around you in mind.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
- The Heretical Admin
- Posts: 7185
- Joined: August 20th, 2007, 8:26 am
- Location: Nuevo Mexico y Colorado, Estados Unidos
Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
[A long time coming, and I'm not satisfied with this, but gotta get this thing moving again. The ending is now in sight, if distantly.]
Chapter Sixty-two: Bauti
It would have been reasonable, anyone who knew her would have agreed, to acknowledge that Peregin Bauti was not one of the brighter light globes in Praenubilus Astu. This was a reason why, on the one hand, the elven council, military, and so on were happy to have her out of the underground city, and on the other, she didn’t get assigned sensitive and demanding missions in human territory … usually. However, there were exceptions. The order that was now taking her to Saus was one of those, to the dissatisfaction of both Bauti and the elven power structure, but one had to make do with what one had.
Which is not to say that, within her areas of specialization, Bauti was not highly skilled; very much the contrary. Two of those areas were on display as she headed for Saus. The first was elimination of an Errant by particularly violent means, often either explosive or incendiary, as had happened in a small village some tens of miles northwest of Saus called Sapeliel, where nothing else notable had happened in ages. The second was in somehow getting away with the first, which was why she was riding headlong through the night on a horse stolen from the granary that she intended to ride until it literally dropped dead of the effort. This would be no problem for her; she’d just steal, and work to death, another one; there were enough farms in the area to supply candidates. The second horse, she calculated, should get her close enough to Saus to just walk the rest of the way there and do whatever bullshit mission she’d been ordered to the city to execute.
She judged that she was far enough from Sapeliel now to try to make sense out of just what that mission was. A small stream was running with the first of what the ridiculous Veracians called “Luminosita’s Tears,” the rainstorms that began as summer on the continent was turning to fall. She showed unusual mercy for her mount by letting it drink there, and completely uncharacteristically, even created a little fodder for the animal. Who knows; this horse might even get her to Saus with such treatment. Or it might not. It really didn’t matter. She opened the communication device and started to listen.
It would have been nice, she grumbled to the horse (it was more satisfying than muttering to herself, and the beast wouldn’t talk back), if she had had clearer instructions to work with. “Find out who was on the military airship that came in from Phidelphiel, and why” wasn’t a very specific charge. It also missed two very obvious points: first, that the sky above Saus was full of military airships, and second, that there was no way she could tell whether a specific ship had originated in a city on the east coast of Veracia.
Maybe Anilis was smiling on her, though: here came one of those airships now, by the look of it. The skies above Veracia were not nearly as full of airship traffic as those in Tsuiraku, or even Farrel. She’d been around the countryside long enough, however, to see more than her share of what traffic did exist, including the rare night voyager, and she could tell the difference between civilian and military running lights. This ship appeared to be the latter. It wasn’t her quarry, that much was clear, as it was coming into Saus from the northwest, not the east. It also wasn’t moving unusually quickly, as a “fast airship” should be; in fact, it was rather poking along. (She had no way of knowing it, but a novice aircrew was receiving training in night-time navigation, and was in no hurry to go anywhere.) Still, it would serve one useful purpose: if it was on the way to a military base in the city, it would at least show her where that base was, and give her a little help in navigating herself to it. Once she got to the base, she could case the place, check out who was coming and going, maybe lean on some low-ranking soldier for information. (And maybe find a juicy, unsuspecting Errant to destroy, if one happened to be in the area; she smiled to the horse at that thought.)
“Well, we’d better get a move on,” she chortled to the horse, and with a snap of her fingers, what remained of the fodder disappeared. (If the horse was disappointed, it didn’t show it; maybe it was already resigned to its fate.) Before the airship had left the zenith, horse and rider were re-united and starting down the road after it …
… A road that just so happened to also be heading straight for the restored temple where the Patriarch’s speech would happen in a day or two, and other, consequential things would happen before that.
