Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary (12 page)

‘I see . . . You do not fully realise the
gravity of the ordeal we must all face before another year passes. Soon all the
tribes – your own included; will be engulfed in a tide of half-men-half-demons
who know no mercy. It is very possible none of us will survive. Our entire
peoples could become as the dust of our ancestors – extinct and forgotten for
all time.’

Malkrin glanced to his companions. Their
eyes showed sudden concern; something evil really was coming this way.

‘Should the time come to repel such an
enemy, I and my companions will add our meagre talents to the forces of good,
and fight alongside you.’

The Senate spokesman bowed slightly.

‘That is all we can hope for – for now. You
are all free to stay. Our principle scholar will allocate a learned researcher
to show you the documents that tell of the Goddess Jadde.’

Malkrin nodded in thanks. The Senate rose
and each gave a strange ceremonious sign either of farewell or deference. Then
the seven men and two women rose from their seats and followed each other in a
procession of rustling gowns through a door in the far corner of the chamber.

Malkrin turned to his companions,
exchanging a look that said, what next? They waited and shortly an official
appeared through the same door the Senate had gone through.

‘Peace to you, friends, my name is Praled
Litsky. I will show you the records you require and where you are to sleep and
rest. I will answer all your questions to the fullest of my power.’

‘We thank you Praled Litsky. What is your
status in the Brightwater people?’

‘I am a librarian and seeker of knowledge.
I have been recently appointed to research old documents relating to how the Demon-men
were defeated in ancient times. We hope to recreate the victory and save our
people from the hardships the old-people endured.’

‘We have a lot to learn from you and your
people,’ Halle said.

They walked through the narrow lanes
weaving past the numerous turf roofed buildings and homes. Malkrin kept one ear
tuned to the conversation and took in the sights of a settlement so different
to Cyprusnia.

‘You also have a library from the times of
the old people?’ Praled asked Halle.

‘Yes, we have indeed, a few of the writings
are dedicated to Jadde and I believe somewhere her deeds are written in words.’

‘We ordinary folk cannot . . .’

‘. . . Tell me of your people and how you
run your community,’ Malkrin interjected, fearful that Halle was about to give
away their inability to read letters.

They exchanged information as they walked
through the community. The village was far larger than was at first apparent. A
gap had been hewn through a rocky buttress. Through this arched opening Malkrin
glimpsed a second and larger village in the valley beyond. Around the gently
sloping hillsides more buildings and dwellings occupied their individual
niches. Malkrin estimated the combined Brightwater villages were larger than
Edentown.

‘I have many things to show and tell you,’ Praled
stated proudly.

Malkrin listened intently, and along with Halle
and Seara learnt from Praled of the lands and people of Brightwater. They had
harnessed sunlight to heat and light their dwellings and they were trying to
rediscover the ingenious skills of the ancient ones. But they had not yet found
a way to stop the Archenemy plague destroying them.

The three paused frequently to stare wide eyed
at unusual features and decorations. Praled explained the items were:
fountains, statues and the strange animal shaped shrubs were called topiary.
Then in astonishment they stopped to view an elderly man treading inside a
giant rotating wheel. It was coupled to a leather band that ran a spinning metal
device which trapped a length of wood. A man was using it to fashion wooden
chair legs with a sturdy knife.

‘It’s a Ferris-wheel coupled to a lathe,
from an old book that has decayed. We worked out this contraption from a
mildewed picture,’ Praled explained.

As they progressed through the streets the
Scholar pointed out other inventions incorporated into the Brightwater people’s
everyday lives. He showed how painted and enamelled bowls were fired in kilns.
How mashed wood turned into thick parchment called paper. He took them to where
strange tools called ploughs were fashioned in an open fronted barn.

‘These,’ he explained, ‘are used to till
the soil by tamed beasts called bufflo’s. They looked confused so Praled led
them into a recently constructed stone tower and up to the open top.

