Albion chapter 6
The smoke from ten identical funeral pyres rose up and up, into the cool morning air. High above, in the sky, the sun slid gracefully behind a cloud, as if to impart a sense of gloom on what was happening far below. Sister Victoria, abbess of the Chapterhouse, had decided to skip the usual lengthy prayers one normally recited at a funeral, and she'd decided as well to skip the part where she extolled the virtues of those who'd fallen.
Instead, she talked - briefly - about grief, and loss, and anger, and she talked about the need for the remaining sisters to stay united, stronger than ever.
She feared, privately, a schism fracturing the ranks of her community. She refused to let that happen.
But . . . ten sisters of the Chapterhouse were dead. Murdered by their fellow sisters. After this morning's funeral - well, funerals, plural, ten of them all at once - it would be difficult for their community to go on as before.
As the abbess talked, Riley, the young Fox, looked around discretely at the circle of mourners. Some of the sisters looked shocked, while others seemed bereaved. A few seemed dazed, either staring at the ground or the clouds above. None of the sisters looked angry.
Standing on Riley's left, his friend Rutger - the big Pit Bull looked sad. On Rutger's other side, Sierra, the Lioness, stood tall and solemn, and the Fox noted that she kept one hand on the sword, Valerian - which was now her sword, he knew. Riley glanced to his right, at the Wolf named Trajan. Trajan's expression was inscrutable.
Riley thought about what Sister Victoria had told the four of them, earlier that morning, privately.
"No one here is to blame for what happened," she'd said, quietly. Worry and grief seemed to be weighing her down. "The sisters were under a spell. They won't be tried, or punished, for something that was not their choice. And yet . . . they _will _blame themselves. They'll blame themselves as long as they live. Some, I fear, will find it impossible to live with the knowledge that a spell forced them to take the lives of their fellow sisters."
They were having a quiet - and quick - breakfast, just the five of them. Riley felt an odd sort of disconnect - or perhaps discomfort - eating a good breakfast of bread, wonderful jam, and plates loaded with fruits . . . not to mention some sort of decadent, ornate chocolate pastry . . . And all the while knowing that ten sisters were dead, were already wrapped in shrouds, were awaiting burial. Ten sisters who would never eat breakfast again.
"Sister Hannah has found the source of the spell," the abbess said, next. Riley noticed that Sierra and Trajan set down the slices of bread they were holding. Rutger continued eating, but he also turned his full attention to Sister Victoria. "A traveling merchant was here, just recently, and one of the objects - just a trinket, really - one of the objects he sold to a young sister was enchanted. That sister was the first to fall victim to the spell, and she passed the effects on to some of the others, much the same way, I suppose, you'd pass on a cold."
"Was that traveling merchant a Doberman?" Trajan asked, grimly. "If so, we met him on the road."
"Yes," Sister Victoria said, simply.
"We should look for him," Trajan said, a bit of anger in his voice.
"Or should we report back to the Earl?" Sierra wondered. "Shouldn't it be the Earl who brings him to justice?"
"What if he's still in the area? Still close by?" Trajan wondered. "We might be able to catch him, if we act fast, and then we can bring him to the Earl."
"That's true," Sierra agreed. For a moment, her eyes flashed with some strong emotion. "I must admit," she said, quietly yet firmly. "I'd like it very much if _we _were the ones to find him. I'd like to ask him . . . why . . . he would do this."
"If it helps, I'll send a messenger to the Earl, telling him what's happened," Sister Victoria said.
++
After the funeral for the ten fallen sisters . . . after those who survived wandered off, either alone in groups . . . Riley was approached by Sister Hannah. She was an Owl, tall and regal, and she projected an air of serenity. Riley, ever curious, fought back the urge to study her face. He'd never seen an Owl before. More, he'd heard, from someone, somewhere, that there were no Owls in Albion - but here was one, now, talking to him. More, she was a mage - she'd been the one to break that horrible spell, last night. And she'd done it with his help - _his _help, and he still had trouble believing that had happened.
Sister Hannah led him to a secluded corner of the garden.
"I suspect you have questions," she said.
"Perhaps a hundred or so," Riley admitted with a slight smile.
"Well, then, let me state this plain and simple, yes? Although what I tell you might lead to more questions." She sounded amused. "You have a great deal of magic within you, child, and you could be a mage someday - perhaps a great and powerful one, who knows? Forgive me for calling you child, by the way - it's what I call everyone."