Chapter Sixty-two: Bauti
It would have been reasonable, anyone who knew her would have agreed, to acknowledge that Peregin Bauti was not one of the brighter light globes in Praenubilus Astu. This was a reason why, on the one hand, the elven council, military, and so on were happy to have her out of the underground city, and on the other, she didn’t get assigned sensitive and demanding missions in human territory … usually. However, there were exceptions. The order that was now taking her to Saus was one of those, to the dissatisfaction of both Bauti and the elven power structure, but one had to make do with what one had.
Which is not to say that, within her areas of specialization, Bauti was not highly skilled; very much the contrary. Two of those areas were on display as she headed for Saus. The first was elimination of an Errant by particularly violent means, often either explosive or incendiary, as had happened in a small village some tens of miles northwest of Saus called Sapeliel, where nothing else notable had happened in ages. The second was in somehow getting away with the first, which was why she was riding headlong through the night on a horse stolen from the granary that she intended to ride until it literally dropped dead of the effort. This would be no problem for her; she’d just steal, and work to death, another one; there were enough farms in the area to supply candidates. The second horse, she calculated, should get her close enough to Saus to just walk the rest of the way there and do whatever bullshit mission she’d been ordered to the city to execute.
She judged that she was far enough from Sapeliel now to try to make sense out of just what that mission was. A small stream was running with the first of what the ridiculous Veracians called “Luminosita’s Tears,” the rainstorms that began as summer on the continent was turning to fall. She showed unusual mercy for her mount by letting it drink there, and completely uncharacteristically, even created a little fodder for the animal. Who knows; this horse might even get her to Saus with such treatment. Or it might not. It really didn’t matter. She opened the communication device and started to listen.
It would have been nice, she grumbled to the horse (it was more satisfying than muttering to herself, and the beast wouldn’t talk back), if she had had clearer instructions to work with. “Find out who was on the military airship that came in from Phidelphiel, and why” wasn’t a very specific charge. It also missed two very obvious points: first, that the sky above Saus was full of military airships, and second, that there was no way she could tell whether a specific ship had originated in a city on the east coast of Veracia.
Maybe Anilis was smiling on her, though: here came one of those airships now, by the look of it. The skies above Veracia were not nearly as full of airship traffic as those in Tsuiraku, or even Farrel. She’d been around the countryside long enough, however, to see more than her share of what traffic did exist, including the rare night voyager, and she could tell the difference between civilian and military running lights. This ship appeared to be the latter. It wasn’t her quarry, that much was clear, as it was coming into Saus from the northwest, not the east. It also wasn’t moving unusually quickly, as a “fast airship” should be; in fact, it was rather poking along. (She had no way of knowing it, but a novice aircrew was receiving training in night-time navigation, and was in no hurry to go anywhere.) Still, it would serve one useful purpose: if it was on the way to a military base in the city, it would at least show her where that base was, and give her a little help in navigating herself to it. Once she got to the base, she could case the place, check out who was coming and going, maybe lean on some low-ranking soldier for information. (And maybe find a juicy, unsuspecting Errant to destroy, if one happened to be in the area; she smiled to the horse at that thought.)
“Well, we’d better get a move on,” she chortled to the horse, and with a snap of her fingers, what remained of the fodder disappeared. (If the horse was disappointed, it didn’t show it; maybe it was already resigned to its fate.) Before the airship had left the zenith, horse and rider were re-united and starting down the road after it …
… A road that just so happened to also be heading straight for the restored temple where the Patriarch’s speech would happen in a day or two, and other, consequential things would happen before that.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
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Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
Chapter Sixty-three: Coming together
And so, with the dawning of a new day, a diverse range of forces and characters were starting to converge on the former Millenarian temple in Saus.