‘A lookout position,’ he explained, then
led them to the far corner. From there he pointed to a valley where the beasts
could be seen creating long furrows with their masters guiding them. Malkrin
recognised the beasts from the distant herd he’d spotted in the plain nearer to
Cyprusnia.

 In the end it became too much for Malkrin
to take in. These people were surging ahead of the Seconchane in many ingenious
ways. He realised just how much they had to learn.

The Brightwater people manipulated light
everywhere. Most buildings contained beautiful coloured glass windows set into
the grass turf. The interiors shone with the sparkling light of summer streams
and winter ice. Malkrin could see Seara was totally enthralled by the time they
had climbed the spiral staircase to the library in the Light Bridge. He watched
her enter the yellow domed room with eyes darting from one curiosity to
another. He noticed fogged glass in a wooden door frame which shielded the
document area from direct light. Praled explained it contained a filter to
reflect harmful rays, keeping the documents dry and pristine and kept further
text-fading at bay.

Malkrin nodded impatiently, the documents
describing the great Goddess’s abode were beckoning him with a tangible power.

‘My grandfather rescued these from a damp
storeroom,’ Praled explained. ‘It has proved a continuous revelation since then
to relearn some of the archive’s contents and attempt to use this ancient
knowledge.’

By now Malkrin and Halle were conversing
freely with the kind old man. Malkrin instinctively knew he could trust him and
was becoming convinced his people were trustable too.

‘What made you realise the necessity to
relearn them?’ Malkrin asked. ‘I gather you started years before you found the
Archenemy existed.’

‘Like your people we had a priesthood; another
all smothering sect. They ruled over the people and defeated the Senate in
every ruling, for lifetimes they constricted us with superstitions and
supernatural threats. They took the brightest boys for acolytes, the best food,
the fairest serving girls, and the healthiest livestock. Collectively, we had
had enough. The Senate gradually shifted from being subservient puppets
allowing the totalitarian priesthood to smother our souls, to an organised council
promoting active resistance. Then the priesthood abolished the Senate and the
people erupted in revolt. The priesthood were slaughtered and religion was
banished. My ancestors sought a new direction, a new beginning. This search led
them to the old document storeroom. Since then we have restored and then consulted
the old peoples’ books.’

‘How long ago did this happen?’ Malkrin
asked.

‘In my grandfather’s time just before my
father was born.’ Whilst explaining, Praled removed a dusty leather volume from
a shelf high up on a battered metal rack. ‘This has been little studied. It is
the diary writings of a priest from many lifetimes ago. It is written in the priesthood’s
convoluted language on goatskin parchment. We believe it to be re-worded, violated
from the originals by pious misguided hands. But if I remember right, it
contains the words of the Goddess called Jadde.’

     Praled placed the volume before
Malkrin on the worn table.

He felt a hidden knowledge emanate from the
document and opened the cover, respectfully holding the page edges gingerly in
his fingers and scanned the squiggles they contained. Some of the letters were
especially ornate and stood out, they often appeared to be the same symbol, but
he had no idea what it was. Halle and Seara peered over his shoulder both
looked as confused and frustrated as he felt.

     ‘Sire Praled, I have a small
confession to make.’ He looked up to the old man’s face seeing sympathy written
there. Praled had guessed.

     ‘I would gladly teach you the written
word my friends. But it will take time and patience. It will not be learnt in a
day.’

     Under Praled’s teaching the letters
grew into words. The words grew into sentences and then into pages. These then
expanded into whole accounts forming a whole book. The books were categorised
into a multitude of specialities. And so the summer passed in scholarly learning
and increasing knowledge on many subjects. Using the library daily they
discovered an ancient, frightening, but absorbing world. All three grew in
stature and wisdom, Malkrin and Halle lost their leanness and Seara blossomed
into womanhood.

