TR: 43

Chapter Forty-Three: Death’s Cold Embrace

Kade kicked his feet helplessly, wheezing as he frantically clawed at the gauntleted arm which had begun to crush his windpipe. He felt as if he had suddenly been cast into a dream where all sense of convenience and comfort was suddenly stripped away, revealing the true nature of reality in all its vicious lawlessness.  Yet, the nightmare that strangled him seemed too real to have come from his imagination and he found himself caught somewhere between disbelief and death itself.  There, before him, was a ghost of his mind, the paralytic spectre that had haunted his thoughts for more nights than he could remember.

“You’ve seen too much. I can’t let you live knowing that I’m alive.”

His voice was cold–the tenor of a man who considered lives as a raptor to pigeons. Steel blue eyes were the color of a troubled sky–a  merciless storm bound to destroy everything that crossed its path. He squeezed harder, a red corona beginning to emanate around his body. Kade gasped as all air in was stifled, shutting his eyes as his world drew to a close. He reached into his darkest depths as he began to accept death’s cold embrace. He let out a final, involuntary sound as his voice fled his body, not knowing what it was but that it would be his last.

The grip suddenly loosened against his throat.

Air filled his lungs and life flashed back into his eyes. He stared up into the sky, clouds slowly shifting past lazily, as if nothing out of the ordinary was transpiring beneath them.

“What did you say?”  There was a note of confusion in the man’s voice.

The blood thrummed in Kade’s temples, his mind trying to make sense of the half-life he had staggered into. He found himself wondering whether the clouds were judging him in that moment.

The man switched his grip to Kade’s collar and brought him up to his face. Kade’s head bobbled downward, meeting his attacker’s gaze in wide-eyed stupor.

“What did you just say? Tell me now!” He shook him violently.

Kade groaned as he gathered his staved breath. “I…I don’t know what you mean.” Kade managed to choke out.

“Don’t lie to me! You know what you said. Say it, now, I need to be sure.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what I said… I…”

“Liar!” The man yelled.

He raised a hand back, a sizzling blue ball of light forming in his palm.

“I don’t know, I swear it! Please, I don’t want to die by the light!” He screamed, closing his eyes as tears streamed down his face.

The man held him at grips, the ball of energy poised on the precipice of striking. He studied him with penetrating eyes, mixed emotions playing across his face. Kade couldn’t be sure if his mind was playing tricks on him but, for the briefest of moments–just a moment–there was a fleeting visage of surprise, before it was quickly consumed by the man’s unyielding stone scour. He lowered his hand and the ball of energy dissipated into nothing. He stared past Kade, as if he was suddenly worlds away.

“By the light…” He murmured under his breath.

His eyes slowly found their way back to Kade’s, a strange knowing in them. He released Kade, dropping him down onto the stone path as if discarding a useless object. Kade landed hard on his elbow, grunting in pain. He did not dither and quickly scuttled backwards until his back hit the fountain. He stared up in terror at the man who, at that moment, seemed as if he were as tall as the glinting spires that towered ominously behind him. In that moment, Kade realized he may get another chance at life; despite the thick layer of horror that had encased him, through it all shone the thinnest yet most potent feeling of hope he had ever felt. He sniffled, wiping the tears off his face with his sleeve as he attempted to gather his words.

“What…what you do you want?”

The man stared down at him, his figure a looming monolith as the sun cast his oblong shadow across the flagstones. For a long while he was silent, perhaps, considering.

Perhaps, reconsidering.

“You are to come with me.” He finally said.  “No one can know where you are going–or that you are going anywhere. They will think you are here, in Brazen City. You will have alibis that I will make for you. You are to tell no one who I am or that I am alive, and if you try to escape, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

Kade nodded, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

The man turned and began to walk away.

“Come with me. We leave immediately.”

Kade stood up slowly, his nerves slowly settling as the idea that he would possibly be alive for the remainder of the hour began to sink in. The man turned back to him, motioning towards a hedge off the path.

“And bring your little friend too. If he wants to keep his tongue, that is.”

He turned back down the path towards the palace. Scrubby poked his head out from behind a random hedge, a look of surprise on his face as he watched the mysterious figure stride away toward the gleaming palace in the distance. He walked over to Kade and, in perhaps the first sincere gesture of kindness that Kade could recall from the gnome, he held out a hand to help Kade up. Kade took it and, with surprising strength, Scrubby helped heft Kade to his feet. The frown on Scrubby’s face was not the usual poopy scowl but one of candid concern.