=-=-=
Sister Rose would not be among them. For one thing, dawn in Kiyoka, as in all of Tsuiraku, came several hours later than in Saus far to its east. She was sleeping peacefully after a day of preparation for the weddings soon to follow. For another, she’d made it clear that, having satisfied all the requirements for leaving the Reformed Church with its blessings, she would go no further. Sister Margaret, bless her heart, had stepped up to attend the impending ceremony in her place – which would leave Rose with a persistent feeling of guilt.
Such feelings came naturally to Rose. She’d had a bout of that over the last few days, as it dawned on her that she’d missed a chance to see her family in Saus when she and Argus had passed through after the weird mission to the Anuban Colonies. The fact that she’d been working to a tight schedule that she did not control did not particularly assuage this feeling. “I should have taken a warp gate back there after the rehearsal,” she’d murmured to Argus as they were turning in for the night. “Mom and Aron and Gretta would have appreciated it after – what happened to Margot.”
Argus had smiled sleepily; he’d been through this before. “No time for it today,” he pointed out, quite reasonably. “We’ll make a trip back there as soon as things settle down here. I liked your mother and stepfather and brother’s family very much.” His expression reminded Rose of what had happened to Argus’ own family, which served to replace her guilt about visiting Saus with guilt for discomfiting her husband(?). “We’ll do it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” That was enough; “I love you,” she said softly, and both were asleep within seconds.
=-=-=
Hiding from the elves was boring, Kassia Karvial had decided.
She hadn’t slept well. Early in the night, there had been all manner of pounding and banging outside the temple. There were strange lights outside, too. She chanced a quick peek out the bell tower and found the reason: a work crew had set up floodlights and was busy raising a platform and risers for the Patriarch’s visit. That was disturbing. Pretty soon, she thought with the hazy reasoning of a middle-of-the-night mind too long without sleep, they’d be sending out patrols to check out places where enemies of Jeramel (she knew he’d have some) might be hiding. They’d find her, and then she’d be hustled off to a jail cell and get in all kinds of trouble. On the other hand, she’d be safe in a jail cell, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At least it wouldn’t if she had a convincing alias and didn’t look enough like Kassia Karvial, student at the seminary, to be recognized. With this thought in mind, she spent the next hour making more little tweaks to her appearance, which tired her out enough that she finally did get some sleep.
(In fact, her reasoning, although entirely sensible and consistent with good practice, was wrong, as Elgin Bindiel could have told her after his conversation with his cousin. The security force couldn’t believe that mere common folk could have the magic skills to launch any magical attacks against the Patriarch, and they’d be keeping an eye on the populace assembled to watch the ceremony … and on Jeramel’s known enemies in the ceremony itself. That would surely be enough defenses for this visit. Wouldn’t it?)
When Kassia awoke, she was tired, hungry, and stiff from sleeping in an uncomfortable position in a makeshift bed. At least it was quiet; the platform and risers were fully constructed, and had apparently been placed under some kind of magical Ward that no doubt would be dispelled before the Patriarch arrived, so that nobody could have any doubts about the man being loved by all his constituency. She couldn’t do anything about the stiff and quiet parts of her discomfort, but the hunger … well. She remembered a street vendor down the road from the temple who sold luscious meat pies. One or two of those would hit the spot this morning, since more boring concealment seemed to be the order of the day. Was her disguise good enough to risk going out for some? She thought so. She retraced her steps through the hidden corridors.
As she approached the secret entrance to the temple, she stopped, puzzled and suspicious. The outside door was hanging open, which a secret entrance most certainly was not supposed to do. Had she failed to close it when she came in yesterday? She was pretty sure she had not. That meant that the entrance wasn’t as secret as advertised, and that someone else knew it was there. Could that someone be an elf? That was a thought too horrible to contemplate. She’d have to gather everything back up and look for another hiding place, as soon as ”GLUEHRK!”
At least that was approximately the sound she made as a hand reached out of a shadow and slapped a rag, redolent of both chloroform and magic, across her nose and mouth, and for the moment, she knew no more.
