THE TALES OF THE VAGABOND BARDS
by Nancy A. Hansen
Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords
Front Cover Illustration by David L. Russell
Titles, Logos, and Supplemental Graphics by Sean E. Ali
E-book Production Design by Russ Anderson
Edited by Tommy Hancock
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.
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The Tales of the Vagabond Bards
Copyright © 2012 Nancy A. Hansen
All rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE ARCANE CODEX
By Nancy A. Hansen
A solitary man in a long leather jerkin and slouch hat came wandering through the fields at dawn. With an ebony flute to his lips, he ignored the waving standards and the well-armed sentries as he played a sad and soothing air that lulled the guards to sleep and calmed the restive horses and pack mules in the pickets; the melancholy crooning of the hamadryad spirit within the wood added a dirge counterpoint.
Well past the encampment, which was far upwind of the battleground, he played on as if at a country wedding or a noble's party, but his spirit sank at the scenes of devastation. Here and there amongst the smoldering wreckage of overturned and burned wagons, with their goods strewn across the blood soaked trampled grass, were the broken and bloating bodies of dead Roamer men and women who had fought so valiantly to protect their lives and livelihood.
Especially hard to bear was the heart wrenching sight of children and even babies heaped in a pile after having been impaled or bludgeoned to death. The man's heart sank, for if the Cleansers had that much brutal disregard for life that they would slaughter innocent little ones just because they were the children of ‘heathens’, they would never spare the life of the outlaw bard who had been harbored within their midst. She was likely long since taken and tortured for what she knew. Few could withstand the questioning of a Holy Inquisitor; that highest order of Yeamic priests who held the power of life and death over all Humanity these days.
If the pain was too much and she gave up her copy of The Key, then there would be no safety for any of his kind. In that small book was the answer to finding the Universal Truth and not the false teachings of a Godhead manufactured to serve a political purpose. It hinted at the probable whereabouts of the legendary book of Terran history, the Arcane Codex, and who might possess it. Until that book was surrendered, the Vagabond Bards, as they were known all throughout Terra North, would be hunted to the far corners of the continent and rounded up until the head of every last one rolled beneath the axeman's cut.
Just to be certain his contemporary had not survived, the flute player switched to a lament, one well known to all bards, and was almost stunned to hear her sweet soprano, albeit thin and croaking with pain, join in from somewhere ahead.
Threading his way quickly through the carnage and debris, dark boots on long legs trying to stay free of the embers and gore, he almost ran to where Cinda was slumped in a crouch, chained to a wagon. Her head was tipped back, cascading blonde curls the color of spring sunlight caked with soot and blood. She sang with labored breath. Her skirts, blouse, and laced bodice were rent and torn. Her face was swollen from beatings, the dark-circled eyes closed from having seen too much pain and sorrow, now seeking only the release of death. As the man stepped close the flute notes dropped off, and she opened one eye blue as the summer sky; the other barely a slit in a swollen puff of purple and red.
“I hear you, Eann of Anders,” she said quietly, her breath coming in small gasps that spoke of badly bruised or broken ribs as she looked up into the sympathetic brown eyes between the trademark hat and well trimmed mustache and goatee of her mentor and sponsor. “Well met, my friend.”
The man tucked the flute into his belt and knelt to kiss her sweat-damp forehead, his tears dripping into her face like warm rain. “I hear you also, Cinda of Perth. Can you travel?” He might be able to pick the lock on the manacles and get her away before the others came.
“Don’t waste your time Eann,” she said dully. “They have beaten me beyond healing, and I’m to be hauled into Wauregan to burn at the stake by nightfall. I took the bitter pill when I knew for sure it was your dark flute I heard coming toward me, and not some fever dream. I’d not live through the day on the road anyway. You’ve no idea what they have done to me…”
That was bleak news, but Eann couldn’t say he blamed Cinda. She had borne witness to atrocities most people only whispered about, and was battered so heavily he was afraid she’d collapse in his arms should he manage to move her. He had seen the banner of the Holy Examiner, with its Sword On Sun emblem emblazoned upon a pure white background, as he had passed through the encampment, and had already feared the worst.
“Blessed be Gaia, what happened to bring the Hammers of Helios down on you?” he asked, using the common vernacular to refer to the High Priests of the upstart Sun God’s religion.
The blonde woman drew a shuddering breath. “Word got out somehow that I was teaching Roamer children the Odes. Someone got upset about that, and turned us in to the Inquisitors. You know the whys and wherefores; teaching heathenry to heathens is heresy now. They had been hounding us for weeks, which is why I sent word to you. They finally came at us by dusk last night, before we could cross safely into the plains of Kashmarv, where they have no jurisdiction. They had soldiers, and Roamers are not warriors, though all of my dear friends fought valiantly. There was parley, and they were told it was me the Cleansers were there to arrest, and they were given the option to go free if they turned me over and renounced my teachings. They refused Eann, every one of them refused. They would not give in, even though the numbers were against us from the beginning! And so we were routed. What more can I say?”
