The twelfth pillar is love.
Speaking the words is easy and costs nothing.
Offering love in the face of wrath and evil,
To the enemies within and without is righteous.
EXCERPT FROM THE SACRED BOOK OF THE SHEPHERD
Reverend Mother Britak had guided King Roebus through all manner of difficulties, but never had she seen him so distraught. His hands were shaking, he couldn’t stop pacing up and down and he looked on the verge of tears.
Rather than conduct this meeting in the throne room he had opted for a less formal setting. The room was still garish and too lavish for her tastes with silk curtains, expensive rugs and a roaring fire, even though there was barely a chill in the air. It was all so wasteful.
The weather was noticeably cooler than only a few days ago but she didn’t let it prey on her mind. It was merely a phase and part of a cycle which she’d witnessed before. A few of her novices had begun to mutter about supernatural dangers being responsible for the chill. They were learning the error of their ways for listening to gossip and publicly spouting such blasphemy. Sadly she could not discipline the King with the same ease.
“What’s happened?” she asked, cutting straight to the quick.
“There, on the table,” he said, pointing to a huge brass monstrosity that had been fashioned into the shape of four lions holding up a sheet of glass. A large unadorned wicker basket sat in the middle. Britak knew whatever was inside could not be dangerous, as it would never have reached the King; nevertheless he’d been severely traumatised by its contents.
Peering inside she was surprised to see a pair of severed hands. They’d been carefully wrapped in a thick black cloth which she clinically noticed wasn’t marked by even a single drop of blood. More peculiar than the bloodless hands was that they had been painted red.
“Is this a threat from someone?” she asked. The King was muttering to himself as he paced about. “What does it mean?” said Britak, working hard to supress shaking him by the shoulders.
“As we discussed I sent someone, to take care of Kell,” he said, glancing around at the walls. They were alone but anyone who accidentally overheard their conversation knew how to keep their mouth shut. “That’s all that’s left of them. It arrived this morning from Algany.”
She’d been arrogant to assume King Bledsoe hadn’t put someone in place to protect Kell, and more importantly, his plan to elevate Algany. Pride. It was another sin for which she would have to pay penance.
“He’s going to come for me,” said Roebus. “I should double the number of guards around the palace. And hire a food taster!”
“Those are all wise precautions. However, do you think if King Bledsoe intended to kill you he would send a warning first?”
It took a while but eventually the words penetrated Roebus’s thick skull as he stopped pacing and turned to face her. “A warning?”
“Yes. He’s telling you not to interfere.”
“Then he’s not trying to kill me?”
“No.” Not today at least, although she didn’t say that part aloud in case it sent Roebus into another panicky spiral.
“Then what should I do?” he asked. “There’s growing support for Kell to succeed. A lot of people are worried about feeding their families.”
“There’s no proof that the danger is real,” said Britak.
“Whether you believe or not isn’t important.” Roebus held up a hand before she could protest. “Farmers across Algany and Seithland are complaining about their crops. And they’re not the only ones. Less food means less trade and that affects everyone.”
Britak took a deep calming breath before speaking. “King Bledsoe is old. He won’t live forever.”
“What are you saying?”
“Even if this farcical quest goes in his favour his level of popularity won’t matter when he dies. In fact, it’s possible that the King of Algany could die at any time.”
“No,” shouted Roebus. “Not him, I forbid it. You will not interfere!”
“I was not implying anything,” said Britak in a soothing voice. “My point was, we should let nature take its course. Whenever it happens he will be remembered as a great king, but his successor will have to earn the favour of his people. You need to stay strong, hold tight to your faith in the Shepherd and all will be well.” She could see from his guarded expression that the King remained unconvinced. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Kell is no longer travelling alone. He’s gathered together a group of unusual characters to help him. There’s a bard, a woman from Kinnan, an Islander and even one of the Alfár.”
Britak hissed through her teeth and sketched the crook in the air with one hand for protection. They were unclean abominations. Freaks that refused to die.
No one, not even her predecessors with their extensive journals, knew where they came from. Many had gathered clues that it was somewhere across the Narrow Sea in a land beyond Corven, but there was little solid evidence beyond that unifying fact. Nothing in nature resembled them or was related to them. At first Britak had thought of them as sideshow peculiarities, freaks of nature to be pitied, but over the decades she’d realised they were something much worse. They were the living embodiment of human sin.
Whenever they showed up, trouble followed in their wake. They were harbingers of bad times and never surfaced before a long spell of peace. Next year people would be hungry until the harvest came in and that would lead to unease and possible conflict across the Five Kingdoms. She should have seen it coming.
“Kell has damned himself by promoting his belief in the supernatural and now he’s allied himself with an abomination. There really isn’t anything he won’t do.”
“They’re travelling through Kinnan and will arrive in Meer in the next few days. That could be our last opportunity to stop them,” said Roebus.
