Albion chapter 5
_Who or what were the old gods? Some believe they actually were gods, while others believe they were powerful mages pretending to be powerful gods. The second theory tends to make more sense, because no one lives forever - and thus we can explain how they "vanished." If they really were gods, then how and why did they vanish? Where did they go? _
_Their cult - their worship - started up centuries ago, and it lasted for more than a thousand years. But when the Empire fell, the Old Religion began to fade. How could that happen, if the old gods were actually gods? _
_In a way, it does not matter at all who or what the old gods actually were. Such talk, such speculation, ultimately serves nothing, though it's a fun way to pass the time when sharing ale with friends. The Empire kept the worship of the old gods going, and when the Empire fell . . . well, the Old Religion no longer had any support. The Empire also suppressed all other religions - especially those that believed in a single god. _
_And what has happened since the Empire collapsed? The New Religion has spread throughout Albion. That did not happen by the sword. Folks were not forced to worship one way or another. No, the Animal Folk of Albion made a choice, and they chose the one God of the New Religion. Many still follow the Old Religion, and that is their right and their choice. But their numbers are dwindling. _
From the private journals of Elenna of the Sisterhood.
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Four riders, on feral horses, arrived at the Chapterhouse an hour or so before dinner. Perfect timing, Trajan thought to himself. The Wolf knew that they'd have just the right amount of time for introductions and a tour, before the evening meal. He turned to his right and looked at Sierra, his friend - the young Lioness noble who'd been pretending to be a commoner. Trajan was fairly certain that the summons to the Chapterhouse had been a ruse, at least in part. He was fairly certain the Sisters just wanted to have a look at Sierra - and, for certain, they wanted to see Valerian. They wanted to see the fabled sword, which Sierra had pulled from the stone.
Trajan glanced to his left, at Rutger, the handsome Pit Bull. Traveling outdoors had seemed to invigorate him in some way. He seemed more alert, now, his eyes shining brighter than they'd had in the Earl's makeshift army camp.
Riley brought up the rear, and Trajan noticed that he was studying the Chapterhouse with a great deal of interest.
Riley, a young Fox with fur a shade of orange rather than red, had been raised to believe in the Old Religion. His parents had kept a small shrine in the kitchen, dedicated to the Old's pantheon of gods. However, their shrine - and their belief - was more of a practicality than a fervor. In other words, Riley's parents believed in the Old gods, oh yes, but they weren't intensely religious. It was a matter of habit. They prayed, and they hoped the gods would intercede, from time to time, and it went no further than that.
Riley himself kept an open mind. He believed that there was some sort of deity out there - there was either a pantheon of gods (as the Old Religion taught) or there was a single God (as the New Religion taught) . . . He wasn't sure which was the truth, but he did believe in the existence of something. Or someone (or, who knew, a pantheon of someones).
He also knew that there were very few priests and shamans of the Old Religion left - and those few who remained mostly served as advisers to Earls. Because of that, the rites and rituals of the Old were now practiced privately, by folks in their homes. There were no places of worship for believers to gather together. Folks like Riley's parents held to their beliefs, and they had their shrines inside their houses, and they worshiped in private.
The New Religion, in contrast . . . well, the New had its Sisterhood. The Sisterhood had a hierarchy, and it had priestesses - sisters - who could be found pretty much anywhere in Albion. The Sisterhood also had chapels throughout the land, places where folks could gather together. Each chapel had at least one priestess, and there were services, too, and the sisters of each chapel helped out in their communities. The Sisterhood of the New Religion also had Chapterhouses - not many, just a few, though there were plans to build many more. These were places where sisters lived together. Some were trainees, initiates to the order. Others were scholars, helping to make sure history was recorded and remembered.
In other words, the Sisterhood was organized and proactive.
No wonder the New Religion had spread among the Animal Folk of Albion like a righteous fire.