=+=+=
Peregin Bauti, however, could have answered most of those questions for her, notably the one about the elf, if she’d been so disposed. However, it was Kassia who was going to have to do the answering, as soon as she regained consciousness…
=+=+=
As results would show, this abduction wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to Kassia Karvial, although it would be a contender for the title. The worst thing, comparatively speaking, was happening one level lower in the catacombs beneath the temple, and if that had happened to the girl, she wouldn’t have survived it. (Probably.)
=+=+=
Then again, who knows what Elgin Bindiel would have done if his last foray into the tunnel with a load of explosive mixture had been detected, and by a novice of an apostate part of the Church at that. His earlier encounter with Sister Margaret had shown that he wasn’t completely indifferent to a woman in danger. Of course, the circumstances were … different.
In any event, all that he heard from above was a muffled thump as Kassia crumpled to the ground, and there’d been enough of those in the last two days from the construction crew that Bindiel paid it no mind. Now was not the time for such concerns, not when he was getting the detonators in place. That was always the ticklish part of an operation with large quantities of explosives, as he knew from the work on the farms outside the castle, and from … other things. Detonators were touchier than the main explosive charge; that was the point. He was never completely comfortable getting them in place until there was a magical Ward over the whole setup …
=+=+=
… Not that that would have slowed Bauti in the slightest if she’d known about it.
=+=+=
Meanwhile, Margaret wasn’t at the temple yet … but her time, along with that of an increasingly worried security force from the Reformed temple, would come. So also would that of Carly Bindiel, now groggily walking through the outskirts of Saus carrying her sleeping child, after a voyage to the city that could reasonably be called "unique." These players were not yet on stage ... but they were getting there.
And so, with the dawning of a new day, a diverse range of forces and characters were starting to converge on the former Millenarian temple in Saus.
=-=-=
Sister Rose would not be among them. For one thing, dawn in Kiyoka, as in all of Tsuiraku, came several hours later than in Saus far to its east. She was sleeping peacefully after a day of preparation for the weddings soon to follow. For another, she’d made it clear that, having satisfied all the requirements for leaving the Reformed Church with its blessings, she would go no further. Sister Margaret, bless her heart, had stepped up to attend the impending ceremony in her place – which would leave Rose with a persistent feeling of guilt.
Such feelings came naturally to Rose. She’d had a bout of that over the last few days, as it dawned on her that she’d missed a chance to see her family in Saus when she and Argus had passed through after the weird mission to the Anuban Colonies. The fact that she’d been working to a tight schedule that she did not control did not particularly assuage this feeling. “I should have taken a warp gate back there after the rehearsal,” she’d murmured to Argus as they were turning in for the night. “Mom and Aron and Gretta would have appreciated it after – what happened to Margot.”
Argus had smiled sleepily; he’d been through this before. “No time for it today,” he pointed out, quite reasonably. “We’ll make a trip back there as soon as things settle down here. I liked your mother and stepfather and brother’s family very much.” His expression reminded Rose of what had happened to Argus’ own family, which served to replace her guilt about visiting Saus with guilt for discomfiting her husband(?). “We’ll do it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” That was enough; “I love you,” she said softly, and both were asleep within seconds.
=-=-=
Hiding from the elves was boring, Kassia Karvial had decided.
She hadn’t slept well. Early in the night, there had been all manner of pounding and banging outside the temple. There were strange lights outside, too. She chanced a quick peek out the bell tower and found the reason: a work crew had set up floodlights and was busy raising a platform and risers for the Patriarch’s visit. That was disturbing. Pretty soon, she thought with the hazy reasoning of a middle-of-the-night mind too long without sleep, they’d be sending out patrols to check out places where enemies of Jeramel (she knew he’d have some) might be hiding. They’d find her, and then she’d be hustled off to a jail cell and get in all kinds of trouble. On the other hand, she’d be safe in a jail cell, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At least it wouldn’t if she had a convincing alias and didn’t look enough like Kassia Karvial, student at the seminary, to be recognized. With this thought in mind, she spent the next hour making more little tweaks to her appearance, which tired her out enough that she finally did get some sleep.