Every few words Cinda gasped and blood-tinged spittle formed on her lips. “The Cleansers purposely kept me alive to witness ‘divine justice’. But the depravity and killings… It was… so… horrifying…”
Tears streamed from both eyes, and Eann gently wiped her face with his fingers. “Still I defied them,” she continued, “refusing to confess and implicate our order in all manner of foul deeds they accused us of. When the bloodbath was over, they beat their True Word into me so that I would recant before I died. But they couldn’t make me do more than scream in pain because their so-called ‘word’ is not Truth as we know it. I refused to renounce my faith,” Cinda added with a sigh of satisfaction. “They could not make me bend, though it was hardest when I could hear the mothers begging for mercy, and little ones screaming for their mothers, until the blows made them suddenly silent. I hope they died quickly, poor tykes…”
Tears streamed again from blue eyes that had always welled up easily. Eann tried to take her hand, but the wrist and some of the fingers within the manacle were crushed and she had no grip left. He had to ask the question, for the Cleanser encampment was coming to life, and soon the Inquisitor would come looking for her again.
“So you didn’t give us up to them Cinda?” The answer would make a huge difference in all their lives. “Do they have The Key to the Codex now or not?”
Her head shook weakly with the effort to speak, but she wearily lifted it so that her one good eye met his. “I did not Eann; I swear I never said anything. Be heartened, I kept from them my Book of Secrets. They seemed uncertain what to look for, and when the fighting began, I quickly buried The Key beneath my wagon. After they brought me back from the Inquisitor and chained me, I was so weak; only one junior guard was set to watch me while the other soldiers took their turns with any of the remaining women before their slaughter. I made as though I tripped and fell, and feigned a fainting spell while I searched for it. The young soldier was scared and kindly, and helped me sit up again, so I asked him to please bring me a dipper of water, and I think he was glad to be able to get away from all the bloodiness around us. While he was gone, I dug my book out of the dirt with my one good hand and tucked it beneath my skirts until he fell asleep. The poor lad was exhausted, he’d marched all day and fought half the night, and sounded very upset when he told me he had brothers and sisters the age of some of these little ones. I don’t know where he is now, perhaps deserted. I have my book here, hidden in my bosom. I intended to carry it to the stake with me to burn. Take it now.”
She tried to withdraw it, but her body was quaking with the oncoming paralysis of the poison pill that every bard carried to bring death quickly and cleanly. Restriction of chains and manacles along with the beating made it hard to move freely. Eann had to reach gently into her ripped blouse and withdraw for himself the bloodstained small leather volume that every bard carried from the day he or she was initiated and accepted, and then filled with notes of songs and teaching stories told and retold. Cinda was trembling in exhaustion, her open eye rolling white from the effects of the drug that would lull her to sleep and leave her no more than a lifeless corpse within the hour.
“You’re a brave girl lovey,” Eann said sadly once he had tucked the sacred text into his waistpack. “A truer bard was never born, you’ll be sung about for ages.” It was the highest compliment one bard could pay another, and though Cinda could no longer lift her head, she smiled crookedly in response, some of her once straight little teeth knocked askew or missing. Her voice was no more than a breathy whisper now.
“You need to leave Eann. They’ll be here soon, and if they see you, you'll be questioned too. Merry Part my friend, I was glad to know you, and our entire host. Give them my love and my songs, and tell them to lift a glass to my spirit, for though my harp is broken and my life over, my song lives on. Go safely on good trails, and leave me to my fate, the end is nigh anyway,” She slumped back again and her eyes closed. “Play me a song as we part Eann, one I can take to the Havens in my heart.”
It was time to go! He could hear men coming his way, likely a detail to strip the dead of their valuables and bury or burn the bodies before the scavengers began to pick at them. Such an awful way to end a promising young life, but Cinda was right; he was no good to anyone if captured too.
Eann kissed her cold and clammy brow a last time before rising to his feet, pulling the ebony flute once more from his belt. He played a love song, a long and complex ballad Cinda had always favored. Grieving already, he walked away and left her there, his movements slow and deliberate, in time with the music, so that he became one with the song of the enchanted ebony flute.
No one approaching noticed a lean and long-legged figure who strode sedately through the last of the wreckage. No one saw the tears of rage and remorse for what had once been a dear friend and companion, a lively and happy woman full of idealistic dreams who wanted no more than to keep the truth of the past alive in her songs. No one understood yet how this slaughter of the itinerant traders of Terra North would now become one more legend to be sung; one more imprinted memory in a lonely place where grown men feared to be at night, for the ghosts of the fallen would wail on the wind.
No one saw a final tear trail from under the drooping eyelid of a dying young woman as bruised lips curled into a frozen smile, and she breathed her last. The pretty, winsome curly haired blonde who sang so sweetly and lifted her long skirts to dance a jig at the end of the set would sing and play her tunes no more, her gentle voice of dissension stilled by those who claimed they represented the one true God.
And there had been far too many such deaths lately. Of that Eann was adamant. If he did nothing more in his life, in Cinda's memory and in honor of those innocent people she loved who had lost their lives for simply being who they were, he would bring the Truth to as many others as he could manage. That was always a bard’s highest calling. As he skulked away through the hills, making a circuitous route back to where he left his horse grazing, Eann vowed Cinda’s death would not be in vain. The Arcane Codex would someday again be The Word of Light and Life it once was.
***
The Archon called a clandestine meeting of the bards as soon as Eann came back with his report. Any bard within several days’ traveling distance would attend. As they filed into the former storeroom in the back of a nondescript country inn, Siska of Voruta was already at her usual place around the highly-polished circular oak table with the Awen inlaid center, hands folded and long silvery hair in an elaborate braid. Seated where she could watch the door, brown eyes in a hawk-like gaze took in all the assembly as she scanned each new entrant. She greeted every one by name and town of origin as he or she entered and took a place at the table, the late arrivals standing around it in a circle.