And now Riley was seeing a Chapterhouse for the first time. It was actually a collection of buildings, surrounded by a tall fence, nestled in the hills. The main building - visible for miles around - was made of dark stone, and yet it didn't seem ominous or oppressive. It stood, tall and slender and somehow beautiful. The art of building with stone, Riley knew, was becoming a lost art. Earls, of course, and most other nobles, only used stone to build their homes - but their homes, their castles, were squat and simple affairs. The artisans of the Empire had used stone to build tall, tall buildings - sturdy, beautiful buildings that rose up an amazing seven or eight floors high. But the Empire was long gone. No one knew how to construct with stone like the folks of the Empire.
Except, it seemed, for the Sisterhood. Somehow, they'd discovered that knowledge.
Once through the gate, Riley noted sisters tending to feral horses and boars. There were gardens, too, lush and incredibly large. He'd been to chapels before, as a curious visitor, and he'd always gotten a sense of peace in those places. But it wasn't just peace. There was also a feeling of . . . order. Yes, that was it. This Chapterhouse, Riley discovered, felt the same way as those chapels - there was a sense of order.
The Sisterhood itself, Riley contemplated, seemed like a bastion of order in a land often filled with chaos. When Earls feuded, the priests and shamans of the Old Religion took sides. The Sisterhood, however, stepped in to mediate, to create a peaceful solution. When natural disasters struck, it was the Sisterhood who helped folks rebuild. When invaders attacked Albion, the King sent knights and soldiers (and sometimes Wolves) to fight them off - but it was the females of the Sisterhood who bandaged the wounded and comforted the grieving.
And there was more. The Sisterhood also advised the King in matters of state and politics. When laws were passed or revised, sisters were there to offer advice. When diplomacy with other kingdoms was needed, priestesses of the Sisterhood were always there, their dark robes easily spotted among the finery of nobles and diplomats.
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Following formal introductions, Sister Victoria, Abbess of the Chapterhouse, gave them the tour. She was accompanied by a half-dozen other sisters. One of them was Sister Elenna, a tall and slender Dalmatian. Trajan noted Sister Elenna appraising his group with intelligent eyes. She reminded the Wolf of . . . well . . . someone Trajan was not going to think about. Not today, anyway. Of course, he knew, it was simply because she was a Dalmatian. Sometimes, when Trajan saw or met a Dalmatian, male or female, he thought about him, the one he'd not think of. Not today, anyway.
Everywhere they went, during the tour, sisters paused in their labors in order to sneak a look at Sierra - and at the sword sheathed snugly at her belt. In the gardens, at the forge, at the apothecary, in the chapel, sisters paused to look quickly at Sierra. In the majestic library, sisters sitting at desks, sisters either reading or illustrating or writing manuscripts, paused to get a glimpse.
"Everyone here is curious about you," Sister Victoria said, amused. She looked at Sierra, a kind smile on her face. "You know, the youngest sisters were shocked to hear that someone had actually freed King Alaric's sword from the stone."
"Only the youngest?" Sierra asked.
"Oh yes. The old-timers - myself included," Sister Victoria laughed, briefly, "We all knew it would happen someday. We didn't know it would happen in our lifetime, but we knew it would happen in _someone's _lifetime."
In some ways, Sister Victoria reminded Sierra of her mother. The elderly Abbess was a Tiger, not a Lion, but she had that same air of poise and strength about her, the same quiet confidence. For a moment, Sierra and Sister Victoria made eye contact, and the younger Lioness was surprised to see . . . compassion in the aged Tiger's eyes. Compassion, or perhaps sympathy. Did the Abbess feel sorry for her?
So far, Sierra felt, everyone had reacted to what she'd done with curiosity and surprise. Sierra herself had moments where she couldn't believe it - she couldn't believe she'd pulled the sword Valerian from the stone. Animal folks had been trying - and failing - for more than a century and a half. And, so far, everyone around her had reacted with curiosity and surprise.
What did Sister Victoria see, Sierra wondered, what did she believe? Why did she look at Sierra that way? Looking into her eyes, Sierra saw neither curiosity nor surprise. Instead, there was sympathy.