(In fact, her reasoning, although entirely sensible and consistent with good practice, was wrong, as Elgin Bindiel could have told her after his conversation with his cousin. The security force couldn’t believe that mere common folk could have the magic skills to launch any magical attacks against the Patriarch, and they’d be keeping an eye on the populace assembled to watch the ceremony … and on Jeramel’s known enemies in the ceremony itself. That would surely be enough defenses for this visit. Wouldn’t it?)
When Kassia awoke, she was tired, hungry, and stiff from sleeping in an uncomfortable position in a makeshift bed. At least it was quiet; the platform and risers were fully constructed, and had apparently been placed under some kind of magical Ward that no doubt would be dispelled before the Patriarch arrived, so that nobody could have any doubts about the man being loved by all his constituency. She couldn’t do anything about the stiff and quiet parts of her discomfort, but the hunger … well. She remembered a street vendor down the road from the temple who sold luscious meat pies. One or two of those would hit the spot this morning, since more boring concealment seemed to be the order of the day. Was her disguise good enough to risk going out for some? She thought so. She retraced her steps through the hidden corridors.
As she approached the secret entrance to the temple, she stopped, puzzled and suspicious. The outside door was hanging open, which a secret entrance most certainly was not supposed to do. Had she failed to close it when she came in yesterday? She was pretty sure she had not. That meant that the entrance wasn’t as secret as advertised, and that someone else knew it was there. Could that someone be an elf? That was a thought too horrible to contemplate. She’d have to gather everything back up and look for another hiding place, as soon as ”GLUEHRK!”
At least that was approximately the sound she made as a hand reached out of a shadow and slapped a rag, redolent of both chloroform and magic, across her nose and mouth, and for the moment, she knew no more.
=+=+=
Peregin Bauti, however, could have answered most of those questions for her, notably the one about the elf, if she’d been so disposed. However, it was Kassia who was going to have to do the answering, as soon as she regained consciousness…
=+=+=
As results would show, this abduction wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to Kassia Karvial, although it would be a contender for the title. The worst thing, comparatively speaking, was happening one level lower in the catacombs beneath the temple, and if that had happened to the girl, she wouldn’t have survived it. (Probably.)
=+=+=
Then again, who knows what Elgin Bindiel would have done if his last foray into the tunnel with a load of explosive mixture had been detected, and by a novice of an apostate part of the Church at that. His earlier encounter with Sister Margaret had shown that he wasn’t completely indifferent to a woman in danger. Of course, the circumstances were … different.
In any event, all that he heard from above was a muffled thump as Kassia crumpled to the ground, and there’d been enough of those in the last two days from the construction crew that Bindiel paid it no mind. Now was not the time for such concerns, not when he was getting the detonators in place. That was always the ticklish part of an operation with large quantities of explosives, as he knew from the work on the farms outside the castle, and from … other things. Detonators were touchier than the main explosive charge; that was the point. He was never completely comfortable getting them in place until there was a magical Ward over the whole setup …
=+=+=
… Not that that would have slowed Bauti in the slightest if she’d known about it.
=+=+=
Meanwhile, Margaret wasn’t at the temple yet … but her time, along with that of an increasingly worried security force from the Reformed temple, would come. So also would that of Carly Bindiel, now groggily walking through the outskirts of Saus carrying her sleeping child, after a voyage to the city that could reasonably be called "unique." These players were not yet on stage ... but they were getting there.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.
- Graybeard
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Re: Sister Rose, v.2: Expecting the Unexpected
Chapter Sixty-four: Body doubles
“The Patriarch is staying here??” Sister Margaret said incredulously.
