18

Kirlan

THE NIGHT WAS DARK and the moon new as Astrid moved through the shadows of Kirlan. The bumbling, emaciated man she’d recruited to help her, however, was significantly hindering her usual stealth.

“Is it much farther?” the man asked as he stumbled around a corner, more or less tracing Astrid’s footsteps.

“You can’t possibly have somewhere to be.” Astrid didn’t look back at the man. She was annoyed at even having to bring him along, but he was necessary. She’d found him in an alley, more alert than most but still completely desperate. When she’d tossed him a silver coin, promising more if he followed her for an hour or so and did as she said, he immediately stood and began walking after her. She’d woven a glamour for herself, so the man did not see her claws, fangs, or the color of her eyes. She hoped there would be no need for those.

“Just keep close and keep quiet,” Astrid said. “We’re almost there.”

It was late, past midnight, and the streets were all but empty, especially in the residential area of the city. Tower-houses rose above her, but she slipped through the alleys between them. Astrid did not know the city well, but she had been in this area once before. She knew exactly where she was going.

The Cantic chapel where the Black Matron had taken her.

Astrid crept past dark windows and closed doors, the man trailing behind her, until she saw one side of the carved stone chapel ahead.

Kirlan was home to three Cantic chapels. The largest was close to the city center, while another was located near the tiellan quarter. This one, the one Astrid sought, was in the middle of the residential quarter, where most nobles, high-earning merchants, and government officials made their home.

The residential area consisted of three long parallel roads, and the Cantic chapel sat in the center of them, cutting the middle road into two segments. Though tall, the chapel did not reach the height of many of the tower-houses in the area, some of them five or six stories high. Such houses were common in central and southern Khale, whereas manor houses and castle keeps were still the norm in the north.

Astrid stood on tiptoes, barely able to get her eyes to the very bottom of the stained-glass window. The place was empty and dark. That was good.

She relaxed back onto her heels, and then moved away, the man staying close and blissfully silent. When she had crept around the entire perimeter of the building, keeping as close to the chapel wall as she could, she began to think that her idea might not have been all that bright.

Then she felt it. A sickness, gently churning her insides at first, growing slowly stronger as she moved.

Nightsbane.

She was near the northeast corner. The main entrance to the chapel was on the west face of the building, but there was a smaller private door on the northern wall. Astrid made her way around to the smaller door, looking in each window she came across hesitantly. The green glow of her eyes was a nuisance; if there was someone inside, they surely would have seen her peeking in by now.

But Astrid had seen no movement, and that was enough for her. The priestesses must all be in their quarters tonight. No one up burning the holy oil.

Astrid broke the lock on the side door with a quick twist of her wrist.

The thin man behind her made a low groaning sound. “I… I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”

Astrid looked back at him. “If you want more silver, stay here and wait for me. Soon, your job will be over.”

When the man nodded, Astrid gently pushed the door open and walked inside.

Moonlight filtered faintly through the stained glass into an otherwise dark hall. Astrid’s eyes provided the brightest source of light by far, illuminating the decorative carvings and paintings wherever she looked. In one corner of the chapel was a sculpture of Canta herself, her long, back-length hair sweeping out behind her, as she reached upwards for something, a look of concentration or pleading on her face. Rare to see such a sculpture at all, really. While the Denomination did not forbid depictions of Canta, they were certainly uncommon. Most statues and paintings focused on the Nine Disciples and their works after Canta’s death.

Against her better judgment, she found herself walking towards the statue of the Goddess. It was not quite life-size— Canta was maybe Astrid’s height in the depiction—but the Goddess stood on a pedestal that rose roughly to Astrid’s waist. The sculpture was carved from marble, but unlike many of the worn statues Astrid had seen in chapels and cathedrals, this one looked pristine.

Slowly, Astrid reached across the pedestal to the foot of the statue. She did not know what she expected; no flash of light, no voice from the Praeclara, but she did hope for something. As her fingertips brushed against Canta’s feet, Astrid felt only the cool touch of marble.

Astrid looked over her shoulder, scanning the chapel to be sure she was alone. Satisfied, she turned back to the sculpture, two fingertips still gently touching the Goddess’s foot.

“Don’t know if you can hear me,” Astrid whispered, looking up into Canta’s face, “or if you’re even there at all…”

She hesitated. She had not expected to say anything, and she was suddenly unsure of what else to say. She stood there for a moment, the marble perpetually cool against her fingers, which had no heat of their own to offer.

“I need your help, I guess,” Astrid said after a moment. “Things aren’t good, and…”

The Black Matron is just using me, for one. Knot will probably never forgive me, even if he says he does. I don’t know if I’m worth forgiving, anyway. I just…

“I need your help,” Astrid said again. That was, she realized, all she was prepared to say.

Then, the chapel around her shifted.

Slowly, she realized, she was once again standing on the bow of a ship.

Calling it a ship would work, she figured. It seemed slightly too large to be called a boat, despite Astrid once again being the only person on the vessel. It was the same ship as the strange vision she’d had before. Its sails swelled, full of wind, driving the ship forwards, once again in the direction of a bright sunrise. Astrid looked over her shoulder. Behind her, the sky was still dark and full of faintly twinkling stars. The night sky in her wake faded into the blue-gray-violet of daybreak directly above her, which in turn warmed into the rosy orange hues straight ahead as the sun broke the horizon. The ocean was so still that it offered an almost perfect reflection of the sky above. Black water behind, blue-purple water to either side, and gleaming pink and orange water before her.