     And then during a late summer drizzle
a band of Wolf tribesmen came to the Bridge of Light. In a cart they hauled a
trussed and hissing creature from the depths of Jadde’s world – and Malkrin’s life
changed yet again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
he darkness concealed a nameless creature.
Cabryce backed along a damp wall and edged into a corner. Giggling, wheezing
breath followed, and then the stench closed in on her. Cabryce heard the gurgle
of weak lungs which rose and fell in heaves.

A wavering yellow light came from the gaps
around the door surround but failed to illuminate the creature. Cabryce’s eyes
flashed to a slot high in the opposite wall which added spattered grey light,
together with the sound of rushing water. Wisps of misty spray filtered from
the slot leaving a glistening sheen to the wall. Slowly her eyes acclimatised
to the black pit. She made out movement that shifted to a black corner.

Her eyes acclimatised further as the shape
moved in endless circles, a being maddened by solitude and darkness. It had
waist length silver hair, red haunted eyes and licked its lips in the manner
all toothless people do. Then it smiled at Cabryce, perhaps recognising a
fellow woman. An inane grin creased the pale face. It seemed to accept that
Cabryce was no threat and moved under the misty splashes from the high up slot
and caught drips on its tongue, then giggled in triumph. The woman, for Cabryce
was increasingly sure it was a woman, darted sideways to catch the next drip. The
rags it wore hung limply and water from the slot soaked her clothing. But the woman
was not perturbed, she shook herself, sending water everywhere like a shaking
dog.

     ‘Who are you?’ Cabryce whispered. The woman
carried on licking at the dripping water with toothless slavering.

‘Who are you?’ Cabryce repeated louder to
drown out the sound of rushing water. The woman spun round looking everywhere
for the sound of the voice. Cabryce realised she was an elderly woman of
immeasurable years. And she was blind.

The creature turned and faced the wall.

‘Who?’ She rasped in a voice unused to
speaking.

‘My dear, there are only two of us in here,
and I asked the question.’

‘I am Bettry. Why are you here?’

‘I have wronged the Brenna, or so they say.
So they’re softening me up. How long have you been here?’

‘Longer than long. Unknown . . . unknown
time, longer than it takes the waterfall beyond to dry then flood, then dry
then flood, then dry . . .’

‘You mean many summers, were you young when
imprisoned?’

‘My first-born was two winters old and my
husband was Leader of the Keep guards.’

‘What did you do to offend the Brenna
Bettry?’

‘My dearest Arould was thrown from the
tower battlement and I was furious and I clenched my fists and caused the
soldiers to smash against the wall. I shouted in grief and the windows blew in
their faces with a sound like creeeekkkksh. Then I made the walls of the tower
fall.’

The crone ran around the cell emitting an
inhuman screech and the walls vibrated. Cabryce grabbed her arm on the third
circuit.

‘Calm Bettry, calm. It’s all right I’m here
to help.’

Bettry keened, and grasped Cabryce around
her waist, then shuddered and whispered as if a child again. ‘It’s been so long
. . . so long,’ she burst into sobs and grasped Cabryce tightly.

‘. . . so long.’

Cabryce tried to understand the old woman’s
ravings whilst stroking her hair. Bettry had smashed the tower and thrown the Brenna
guards against the Keep. She had had a powerful talent.

‘How do they feed you Bettry?’

‘The door the gap the slot the tray the
tray the gruel . . . ’

‘Let’s just sit for a while. Don’t worry
I’m not going to hurt you.’

Cabryce held her close and the pain in her
cheek returned. She tasted blood from her mouth where a tooth had split her
cheek.

Somehow she had to get out of here. She
thought of bribing the guards with the golden sun in her pocket and put her
hand on the warm metal. It seemed to offer reassurance, then projected a
determination in her to escape. Cabryce longed to join Malkrin beyond
Cyprusnia. She could not barter it and had nothing else to bargain with, only
herself and she was for her husband only. She looked around the dark grey cell.
The walls were of thick granite blocks – impossible to remove. The floor felt
like crete; too hard to dig into even if she had tools.