The Vagabond Bards were famous for their knowledge of legends, myths, stories and songs, and they kept the oral history of Terra Firma alive for their mostly illiterate countrymen. Each bard took great pride in being known for originating somewhere. Yet however proud or humble the roots, no bard was any more highly thought of than another. The Archon was always an elder considered the most knowledgeable amongst them all, and Siska was often asked to call to order and pass judgment at such conclaves.
The Archon looked around, making sure all who could come were present, and then caught Eann’s eye where he stood in the back of the room, him being one of the tallest amongst them. Siska’s voice was a mellow alto, though decades of singing had given it the power to carry even in a noisy room. She raised her hands for silence, the long, full sleeves of her soft green robe falling back and revealing thin arms knotted with ropy muscles from long years of playing a harp by night and helping build huts and carry clean water during the day. All bards were expected to do public service for the poor, which made their teaching even more meaningful.
“Well met my friends. We have much to discuss and little time to do it in. Eann of Anders has come to me with news of sadness and lament. Cinda of Perth has perished at the hands of The Cleansers along with an entire band of Roamers; and so the attack on Truth begins.”
There was a collective gasp and the buzzing of whispers. Some looks of shock and sadness were exchanged. Every bard knew that when they went out to sing and teach, she or he took a chance that they would meet a similar fate.
Colin of Appleby spoke first, the rotund and balding man slamming his fist down on the table as if beating one of his big skin drums. “So we are betrayed to The Inquisitor because our sister dared to enlighten the heathens. I tried to tell her, there is never honor among thieves and cutthroats such as them, but she would not listen.” He looked angry, his great ham-like hands balled, but there was a tear standing on his cheek, for Colin had always loved the pretty and vivacious little blonde with the blue eyes and soft smile. It was well known that Cinda spent her time with Roamers, trying to educate the nomadic wagon people and keep their part in Terran history from being overwritten by those who saw them as unwashed idolaters.
Siska leveled a calming stare at Colin and he sat down quietly. She motioned for Eann, who shouldered his way to where she sat, all eyes in the room upon him. His voice was low and serious, bringing some immediacy to the tale, but his hazel eyes were far away as if he were still there seeing the horrors of the day.
“With respect to my brother bard's opinion, I'll not have anyone who was not a witness to what happened speak ill of the dead. I saw the aftermath, and it was a gruesome sight I'll not soon forget. In her final moments, Cinda was broken and bleeding from the 'questioning' of their High Examiner, yet still spoke in high praise of the Roamers, and told me how they fought bravely to defend themselves against overwhelming odds. They were asked to give her up and renounce her teachings so that they might have the so-called mercy of the Cleansers, but they remained steadfast against overwhelming odds. So all were martyred. Had you seen what I did, elders and babies bludgeoned or run through…” Eann's voice broke and he could say no more as the entire assembly went quiet. The Archon took his hand and squeezed it as he moved back behind her, trying to compose himself.
“The question here is what we should do now?” she said to the others. “Any suggestions?” It was more of a fishing expedition than anything else. She watched the assembly closely, noting for herself who was restless or not paying close attention, and more importantly, who seemed to be hanging on every word. One of the requirements for being a bard was a good memory, and so it would not be hard to recall and repeat what was said, and by whom.
Always quick on the uptake, Kaye of Kiswell, a tall red-haired woman famous for her fine tenor voice and skill with lap harp, pipes and whistles, stepped forward. The outspoken middle-aged woman was well respected by all the bards and thought to be most likely to succeed Siska as Archon someday. She waited impatiently to be recognized and was already fidgeting to say her piece when Siska nodded and pointed at her.
“Seems to me,” Kaye said, her eyes roaming through her assembled peers, “We've got two problems here. First off, we need to be more cautious about whom we teach and how openly, since The Hammers are coming down harder than ever these days. Secondly, since we all know what the Cleansers really want; perhaps ‘tis time to move The Codex again? They seem to be determined to locate it, and so we cannot be too careful.”
That last statement was echoed by several across the room. The Archon made note of whom and how readily he or she agreed before she spoke. To the best of their knowledge, Siska was the only one who knew the exact whereabouts of the great tome of Terran History both Mundane and Divine, which was the basis of bardic teaching. Since the era of the Mage Wars had caused so much upheaval about the trustworthiness of magic, the Sage’s Guild had been forced to give it up, and the bards had been entrusted with its care. It was a book that the powerful Yeamic Church would love to see disappear, as within its pages lay the ancient foundation texts that gave proof that the worship of Sun God Helios was no more than a latter day upstart religion when compared with the recorded traditions that went back over eons.
All eyes went to The Archon as she pursed her lips to speak. She kept her gaze level and her words were carefully chosen to sound more confident than she was.
“I have considered a new hiding place for it Kaye, but think this is not a good time to be moving a relic of such import. I am confident that where The Codex lies is as safe as it can be. I suggest strongly that we let it be, and continue on as if our business was simply teaching youngsters to recite poetry. It would behoove us all to become more watchful, but am loathe to give up teaching oral history. That is what we do, and if we let them think we are scared or cowed, they will only press on. If we are going to be persecuted, let it be for the right reasons! For doing what we know is right and just. Does anyone here have an objection to that?”
