Sister Celestyn picked her way quietly and carefully through the tall herd grass, until she reached the narrow road at the edge of the meadow. From here, the Stoyga Trail led westward nine miles to the village of Halina, or east and then south to Ludmita Harbor. By horse, the port could easily be reached by a little after sunrise. On foot, however, it would take until well past mid-morning; cutting it very close to the noon deadline she had been given. If they were going to make the tide, and the ship bound for Thal Doren, the sisters had no choice now but to travel the swifter route and chance being spotted along the road. Fortunately, hardly anyone but herdsmen used the old trail anymore. And, on a black night such as this, it was unlikely anyone would be wandering about in the darkness.
At least, that was what Celestyn hoped.
The sister paused, checking both directions before daring to venture out from the cover of the tall grass and into the openness of the old broken road. The sky overhead was blotted here and there by fat patches of slow moving clouds. And, with the new moon just a day away, the lack of natural light made it difficult to see much beyond twenty or so feet past her face, despite the occasional cluster of stars breaking through overhead. Standing silently within the cover of the six-foot high grass, Celestyn relied on her hearing, instead . . . listening intently for any activity on the road. As she breathed in, she wrinkled her nose in response to the sickly sweet smell of herd grass, which saturated the air and seemed to cling to every part of her. In response, she cupped a hand over her nose and snorted the disagreeable air out, breathing in again . . . but this time only through her mouth, which helped a little. Celestyn had always considered the aroma of herd grass a pleasant one. And in small doses, carried by a summer breeze, or when the fragrance hung about in the air, after an early autumn rain, the honey-like odor could be quite enchanting. But, after spending the last hour scratching and crawling through a meadow dense with the stuff, she was beginning to reconsider her fondness for it.
In the distance, a large gyoda owl shrieked its shrill warning to any trespassers or challengers who may have carelessly entered its hunting grounds. Celestyn, remained still as a statue, continuing to listen for additional sounds – ones that didn't belong on the road or in the meadow. But, other than the owl and the repetitive droning of cicadas, nothing else caught her attention. Satisfied, she then took a few wary steps onto the road, checking both ways, once again, before whistling a single, soft, nearly inaudible note; a signal for the others to come ahead and join her.
Pressing through the high, jungle of grass, Sister Zofia caught her ankle in a tangle of thick growth and nearly lost her footing, but somehow managed to avoid taking a tumble onto the road. Zofia was the oldest sister at Klasztor Tajemna and had served as a Handmaiden for close to seven decades; longer than anyone else who currently resided there. She was also unusually short and almost as wide as she was tall. "I am getting far too old to be taking nighttime hikes through this miserable midsummer herd grass," she said, wiping heavy beads of sweat from her brow with the tightly wound fore-sleeve of her sutanka; a plain, traditional dress worn by the local women of the Biasto na Vilnuz region. "And you are no spring kurczak either, Celestyn. This is madness! How are we supposed to get to Ludmita by tidefall on foot, without using the gifts? It has to be twenty or more miles from here. I have said it once and I will say it again. This is madness!"
"You have said it many more times than once, dear Zofia. In fact, you have said it every five minutes since we departed the school. And it is necessity, not madness, that drives us this night," replied Celestyn, tossing a stern glance at the older sister who, despite her complaints, understood the seriousness of this dire situation as well as anyone. Celestyn then turned, just in time, to see a third slender figure slip easily through the edge of the grass and step firmly, but lightly onto the road.
"How are you managing, Marasel, dear? Any problems?" Asked Celestyn.
The young woman nodded and managed a feeble smile. "I am fine. Well . . . This dress is too big for me and far too heavy for summer . . . so I guess I am warm, actually. But still . . . I am fine."
"Psssshhhhht. Fine. None of us are fine," spouted Sister Zofia, throwing her hands up. "We are out in the blackness of night, dressed like peasant farmers and sneaking around like common thieves on the road. And not a very good road at that. I still don't see why we could not have taken the carriage. In the carriage, I would have been fine. But I am not fine. I am far from fine . . . and this . . . this is madness!"