Riley hadn't been offended by that, though at nineteen years he was somewhat eager to prove himself an adult.
"It's just that . . ." Riley searched for words.
"It's just that you cannot believe you have magic within, yes? Someone tells you this, so casually, saying it the way you'd tell someone they have courage, or kindness, or whatever. Yes? Well, let's not forget what happened last night. That - that is all the proof you need. You must accept it. The question now is, what will you do with it?"
"I don't know," Riley admitted.
"My advice, child, is to learn. Study. There is someone nearby who can help you - if nothing else, he can start you on the path. Or, you can choose to ignore your gift. That would be your choice to make. Just . . . think of this - you did not choose magic. You were born with it. You can use it, if you choose, to help folks, or help the world, in some way." Sister Hannah shrugged. "Or, you can use it to do great harm. Again, your choice."
"It's almost like Sierra and the sword," the young Fox with fur a shade of orange rather than red mused, quietly. "She didn't choose Valerian - I think, in a way, it chose her."
"Yes, very good," Hannah smiled. "Why was she able to free it from the stone when so many others could not? Because she was meant to. And that reminds me - Sierra is very important. That's . . . that's just a feeling I have. I could be wrong. But I think - I think she's meant to do something, something important. And I'm not talking about the prophecy, that whole bit about the one who frees the sword shall be King - or Queen - again, here is yet more advice - ignore that prophecy. Ignore it!" Again, Hannah shrugged. "Like I said, I could be wrong. But I think Sierra has something else to do. She'll need your help and protection - your's, most of all, Riley."
Riley had no idea how to respond to that. Sister Hannah peered at him with her Owl's eyes.
"May I show you something?" She asked.
"Yes, of course," Riley replied, without hesitation.
Gently, Hannah took his hands within her own. Riley felt a warmth spread through him, and the air shimmered. For a moment, just a moment, the tall and slender Owl was gone - all the plants, trees, and shrubs were gone . . . there was only the shimmering air and a feeling of - was it peace? No, it was a feeling of . . . certainty. He knew things, suddenly. The plants, trees, and shrubs came back. Sister Hannah came back. Riley felt like he was starting to rise up - float up, into the warm air . . .
"There are things you must know," someone said, and it must've been Sister Hannah. Who else was there?
With an effort, Riley anchored himself to the ground - to _this _ground, in _this _garden. He hadn't really been floating up, he knew - he'd only felt like it. Yet, if he'd allowed that feeling to continue, he would have . . . he would have felt like he could rise above everything - perhaps all of Albion, perhaps the world, who knew. And thus, with that rising above feeling, he would gain knowledge - so much knowledge! Knowledge about everything he was rising above.
However, there were things he needed to know - important things - right here, in this beautiful garden.
He began walking towards his friends - and they were, he suddenly knew, his friends. Rutger, of course, had been his friend for a while. Riley still felt shy around Sierra and Trajan, and yet . . . they were indeed all becoming friends.
"Riley?" Trajan was asking him. He looked concerned. "You seem - are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Riley said with a smile, and he certainly felt fine. Sister Hannah had put some kind of spell on him, and it - it wasn't just about knowing things, the young Fox realized. He also felt _and _understood. The grass on the ground, the plants, the trees, the shrubs, the ground itself - Riley now knew how they all worked, alone and together. More, he understood them, their structures, their beauty, their simplicity. He felt them, too, and he knew that if he wanted to, he could sort of merge - temporarily - with a tree, or a flower, or a blade of grass, and feel what it was like to be such a thing. He didn't - he resisted the temptation - because he had something else to do.
He also knew that he could - if he chose - reach out to his friends, he could feel as they felt, he could understand them in a way he couldn't otherwise. But he wasn't even tempted to do that. It would've been - what? - an invasion of their privacy?
They formed a loose circle. Riley, the farmer turned soldier. Rutger, the solid friend. Sierra, the noble pretending to be a commoner, the Lioness who had freed the fabled sword. And Trajan, the Wolf from Norseland. They weren't a group, not really, not yet, but they were becoming friends, and Riley knew that that was good enough, for now. He also knew that group _was not the correct word. _Pack. Pack was the right word. Trajan had invoked the right of Pack, and he'd declared them all packmates.
Looking at his friends, Riley suddenly knew everything, and he struggled to form the revelations into a coherent whole.