There was a general agreement, though a few less-than-obvious dissenters stood quietly and whispered amongst themselves. Afterwards the conclave broke down into discussions of other topics until it was time for a final benediction, which included a cheering mug raised to the memory of Cinda of Perth, as well as all the brave bards who had gone before.
As they were filing out, Siska caught a few in an embrace. Most of them she just whispered new assignments to, but with Eann she said, “I’d like a private word with you later, in my chambers, at the last hour of the day. Make like you are leaving on a mission, but circle the town to come back. Alone and silently, no witnesses.”
Eann didn’t nod or acknowledge her request, other than to press three fingers into her back, letting her know he understood, loved and kept the truth, and he would be there.
When all were scattered and most abed, there was a quiet knock on the exterior door of the humble set of rooms Siska rented above the kitchens. Once used by the inn staff for overflow guests or to house extra help during boom times, it was now her private chambers, for the innkeeper was a longtime friend of The Archon. To avoid attracting attention, Eann had climbed the rickety trellis on the dark side of the building, and pulled himself up on the small corner balcony.
“Come in quickly my boy,” Siska whispered upon opening the door, her silver hair combed down her back and a cream colored, light wool dressing gown belted over a white chemise. The front room was mostly dark, lit only by a single candle. No fire was needed except for the deep of winter, for the ovens and hearths below kept the floors warm and the rooms were on the lee side. “Sit down please.” She indicated a cushioned settee with heavily carved arms and legs and he dropped gratefully into it, long legs sprawled out. “I have something of vital importance for you to do.”
Before Eann could answer, she plopped a large, heavy, leather-bound book in his lap. It had the mustiness of time, and the cover was embossed with the floral goddess head of Gaia facing her twin Ebon, the flaming mask of Death and Destruction, their gazes locked forever in opposition as per the teachings of the bards. He ran sensitive fingertips over their visages in the darkened room, as much feeling as seeing them. “Is this… is this it?” he asked in awe.
Siska nodded. “It is. You hold in your hands one of several volumes of the Arcane Codex. This one just a summary with the latest additions. We must get it out of here now, and that is what I called you here for. I cannot keep it safe any longer. They are closing the net around us.”
Eann knew she was speaking of The Cleansers, the holy army of the Yeamic Church. But he was aghast at how little protection the great historical treatise of the Terran World actually had. He sat forward, the book gripped in his hands. “I have often wondered how large and cumbersome a book this would be. It makes sense that there has been more than one installment over the ages. But, you have kept it here at the inn? Is that wise Archon? Should it not be in a vault somewhere?”
Siska leaned in and raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there a safer place you can name in Terra North than keeping it continually at my side? I have been traveling with this book in my saddlebags for many yearturns now Eann, albeit with it safely within its enchanted case. I learned a long time ago that to do the expected is to obtain the standard result. Our enemies, and we have more than the Hammers of Helios to fear, would not think to look for the book with me.”
“So you take The Codex with you on the road?” Eann was trying to wrap his mind around the idea. It was one of a kind and worth a king’s ransom to whoever might possess it.
Siska smiled. “I do, or at least I have with me this copy, as did several of my predecessors.” She opened the book, gently paging through it, showing him the different writing styles as well as dates. “The original Codex is a massive volume, and much too fragile to add annotations to, so other, smaller volumes have been produced since its inception. Periodic updates I suppose you could call them. All have both the history of the time, and the main theme of the twin Godlings’ origins and ongoing conflict restated. That way should the original volume be lost-”
“We have multiple backup copies, proving our view of Terran history was far from recent,” Eann finished the thought. “Very clever. So this is the latest of those,” Eann stated, and his superior agreed. “And now I understand the original is kept somewhere else. Is that where I’m going?”
She began to pace the floor, a habit of old when the words didn’t come easily. “This is only the latest volume Eann, and yet it has within it over one hundred yearturns of our history, including eyewitness accounts of the Mage Wars. So it is vital that it survives, as The Yeamic hierarchy is determined to erase what truthfully happened and put in place their own distorted version of the past. We have to be willing to protect it with our lives if necessary, for the Arcane Codex must survive us.”
Eann nodded and shifted positions, for he could sense a lead-in to whatever favor she was about to ask. “I doubt there are many amongst us who would not agree, especially in light of recent events.”
Siska stopped her pacing and sat down heavily in a chair nearby, seeming suddenly less the Archon and more like a tired old woman with too much on her mind. She hung her head, her silvery hair picking up red tints from the candlelight.
“My last entry was about the circumstances of Cinda’s death, which I feel acutely. I take personal responsibility for that. I know she was teaching The Truth Of The Codex, as we all strive to. Thank you for easing her final moments and bringing back her Key, I have made notations in it of her life and death, and it shall be interred with this copy of the Codex as a relic of our tumultuous times. I did not even clean her blood from it. Let that stand as witness for the future that some dedicated individuals gave their life for The Truth.”
Eann knew what he was being asked to do. He tapped the leather cover lightly. “You want me to bring this somewhere safer yet similarly ‘hidden in plain sight’ I take it?”