Celestyn rolled her eyes and mumbled a crass comment she would have to ask forgiveness for later. Sister Zofia meant well, but, she was a librarian, after all. The rotund, elder sister found her joy in prayer and solitude and the well-written word. She was not a physical woman and she was certainly not built for pre-dawn treks across the difficult Krovanian countryside. To be honest, none of them had ever walked all the way to Ludmita. When the carriage was in use elsewhere, there was always a stable full of horses to choose from. But the carriage and the snow white horses of Klasztor Tajemna were well known by practically everyone in the area. And on this night, Celestyn had no doubt their pursuers watched the roads for any sign of them.
Celestyn laid one hand gently upon Zofia's plump, round shoulder and her other lightly grasped Marasel's upper arm. "Perhaps it would have been easier to hire a ship in the city and sail down river to the harbor. But my heart warned me that would have been a mistake. Our pursuers certainly watch the docks of Biasto na Vilnuz at all times. For weeks they have demanded we hand Marasel over to them. And for weeks we have lied, and said she ran away . . . and that we had no idea where she was. I do not think they believed us . . . but I also do not think they would expect us to make for Ludmita Harbor directly . . . especially on foot. So, on foot we must go."
"But why must we proceed without magic, Celestyn?" asked Zofia. The frustration in her voice was plainly evident. "It seems silly to forego our Lady's gifts at a time such as this."
"Because they will find us . . . find me . . . if any one of us uses our gifts," said Marasel, in a small, weary voice that accurately reflected her exhaustion. The girl had not slept for three days . . . not since she first felt the scratching at the edge of her mind; tiny claws attempting to burrow through the arcane barrier Matka Patryzia had carefully constructed to conceal her from detection spells. But the Imperial Witch Hunters were no meager wizards. And they were relentless. They had nearly discovered that Marasel had not truly abandoned the Arcaniversity; a fact the Matka and every sister there had lied about. Since then, the Hunters' attempts to find her had only increased in number and intensity. It was only a matter of time before Marasel failed to resist their persistent efforts to locate her. If Marasel allowed her mind to lose its focus, she could not actively fend off the Hunters' spells . . . and she feared the Hunters would then have little problem pinpointing her location. So, Marasel had not permitted herself the luxury of sleep . . . and it was well past the point of taking a toll on her.
The two older women turned their concerned gazes upon the young acolyte. Marasel Hartonovicz was not a sister . . . at least not officially. The young woman had only just turned fifteen. Which meant an entire year before she could decide for herself whether or not to be anointed as a Handmaiden of Starlight. But, Marasel had lived with the sisters since the very moment of her birth. The loving embrace of Światło Słoneczne and the secluded life of a Handmaiden was the only life she had ever known or wanted. Raised and reared by the Sisters of Klasztor Tajemna, Marasel's upbringing was truly a community effort. And, practically every Handmaiden living within the starlit Halls of Klasztor Tajemna considered Marasel nothing less than a daughter.
Among the Handmaidens, the ability to comprehend and exploit the arcane teachings of Światło Słoneczne varied. While each and every one of the sisters were capable spell casters, some, like Sister Zofia, Sister Radtka, and a few others, possessed a much greater understanding of the knowledge the Fey had composed over a span of unimaginable ages. For these women, casting any spell – whether arcane or divine – seemed nearly effortless, and produced favorable results at a consistency far more often than chance alone could explain.
And beyond the expertise of these few women, there were those like Sister Celestyn and the reverend Matka Patryzia – the head of their Order – whose grasp of otherworldly magic was practically akin to the Fey, themselves. The strength and power wielded by these humble, holy servants of the Lady was, perhaps, equal to that of the greatest Silthari wizards in Dorethara.