Trajan had brought them all together because he believed they were meant to be together. He'd been right about that, Riley understood . . . although they were _not _a pack yet. Not yet. They would be, someday, he realized. Was he glimpsing the future? Was he learning - knowing - understanding - not just things that were, but things that would be? Perhaps. He could see . . . there would be some division within them, but they'd overcome it, and they'd be a pack someday. They were meant to do . . . something, Riley could not see what it was.
Actually, wait, rather - Sierra _was meant to do something, and she needed the rest of them to get her there. Trying to look at the future felt a bit like gazing off into the distance - as if the future were a place, rather than a time. Riley saw a group of folks in that distant land, and he understood that others would be joining the four of them. Some would fall - he didn't see that, but he _felt it - whatever Sierra was meant to do . . . it was important, and at least one of their pack would sacrifice themselves to make sure it happened.
Whatever "it" was. Riley felt like he'd be able to _see _what Sierra's task was, if he allowed the "rising above" feeling to return, but, he'd have to rise above and away so far - too far . . . and who knew if he'd come back. It was better to stay here, in this garden, with his friends.
Trajan was speaking. He was talking about how they would need to leave right away, to chase the merchant. And then he said . . .
Here it comes, Riley understood. The first - and hopefully only - division. The first fracture.
"There's something you should know," Trajan said. "I don't want secrets among us. So, well, here's the thing. My father's the king of Norseland - but I am _not _the heir. There are a whole lot of Wolves in line for that throne. I'm just - I'm just me, a soldier, living here in Albion by choice."
"Seriously?" Sierra asked. "When you found out I was a noble - _you _said _I _should have told you! Isn't that what you said? Why didn't you tell me you had the same secret?"
Sierra, Riley knew, was furious. He also realized the reason why she was furious . . . was because she and Trajan had become friends. They'd become friends long before the whole business with the sword, and the rebel attack, and their mission to the Chapterhouse. They'd become friends, and thus Sierra felt he should've told her (in her anger, she ignored the fact that she herself had not told him about her nobility).
The first fracture, Riley thought. For a moment, he felt divided, conflicted. On the one hand, he knew - _knew _- they'd get past this, someday, however far off into the future, and he knew this because he'd glimpsed that future. On the other hand, he felt a strong desire to do something, here, now, something that would help heal Sierra's hurt.
"I'm sorry," Trajan said, looking embarrassed. "I should've told you."
"You had about a hundred chances to do so," Sierra scoffed. "I can understand not speaking up in front of the Earl. But we've been traveling, camping out under the stars . . . why didn't you say something before?"
"I don't know," Trajan said. "I suppose I'm like you - I don't consider that to be who I am. I don't see myself as some - some noble, or prince. I'm just a soldier, and, well, something of a poet."
Trajan was more than that, Riley knew. He was, for now, their leader - but only because they saw him that way (and, as well, because the Earl had placed him in charge). Yet another revelation came into Riley's mind - Sierra would have to emerge, someday, as their voice and their leader. If she could find that in herself.
The spell began wearing off, then, and the young Fox knew that it would end soon. Was there anything else he needed to know? Or was it enough to discover that they had a purpose - a purpose which had nothing to do with the Earl, and his army (even though three of them were soldiers in that army). A purpose which may or may not have something to do with the prophecy surrounding the sword Valerian (and then Riley remembered Sister Hannah telling him to ignore the prophecy).
Too late, Riley thought about the Doberman merchant who'd inflicted such harm on the Chapterhouse. Should he have looked for him? Should he have allowed that "floating above" feeling to take him to wherever the merchant was? It was too late now, the spell was ending, but - no - he'd had things to learn about his friends, here in this garden. They'd find the merchant soon enough, and get answers.
Still . . .
Closing his eyes, Riley pictured the Doberman's face, as best he could remember it . . . an image came to him, an image of an inn. Roaring fire in the hearth, spilled drinks, a crowd of folks eating and drinking, the usual scene in a crowded inn. The smell of cooked foods went into his nostrils. Where was this inn? Outside, above the door, there was a sign - a feral horse rearing up on the sign - yes - Riley saw it all, and he saw the Doberman, alone, in the corner of the crowded inn, surrounded by the smells of food, and the warmth from the fire, and the music from a lute player.
As the spell ended, Riley knew he was literally falling down, unharmed but soon to be unconscious. It didn't matter. He knew where the merchant was.