Siska looked up, and even in the semi-darkness he could see her smile. “You are always the cleverest, as well as the bard I trust most, which is why I chose you for this. The Cleansers are not making random attacks. They are shepherding us together, probing at weaknesses, and hoping to break us apart. I believe the Codex is no longer safe with me. They have been looking for just such a storage place as you suggest it should be in, and cannot find it because it does not exist. As they learn our ways, it will occur to them at some point that perhaps the book is here with me, because part of my duties are to add our age’s history to it. So, yes, I have kept it at hand, until now. The book is not full, but it’s time to put it in a different kind of safekeeping, and I need your help with that.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised her. “You already have a place in mind?” He watched her expectantly, knowing that as usual, The Archon had everything planned out.
Siska cleared her throat, and rose to pace the floor again, which Eann knew meant she was uneasy and had something difficult to ask. He gave her the time she needed to collect her thoughts.
“These are difficult days for all. So much unrest. I suspect we have a traitor amongst us, but have yet to discover whom. Hopefully it is only one! For this reason I have decided that I will trust you, and you alone, with this knowledge Eann of Anders, and it is something that you must take to your grave, only passing it along to the next Archon.”
The next Archon? That meant she had decided he would be her successor. Siska was getting old, but had been Archon for as long as he had been with the Vagabond Bards, and Eann had never thought of her as feeble or near death. He would never play coy with her. She respected directness and not subtleties. “I’m not sure I’m as worthy as you think. Kaye or Colin have more experience-”
She put up a hand to forestall him. “If experience was enough either would be an easy choice. Being Archon also calls for guts, ingenuity, and a sixth sense for what people are thinking. A bit of luck too. You have all that, and I will not live forever. Dangerous times call for unusual actions. I need for you to take the Codex to the safest place I can think of, a place where no Soldier of Helios would think to look. The Great Basilica of The Rising Sun at Melinaco.”
If Eann’s jaw was capable of such a movement, it would have been on the floor. “You want me to bring the Arcane Codex right to The Cleansers?”
Siska put up a hand to stop him. “Not to give them of course, but to hide on the premises. And you need to get in and out of there without letting anyone know you are a bard or that we have any special interest in their city. Can you do this Eann?” She seemed almost pleading. “It will be dangerous because the city is fortified and they have Magic Sniffers all throughout the basilica grounds, but if anyone can do it, I believe you can.”
Eann sat back with a sigh, the book on his lap. “If I do get in, what am I supposed to do with it?” He knew Siska would have had that detail covered before she spoke to him.
That information seemed to be the hardest for her to share. “All of the previous versions of the Arcane Codex have been hidden similarly across the land amongst the artifacts guarded by the Brothers of Light. I have an, eh, liaison on the inside of their order. Brother Calvinus is an older monk who respects those who preserve the past. He is currently in charge of the reliquary there. I have contacted him already to watch for someone, but I did not know whom at the time and cannot risk another message now. If you can disguise yourself and slip it to him, he will be able to safely store the Codex for us. But he cannot be connected with you in any way, so you must get out on your own. I do not ask this lightly Eann, because I never want to lose another one of you. Will you do this?”
Eann was quiet for a few minutes, but thought of Cinda of Perth, and her love for teaching the Odes, which lead to her death. She never doubted for a moment that what she was doing was necessary and important enough to risk her life. A small woman stood up to torture of body and spirit without breaking. In comparison, sneaking into a heavily guarded city and to the heart of the opposition’s stronghold didn’t seem anywhere near as risky.
“I’ll do it,” he said, and watched the tense woman across from him slump in relief. He got to his feet. “Just tell me how you want this done. How do I find this ‘Brother Calvinus’?”
“You cannot ask for him by name, for he is too well known,” Siska told him. “He has had a bit of trouble with the Yeamic hierarchy over collecting magical items, and so to continue his work has become a circuit mask brother, and has taken a vow of silence while he is in the city to protect his identity. Brother Calvinus has a bit of, eh, history with us. I cannot contact him about you now, but I can give you something to tell him who you are. You must only show this when you are sure you are alone, and are certain that you have the right masked monk of course.”
She handed Eann a neck cord holding a bar shaped amulet made of cast pewter, with what appeared to be a random series of slashes on one side and a standard Yeamic blessing on the other. “Wear this with the official side out when you are on the grounds of the basilica, for it marks you as a pilgrim. Once you are sure you have the right monk, turn it around,” she showed him how the pendant could be quickly rotated. “Ask for a blessing and make sure he sees this side. Unlike most other Monks of Light, he can read ogham, so he will understand what it means and help make the necessary arrangements.”
Siska packed the Codex back in its protective case along with Cinda of Perth’s small volume of The Key Of Truth, and then fastened the catch and handed it to Eann. He could feel the low-level hum of magic until it settled down and was almost undetectable. “Just do not open it anywhere in the city, and it should get past the Sniffers. Now go with Gaia, and make me proud.” She reached up and kissed Eann on the forehead, and then let him out the door that would take him quietly through the midnight silence of the inn kitchen, and out the back.
***
In the wee hours of the morning, a tall man in a hooded cloak rode out of town with something very precious in each of his saddlebags. He wouldn’t dare use it, but Eann brought along the enchanted ebony flute anyway, for with thoughts of a traitor in their midst, he couldn’t bear to leave it behind. His destination was several weeks travel to the southwest in the sun-drenched city of Melinaco; where dawn rose over rounded hills filled with vineyards and orchards and the sun set upon the ocean, gilding the fishing boats and the golden dome of the great basilica all day long.