She sat and led Bettry to sit beside her.
The old lady whimpered contentedly in her lap and muttered incomprehensible
words. By concentrating and filtering the gibberish Cabryce made out Bettry was
telling how she had arrived in the cell.

‘I had a big gift that only occurred when I
was deeply wronged. Horrible people, Brenna horrible, horrible. They killed my
husband and threw him from the tower, and I angered and angered then I flew out
of our rooms and saw his body lying crumpled. Horrible people, horrible people.
I screamed and wailed. Then the tower broke and they died. I squashed a few
more, then they feared me. I was mad and they put me here and they left me.
Horrible Brenna, horrible people.’

Cabryce listened intently. The death of Bettry’s
husband had tipped her into a haunted inner realm. The cruel Goddess had
deserted her in her time of need. Cabryce was deeply saddened by the cruelty of
Jadde. She sat stroking poor Bettry’s hair and consoled her.

‘Take me away from here, Mother,’ Bettry whimpered.

Cabryce could think of no reply, so just
cuddled the frail woman.

They both sat breathing the mould ridden air.
Cabryce’s clothes began to get damp then wet. She thought of the water beyond
the wall. It must be the great river Kryway channelling through the rocks
before falling to the valleys and the Fethwerth
Pool
beneath. She looked up to the light slot. It was far too narrow to squeeze
through, even if she could clamber up to it.

     She thought of the endless lifetime
this poor woman had spent here, and how cruelly the Brenna had treated a
grieving woman of their own kind. Anger surged in her and she fell into a
disturbed sleep thinking of, and discarding many fantastic plans of escape.

     A scraping sound awoke her and two
wooden trays with bowls full of slop were thrust under the door. Four lumps of
stale bread and lukewarm acorn tea were also on the tray.

Bettry suddenly come alive and crawled
frantically to the muck and started to noisily consume it. She finished her own,
and then Cabryce’s as well. Cabryce didn’t have the heart to intervene; the poor
woman needed the nutrition. It would help rebuild her strength and sanity.

     Sometime later a key rattled in the
lock and a bulky shape was silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

     ‘Have you repented yet woman?’

     It was her assailant Janna. Cabryce
kept quiet, hardly daring to move. A boot lashed out and connected to her
thigh. She gritted her teeth to stifle a groan.

Later he finished, and panted, ‘another day
and you’ll gabble fit to burst.’ His face erupted into a cruel snigger and he strode
out, slamming the door.

     Another meal grated its way under the
door, this time Cabryce was ready and got there first. She handed Bettry hers,
then sampled the gruel. It was edible; just. She managed not to retch and ate
the dry bread and washed it down with the acorn tea. Her mouth stung and that
reminded her of the new throb in her legs. Many more days of this and she thought
she’d agree to anything the Brenna demanded. There was a toilet bucket in the
corner and she relieved herself then vomited the food into the container.
Cabryce crawled back to the driest corner and shared her body-heat with Bettry.

Three meals later and her jailers returned.
The keys rattled and arms hauled her upright and dragged her away. Bettry
screeched, fearing her new mother had deserted her.

Back in the tower they dumped her in a room
containing just an old chair and a grimy wall mirror. She wiped it and peered
at the image that stared back. Her hair had become tangled and face smeared
with blood. She suspected the mirror had been placed there on purpose so she
could admire her bruises and dishevelled appearance. Obviously they did not
want the lavish furnishings of Gamlyn’s study soiled.  She longed for her old
secure life. From the bottom of her heart she wished Malkrin had not been
exiled; he would have fought to rescue her. Miserably she sat on the rickety
chair and waited in the cold room.

Erich Gamlyn came in so softly she jumped
out of a doze. He stood with a hand on the open door, and then leant on it in a
show of relaxation.

‘How do you like sharing a cell with a
murdering old hag?’

‘Bettry a murderer – no way.’

‘She killed my brother, threw him from the
guard tower.’