The gentle heat of the rising sun’s rays washed over her face. Just like before, there was no fear. The sun did not burn her; instead, it made her whole. In an instant, all the darkness was gone, and a bright golden light ignited across the sky and sea around her.

The ship took an unbidden turn into a great fjord, tall cliffs rising on either side of the still water. Once again, Astrid knew exactly where she was going. The word rang in her mind like the tolling of a great bell. Home.

She was going home.

Then, her surroundings shifted again, and Astrid found herself standing in the chapel in Kirlan once more.

“Was that… you?” Astrid asked the statue before her. “What does it mean?”

No feelings, no thoughts or voices or otherwise, came in response.

“Why a ship?” Astrid asked. “And where am I going?” Or where was I going? For all she knew, it was a memory.

The empty chapel responded in silence.

Astrid sighed. She retracted her hand, and turned. She had come here for a reason, after all.

Slowly, she approached the northeast corner of the chapel. This building, like most chapels, consisted of a large central hall, leading into a warren of smaller rooms and offices. A few rooms occupied the northeast corner of the building. Based on what Astrid had felt, the nightsbane would be in one of them.

She approached one door, and broke the lock on it easily. Slowly, the door creaked inward, and Astrid peeked inside.

A desk, some bookshelves, a few chairs. Nothing more. She felt only the slightest hint of sickness from nightsbane— the herb couldn’t be in this room. There was no other exit in the small office, either, so Astrid closed the door behind her and tried the other one.

Astrid began to feel the effects of nightsbane before she even broke the lock.

She pushed the door open and looked inside, trying to ignore the churning, burning sensation in her gut as it began to spread through the rest of her body. She took one step into the room and the pain intensified, blossoming in her skull. Astrid clutched her head, looking around the room in a squint.

She recognized the place immediately, even through the pain. The room was simple, with a table along one wall and two mismatched chairs nearby. A row of cupboards lined another wall, and that was about it. This was the room the Black Matron had taken her to before, where Astrid had been tortured with her own memories.

The nightsbane must be in one of the cupboards.

Quickly, she stepped back out, backing away, gasping in deep, heavy breaths.

When she’d regained her composure, Astrid walked back out of the chapel. She looked around outside, and finally saw the emaciated man she’d dragged along with her.

“Come with me,” she said, motioning for him to follow. “Quickly,” she added. His saunter was not nearly quick enough. Of course, that was the price she paid when this was the kind of help she sought.

She led the man into the chapel, toward the room with the nightsbane.

“In there,” Astrid said, pointing to the room. “In the cupboards, there is an herb. Make sure you get it all, then bring it out to me.”

“That’s it?” the man asked, craning his neck to look into the room. “That’s all you want from me?”

“That’s all I want,” Astrid said, “and then the silver is yours.”

The man glanced at Astrid, his eyes hollow, then shrugged and walked into the plain room.

Astrid stood at the doorway watching him, making sure he checked every cupboard, even ordering him to look in the corners of the room and under the table. Sure enough, in one of the cupboards he found a large bunch of nightsbane, the small white flowers standing out against the darkness.

“Bring all of it outside,” Astrid repeated, stepping out of the chapel as the man followed at a distance behind her.

When they’d reached the street, Astrid turned. The man continued walking towards her, but she raised her hands.

“Stop right there,” she said. “Do not come closer to me.”

The man stopped, clearly confused. Astrid didn’t care.

“I gave you flint and tinder,” Astrid said. “Take it out, and burn the herb.”

“This is the strangest request I’ve ever—”

“Just do it,” Astrid growled, and for a moment let the glamour she’d woven for the man dissipate. Instead of an innocent, well-dressed girl, he would glimpse what she really was. Her claws, her teeth, her wild hair and glowing eyes.

The man’s eyes widened, and he took out the flint and tinder and began striking them together. Sparks showered down on the nightsbane.

The convenient thing about nightsbane, of course, was that it was a dry flower. Even shortly after being cut, it was not a difficult thing to burn. It caught fire almost immediately.

Astrid watched it smolder. Slowly, she stepped forward. Step after step she took towards the small fire on the cobbled road, but she felt nothing.

No sickness. No pain.

She ordered the man to stamp out the fire, which he did. Then, Astrid held her hand out. In it, she held a half-dozen silver coins. She had no illusions about what the man would use it for, but she did not much care. He had made his choices. He had done what she had asked, and that was all that mattered.

“Thank you.” His eyes shone as he looked at the money.

Astrid turned her back on the man. She entered the chapel one more time and approached the room where the Black Matron had tortured her. No sickness, no pain. She nodded to herself. That was good.

She glanced at the statue of Canta once more before she left the chapel. She wasn’t sure why she’d thought the look depicted on the Goddess’s face had been pleading or concentration. The look on the sculpture’s face was one of fulfillment; the hand that reached upwards was closed, as if Canta had finally grasped whatever it was She sought. Astrid was surprised she had not noticed it before. Darkness cast strange shadows on things, sometimes.

Astrid made her way back out of the city to the Odenite camp. The Black Matron would have other sources of nightsbane, to be sure, but at least Astrid had made progress. She had struck back.

It would not be the last time.