“Are you…alright?” He asked.

Kade could still feel his body shaking, his nerves reeling. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know what just happened. But I think we should follow him.”

Scrubby bit his lip, looking back over his shoulder at the armoured warrior who made his way hastily across the courtyard. If they didn’t follow soon, they would likely lose him in the labyrinthine gardens and palace paths.

“I dunno, I’ve got a bad feeling about this–and I have a bad feeling about everything. This must be really bad.”

Kade nodded. “I think you’re right. But as I see it, we’ve got two choices: a maybe bad feeling or a definitely bad outcome. I think the math is pretty plain, don’t you?”

Scrubby sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Alright, let’s get a move on then, or we’re gonna lose him.”

Kade dusted off his shirt and began to follow after the other. “And our heads with it. Come on.”

Scrubby followed behind, the two moving at a quick clip to try and keep up with the mysterious man. Scrubby grumbled the whole way down the path.

“I always hated math…”

***

Celine Ad’morea stormed down the ancient halls of the Reach, shoving the heavy bi-fold doors open with exasperated effort. The sun rays shone through the ornamental windows, the stained glass casting myriad color across the stone corridor and dancing across the folds of her gliding casmile. She could not recall how many times she had traversed those halls in all the years that she had lived there, but they held many fond memories stemming right back to her youth. The nostalgia did little to supersede her anxiety; first, the boy was found to be missing (which was later revealed to be an escape when the loose panel in the wainscoting was discovered) and now she found herself in the midst of a diplomatic crisis as politics stifled the Ovraelle from helping with the riots breaking out helter-skelter across the city. There were very few circumstances in which she found herself necessarily seeking counsel from the Mother herself, but she had run out of ideas. In situations such as the one she faced, the Mother was the only catalyst toward a solution.

The Mother always had a solution.

Celine rounded the last hall where she approached the great gilded doors of the Ajelle’s chamber. Along the one wall there hung portraits of all the previous Mothers, all the way back to Karri Ior, the first true Mother and the first gifted woman allowed to hold such station. Of course, pejoratives–like diseases–persisted over time, and to some she was still ‘The Original Witch‘. Yet, to others she was as a legendary figure, a heroine who liberated her people and helped define the Ovraelle into what they were to become for centuries to follow. On top of that, she was also the author of the Calliss–otherwise known as the Book of Witches, regarded as the doctrine which every Ovraelle must follow at all times. As she walked down the great hall, feeling the lofty presence of the Ajelle emanating from the other side of the doors before her, Celine wondered what Karri would do if she was facing the same problem. Perhaps, what they say about the legend being greater than the person behind it was true, and Kari, too, would be confounded. Celine didn’t like to think so; there was some kind of solace to be found in the idea of a hero.

As long as Karri could have done it, it could be done.

Celine stopped before the Ajelle’s chamber and readied herself, flattening out her casmile, brushing aside a stray lock of hair which had found its way on to her forehead in the fray. She took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy doors. The light from two great windows immediately poured across her, spilling out into the hall. The windows, like the ceiling, were vaulted,  and framed with polished wrought iron like everything else in the upper levels of the Reach. They stood high on the walls, framing the Ajelle’s bureau like two ever-vigilant eyes. It was even a well-worn joke among novices that the Ajelle could see everyone at all times through those ominous, peering lenses; no wall was a barrier, no ceiling too thick. Thus, it behooved all sisters-in-training to tend to their studies diligently, lest the Ajelle find out and report it to their superiors.

Or so the stories went. To Celine, they looked like old windows, and the stories sounded like girlish chatter. Such was part of taking the Blue; to be accepted as a Full Sister meant not only adoption into womanhood but a sense of professionalism. While there were no ‘secret handshakes’ or the sort, fae fables and childhood gossip didn’t tend to marinate long in the circles that she sat in. Still, in the handful of times Celine had visited the Ajelle’s chambers and looked upon those windows, every time she did she couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing, like a part of her childhood had been deprived and she had been forced to grow up too quickly. Looking up at their glowing, judging looks, she didn’t see the Ajelle staring back at her, but herself as a reflection, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she saw…

Celine cast her attention away from the heights, back down into the room proper. Given the circumstances, she had half-expected the chamber to be teeming with sisters but the Ajelle sat alone, hard at work as always, with her nose in a pile of paperwork behind a massive desk. Myrias Tyva glanced up from her work,  lowering her spectacles on to the brige of her sharp nose as she peered up at Celine with a questioning glance behind her heap of huggermugger, clasping her hands solemnly before her. The Ajelle Myrias Tyva was older than all the novices combined, as was usually the way with tradition. She had held the post for as long as Celine could remember, since the death of her predecessor, which was long before Celine herself was even born.