The majority of the ride was uneventful. Much of the land in between was open, spotted with farms and small hamlets. As a bard, Eann had traveled the countryside most of his adult life, and learned early on to fend for himself, and to be careful, always watchful for highwaymen and other brigands. Several times he had to find himself a trail through the woods as groups of church soldiers were moving on the main road. He made good time anyway, for he was traveling alone and camping rather than staying at inns. Along the way, he began to put together a disguise from things he found or bartered for from isolated country farmwives.
Closer to the city, the roads were much more heavily traveled. One hot and sultry afternoon, Eann was almost caught in the open and had to scramble out of sight. He had stopped to rest in a pleasant spot overlooking a lovely vale and sat trying to compose music for it, ebony flute in hand. The sound of horses and wheels came up quickly, climbing the rise behind him. He leapt to his feet and yanked his mount under cover. He crouched low in the brush with the flute hastily tucked into his belt, holding his mare’s nose in his hand to keep her quiet.
An ornate coach and four-in-hand of white horses with plumed headstalls halted right near where he had just been seated. He didn’t dare move as a portly Yeamic Abbot and his retinue of guards, including a Magic Sniffer and the lute playing bard, Byron of Crowley, stepped out to rest and stretch their legs.
That a bard was traveling with a Yeamic monastery leader was interesting, though not damning, as bards sometimes petitioned nobles and church officials for funding for the poor. But Eann noted how Byron and the Abbot seemed quite comfortable together; like old friends, breaking bread and sharing generous libations. Not being able to hear their conversation, Eann stayed as close as he dared and watched, noting how jovial and familiar they seemed. This was something The Archon would want to hear of, as neither of them knew much about Byron’s background, though he was quite skilled with a lute and was much fairer-haired than most of his countrymen. Perhaps Byron was their traitor? He had not been at the meeting, and it was obvious why.
While he watched the others, the Magic Sniffer came very close to Eann’s hiding place, his larger-than-normal nostrils flaring. Eann held his breath and didn’t dare move a muscle; afraid the ebony flute’s enchantments might have given him away. Eventually the dandily dressed little man with his starched lace collar and tall, dark hat wandered off to rejoin his comrades for a bit of food and drink. Eann slipped away as they started off again, determined to be more careful. He would keep the flute in its lead-lined case from then on.
Soon he was riding through a rolling country of yellow flowered mustard blossoms amongst lines of ancient gnarled grapevines tied onto rail fencing. On the outskirts of Melinaco, he crossed a small river and passed into farm country filled with grazing sheep and the occasional milk cow.
Eann camped without a fire that night and waited for morning to go in, figuring it would be best to enter the city early in the day. His sleep was troubled by dreams of being caught by the Cleansers and burned at the stake as a warlock and heretic for playing the ebony flute within the apse of the basilica.
As the coral fingers of dawn spread over the hills behind him, Eann rode forward until he found an unkempt hedgerow that was once part of a farm boundary now grown into an untidy copse. Dismounting, he hid his gear beneath a small, abandoned granary that sagged drunkenly between mushroom-shaped staddle stones, hoping the sections of thorny brush he packed around his things, along with the enchantment of the ebony wood flute within the saddlebags would keep it all safe. He set his horse free to graze, knowing the skittish mare would only come to his call, and then put on his disguise.
Years of acting out the Odes for the deaf taught him the ability to change his appearance and demeanor to suit the role. The clothes he donned were ragged and torn, and once smeared with old pig dung and the juice of stinkwort, smelled distinctly of rotting flesh. He pulled them over layers of swaddling bandages that covered him from head to toe, daubed here and there with smears of rabbit blood from the last snare he’d set and ground-in dust from the road to make the blood look old and dried. Only his eyes and nose showed below the bandages. A slanted round of wood padded with wool roving in one boot heel gave him a realistic off-center limp.
In its case, the Codex was wrapped in rags and strapped to his back under padding layers of cloth, giving him a hunched appearance. He limped with a measured and dragging step, but wore a jangling set of bells on his ankles that would mark him at a distance as the sort of beggar that most people would want to avoid, thereby escaping any close scrutiny. With a walking stick cut obviously as a homemade crutch, a leper and pilgrim seeking blessings from the monks now hobbled toward the east gates.
A soldier of Helios stepped forward to bar his way. “State your business,” the big and burly man in chain mail and sun-emblazoned vestments growled.
Eann kept his head low and let the bandaging muffle his reply. “I seek the Monks of Light for blessing and mayhaps a cure,” he said in a voice that sounded twisted by pain and distortion. “I have traveled a long way to find them, Helios be praised.”
“What make you of this one Danaby?” the guard asked the tall, thin man at his side. The Magic Sniffer wore the high crowned black hat, white wig and dandified clothing of their office.
He came forth, but stopped short of Eann, as his large nose wrinkled and a look of disgust came upon his face as he waved his hands in dismay. “Eww, a hunchback and a leper! How nasty and unfortunate. Pah, he reeks of rotten flesh. Let him go before we all take ill!”
The Sniffer held a lavender-scented lace handkerchief to his nose and backed away as the guard waved Eann in. “Now do not touch anyone or anything, and do not drink from the communal well. You need something, go down back and ask one of the Brothers,” he warned Eann, who just nodded and hobbled away before they changed their minds.
