The Message (II)

The Residence was surrounded by armed men. It had been ever since Warden Helen demanded a force from Dace's military. Two dozen wardens weren't enough to rein in bullying when Enclave was at peace, let alone stand it on a wartime footing. Helen had to pry the monies from the Finance Committee by force.

She had stood in their august chamber and given her reasons, only to be denied in the most cursory manner. "I've had enough of this foolish Council." Helen ground the words through gritted teeth. "They always come for the Hierarch. Juca DeSintra. Polystron of Tyre. Hyskian James. Nameless Dread. The King of Ancient Moldonia. They always come for the Hierarchs. But I have to beg this body on my knees for the bare minimum to protect them. Why are you always so stupid?"

The head of the Finance Committee tried to admonish the Warden, but he barely got a dozen words in before the woman's dark blade was free from its sheath. Helen attacked the curved table separating Guardians from the supplicants below them. Her rage was terrible in that silence, as her blade cut through ancient wood with ease, chopped it into sections, and soon the pieces lay on the ground. The Guardians pushed back from her in a near panic. Nothing stood between them and the ancient Warden with her terrible blade. This was not the Warden they knew.

Helen pointed her sword at them, and her voice was cold. "If you fail to kill him in the desert, Phillip will come for her. The greater heretics always do. No exceptions. You will draw a thousand soldiers from Dace to surround the Residence all day, every day, until the Phillip matter is settled. Or I will start taking your heads."

"You can't …," stammered the chairman.

"I can! My oath is to protect Encalve and the Hierarch. It says nothing about Guardians," she spat. "You people came later, so if you get in my way, I can kill you." She pointed her sword, its dark and infinitesimally sharp edge absorbing light around it. It occurred to them, each in their own way, they didn't know Helen at all. She was a fixture at Enclave since long before they were students. She was there when their parents were students, and their grandparents, and on and on. She was one of the great mysteries of Enclave. But people rarely socialized with her. She normally did her work through her subordinate wardens, but she was personally involved in this matter. None of them could predict what she might do.

The Chairman's voice was almost a whisper. "I forward the Warden's motion."

The motion passed quickly then, and a thousand men arrived in two days. They surrounded the Residence, working in shifts. Warden Helen made herself scarce as soon as they were organized. Her subordinates claimed they didn't know where she went.

Maia thanked the driver (Toma, she reminded herself) and strode through the ranks of soldiers around the Residence. Her stole of silver and aquamarine marked her as a Guardian, so they didn't interfere. The interior was guarded by red-uniformed wardens, who searched her more thoroughly than usual. They found the Nexus message but respected it after Maia said they weren't authorized to know the contents. "Council business," she claimed. They let her up the stairs, where she encountered two more wardens at the Hierarch's door. They didn't even knock; they just opened it to let her inside without warning.

The Hierarch and her Voice appeared to be quite at ease, Noora on her throne and the greatly-horned Mialta on a comfy chair nearby, surrounded by their many paintings, reading. Noora had thrown back her veil to read, and Maia caught a flash of the Hierarch's face: tawny eyes beneath tawny hair, a pert nose, and wan lips. She looked tired and underfed. The vision lasted for a partial second before the veil fell forward to cover her past the shoulders, turning her from human to enigma once again.

The Voice lowered her veil too, which covered her from eyes to just above the lips, to speak on her mistress's behalf.

"We are glad you've come, Guardian Maia. You must read this and give your opinion."

"I have news, Your Holiness."

"I know the shape of what you will say. You will tell me," said the Voice, "but not yet."

Milara waved at a nearby chair on the other side of the room and invited Maia to pull it close to where they sat with a small table between them stacked with boards. She did as she was told and, putting aside the purple-bound message from Nexus, took up the first stack from the table. The boards were new, bound in strips of cloth to form volumes that folded up zig-zag. A reader paged through the boards in one direction, then flipped the stack over to read the backsides. The brushwork was quite good, and the quality of wood and binding were excellent. It was a fine example of a traditional, pre-Nexus book. There was nothing wrong with such books, but it took four or five volumes to contain as many words as would fit comfortably in a single volume made of paper.

Maia discovered she had her volume backwards, and was reading from the middle.