‘Then he was the one who killed her husband
– jealousy was it?’

Gamlyn’s face contorted and he lifted a
clenched fist.

Cabryce braced herself for the blow, but
held his eyes refusing to cry, scream or cower before him.

He hesitated, then relaxed and began pacing
the room.

‘Well Cabryce, let’s just recap. I sent our
guards to your home to ask you to attend me so we could work out who would be
your future husband. We had one of the Brenna in mind; he is young and has the
beginnings of a highsense. You would have been well off and comfortable. But
instead we find you consorting with a fugitive. Are you ready to tell us why?’

‘Give me something decent to eat and I’ll
explain.’

‘Good, I was going to offer you food
anyway.  You can also tell me who the other strangers are that keep appearing
amongst us, then hiding before we can arrest them? Perhaps you’ve been
harbouring them too.’

He clapped his hands and moments later two
servants entered. One carried a small table; the other was laden with a tray of
fruit, fresh bread, fish and apple juice.

She ate slowly, thinking hard about her
options – that was if she had any left. She doubted there was any young Brenna
with highsense, and she doubted the stranger had been a fugitive. Obviously her
visitor had other companions that were avoiding the Brenna. She hoped they
could find a way of getting her away from Gamlyn and his henchmen. She carried
on chewing thoughtfully, outwardly calm but with her mind racing.

Suddenly a realisation hit her, and she
nearly choked on a mouthful of fish. The stranger’s friends had no idea she was
held captive. They would assume she had followed after Malkrin. She desperately
needed to escape – and it was down to her alone.

She finished the fish and gulped some apple
juice.

There was something she may be able to do,
but it was a faint hope – it involved keeping quiet for now and planning.

‘It’s a decent meal. I see you are famished
. . . are you enjoying it?’

Cabryce started. Gamlyn was still by the
door, she had been thinking so furiously she had blanked his presence.

Cabryce ate quickly and glanced occasionally
at him, then at the wall.

‘At least tell me his name?’ he implored
with a semblance of civility.

She carried on chewing. Shortly Gamlyn
tired of the wait. He kicked out, sweeping the food from the table with a
crash. He left the room looking red faced and wild eyed.

She grabbed an apple from the floor; but
hadn’t finished it before Gamlyn’s malevolent underling entered. She suddenly
lost her appetite and forced the last mouthful down.

He started by kicking the apple core from
her hands.

Later she was dragged to her cell. A cut
above her tear filled eyes had left her head spinning. Her left arm and wrist
ached from being twisted, and the pain spread to the rest of her bruised body.
She had to formulate a plan or very soon she would be in no condition to see it
through.

The next day they came for her again and
she had another set of bruises before they threw her back into the pit. The day
after, they repeated the treatment. She refused to even speak with Gamlyn or
acknowledge Janna and his beatings.

The usual trays arrived under the door. She
gave some of her meals to Bettry – and waited.

And waited.

There was no way of keeping track of time,
trays slid under the door and she pushed the empty trays back through.
Occasionally a guard took the full toilet bucket and replaced it with an empty
one. She slept when the dim grey light diminished to night and when awake spoke
reassuringly to Bettry. Time passed in a monotonous routine, and she felt more
miserable and dishevelled. But no one summoned her to further beatings. Any
plans she had hatched faded with her energy and she lolled in a mess of self
pity. She tried to scratch on the cell wall to signify days. Two meals for one
scratch, she hoped that was a day. Then she put a bar through six scratches to
indicate a week. Bettry stroked her and she smoothed Bettry’s hair. Her world
diminished to four damp walls and the roar of the falls.

Absently she thought, even Gamlyn’s
forgotten me. I am merely another Bettry. She estimated twelve weeks must have
elapsed and jerked fully awake with sudden determination.
Even her jailers
had forgotten her. She was going to turn into Bettry, and the next person to be
thrown in here would find two gibbering wrecks. T
he thought filled her with
fury. How dare they.