That was the first hurdle. Now to find out where the monastery and then the reliquary were located. He didn’t stop to ask, for no one would allow him to approach. Wherever he went, people eyed him uneasily or with suspicion and quickly stepped away. Mothers pulled their children indoors, and some even scooped up chickens and cats that might cross his path and become tainted with his curse.
Several times slops were tossed out the window in his direction. Eann just dodged everything as best he could, for as unpleasant as it was, it meant that his disguise was effective and no one would dare get close enough to verify whether his skin was actually diseased. His teaching years had shown him that most people tend to believe what they think they see.
It was a warm day, and the unpleasant fragrance of his costume mixed with nervous sweat was particularly repellent. In the lower end of the city he was never challenged, as that was where most of the poor folk lived in rundown and crowded tenements. There were few guards there. Most of the beggars would shuffle on through to more lucrative areas in the middle level where merchants lived and hawked their wares to the wealthy and commoner alike. Crime amongst the poor was local and generally domestic violence, meaning the authorities showed no interest unless there was a dead body. Thieves never bothered trying to steal from those who had little that was worthwhile. A couple of mangy strays chased him, but waving the crutch was enough to ward them off.
The next level of the city held the market square, and surrounding it were businesses and more prosperous homes. It was large and noisy, crowded with people bustling about on their errands, along with street musicians, pickpockets, the pricier and better-dressed strumpets, and the occasional strolling nobles.
There Eann was jostled a few times as the smell of manure and open sewers competed with various foods and exotic perfumes on unwashed bodies, and so his own odor didn’t carry as well. The bells on his ankles warned those close by what he was, so for the most part he was still avoided. The air was filled with the hubbub of chattering crowds punctuated with squealing children and pigs, barking dogs, crying babies, the cackle of chickens, and the shouts of vendors towards passers-by. Above all, the basilica chimes tolled the morning prayers. The faithful stopped and turned faces to salute the golden disc at the apex of the bell tower by making the swirling sign of the sun god Helios over their hearts.
Eann made perfunctory gesticulations with his head low and his eyes downcast as if ashamed. He hobbled more slowly, and managed a few furtive looks around. The smell of food was intoxicating, and his stomach churned acid, for he had not eaten since predawn and that had been no more than a bit of dry flatbread and the last of the roasted rabbit before an arduous walk. But he couldn’t stop and eat now; for to do so would show his fine, white and straight teeth, which no leper would have, though he did manage to sip some water now and then by a laver stuck in a small leather vessel he had traded for. It was hot and so was the water, but he could manage it without showing much more of his face, and a man walking in the summer sun in that warm country had to have water.
Later, he promised himself, I will have a feast at the first inn I can safely stay in, topped with an ice cold draught. And a good wash, for the bandages were making him sweat and itch.
There was little sign of thievery or other crimes as he traveled through and out of the market square into the heart of the city itself. It seemed to be well patrolled. Several times the guard started toward where Eann was shuffling along, leaning heavily on his crutch, and then caught the sound of his leper’s bells and headed the other way. He could feel them staring a hole in his back, and he surreptitiously glanced behind now and then as he moved gradually toward what he hoped was the monastery side of the basilica, longing to find Brother Calvinus and divest himself of his burden. What little information he had of the area said that the basilica was built in the forefront of the original monastery, on top of the rise that had once held a wooden palisade-encircled hill fort and then a stone fortress, which had been dismantled when the Yeamic contingent moved in with their own garrison.
Sweat ran down his back in rivulets as Eann began to pass through some of the better quality residential areas and drew closer to the grand building itself. He was on the main ascension avenue, filled with the comings and goings of people on foot, as no carriages or horses were allowed here. The basilica itself loomed overhead, a large and glorious piece of Yeamic architecture that thrust up higher than the tall buildings around him, its golden dome glinting in the sunlight that was almost directly above in the near noon hour. The bulk of the building was made of fine white brick artfully laid over concrete. It was the brightest building in the city, standing massive and aloof against the blue and cloudless sky at the end of a very straight and slightly rising avenue of paving blocks. A series of curving steps lead up to the front entrance.
He was staring up at it and limping along when he almost bumped into a church soldier who came striding purposefully at him, leather-covered truncheon raised as if to strike. “What is your business here, unclean one?” the guard said in a warning tone as people around Eann stopped to watch, giving them both a wide berth. “This is not the place for your kind!”
Eann was instantly on alert senses, afraid that if he was detained and questioned, his ruse would be discovered. Years of song and story-telling practice on stages and in crowds helped him keep his voice even, and he showed only enough trembling to reinforce his medical status. He kept his eyes downcast.
“I am a pilgrim, new to your fine city, and I am lost. I seek the monastery for alms and a blessing from the Brothers of Light. I did not know how else to find it.”
The soldier sneered in contempt. “You don’t come this way dung-pile. This entrance is for The Confirmed only. Go around the block by the barracks and stables and then head out back. Do not set foot inside the main building. We don’t want your filth in there.” He waved the truncheon in the direction Eann was to take and stood blocking his path.
“Yes sir,” Eann said meekly and turned away, but he was fuming inside. What kind of church turns away those in need? He hobbled past the barracks and became discouraged as he looked for the stables, as they were well to the west of the barracks building, and as far as he could tell, the monastery was somewhere more to the southeast and directly behind the basilica. It would take at least another hour to navigate that route with the way he was shambling along on the crutch. It would neither do to look out of character and move faster than he appeared capable of, nor to argue with the law in this church-owned city. Either course of action would bring him under the scrutiny of The Cleansers, the elite guard of the Yeamic Church. To be subjected to their style of questioning would cost all the bards their lives and livelihood.