Father Stefan, senior priest at the Reformed temple in Saus, held his ground, putting a finger to his lips. “’Will be,’ not ‘is,’” he corrected Margaret, speaking softly. “And keep your voice down. We don’t want the whole temple to hear us.” This latter part was not altogether true. In fact, one of the reasons for having this conversation in the sanctuary, right after Last Prayers, was precisely so that some of the other nuns and priests and (particularly) novices would hear snatches of the conversation, and start spreading some rumors. That was part of the plan. There was only a one in three chance that those rumors would be relevant, or correct; that was part of the plan too.
Margaret got the idea, and did precisely what Stefan was hoping for. “Give me a second,” she said, and she put up the Damping spell that almost any nun or priest who’d ever participated in smitings knew. The air grew greasy with magic for a moment, and sound from outside the radius of the spell went away. “Okay, we can talk now. I assume that your telling me this has something to do with what happened to me yesterday?”
“It might, but we don’t know yet,” Stefan confessed. He sipped at the tea that he’d made sure would be available to the two of them, without anyone being called inconveniently to bring some. “More accurately, the cops don’t know,” he went on. “They said those idiots who tried to mug you are known, and they were apologetic about that part. But the magic-using guy who saved you apparently isn’t. They’re as interested in learning more about him as we are.” He got a sour expression on his usually neutral face. “Powerful magic users don’t generally show up in the same area as the Patriarch as a routine matter of course, though.”
“So why are you telling me this?” Margaret wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
“Hang on.” Stefan took the very unusual step of adding his own spellcraft to the Damping spell, a Scramble that Margaret herself did not know (she suspected that even Sister Rose, the most magically adept member of the Kiyoka mission and possibly the most adept woman she’d ever known, might not know it). This additional level of security added, he turned back to Margaret, his face serious. “What I’m about to say doesn’t leave the area of effect of our spells, let alone the sanctuary or beyond, ever. Okay with that? If not, this conversation ends now.”
Margaret gulped, made the Sign of Luminosita. “If Luminosita wills it.”
Stefan returned the Sign. “He does. You see –“ he looked around himself on reflex – “you and I are the only people in the mission who have met the Patriarch face to face since he ascended to the title.”
“And?” Margaret prompted; this assessment was accurate, to the best of her knowledge, although she’d all but forgotten that meeting back when she was being considered for the position in Kiyoka.
Stefan took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s where things get complicated – complicated and very sensitive.” Another deep breath. “You see, the man who will be getting off that coach in an hour’s time may not be the Patriarch at all.”
Margaret wasn’t sure just what she’d been expecting as an explanation for the secrecy or her unexpected stay at the Reformed temple, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t been expecting that. “Then why –“
Stefan cut her off. “This is the sensitive part. At the same time, another man will get off a coach at the Orthodox temple who looks like Jeramel, but may or may not be the actual man. Likewise at the Mechanists, improbably enough.” He snorted. “I don’t think that one is going to fool many people, though.”
With that last sentence, Margaret was starting to understand. “Body doubles. For security.”
Stefan nodded. “Right. They’re scared that there may be an attempt on the Patriarch’s life. If the bad guys don’t know where he’s based, the attempt will get more difficult.”
“And?”
Stefan sighed. “This is where you and I come in. The Pleasure Dome wants to make sure that the body doubles are credible. One of these three will be the actual Patriarch, as I understand it.” (This was not necessarily accurate.) “The other two have to look enough like him that the deception works; look, and act. You and I have seen the real thing, up close and personal. That was one reason why they accepted you as a replacement for Rose: so that we can check out the one coming here, and help make changes to his looks and actions if he’s a double but doesn’t look the part. And don’t tell anybody I said that. Now let’s go get ready for him to get here.”