> I have never seen a woman like her in all my life. Copper-colored skin glowed in the underground as if all light came from her. Her night-silk hair was bound in a braid draped over one shoulder. Her captors gave her precious little to wear, barely enough to cover the essentials. Her chains were made of their strange gray metal and clanked as she moved. Even under all those burdens, her proud curves and swells retained their grace. Despite her captivity by the Headless Men, her near-nakedness, her heavy chains, she walked unbowed and scourged her captors with a glare from her most extraordinary violet eyes.

>

> There was a woman to capture men's hearts! They would cross wilderness and ruins for her, brave any danger, conquer any foe, and die proudly with her name on their lips. What couldn't a man do, for such a woman?

>

> Her eyes widened when they saw me sitting at the foot of Gun'Nar's throne of bones. We were surrounded by the Headless Men but their attention was elsewhere, and in that unguarded moment her fingers made a sign. My response was to shake my head, for I did not understand her meaning. I hadn't yet learned the finger-talk of Silenz.

>

> Her expression turned from hope to contempt. She turned her gaze from me, and I fell into eclipse. I yearned for her to look at me again all during the Chief-Meet, but she kept her face pointed elsewhere, anywhere but toward me. I would have given anything to go back in time, if only for a minute, and do it differently. I could have made a Tenobre hand-sign, and she might have understood we didn't speak the same language. It could have been that easy, and thereby much grief avoided.

>

> Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

>

> Thus did I fail in the first great opportunity of my life before I saw the moment for what it was. I resolved to win a second chance with her, even if I had to carve my path through a sea of enemies.

"This is A Princess of Silenz! How did you get this? And why are you reading it on wood?" Maia knew the story because it was the product of Lavradio's famous Ms. Trueheart, who serialized the story in Nexus News. Maia wouldn't admit as much to the Hierarch, but she owned a paper copy of The Shepherdess Loralee.

"Because the guards confiscate anything on paper," she said through the Voice. "But Milara heard about it and discretely arranged for a copy to be made."

The Voice smiled with pleasure, and Maia thought it was for both of them, Hierarch and Voice. "It's quite subversive, don't you think? It ignores the old legends entirely and writes a whole new story for Silenz, as if we could disregard old passions and preconceptions. Our heroes reject the mysteries of the ancients as handed down by tradition. They search for Truth with their own hands and reach the Promised Place, only to find emptiness. But in that emptiness, they discover the freedom to build something entirely new.

"And, there's that scene in the Falls of Unmasking …." All three women fanned themselves with the volumes they were holding. Ms. Trueheart, whoever she was, knew precisely how to raise the temperature of a story.

"I share your … admiration for Ms. Trueheart's writing, Your Holiness, but isn't there anything more suitable in your library?"

"Dean Katerina broke my Sanctuary months ago and ransacked my library. That's when I learned how poorly trained I am. All she left behind are histories of the Five Families. I don't have Origins or Disciples, let alone a Book of Prayers. I have what I need for the Mandates, and little else. Katerina was quite thorough."

"The Hierarch doesn't have a single book of scripture? You could have come to me," Maia complained, "I could have done something."

"Do you think so?" Maia felt the doubtful stares of both women. "Can you honestly say you had the power to change anything of importance? Anyway, I didn't know if I could trust you. You never asked after our welfare, so we both assumed Leadership was in agreement with the Deans."

Failure upon failure. Maia was so proud when she was seated on the Council of Guardians, but she hadn't guarded anything except her career. Phrenos never consulted the Hierarch, and Maia never thought to go around him and inform the Hierarch about anything. She believed in Enclave, and she followed its rules without question. Even her disagreements with Leadership were confined to what was allowed by the rules.

Maia's blame spiral came to a sudden end when a privacy barrier snapped into place, obscuring everything beyond their little circle. Did the Hierarch just use silent prayer? Her surprise must have shown on her face.

"It's easy enough once you know it's possible," the Hierarch said, "and if you have plenty of time to practice. Now tell me your news."

Maia told them everything. The disaster in the desert. The loss of all disciples. The Shadow Council and its abruptly violent end. The skeletons on their thrones. That Nexus was in Dace and would surely be on its way to Enclave. They were probably within the walls already. As she spoke, Maia could only judge the Hierarch's reactions through the aperture of the Voice's lips but neither of them gave anything away. She finished by telling Her Holiness about the message.