A young priest of Helios, in his immaculate sun-yellow robes and elaborate golden-corona headdress, had been watching the exchange. He had some quiet words with the returning soldier and then hurried down the steps. He stopped just sort of Eann, making the holy sigil and then bowing with palms pressed together.
“My afflicted friend, please do not take offense, for not everyone understands what challenges you face. You are certainly welcomed here, for Helios loves all who fall under His light. Please, come inside, out of the dust and the noise, and we will pray to Him together.”
He ushered a still frustrated Eann into the semicircular western transept of the basilica via a side entrance reserved for just such supplicants. The disguised bard had no choice but to follow, hoping he could find a way to slip away through the great building and out the back, where the original monastery grounds were supposed to be located.
They passed slowly through curving marble floored and colonnaded hallways lit from above by afternoon sun shining through lead glass windows painted with scenes of the saints and martyrs of the sun god. It was a lofty and opulent place, much of the trim was limned with gold-flecked paint, and many of the candle and torch holders seemed to be heavily gilded. Most of the niches were lined with elaborate frescoes showing the Yeamic version of the creation of United Terra, before the Duality began and its parts were split asunder. The light filtering from above left an interesting pattern of rainbow flecks on the walls and floor, but the angle also told Eann the day was getting on. He wanted desperately to be out of there before nightfall.
They arrived at an alcove and paused before a supplicant’s altar topped with candles, a small charcoal incense burner, and a stylized figure of the sun god Helios as the Shining God of Creation and Knowledge. There were tapestries depicting pilgrims at prayer hung around to enclose the area from the rest of the basilica, so prying eyes and ears could not hear what was said within. The priest made the holy sigil over his heart and chanted the twelve-verse Canticle of the Birth of Light before he finally spread his arms wide and leaned back to let a well-timed ray from an upper clerestory embrasure fall around his face, lighting up his headdress like the corona of the sun around his beatific expression.
Eann half-heartedly aped the motions of the priest, but stood with head bowed and simply mouthed and mumbled the words. It wasn’t that he didn’t know them, for he had heard them sung and spoken often enough, and there wasn’t a lyric he couldn’t memorize. He was afraid to join in and have his rich tenor singing voice break through his disguise and give him away. And he felt like a hypocrite for pretending to be devout in a faith that he had actively taught against most of his days. He was also fretting at the time passing. The weight of the box wrapped on his shoulders had grown quite heavy, and with the heat of the afternoon and the sweat of being inside the warm and stuffy building, it was slipping down, giving the disguised bard a much more lopsided appearance. The cloying scent of the incense was making his eyes water and his lungs itched until he fought the urge to cough.
When the last reverberating ‘Praise Him’ died out, the priest turned to Eann, his young face aglow in reverence, and bade him sit on one of the prayer mats at the base of the altar. He waited patiently for the purported leper to sink down while leaning heavily on his crutch, then dropped a small cube of something from a bowl onto the censer. A more aromatic and intoxicating smoke arose and coiled around them, and began to make Eann a bit woozy. The room began to swim and he shook his head to clear it.
The priest smiled and effortlessly sat down, tucking his legs beneath him. He leaned backward with hands behind him for support, and his nose twitched. He was used to the lulling incense and it didn’t affect him much, but in such close quarters the leper’s body odor was almost overpowering. It was his duty to try and make new converts, and so he must question the seeker to see if he was worthy and willing, and the mild sedative affect of the Seekers Incense always helped them relax and open up.
“Now tell me sojourner, do you have a name? From where do you travel to come here and pray with us?”
This was not the kind of questioning Eann wanted to deal with. His head was pounding from the exotic scent and he was tempted to pour out his heart to the smiling young man. Only through effort of will was he able to keep his answers purposely vague, short and somewhat muffled, the way he had rehearsed them.
“I have no name, and I have no home; for I have been shunned. I came seeking the Monks of Light, who have sometimes offered alms and solace to those of my… condition.” It took all his concentration just to get that out.
The priest smiled knowingly. “Helios is everywhere and knows all, so I do believe He sees your pain from on high. I do not think it will be necessary to go any farther than here to take Him into your heart, for you are sitting in His finest dwelling on Terra Firma. If you ask, He will surely heal you; in body, mind and soul, with His golden rays.”
The priest tilted his head back and closed his eyes; palms raised as the afternoon light streaming down illuminated his face. He began to chant again, some long and drawn out liturgical-prayer that usually put the petitioner into a deeply meditative state. Eann took the opportunity to draw away. He was pretending to be soaking up the sunlight streaming in, but was really just trying to breathe untainted air. It was interesting that they thought they made believers out of travelers by hypnotizing them!
While the priest intoned his verses in a singsong voice, Eann tuned him out and turned the situation at hand over in his mind. It was obviously an attempt at coercion to a conversion, which made no sense because he had come in as a religious pilgrim and a believer. Since the monastery had been mentioned, there must be some competition between the Yeamic priests and the Brothers of Light for souls to be saved. The worldly bard smiled beneath his bandage disguise when the tempo of the prayer became faster and more fervent.