An hour later, the expected coach, richly decorated and escorted by hard-looking men with weapons, pulled through the gates of the temple. A man in the elaborate (overly so, both Margaret and Stefan thought) traveling robes of the Patriarch stepped out of it, leaning on a cane on the one side, and a no—longer-young nun on the other. The carriage turned, post haste, and hurried away with most of the guards, as though the Reformed temple harbored some exotic contagion. Margaret was certain that this low-key arrival would be repeated at the tiny Mechanist temple on the outskirts of the city. The arrival at the main Orthodox temple, she was also sure, would be more … ceremonious.
The greeting party was also low-key, consisting of Margaret, Stefan, and three junior priests and one nun who would handle the baggage that had also been taken off the coach. Blessings were exchanged, and most of the group headed off to bed … but not Margaret and Stefan, not yet. As soon as they were sure they were alone, Margaret put up another Damping spell, just to be on the safe side, and turned to the older man. “Not him,” she said softly.
Stefan nodded. (He wouldn’t shake his head in case anyone was watching.) “Can’t be. Taller than I remember him, and he didn’t need that cane any more than I do.” He did not remark on the supporting nun.
“Right. Face isn’t right, either, no jowls, receding hairline that Jeramel either doesn’t have or conceals very well. This guy is not going to pass for the Patriarch in any setting where people can see him clearly, not without a great deal of disguise.” She did not need to point out that the porters had seen him undisguised anyway.
“Where’s a little polymorph magic when you need it?” Stefan joked sourly, then caught himself and apologized; that might be taken as a commentary on not sending Rose on this mission, even though he understood (correctly) that the shapeshifting nun couldn’t cast a Polymorph spell on someone else if her life depended on it. “Well,” he added, “I better go give him the bad news. You turn in. It’ll be a long morning tomorrow as we try to get him ready for this role he’s playing. I just hope the stand-in at the other temple looks more like the man he’s supposed to imitate.”
Of course, Elgin Bindiel, armed with the information his cousin had extracted from the loose-lipped woman at the school, could have told him that that disguise wasn’t going to be nearly good enough, either.
“The Patriarch is staying here??” Sister Margaret said incredulously.
Father Stefan, senior priest at the Reformed temple in Saus, held his ground, putting a finger to his lips. “’Will be,’ not ‘is,’” he corrected Margaret, speaking softly. “And keep your voice down. We don’t want the whole temple to hear us.” This latter part was not altogether true. In fact, one of the reasons for having this conversation in the sanctuary, right after Last Prayers, was precisely so that some of the other nuns and priests and (particularly) novices would hear snatches of the conversation, and start spreading some rumors. That was part of the plan. There was only a one in three chance that those rumors would be relevant, or correct; that was part of the plan too.
Margaret got the idea, and did precisely what Stefan was hoping for. “Give me a second,” she said, and she put up the Damping spell that almost any nun or priest who’d ever participated in smitings knew. The air grew greasy with magic for a moment, and sound from outside the radius of the spell went away. “Okay, we can talk now. I assume that your telling me this has something to do with what happened to me yesterday?”
“It might, but we don’t know yet,” Stefan confessed. He sipped at the tea that he’d made sure would be available to the two of them, without anyone being called inconveniently to bring some. “More accurately, the cops don’t know,” he went on. “They said those idiots who tried to mug you are known, and they were apologetic about that part. But the magic-using guy who saved you apparently isn’t. They’re as interested in learning more about him as we are.” He got a sour expression on his usually neutral face. “Powerful magic users don’t generally show up in the same area as the Patriarch as a routine matter of course, though.”
“So why are you telling me this?” Margaret wasn’t one to beat around the bush.
“Hang on.” Stefan took the very unusual step of adding his own spellcraft to the Damping spell, a Scramble that Margaret herself did not know (she suspected that even Sister Rose, the most magically adept member of the Kiyoka mission and possibly the most adept woman she’d ever known, might not know it). This additional level of security added, he turned back to Margaret, his face serious. “What I’m about to say doesn’t leave the area of effect of our spells, let alone the sanctuary or beyond, ever. Okay with that? If not, this conversation ends now.”
