Episode 64

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

“My friends. I cannot thank you enough for your patience and your faith. While our community here may still be at risk from the naysayers and holdouts in the town, what we’re making here is something truly special. You are, all of you, worthy of the garden, worthy of peace and paradise you seek. Our faith has defended us from dangerous beasts, from academic attacks and from the very elements themselves. Today I wish to ask for another act of faith, one that will bring each of us closer together, and all of us closer to the garden. Today marks the start of a great work of art. All of us will work together to produce a mural, an image of the garden. To work on such a piece, will bring the garden to the front of our minds and from there, I assure all of you, that it is only a wish and a step away. You have all given so much, you have all achieved so much. I do not think there is one person here who can say they are not better off and happier in this community than they were believing the lies and half truths of the Stave doctrine. Thank you, for your efforts. We will all be together in the garden soon.”

It was the first speech of Sage Fenric’s that Serena Bellaswan had witnessed although she’d heard about others. Apparently he addressed the crowd in this way most mornings, setting the community some kind of task or reinforcing a positive habit or behaviour. She watched from the back of the crowd, dressed in some of Liny’s old clothes and tried not to draw too much attention to herself. She smiled at anyone who looked her way but did not engage in conversation. Her main job here was to observe and learn. She recognised a few people from the stories she’d been told by townsfolk who had elected to stay in Benlunar. She even saw a woman with long red hair that she would have bet her lunch was Lilian’s mum. The crowd were chatting excitedly about the day’s activity, the painting of this mysterious mural. Serena used the animation as an opportunity to turn and walk away. She had nearly left the grove when she heard a woman’s voice calling behind her,

“Miss?” it said, in a firm but friendly tone. Serena turned around to see a dark skinned woman in work clothes and a deep blue cloak. She recognised her as one of Sage Fenric’s guardian sisters. She was the middle sister, the smiley one.

Serena smiled back at her, “yes?”

“Perhaps you did not hear Sage Fenric, we’re about to start painting the mural. Come and join us?” The last words sounded like a suggestion but Serena could hear the underlying insistence in the woman’s voice.

Serena thought quickly, “Oh yes, it’s exciting isn’t it? I was just heading quickly back to my house. I have some paint dyes left over from when we painted the shutters. I was going to bring them back in case they might be useful.” She was sure to smile and turn her full body back to face her interrogator, even a foot pointing in the wrong direction might betray her desire to leave and not return.

The cloaked woman, who Serena knew was called Hematite, took a few seconds to stare at her before answering. Serena did not add to her story. Lies are seen by the mind as weak and so liars tend to continue speaking, people telling the truth, tell it and stop talking. For there is nothing left to say. Hematite smiled again and seemed satisfied, “very well then,” she said, “We shall await your return.”

With that, both women turned and walked in the opposite direction. To a casual observer it would have looked like a quick conversation, but to Serena it was a warning.

Meanwhile, Peter was on the other side of the mountain exploring the various flora and fauna. He had never had the opportunity to study wildlife at such an altitude and even though his mission was serious he admitted to himself in secret that he was in his element. There were herbs and plants here that he’d only ever read about and some that he’d never even heard of. He tied leaves and stalks together with string and placed them carefully in a hemp bag so that he could study them later at the Thoreson house. Of course, he thought, I could uproot a few and repot them back at the house, but would that even work… his mind raced through various potting and planting techniques before resolving to simply study what he had before committing to any long term planting plans. He had a few recipes in mind that he wanted to try out as well as a few experiments. He wasn’t sure how useful any of it would be, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. At one point mid morning he sat down on some heather to take a drink from his water skin and admire the view when he heard a very loud and very powerful shout. He turned his head in the direction it was coming from and smiled. Compared to whatever Lilian was going through, he had it very easy indeed.

Further down and round the mountain, at the edge of one of the Padda Stone ponds, Lilian Lausanne was trying to control her breathing. Don’t faint, she thought, don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint. But then, as if her thoughts had summoned the effect, a dark cloud descended over her vision and her body hit the floor before she could think again. She woke up a while later and asked Mrs Thoreson, “how long this time?” while rubbing her eyes and groaning.

The old woman glanced over from her spot on a rock and considered the question, “Just a few minutes. Maybe six or seven.”

At least that was some positive news, thought Lilian. She’d been out for nearly twenty minutes after her last attempt. She stood up and rubbed her eyes. Her head was swimming but she wanted to keep going. “I’m going to try again.”