To become Ajelle a woman had to have been chosen by the previous Ajelle and was thus demarcated with the Seskis–the symbol representing the sacred knot, the knot used to hang Karri Ior for her ‘spiritual acts of defiance’. Of course, the charges were calumny but fear of witchcraft was rampant during Karri’s time and it was amazing that she lasted as long as she had, given the rampant hatred and distrust toward those of her kind. Luckily, Karri was able to choose her rightful successor before her untimely passing, and so the legacy of the Ovraelle was able to live on. Such became the tradition thereafter that each subsequent Ajelle would choose her own replacement, in time. This was accomplished once the knot was passed on, to commemorate the heritage of their founder and matriarch, in the form of a glyph on the back of her left hand–the very same hand that Karri had used to reach out to Linae Triganna–the second Ajelle–and pass on her mantle. Once bestowed with this power, the woman was blessed with not only the powers of her foremothers, but longevity as well. If left to natural occurrences, it was not uncommon for a given mother to live five centuries or more. Whether it was a gift or a curse was a matter of opinion, but Celine did not feel that such a life would be natural in any sense of the word. Perhaps, everything was put into perspective once the knot was passed.

She would probably never know.

Despite her unfathomable age and life exposure, Mryias Tyva was a kindly looking woman with a sense of  worldliness about her. Yet, she also had a stern air about her as if her soft features rested upon a thin veneer that could easily dissolve to reveal an inner layer of acid reproach. While the Ajelle could have her moments, she never lost her temper and rarely if ever raised her voice to another. Celine admired this about her; if she had lived as long as this woman, she saw herself as a jaded, bitter old bag, worn down by the innumerable atrocities and injustices of life that a Sister is frequently exposed to. Having bore no children, Mryias Tyva had maintained an immaculate figure for a woman of three hundred and seventy four; even some of the younger novices where jealous of it. Add to that the fact that the Ajelle’s hair was a beautiful blue-gray that seemed to defy its years, cascading down her angular cheeks and spilling across her shoulders in thick serpentine waves, and there was a good recipe for envy. However, where her physicality was exceptional her attire was anything but; she wore a standard black gown with a high neck, maroon frill that traced across the bosom and down the front, splitting off at the waist which connected around at back to repeat the pattern along the length of her spine. The minimalist design was intentional, meant to reflect the humility that was expected of the position. While she was expected to lead her coven, she was to do so without exult; this was gospel straight from the earliest chapters of the Calliss itself. But she wore it well. Despite her seeming lack of physical shortcomings, the Ajelle made up for those missing deficiencies with a plethoric amount of exhaustion, owing to her excessively stressful penchant for overworking herself.

Celine gazed upon one very instance of such overwork, in this case taking the form of a cluttered bureau with its heaping stacks of documents, files, books, newspapers and other random articles in disarray. Celine suddenly found herself not so envious of the Ajelle’s position.

“How may I assist you, dear?”

“Mother, it is graver than I feared. The riots cannot be controlled and the Ministry is not responding to our messages. I have sent several messengers to the embassy but I fear that they are in as much of a quandary as us, and have no resources to spare. I am afraid that I have flexed every diplomatic muscle that I possess; I am formally requesting that we move to more… persuasive measures and get the Ovraelle involved, directly.”

Myrias Tyva slammed her book shut and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Certainly not! I will not have any such contravention in the name of our house. As long as the Arch stands then so shall our oath to order.”

“But the prince is dead! There is no order. Have you not seen the chaos, the debauchery? Woman and children are being rooted from their homes and thrown into the street by packs of men acting like animals, looting, and the creator-knows-what other felonies. Shops are ransacked, burned to the ground, while authorities struggle to contain the overwhelming numbers of panicking citizens. And the rumors, oh the rumors! Word on the street is that the Palace has hired the Glaive to fortify the city perimeter. Can you believe it? Mercenaries as policemen? It is ludicrous! In all my years I have never seen the like. And now they are saying that Imtek raiders, too, have heard of the dissent in the capitol and are making way to take their piece of the share. What if it’s true? What if the the city cannot muster enough forces to counter the assault? What then, mother? Would you tarry so just for the sake of a name?”