And then there was Marasel Hartonovicz. Some at the convent called her a prodigy. All believed she was blessed and favored by the Lady of Starlight. At the age of four, Marasel had already mastered the most basic of spells and could channel energy as efficiently as any acolyte. By her tenth birthday, she possessed an understanding of complex arcane manipulations well beyond what might be expected of those who were already ordained. Now, at fifteen, she had progressed farther in her lessons than many of the Handmaidens ever would. And, as a divine healer, she was surpassed only by a handful of eldest sisters living at Klasztor Tajemna.
Zofia, ever the one to offer comfort and compassion, reached out with her short, stubby arms and, with some effort, managed to wrap them about Marasel's shoulders, pulling the girl closer and hugging her tightly for several seconds. Then, standing on her tip toes, she placed a small kiss against Marasel's forehead before releasing her again. "Well then, my girl . . . these Hunters are far more practical than us, I think," she added, with a shake of her head. "We have a very long way to go, and if we are going to make the noon tide we had better start moving along. My old, short legs only go so fast and I have no doubt they will be screaming their protests well before we ever reach the harbor."
0 0 0 0 0
The condition of the road improved as the three women continued their journey eastward. Finally free of the tall grass and weeds, they had started to make better time. It also helped that this particular section of road sloped gradually downward, allowing them to walk at a faster pace with a bit less effort. There was hardly any wind to speak of, but what little there was came out of the northwest, which also worked in their favor.
Since starting down the Stoyga Trail, the sisters focused their efforts solely on reaching Ludmita Harbor before noon; keeping their eyes tuned to the road and watching for anyone who might also be watching for them. For a time, they kept a decent pace, step after step after step. The clouds above had broken up some, allowing the stars to better illuminate the road and their surroundings. This surely made them more visible, but it also gave them hope and comfort, for starlight ever contained the encouraging whispers of Światło Słoneczne.
The sisters did not slow or stop, and they spoke very little. Their silence was primarily a result of the weariness they all felt . . . but it was also, in fact, a very necessary precaution.
Witch Hunters were capable wizards who regularly made use of potent, complex spells to pinpoint a quarry's exact location, usually without the person ever knowing they were being hunted. Some weeks back, the Imperials had employed these standard methods in an attempt to locate Marasel. But the Handmaidens of Klasztor Tajemna were no menial spellcasters. The Imperial mages had underestimated them and had achieved little more than alerting the sisters to their involvement. What had started as an "inquiry of meager significance" by a small contingent of the Burmisz's constabulary, quickly revealed itself as something much, much more. The sisters could not begin to guess why the Burmisz had taken such a sudden interest in a girl who had spent her entire life within the walls of Klasztor Tajemna, but collectively, they knew in their hearts that he should never be allowed to find her. So, when the constables returned to perform a physical search of the school and the convent grounds, Marasel had already been hidden away in a secret location, within the old quarters below Klasztor Tajemna.
As days rolled by, the Witch Hunters' efforts only resulted in failure after failure. And, eventually, they moved to a more sophisticated approach . . . casting advanced spells and performing rituals that targeted very personal things . . . traits unique to Marasel . . . such as her voice, or her heart beat, or even her breath. But by surrounding Marasel with the proper arcane defenses, these attempts met with no more success than their previous ones. Matka Patryzia's expertly woven spells, combined with Marasel's own natural ability to divert such intrusions, had allowed the girl to slip their nets at every turn. But, very recently, Celestyn had divined that the Hunters had altered their strategy yet again, taking a wholly different approach; monitoring, instead, anyone they felt was inclined to help the girl. Which meant that all of the sisters were likely being watched, or possibly even scryed upon. If the Imperial Hunters succeeded in determining that Celestyn or Zofia had fled the school in the middle of the night, there was no doubt they would also conclude that Marasel was with them. At the moment, all three of the sisters were surrounded in layers of basic, simple spells, each designed to hinder a specific type of magical detection. Matka Patryzia felt confident that these individual spells were weak enough to escape notice by the Hunters. And, such as they were, layered and knitted together by the skillful hands of the Matka and Sister Celestyn, the individual spells were expertly transformed into a tightly integrated shield of enchanted protections even an archmage would have difficulty penetrating.