Mrs Thoreson shrugged, “I’m not carrying you down to town if you don’t wake up.” Lilian nearly laughed, but she realised that she was probably serious. If time wasn’t so pressing, she would have taken a break two tries ago. But she could go again, she wasn’t at her limit. Not yet.

Lilian planted her feet firmly on the patch of ground beneath her. She even dug her toes slightly into the frozen silt of the pond bank. She was surrounded by snow and ice, the tips of her fingers were numb but she didn’t care. She had been given a task, and she would achieve it by the end of the day. As if she sensed Lilian’s frustration, Fritha came bounding over, her coat the azure blue of the ocean and leant her full weight onto Lilian’s leg. A soft purring bell sounded in the great beast’s throat. Lilian smiled and nearly pushed her away but then decided to try again with her faithful companion by her side. What harm could it do?

Lifting her head up she closed her eyes and focused again. Accessing the quiet and the light inside of her was quick and easy now and for that she was thankful. She had not yet chosen a path for which to direct any new gained power, but Mrs Thoreson had said that that could come later. The basic method would be the same, whatever path she chose. And so she practised again. Lilian took a deep breath in through her nose, focused on her feet and directed the light inside of her to go down into the earth via her soles and toes. In her mind’s eye she saw the golden light move and felt its warmth descend through her stomach, split into her legs and leave her body by way of her feet. Now comes the hard part, she thought. She watched the light instinctively filling the rocks and mud beneath her feet, it was like watching drops of ink on a slate. As soon as the light found something it liked it slipped into it effortlessly and then continued to spread. Lilian let it do this for a few moments before relaxing and letting the light slowly come back to her. As ever when she did this, the hard part was not letting it all back in too quickly. The light wanted to be back in her heart and so, were it up to it, it would rush back in quickly and Lilian would become overwhelmed with the power that it brought back. She tried to steady herself, allowing the light to come back slowly and in a controlled manner. It was a tricky business. Perhaps it was because Fritha was beside her, or perhaps she had just tried so many times this morning but this time when she tried, the light seemed to come back more slowly. She felt her finger tips begin to tingle, her breath became short and her head began to spin as raw power taken from the mud and dirt around her began to fill her body. Easy, she thought to herself. She wanted all the light to return in all of its different shimmering shades before she opened her eyes.

Once she was sure she had it all back, she took another deep breath. This was a little difficult. She felt full and sick and her head was both cold and heavy. She reminded herself to keep breathing steadily as she opened her eyes. The light reflecting off the snow was too bright and the sounds of birds, wind and water were so overwhelming Lilian had to fight the urge to bury her head in her arms and block it all out. She focused. She breathed. She felt like being sick. All this energy inside of her had nowhere to go but still she wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible. This was her goal. Contain the new light, become a vessel for power and only release it if it became too much. She was doing well, better than her previous attempts and certainly better than the first time she had ever tried gloaming on the bank of that lake with Mr Attorcop.

After a few more moments the pain in her head became too much and she needed to release the energy before it damaged her body. She looked out across the water, took the deepest breath she could manage and shouted as loud as possible into the air. The ensuing below left her body like the air from a popped pig’s bladder. The cry echoed across the mountain, startling birds and squirrels and even making Fritha jump a little. Lilian watched as it travelled across the ponds, sending ripples across the water and shaking icicles from their suspension. For a split second Lilian found that she could not breath in. Had she finally overdone it? She reminded herself to relax, her body was just in a state of shock. She waited patiently for her heart beat to settle and slowly the breath came back. With it however came the swimming head, the sick feeling in her mouth and the tiredness in her eyes. Don’t faint, she thought again, just breathe, keep going and breathe. She fought the sickness, the darkness encroaching on her vision, she kept her eyes on the horizon and focused on her breath so completely that another thought could not have entered her mind if it tried. She breathed in, held it for a moment, and breathed out. She did this over and over, she remained focused and did not even know how many minutes had passed before her head finally began to feel a little less heavy. Even the sick feeling in her stomach seemed to be slowly fading. She did not let these sensations excite her. Instead she continued to focus on her breathing until she was absolutely sure she was okay. Finally, for some reason, she looked down at her hands and relaxed. Perhaps her mind was seeking something familiar. She saw Fritha standing beside her, she’d been there the whole time, looking out as if watching for danger. Her faithful protector. She reached down and touched the feinhound’s neck. “Good girl,” she whispered. Then she turned to look at Mrs Thoreson and grinned.