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After the evening meal, Trajan went for a brief walk, in the gardens. As he stood and inhaled the heady aromas of the vegetables, he was surprised to realize that Sister Elenna had come up to him, silently. She'd been able to sneak up on him - and that rarely happened.
"Sister," Trajan greeted the slender Dalmatian, impressed by her stealth.
"Trajan," she nodded her head. "I'd hoped we could talk."
"Oh?"
"Word is spreading, you know," she said. "Folks are talking about what Sierra did. Soon, the King will know."
"Yes, and that's going to be . . ."
"Interesting?" Sister Elenna smiled, a slight and fleeing smile. "And you truly had no trouble on the road?"
"It was a short journey. Why do you ask?"
"Because, there's going to _be _trouble, eventually. Some will see Sierra as a threat -"
"Are you worried about the King?" Trajan interrupted. "Is that why you brought him up?"
"It's not the King I'm worried about - but, well, he is a wild card, isn't he? We've no idea how he'll react when he hears Valerian's been pulled. No, I'm mostly worried about the rebels. They might see Sierra as a threat. I'm also worried about all the folks we don't know about - folks who might also see her as a danger."
Sister Elenna paused, and looked at Trajan with cool, appraising eyes.
"You'll have to protect her, you know," she said, quietly. "And yes, I think I know what you're about to say - she doesn't need protection. Yes? She's not some - I don't know - she's not some helpless female in a story, or a song. She's, well, Sierra. She's a fierce and powerful warrior, and now she has Valerian. She can take care of herself. And yet, she'll need allies. You, most especially."
"Me?" Trajan was curious.
"We know a lot about you, Trajan. The warrior poet." Elenna's smile returned, amused and beautiful. "We know your fellow Wolves call you that - the warrior poet. We've read some of your verse, by the way."
"You couldn't have," Trajan shook his head. "Those foolish lines have only passed around a handful of Wolves."
"We have ways," Elenna said, cryptically. "And we also know who you really are, son of the King of Norseland."
"_Third _son," Trajan blurted, surprised. "Never to see the throne, thank the gods."
"You don't want it?"
"Never have, never will. Besides, both of my older brothers have sons and daughters, now, so there are plenty of heirs between myself and that uncomfortable throne. I have an older sister, as well, and she has children of her own."
"And in Norseland, unlike Albion, females can inherit. They can be - and have been - queens. There are also female Thanes - your version of Earls." Sister Elenna looked wistful, for a moment. "In some ways, your kingdom seems more . . . progressive? Is that the word I'm looking for?"
"We Wolves also have a history of bloodshed and violence," Trajan shrugged. "We're like any other kingdom. A mixed bag, with good and bad qualities, good and bad history."
"But you no longer raid and pillage other lands," Sister Elenna pointed out. "The Wolves have found other, better ways to exist."
"We've changed, yes, but so has the world."
"And now it's changing again, now that Sierra has freed the sword."
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An hour or so past midnight, when the slender sliver of the moon had gone behind a cloud, Sierra was awakened by the sound of a door crashing open. She awoke instantly, shrugging off sleep, and she knew it was the door to her room - someone had slammed open the door to her room, and it had nearly come off the hinges. Someone in a dark robe rushed at her, and she had time to think words like assassin and attack.
Guided by instinct, the Lioness slid out of bed. She grabbed the sword Valerian, which was ever close at hand. The figure in the dark robe clutched a short dagger, which he or she thrust forward, aimed in a stabbing motion at Sierra's throat. Sierra dodged backward, easily, and the figure stabbed forward again. Sierra now held Valerian firmly, and she knew (without thinking about it) that she could easily disarm or kill her attacker in one swift, fluid motion. There was something . . . some voice inside her, or some instinct, told her to spare the would-be assassin. Something was going on, something not quite right. The attacker's motions were slow and clumsy, for one thing. As the figure in the dark robe stepped forward again, awkwardly clutching the dagger and stabbing forward with it, Sierra raised Valerian high - but, instead of a killing blow, she turned the sword around and used the pommel to rap her opponent on the head.
Dazed, fading into unconsciousness, the attacker crumpled to the ground.