The Ajelle frowned in disapproval as she shook her head. “Celine, I thought you of all the sisters would be the last to succumb to flip gossip. And I can assure you that my decision rests upon more than just names; we have a tradition to uphold–a storied history and a culture built upon peace and professionalism. It was what many of our predecessors died to uphold so, no–this is not a name: this is a faith, Celine. Or have you already forgotten all of your hard years of studies?”

The Ajelle pushed her glasses back up her nose with a rigid index finger and resumed her work. Celine stood up straight, spine rigid, balling her fists at her side. How could the Mother just ignore what was happening? It didn’t make any sense. Now, of all times, was not the time for superstition and religiosity!

“And what if the dissenters target the Citadel? What then? Will the Ovraelle remain ‘peacekeepers’ even then? Will you see your city–and your own children–burn, idly by?”

The Ajelle continued to work, ignoring the irreverent sniping.

“I don’t know about you, Mother, but I cannot just stand by while a crumbling government brings down the house with them. If there is to be reform, then there must be a form present to make it happen. Inaction only…”

The Ajelle slammed her hands down on the bureau, thunderclaps sounding around the room as the lights dimmed down to a threating glow. She raised herself out of her seat, suddenly looking much larger than her usual seventeen hands.

“You would lecture me on inaction? Do you even know what it is I do here, Celine? Do you think so low of your Mother that you actually believe I have not considered everything you propose, here and now? What you call inaction is what has kept our coven autonomous during wartimes, past and present. Oh, how soon you forget what happened to Rulayne and the Berserkers! This is not the time to be radical, Celine; we must preserve our people and stay true to our ways. For if we don’t, we have truly amounted to nothing more than flow wielders. For nearly three-thousand years the Ovraelle have maintained neutrality and come to be regarded as not only a respectable spiritual authority, but a credible organization as well. After countless years of toil, we are finally a part of the secular community, and therein–finally–have a voice. If what you seek is rights-by-force, then you are asking that the Ovraelle forsake their hard-earned name. And for what? To become a band of deplorable battle witches, as was our case for generations? If that is what you seek–to drag us back down into the pits of history–then I urge you to meditate again on your ideals, Celine. If not for yourself and all of those who have sacrificed so that you may be who you are now, then do it for those who are here now–for all the others who look after and up to you. We owe it to them, just as we do ourselves.”

Celine lowered her gaze to the floor, her face flushed. If any of the Ajelle’s admonishments rang true, it was that they were at risk of much more than a coup; there was something else at play here, something foul.

Something…systemic.

And it was huge. She could feel it in the air, feel it in the walls of the very keep around them. The Reach was imbued with it: half-spoken truths and nuanced layers of deceitful language. It was practically written all around them. How she knew this she did not know, but what she did know is that a sister should always trust her intuition, and at that moment her intuition was setting off fireworks. But why would the Ajelle lie to her? Perjury was strictly against creed and was severely punishable, even for an Ajelle. So why risk it? What was she hiding that she would risk losing everything she had worked so hard to achieve? Celine’s mind began to drift from the continent of far-fetched conspiracies back to the room in which she awkwardly stood. Was she being selfish? Was it truly possible that the Ajelle had an ulterior motive–one that was altruistic at its core? Perhaps, lives were at stake and confidentiality, in this instance, had to supersede their oath to honesty. Maybe Myrias Tyva had her reasons.

Celine didn’t think that, even if she knew them, she would like them.

The Ajelle straightened her skirt and plopped back down into her chair, punctuating their conversation.

“If you have said all that you wished to say, then you may leave now. You have my final thought.”

Celine curtsied, fanning out her casmile, as was proper.

“To the health of the Mother.”

She turned and left the room.

“To the safety of our society!” The Ajelle called after her, in a corrective tone, her attention not diverting an iota from her work.

Celine hesitated a moment and then proceeded into the marble halls. She closed the large doors behind her and pressed her back firmly against them, feeling the gilded metal in all of its cold, unforgiving relentlessness. She stared down the hall which once had seemed pristine to her, now just a symbol for an idea that she didn’t even know she agreed with anymore. Her pulse quickened, blood pumping at her temples, Celine grit her teeth as she pushed herself away from the Ajelle’s chambers and proceeded with newfound vigor on a path which even she could not foresee the end to.

“Yes, to our society. That, I will make sure of.”