Mrs Thoreson smiled back, “Excellent,” she said, “now we can begin.”

A few days went by in this vein. Serena got to know the citizens of Benlunar by spending time in the town. She avoided the grove as much as possible but learned about the people there from the members of their family they’d left behind in town. Peter would wander the mountains and forests finding and categorising various plants and mushrooms. Lilian would train with Mrs Thoreson by the Padda Stone. In the evenings they would meet at The Fox and Octopus and swap stories over food and drink.

“I’m exhausted,” Lilian sighed as she forked a potato from her bowl of hot lamb and ale stew. The salty, peppery tuber dripped thick dark liquid and Lilian relished every bite. Fritha sat nearby, her eyes as wide as the bowl she was staring at.

“I know what you mean,” said Peter, chewing on a piece of fatty meat, “I must have walked for four hours today. The thin air up here doesn’t make it easy.”

Serena sat across from them, her head buried in Mrs Thoreson’s book. Lilian and Peter looked at her, expecting her to agree with them. But she was too distracted. Once she realised they were staring, the ex high society socialite looked up and blinked twice. “What?” Oh, yes. Tired. Well I’ve been trying to read this dense mess of a novel. I mean, it’s alright, it’s just… old. You know? I’m having to re-read every other page just to make sure I know what’s going on?”

“Have you worked out who Tellis is yet?” Lilian asked as she fed Fritha a morsel of meat.

“Oh yes,” replied Serena, “She’s a small character but her story is really fun. She’s basically a sculptor who is working on her life’s work. She’s trying to sculpt a man that she met while on holiday but she can only work from her memories of him. I think she’s going to go mad but I haven’t got that far yet.”

Lilian looked at Peter with concern, “are we going to go mad?” she asked them both.

“If I don’t find something useful on this mountain soon then I’ll certainly consider it,” replied Peter.

Lilian laughed. Just then, the door to the inn swung open and the place was briefly filled with cold air and crisp light. Lilian looked over to see who had entered and nearly dropped her fork.

“Doran!” She shouted the name and ran over to the wind swept and weary traveller to give him a hug. Fritha joined her, barking and clanging happy sounds.

“”Well,” he bellowed, “it’s a pleasure to see you too Lilian.” His woollen coat was cold on Lilian’s cheek and his wide brimmed hat had flecks of snow on it.

“Where have you been! I’ve got so much to tell you, oh! Come and meet my friends. You two, this is Mikhail Doran, he’s a traveller I met on the road.” Everyone exchanged introductions and Doran sat down at the table to join them.

“I’ve been helping to tend the cows and sheep just south of town. It’s a lovely farm but there’s wolves about so we’re taking shifts.” Doran then lowered his voice, “how’s it all going with our friend?”

Lilian’s face fell, “not good. He’s got his followers painting some kind of mural. Heavens know what for. These two arrived in town the other day after seeing…” Lilian took a moment to steady herself, “after seeing my old teacher get killed by Sage Fenric.”

Doran’s expression shifted, his bushy eyebrows lowered in sadness and shock, “oh Lilian,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I… I knew he was dangerous but I didn’t think…” He looked into his drink and considered his next sentence. “From what you told me of him, he was a good man. The world will be sorry to see him gone.”

There was a short silence before Lilian remembered something, “Oh!” she jumped, “perhaps you can help us. Before he died, Mr Attorcop left us a message. We’ve already worked some of it out, but we think it’s about stories.”

She handed Doran the piece of paper with Mr Attorcop’s message scrawled on it. He read it once, then twice and after a quick drink, a third time. Finally, he nodded. “Yes I know some of these.” Lilian’s heart began to race and she shot Serena and Peter an excited smile. “Which ones have you worked out so far?”

Lilian let Serena take over, “well,” she started, tucking her hair behind her ears and reaching for the book she’d been given by Mrs Thoreson, “we know the story of King Brava and his army and Mrs Thoreson gave me this the other day,” she gestured to the great tome poking out of the bag beside her chair, “This is The Model Ship by Dermador. Tellis is a character in the story so I’ll soon know about her. It’s the others we’re having trouble with.”