“No, I think a different approach would be better,” said Britak, forcing a smile. Her blood was still boiling at the thought of the Alfár but to Roebus the creature was nothing more than an oddity. He didn’t understand what it meant for the future.
“The Frozen North is a dangerous place. Only heathens and the insane would volunteer to travel onto the ice. Last time there were twelve of them and only Kell returned. How many does he have this time?”
“Five followers.”
“Then the chances of him returning are slim. And even if he did make it back to Meer, he would be exhausted, maybe injured and probably close to death.”
King Roebus nodded sagely in agreement.
Mother Nature was not kind or caring. She was brutal and relentless. She was the sort of mother Britak admired. To survive Mother Nature you had to be willing to fight her every step of the way. The beasts on the ice would thin the herd. Britak would make sure Kell, and whoever else made it back to Meer, never returned home.
Obviously Kell and the Alfár had to die, but she had to ensure the bard did not survive. She’d already been forced to endure ten years of that Medina dross which refused to go away. She would not tolerate a new song about the so-called hero, Kell Kressia. If that happened his reputation would only grow and she’d never hear the end of it.
“Now is the time to be patient,” she advised the King. “It may be that none of those who set foot on the ice will return.”
“I pray to the Shepherd it happens that way,” he said.
Britak was happy to leave the King’s presence and return to work. Whenever she was around him for too long Britak felt her intelligence begin to drop.
She set a steady pace towards the rectory, her mind on the future. Roebus was a pathetic excuse for a King. As time passed he seemed more unwilling to make difficult decisions even when they would benefit him in the long run.
Sadly his eldest son, and heir to the throne, was another weak-chinned fool that wasn’t much better than his father. She’d hoped that Roebus had at least another ten years on the throne but now she had her doubts. If he found it difficult to make small decisions then it might take him months to make up his mind about something really important. That was time she didn’t have to waste on his dithering. Time relentlessly marched on and every morning it became a little more difficult to open her eyes.
Britak wondered if she should have invested more of her time in the King’s son instead. A feisty young wife would fire his blood. So far the King’s new wife had lifted his mood but he was only a little more pliable than before. Her spy would just have to work extra hard so the King did as he was told. Either that or Britak would see to it that he was removed.
She left her escort at the front door of the rectory and marched through the hallways towards the garden. Roebus squirmed when making a decision but once it was done he spared little thought about the outcome. Such thoughts kept her up at night. They haunted her dreams and weighed on her soul.
Using a small knife Britak cut a dozen pale roses, gathered them in a ribbon and then set off for her rooms.
She knew her relationship with the King was a peculiar partnership that few would understand. He gave the orders but she was the one who paid the price. While he slept soundly in his bed she suffered in his stead. It didn’t matter that someone else had given the order or that it was necessary. She knew committing such grave sins were a stain upon her soul. The guilt of her actions would not be easily assuaged.
After entering her private rooms Britak stripped out of her clothing and then took the time to carefully hang up everything in her wardrobe. The tiles were cold against her bare feet but she did her best to ignore the pain. With the flowers clutched in one hand she lit several candles inside her private chapel before locking the door so that she would not be disturbed. Her people knew better than to enter her rooms without invitation but she couldn’t take any chances.
With a sharp twist of her hands Britak beheaded all of the roses. The colourful petals fell to the floor but she ignored them. Their softness served no purpose. It was the stems that interested her. Taking down a leather cord from the wall she wove it through and around the stems over and over until it formed a long and flexible tail.
Kneeling down wasn’t easy but she endured the indignity of almost falling on her face from performing such a simple task. She was getting feeble. Her flesh was starting to fail but her will remained as solid as iron.
Gritting her teeth Britak unfurled the whip to its full length and then mercilessly brought it towards her body with all of her strength. The rose thorns dug into the flesh of her back ripping the skin open in a dozen places. With both hands she yanked the whip away, tearing it free from her body. The pain was mild and she felt no better for the sins she bore. Blood trickled down her back but she paid it no attention. The guilt remained and she needed to repent.
The whip struck her flesh over and over but she refused to cry out in pain. Crying was for children. Even though the agony was beginning to mount she would suffer in silence.
As her efforts continued, sweat ran from her pores. The cuts in her flesh began to burn. Britak was clenching her jaw so tightly her teeth were squeaking.
The whip came down again, ripping a series of tears across her ribs and shoulders. She would continue until the guilt began to ease. No matter how long it took.
Towards the end, when her strength was ebbing away, the torture of her flesh opened a window of clarity in her mind. In that moment all of the lies and conceit faded away leaving her bare and honest. The pain was gone and she knew the simplest truth of her heart.
She would do anything, remove any obstacles, commit any sin, to bring the Shepherd’s word to the Five Kingdoms, because it was righteous. Britak smiled through bloody teeth and felt the remaining guilt fade away.