Margaret gulped, made the Sign of Luminosita. “If Luminosita wills it.”
Stefan returned the Sign. “He does. You see –“ he looked around himself on reflex – “you and I are the only people in the mission who have met the Patriarch face to face since he ascended to the title.”
“And?” Margaret prompted; this assessment was accurate, to the best of her knowledge, although she’d all but forgotten that meeting back when she was being considered for the position in Kiyoka.
Stefan took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s where things get complicated – complicated and very sensitive.” Another deep breath. “You see, the man who will be getting off that coach in an hour’s time may not be the Patriarch at all.”
Margaret wasn’t sure just what she’d been expecting as an explanation for the secrecy or her unexpected stay at the Reformed temple, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t been expecting that. “Then why –“
Stefan cut her off. “This is the sensitive part. At the same time, another man will get off a coach at the Orthodox temple who looks like Jeramel, but may or may not be the actual man. Likewise at the Mechanists, improbably enough.” He snorted. “I don’t think that one is going to fool many people, though.”
With that last sentence, Margaret was starting to understand. “Body doubles. For security.”
Stefan nodded. “Right. They’re scared that there may be an attempt on the Patriarch’s life. If the bad guys don’t know where he’s based, the attempt will get more difficult.”
“And?”
Stefan sighed. “This is where you and I come in. The Pleasure Dome wants to make sure that the body doubles are credible. One of these three will be the actual Patriarch, as I understand it.” (This was not necessarily accurate.) “The other two have to look enough like him that the deception works; look, and act. You and I have seen the real thing, up close and personal. That was one reason why they accepted you as a replacement for Rose: so that we can check out the one coming here, and help make changes to his looks and actions if he’s a double but doesn’t look the part. And don’t tell anybody I said that. Now let’s go get ready for him to get here.”
An hour later, the expected coach, richly decorated and escorted by hard-looking men with weapons, pulled through the gates of the temple. A man in the elaborate (overly so, both Margaret and Stefan thought) traveling robes of the Patriarch stepped out of it, leaning on a cane on the one side, and a no—longer-young nun on the other. The carriage turned, post haste, and hurried away with most of the guards, as though the Reformed temple harbored some exotic contagion. Margaret was certain that this low-key arrival would be repeated at the tiny Mechanist temple on the outskirts of the city. The arrival at the main Orthodox temple, she was also sure, would be more … ceremonious.
The greeting party was also low-key, consisting of Margaret, Stefan, and three junior priests and one nun who would handle the baggage that had also been taken off the coach. Blessings were exchanged, and most of the group headed off to bed … but not Margaret and Stefan, not yet. As soon as they were sure they were alone, Margaret put up another Damping spell, just to be on the safe side, and turned to the older man. “Not him,” she said softly.
Stefan nodded. (He wouldn’t shake his head in case anyone was watching.) “Can’t be. Taller than I remember him, and he didn’t need that cane any more than I do.” He did not remark on the supporting nun.
“Right. Face isn’t right, either, no jowls, receding hairline that Jeramel either doesn’t have or conceals very well. This guy is not going to pass for the Patriarch in any setting where people can see him clearly, not without a great deal of disguise.” She did not need to point out that the porters had seen him undisguised anyway.
“Where’s a little polymorph magic when you need it?” Stefan joked sourly, then caught himself and apologized; that might be taken as a commentary on not sending Rose on this mission, even though he understood (correctly) that the shapeshifting nun couldn’t cast a Polymorph spell on someone else if her life depended on it. “Well,” he added, “I better go give him the bad news. You turn in. It’ll be a long morning tomorrow as we try to get him ready for this role he’s playing. I just hope the stand-in at the other temple looks more like the man he’s supposed to imitate.”
Of course, Elgin Bindiel, armed with the information his cousin had extracted from the loose-lipped woman at the school, could have told him that that disguise wasn’t going to be nearly good enough, either.
Because old is wise, does good, and above all, kicks ass.