Doran took another sip of his drink and nodded his head. His left hand absentmindedly scratched Fritha’s ears while he pondered the list. “That’s good, I knew about Brava but Dermador was a mystery to me. I’m afraid the only other one that I might know is Treyant.” The three of them leaned forward in anticipation. “Custer was a playwright. Angus Custer, from the Little Isles.” He looked at them with raised eyebrows, expecting them to react. When they didn’t he shrugged and continued, “I’m surprised you don’t know him. He was the first to… well, it doesn’t matter. Point is, he wrote a play called The Gilded Mirror…

“The play begins with Samira Treyant being interviewed to be a maid in a great house. She meets the cook and the Butler and there’s some funny business with some of the hunting dogs but the story doesn’t really get going until she starts work and meets the Lady of the house, Lady Agatha. Whenever anyone mentions Lady Agatha they do so in hushed tones and we learn that she has barely left the house in years. She sits up in the top room, sobbing and pining for a child she lost years ago. Or so the theory goes. The truth is that Lady Agatha is planning an escape. When she finally meets Samira she looks at her and realises that they look very much alike. Well, I’m sure you can tell where this is going. Together they hatch a plan where they will take each other’s place. Lady Agatha trains Samira in how to act like a Lady, and Samira teaches Lady Agatha about how to behave like common folk. It’s funny and poignant and quite touching when the Lady starts to learn about the lives of all the people working for her. Anyway, The Lady enjoys her new found freedom and comes and goes from the house as she pleases. However, Miss Treyant has other plans. When Lady Agatha realises she can do more to help the people in her house and her village as a Lady than as a maid she decides to get her old life back and use her money and influence for good. There’s a big scene at the end where she walks into her fitting room to change clothes but just as she’s mid monologue and mid outfit change Treyant walks in with a local constable and has her arrested for theft. Samira had grown accustomed to her life of luxury and ends up throwing Lady Agatha in a madhouse for claiming to be the real Lady Agatha. And does the new Lady of the house do anything to help her old colleagues? Hm! Does she ever.”

Doran downed the last of his drink and punctuated the end of the story with the tankard hitting the table. “It’s a bit of a sad play, but it’s a comedy so the end is more fun than tragic. It’s good because the main character sort of switches halfway through. It’s two journeys, one person descends into evil and the other arrives to good. I watched a great production in Lumit once where Treyant and the Lady were played by the same actress. Very cleverly done. I remember…” Doran trailed off as he realised that his audience had lost interest after the story had finished. All three of them seemed to be lost in thought. He cleared his throat. “Ahem… so you think these stories are the key to… what exactly?” This seemed to bring Lilian back to the present moment.

“We think they might help us take down Sage Fenric, they’re probably the key to some kind of weakness.”

Doran gazed into the dregs of his drink and listened to the fire crackling in the hearth. Benlunar pine burned sweetly and so the inn was filled with an intoxicating aroma. He voiced a doubt that had been creeping into his mind these past few days. “Surely…” he started nervously, “surely if we all gather our coins we might find a few mercenaries or something? Fenric is but a man and all men share the same weakness.” He drew his thumb across his throat mimicking a blade. Then he shrugged.

Lilian shook her head, “I don’t think it would be that easy. First of all, it’s the middle of winter, all fighters will be either in Doma or at home. There may be some bandits about but trusting them would be difficult. Then there’s the matter of his bodyguards. I’ve fought the sisters and they’re tough. Really tough. My guess is they’ve been training together since they were young and could probably handle an inexperienced group two or three times their number.”

“Then there’s the townsfolk,” interjected Serena, “if we mount an assault then Fenric might turn them against the fighters and innocent people might get hurt. He’s already convinced them to leave their homes, who knows what else they might do for him.”

“And finally,” said Peter, “there’s the matter of Fenric’s mysterious benefactor. Down in that church we saw him give offerings to some kind of… entity.” Peter’s expression changed, it was like some of the redness left his cheeks. “I don’t know what it was but, my guess is throwing rocks at it wouldn’t do much good.”

Doran considered all of this and then slapped the table, “So! The stories.”

Lilian nodded, “the stories.”

Everyone bent their heads in thought, trying to figure out how all of these characters and their stories might possibly lead to a way to drive Sage Fenric out of town. However, their thinking time was soon to be cut short.

Unbeknownst to all of them several figures were currently trudging and creaking their way through the snow across town to find them. They walked with malice in their strides and clutched cold steel in hateful palms. Within minutes they would be upon them. Thankfully a swift and silent harbinger was running ahead, zipping through Benlunar’s secret streets. Lilian looked up from her problems as a bright light at the door framed a small figure. Emma, red faced and out of breath, ran over to their table and signed feverishly at Lilian, pointing and speaking in panicked gestures.