The Voice took the thin stack of boards, examined it, and handed it to the Hierarch. She unbound the ribbon and opened the stack to reveal not only writing but a coin nestled in a carved recess. She lifted it appraisingly, felt the milled edges with her fingers, and tucked it into a hidden pocket.

The Voice raised her veil to be Milara again and busied herself around the room while her mistress read. She took down several paintings, all of them small, including the bird of opalescent fire from near the door. She departed through the left-hand door, the one to their private spaces, and soon emerged with two bulging pillowcases. The paintings were divided and stuffed on top of the existing contents.

Eventually, Maia couldn't take it anymore. "What does he say?"

The Voice's veil went down again so she could speak for Her Holiness, but she didn't stop her packing. "He is sick of killing and doesn't want to waste any more talented people. He offers to end our battle without further bloodshed."

"You're not going to step down and give him Enclave, are you? Could you even do that? Nobody would accept him, especially the new Firsts."

"Is that what you think he wants? To control Enclave?" Her Holiness stood before Maia, and dropped a stack of oversized boards on the table in front of her. They bore complicated golden seals, the kind monarchs used to send informal messages to each other. "Read these," said the Voice from across the room.

Her Holiness disappeared into her private chambers while Maia read. They were the state equivalent of Thank You notes, sent from most realms in Tenobre. They praised the Hierarch for sending disciples to handle all manner of dire events, but none of them were Enclave's doing. The Deans had recalled all of Enclave's disciples half a year ago, yet someone was doing the Work. Such messages were, for historical reasons, routed through the deans instead of Leadership.

"It's a clever ploy by Nexus," said the Voice, even though the Hierarch was in the next room, "to encourage these little notes from the people they save. The messages reach me because the Deans want to take credit for work they had no part in, but I am not as ignorant as they believe. It is a Hierarch's power to know the name and location of every practitioner. While Leadership plotted the murder and enslavement of tens of thousands of people, Nexus did our work while it defended itself at the same time. Phillip doesn't need to take over Enclave."

"What are you telling me?" Maia felt the truth, but she was afraid to know it. She made certain decisions when she was young and never questioned them after. Now, everything she built her life on might be … she couldn't think it. If the Firsts could be kept at bay, then Enclave could be saved. If the Hierarch had special powers, then she must be capable of anointing new disciples. They could start over.

Her Holiness returned with a large board of her own, a proclamation embossed with a golden seal beneath elegant calligraphy. "Who do you trust most with Tenobre's future? The Deans and their sick blood purity? A Council compromised by the First Families? The Firsts and their heartless greed? Or would you trust the people who did the work while we failed our mission?"

Maia didn't like any of those answers; they all spelled doom for her Enclave. "I would trust my Hierarch," she said cleverly.

"Then follow my orders." Maia took the proclamation directly from the hand of Her Holiness. It said to gather everyone beneath the Residence balcony where Noora greeted and blessed pilgrims on holy days. They were to gather quickly and wait for a Revelation.

"Why does Phillip want them all in one place?"

Her Holiness put a finger to her veiled lips, and the privacy barrier dispersed just as the door to her chambers opened. A servitor brought in a tea tray, placed it among the volumes of Trueheart's book, and departed without speaking.

The moment the door was closed, the Hierarch leaned her veiled form over her while the Voice whispered. "He doesn't, but I do. Follow this edict, and you will save lives. You say you trust me more than anyone, so trust me. And don't drink the tea."

The Hierarch straightened, and her Voice retrieved the pillowcases from where she had hidden them behind the dais. They stood side-by-side, holding hands, each with a packed pillowcase slung over her shoulder. The coin from Phillip's message was pressed between their palms. They looked like they were leaving, but how could they hope to get through all the guards? Was there a hidden exit not even Dean Katerina had been able to find?"

"Are the wardens trying to poison you?"

"No!" The Voice's lips turned down in distaste. "It's just very bad tea. Simply awful." They both stood straighter. "Remember this, Maia: the church exists for the sake of others."

Then, somewhat louder, the Voice said, "We are ready."

Nothing happened. For several long seconds, the women stood there holding hands while Maia watched.

"Ready for what?" she asked.

There was a disturbance as if a door had opened and closed again, and Maia blinked against the breath of air in her eyes. Paintings rattled in the shifting atmosphere, and before they settled into stillness the Hierarch and her Voice were gone.