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But that certainly didn't mean they were safe.
Celestyn feared they might have already spoken too many careless words or delayed once too often, in order to gather a moment of rest, or to reassure each other that that the Lady would see them through this night. But Celestyn was a pragmatic woman . . . and she knew neither she nor Zofia were going to complete this outing without the occasional breather. Celestyn had sensibly allowed for some periods of momentary respite in her timeline. But she also knew that without the use of the Lady's gifts . . . without magic to speed their progress or bolster their vitality, arriving in Ludmita by tidefall would prove a physically demanding undertaking for all of them. And . . . if she allowed herself to dwell on the difficulty of the task before them, she might find herself agreeing with Zofia's observation . . . that this was, indeed, madness.
After several miles without seeing or hearing anyone else about, Celestyn began to feel more at ease. Even as the first hint of sunlight began to brighten the horizon, the three had reached the turnoff that would take them southward to the village of Ludmita and the ship that waited for them there. They paused briefly at the fork to rest, but also to offer prayers before a small, weathered statue of Światło Słoneczne.
Immediately following their hurried devotions, the sisters continued on their way. But, after just a short time, it became painfully clear to Celestyn and Marasel that Zofia would not be able to keep their current pace much longer. Within perhaps just another half-mile, the sisters' progress began to slow considerably. Try as she might, Zofia could not walk any faster and, at this speed, they would be fortunate to cover two miles – at most – in an hour. To reach the harbor on schedule, they needed to average no less than three.
"Wait," said Zofia, stopping suddenly. Her face was flush with effort and her discomfort was obvious. "I do . . . not . . . think . . . " The sister raised a hand, her pointing finger extended, signaling that she needed a moment. Her attempt to speak was broken up by heavy breaths, as she worked to regain her wind.
"We will wait," said Marasel, taking a few steps back towards where Zofia now stood, half bent-over at the waist.
"No. No, child. You . . . you and Celestyn . . . need to continue . . . without me. I will only . . . slow you down. I can go no faster . . . And soon I will not . . . not be able to go . . . any further."
In a moment of sudden weariness, panic and grief, Marasel's eyes began to fill with tears as she quickly closed the remaining distance between her and the elder sister. "No Zofia! You just need a moment. I said we will wait for you!"
"No, Marasel, dear . . . I'm afraid Zofia is right", said Celestyn, turning to face them while dabbing the sweat from her brow and neck with a bunched-up kerchief. Even if we continue together, at our current speed we will not reach the ship before tidefall. If we don't make that one, there won't be another headed to Thal Doren for three days. And I'm afraid that even one more day will be too much time to avoid the Hunters."
"Then we take a different ship and go somewhere else," replied Marasel, defiantly. "We don't have to go to Thal Doren, do we? There are many places on Artha we could hide from them."
Celestyn shook her head. "No, child. The Lady's council was clear. Thal Doren is our destination. Any other path will result in . . . in failure. We must always trust in Światło Słoneczne. Her guidance will never lead us astray. "
Marasel could tell that Celestyn, though adamant in her words, struggled to hold back her own emotions. "But what about Zofia? We cannot just leaver her . . ."
"Psssshhhhht. I . . . will be fine," replied the elder sister. Zofia had regained some of her wind, at least, and appeared a tiny bit less flushed as well. "These świnicze. . . they have no interest in a fat old . . . librarian. It's you they are searching for, my child . . . not me. You and Celestyn must continue on to Ludmita. I . . . I will remain for a time – long enough so that you are nowhere near here – and then I will use the gifts to revive myself and return to the school. I still have plenty of water, and even a few snacks. I will be fine."
There was no further deliberation. Everyone knew Zofia spoke the truth. There was perhaps fifteen miles remaining and slightly less than six hours to reach their destination. From here, the road itself would get easier but the day would grow hotter as the sun continued to rise in the sky.