Lilian read them as best she could before warning the others, “Someone’s coming,” she said, standing up and readying herself. She flashed the sign for hide at little Emma and watched her dart across the room and behind the bar. Serena and Peter got up and began instructing the other patrons to make their way to the kitchen.

“I don’t want any trouble in here,” warned Liny, directing her warning to Lilian.

“I’m afraid trouble is already on its way,” she replied, and then, seeing the stern look on Liny’s face added, “I’ll do my best to stay… civil.”

At the word civil, the door was flung open with great fury as if it had been kicked. A tall, dark skinned woman walked inside dressed in battle leathers. In her hand was a short sword. Her eyes glowed with malice. She scanned the room quickly before finding Lilian in the gloom. She smiled when she saw her.

Lilian recognised her as Tourmaline, the eldest of Fenric’s warrior sisters. She was alone, but if Lilian had learned anything these past few weeks, it was that the other two would not be far away.

Tourmaline began to walk closer to Lilian’s table. Lilian clenched her fists and tried to repress her mounting rage. The clunk of Tourmaline’s boots practically echoed around the silent space. Two more figures followed her, Lilian recognised them as Benlunar townsfolk, one was a large, barrel chested man that Lilian knew worked as a distiller in the north end of town, the other was a slightly younger fellow who Lilian did not know so well.

“So this is where you’re hiding,” Tourmaline spoke through a snide smile. She made a show of looking around the inn in disapproval, “rather you than me flame girl.”

“I’m not hiding,” Lilian spoke through gritted teeth.

“Whatever you say,” at that point Tourmaline turned her attention to the rest of the room; what few patrons were there were already watching the scene unfold with tense apprehension. “Ladies and Gentlemen of Benlunar, I come with an invitation. In two weeks time you are all cordially invited to a very special ceremony. Sage Fenric will host the event and it promises to be a truly life changing evening. If you’ve ever wished for more, if you want to be part of something bigger than yourselves, if you have dreams that this small town can not seem to realise then do please join us. Even better, you are always welcome at the grove, today, tomorrow and everyday after.” She ended her speech by looking at Lilian, daring her to speak.

Lilian tried her best to contain her anger but could not resist saying, “I think I’m busy that evening.”

Tourmaline shrugged, “shame, your life could probably do with some improvement.” She made to leave but then stopped herself before taking a step, playing at having just remembered something, “oh, and if anyone does decide to try and stop or ruin the ceremony, they should not be surprised if they are dealt with by force.” Tourmaline resumed her slow journey towards Lilian. She was a good foot and half taller than Lilian and with her threatening gaze and cold steel she would have intimidated even the hardiest of warriors. Lilian did not flinch though. It was one thing to persuade people to come willingly, but when an invitation is delivered by someone holding a sword then it becomes a threat and for Lilian that crossed a line. She could feel anger begin to boil inside of her.

“Well flame girl?” Tourmaline asked, mockingly, “are you going to try and be brave again, or are you going to continue to hide away like a little mouse? Hm?”

Serena was looking intently at Lilian, wondering if she needed to interject, “Lilian,” she said, “don’t rise to it. She’s trying to get you to act.” Even though it was said with kindness to Lilian in that moment Serena’s words cut her like they were a swing from Tourmaline’s blade. They made her feel ashamed, like she didn’t know what Tourmaline was doing, like she was a child that needed mothering and looking after.

Tourmaline looked over at Serena and then back at Lilian. She leaned in close and dropped her voice down to a whisper, “Is that your nanny flame girl? I only ask because she seems to be in charge of you and I know for a fact that she’s not your mother. Your mother made me my tea this morning, she’ll probably be waiting to serve me my dinner when I get back to the camp.” The anger in Lilian’s stomach turned to rage. A dark pall was descending over her vision as images of Tourmaline lying bloodied and beaten flashed across her mind’s eye. “You look like you’re about to explode, flame girl. Listen, why don’t you take my advice and go and find another town somewhere in the mountains. That way you can live there, make friends, maybe start a family. And one day, when we’re done with this heap we will visit you again and you can fail to protect them too.”

Lilian tried her best to resist. She clenched her fists and bit her tongue. But that final comment was too much. Blinded by rage and consumed by shame Lilian Lausanne reacted.