Sierra stepped out into the hallway, where there was chaos and madness. A sister in nightclothes rushed by, a look of terror on her young face. Another sister ran up, towards Sierra, half-dressed and clutching a fireplace poker. Seeing the Lioness, the half-dressed sister stopped, suddenly, and she raised the poker in a threatening manner. Again, Sierra used the pommel as a weapon, knocking her would-be attacker out cold.
Had the figure in her bedroom been a sister? Had some of the sisters gone mad? Sierra wondered what was going on.
She could hear screams, off in the distance, and the sounds of fighting. As she walked along the long hallway, she saw more signs of chaos. Sisters lay slumped on the floor. Splashes of blood had painted the walls. Torches and lamps had been extinguished, and the few that remained lit cast eerie shadows that flickered and danced uncertainly. Peering into rooms, Sierra saw broken furniture and smashed-in doors.
The long hallway ended in some sort of common room, perhaps a place for prayer or meetings. She saw Riley struggling in the grip of a sister - a very, very large Ox. Clearly, Riley was trying to avoid hurting her, but he seemed to have forgotten his training - he wasn't even trying to subdue her, or knock her out. Or perhaps he'd already tried, and the Ox had been too powerful.
Sierra rushed forward - and then stopped when she saw small, blue lights (like sparks from a fire) strike the Ox. The lights were small, and bounced off the Ox's robes, and yet, the sister crumpled to the ground. _Magic! _the Lioness thought. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen magic in her lifetime. It always left her with a mixture of disbelief and childlike wonder.
She spun to her right, where Trajan stood next to a hooded sister - it was she who'd cast the spell.
Rutger burst into the small room. He was shirtless and bleeding from a deep wound in his shoulder.
"What's going on?" The Pit Bull demanded. "There was a sister - I guess it was a sister - right there, in my room, woke me up, slashed at me, then fled."
"It was a spell," the hooded sister said, calmly. "Thanks be to God, it only affected some of my sisters."
She pulled back her hood to reveal - an Owl's face. Not just a mage, but an Owl as well, Sierra thought. She'd never seen an Owl before, and, in fact, she'd been led to believe that there _were _no Owls in Albion. Again, she fought back the feelings of disbelief and wonder.
"I can see the spell in the air, it's like smoke," the Owl said.
"Can you break it?" Trajan asked.
"I think so?" the sister replied, making her reply a question. She turned to Riley, who was slowly getting his breath back. "I'll need your help."
"Me?" Riley was surprised. "Why?"
"Because -" she stopped, and stared at the young Fox. "You don't know, do you? Why, bless you, child, you don't know." She seemed amused.
"Know what?" Riley asked.
"There's magic in you, child, and it's powerful. No, don't shake your head. Put aside your doubts for a moment, and come help me. Trust me, I'm not crazy or senile. At least," she smiled, "I hope I'm not."
"What - what - do I have to do?" Riley manged to ask.
"I'll help you to see the spell. Together, you and I will join energies. I'll work up some counterspell, if I can, and you just concentrate. Just imagine that spell - see it? It looks like smoke - imagine it blowing away, fading away, as smoke does."
Stunned, and starting to wonder if this whole thing was a dream, Riley thought about smoke. For a moment, he felt ridiculous, and then the moment passed. He imagined smoke, imagined it in the air, imagined it breaking up and being broken down by the wind. He thought of smoke from a campfire, being drawn up and then drawn out into the night sky. He thought of smoke from something cooking in the oven, in a kitchen, and he thought of a wind, or a breeze, pushing that smoke out of the window.
The air felt charged, and then it felt calm again.
A sister, a small Beagle, rushed into the room. She looked crazed, and she held - of all things - the leg of a chair in her hand. Part of Riley noted, with some amusement, that all three of his friends turned towards the Beagle, weapons at the ready. Then the sister dropped the chair leg. She looked around, no longer crazed, a look of astonishment on her face.
"What's going on?" she asked.
If this isn't a dream, _Riley thought, _Then I'd also like to know what's going on.