Marasel reached into her satchel and pulled out a bulbous lump, tightly wrapped in a blue cloth napkin which had been tied together at the corners. "Here. You will need this more than I." She reached out, handing the napkin to Zofia. "It is a loaf of Smarna's honey bread. She gave it to me before we left. Freshly baked, I think. Anyway, it was warm when she handed it to me. I . . . I don't have any butter."
Zofia reached to take the bread, tears already flowing freely down her plump cheeks. She clutched the parcel in one hand and then threw her arms tightly about Marasel, nearly taking the girl's breath away. "This is not goodbye, my little Marasel. When the time is right, I will join you and Celestyn in Thal Doren. Soon . . . but not too soon. When you are safe. Not until you are safe."
Once Zofia released Marasel and stepped back, she turned and held her arms open for Celestyn who was already moving toward the elder sister. They both fought tears as they hugged. Then they cried and hugged some more.
"May the light of Światło Słoneczne guide your steps, sister," said Zofia, her voice breaking as she spoke.
Celestyn nodded as they exchanged solemn glances. She let out a slight sigh, then forced a smile. "We will see you again. Soon, Zofia. I will send word. May Her light protect and guide you, my sister."
Zofia responded with a nod of her own then turned to face the north, wiping her remaining tears away with a damp and dirty sleeve.
0 0 0 0 0
Without Sister Zofia to slow their pace, Marasel and Celestyn quickly settled into a faster stride, continuing southward down the Stoyga Trail. Marasel had made the trip to Ludmita several times before, but always while seated comfortably within the the school's covered carriage. Celestyn had taken this route perhaps a hundred times or more, and at least a dozen of those were on horseback. But this time, on foot, under a bright, morning summer sun . . . the road felt woefully unfamiliar, and the surrounding countryside appeared foreign . . . as if they were making the journey for the very first time.
The two had agreed not to speak again unless it was absolutely necessary. So far, Matka Patryzia's protective spells and the sisters' luck seemed to be working in perfect tandem. To this point they hadn't sighted a single soul on the road. But, they also knew the closer they drew to Ludmita, the greater their chances of crossing paths with traveling merchants, herdsmen, or farmers. Dressed as they were, they hoped to blend in with the locals and to go unnoticed by those watching the road specifically for the white-garbed Handmaidens of Klasztor Tajemna. If they had been free to use their gifts, traveling undetected would have proven a far simpler task The trip would also have been, overall, considerably safer, taken less time, and require a fraction of the effort. But they knew any spell cast now, no matter how beneficial, would serve only as a beacon for the Imperial Witch Hunters.
As hours passed the sisters did their best to maintain a consistent pace, ignoring the ever-present weariness that worked against them. Eventually the surrounding lands began to change from apparent wilderness to rural farmlands. The meadows filled with wild heather, lavender, tall herd grass and Gullberry trees were replaced, more and more, by well-tended fields of hardy summer crops.
Inevitably, their paths crossed with a single traveler, coming from the south. The lone, elderly man led a hefty mule that pulled a small cart loaded down with peat and several overstuffed, unmarked sacks. Celestyn believed the man to be a local farmer heading northward to his home, probably returning from wherever he had purchased or traded for his cartful of goods. The man nodded and waved as he passed but, thankfully, seemed to take no real interest in the two women.
The farmers living in and around the Niebieski River Vale supplied much of the food for the city dwellers of Biasto na Vilnuz. Which meant, there were a lot of farms and a lot of farmers to the west, and even more further down the Stoyga Trail. But, without a very good reason, most of these farmers avoided any kind of superfluous travel. Those who worked the lands this far north of Ludmita rarely stepped beyond the borders of their own homesteads. Farming was an arduous and time-consuming profession which kept one busy from sunup to sunset. A lengthy excursion to town – or anywhere else for that matter – was considered a waste of precious time. The hardy folks who lived in these parts were incredibly self-reliant and self-sufficient. And while the shops of Ludmita, Halina and Kovrek, arguably, offered items these people couldn't provide for themselves, they were more inclined to do without than trade their hard-earned coin for anything considered frivolous or unessential.
As the rolling valley leveled and flattened out, crop fields, herd lands, and scattered farmhouses began to dominate the view in nearly every direction. This change in landscape told Celestyn they were within a few miles of the Niebieski River and the Szerokyi Crossing; a wide stone bridge constructed ages ago by the nomadic herdsmen who once thrived in these lands. This near to the coast, the Niebieski flowed fast and hard. Crossing it, even by boat or ferry, could prove a treacherous undertaking. The old sturdy stone bridge made for safe and easy passage, and was especially popular when the river was high and the water ran white . . . which it did throughout most of the spring and rainy summer months. Unfortunately, taking the Crossing also meant there was no way to avoid being seen.
The bridge was manned at all times by Imperial toll collectors. On the positive side, the collectors weren't actually soldiers, but rather, part time conscripts out of Ludmita. From what Celestyn knew, the bridgemen were typically boys or very young men with no military training and no real connection to the Burmisz, other than a requirement to collect a single copper miedźil from every crosser and complete a census report at the end of every day. A small lockbox containing the coins, along with the bundle of reports, was sent, each week without fail, to Biasto na Vilnuz for review. Why the Dragon Empire bothered to collect such an inconsequential toll, or why they felt it necessary to know the exact tally of people crossing the bridge each day, was a mystery that hadn't been figured out by anyone in more than half a century of carefully and consistently completed census reports.
The Szerokyi Crossing – or just the Crossing– as it was most commonly called – was only one of several options available in the area to forge the swiftly moving Niebieski River. But, it was the closest, the safest, and the most convenient for anyone destined for Ludmita. Just a quarter mile beyond the bridge, sat a small unmanned ferry, built and maintained by some of the local merchants. While free to use, the floating platform was considered a viable alternative only during autumn and winter, when the river level was lower and the water progressed to the sea in a abundantly slower and calmer capacity. There were also a handful of narrow bridges scattered farther downriver, but any of those would add an unacceptable amount of time and distance to the sisters' already lengthy trip. And, next to the Witch Hunters, time was undoubtedly their most persistent enemy.
The sun and the temperature continued to climb throughout the morning. Whatever meager breeze existed earlier in the day had now diminished into nonexistence. Celestyn and Marasel continued to plod along southward toward Ludmita in silence, their muddled, sleep-deprived thoughts wandering often to the sisters they left behind at Klasztor Tajemna . . . and especially, to Sister Zofia, all alone on the road.
By now, the elder Handmaiden would be well on her way back to the school. Aided by magic, her return journey was sure to be faster and entail substantially less effort than their initial outset together. But, there was still the very real danger of Witch Hunters to contend with. No doubt that any spell Zofia cast to aid her progress would immediately alert the Hunters to her location. Which also meant they were likely to intercept and interrogate her . . . But, despite her unpretentious, matronly appearance, and her apparent lack of common sense, Zofia possessed the intelligence and artfulness of a deep gnome. Even on the fly, the wily sister could spin a story as convincingly as any street swindler in the Vilnuz Market. Both Celestyn and Marasel held every confidence that if questioned, the Hunters were unlikely to garner anything useful from her – even if they employed magic to do so.
For a while longer, the trail continued due south, but then made a sudden bend to the east, heading directly toward the river's edge. Ahead, the Bridge and the adjoining white stone Szerokyi Shrine was clearly visible under the bright late morning sky. The ancient structure and its eight surrounding obelisks were located on the closer, northwest side of the river, just before the start of the Bridge. The sacred shrine was one of the original reliquaries erected during the period when Światło Słoneczne first journeyed throughout the Eastern Sea Territories with a group of young women destined to set the foundation for a religion and a way of life that would forever define the people who called these lands their home.