Heretic
Part Two
Chapter 16
The full moon shone brightly down on the grounds of the Sword Monastery, filling the fields with an amber glow. Up here the wind was always blowing, sending the stalks of wheat flowing like ocean waves, bringing a cool clean scent. Peace did not come as easily, this night. Kierna had spent three hours tossing and turning in her private cell in the Sword Hall’s upper loft before giving up sleep as a lost cause. Clad in a loose robe held by her sword-belt, she’d stepped out barefoot onto the monastery’s flat stone paths and began her walk around its empty grounds, wishing her head could be as silent as the tranquil mountain.
Even from here she could still see the glow of the crusade’s fires, though it was past midnight. An army may sleep, but there was always work to be done, and down among those tents blacksmiths would be shaping spear-heads, fletchers were making arrows, new wagons of food and fodder were arriving and must be counted and inspected, a thousand lesser officers were huddled over their desks working to turn their superior’s simple orders into logistical time-tables. Kierna felt she could see it even when she turned her head, an irritation like a mosquito buzzing around her neck.
So when she saw the shadow flitting across the grounds, through the apple-orchard and around the archery-butts, she lengthened her stride to follow.
She caught up among the bee-hives, perched on the edge of the cliff with only a waist-high railing to keep one from taking a short step to the miles below. Her bare feet made no sound on the soft sandy dirt of the cliff-side, slipping around the granite pillars on which the bees built their hives. On the last row, she spotted the stick-thin figure of a teenaged girl, creeping low to the ground. She was moving overly cautiously, slowly extending a hand towards the hive, clearly concerned about the dozen or so bees fluttering around her and in her hair.
“If you were hungry, you could have gone to the kitchens,” Kierna said. The girl jumped at the sound of her voice, shrieking, and the bees scattered, followed by a small cloud of them emerging from the hives to either side. Suppressing a smile, Kierna walked forward and took the girl carefully by the shoulders, steering her away from the startled insects. Three bees were rumbling around on the girl’s wooly hair, so Kierna brushed them gently off.
“I wasn’t- I’m not- I didn’t take anything,” the girl said in a high, quavering voice. The voice slotted into Kierna’s memories, and she recoginzed the child as the girl she’d taken from Tzamet’s village, the one who’d been herding the goat she’d lost in Aathdel. Chella, she remembered.
“You’re not the first child to wake at night with an aching sweet-tooth. I assume you thought the kitchens would be locked, perhaps guarded? Master Kenly honors all guests here. There are limits, of course, but if you’re hungry, you are welcome to our larders. Jehx grants us good land here, despite the elevation. We’ve plenty to go around.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, then,” Chella said, chagrined.
“We’ll get some over here,” Kierna said, leading her to the other side of the field, far from the swarming bees. Indicating for the girl to wait, she drew her belt-knife gingerly, and stepped up to one of the hives, where only a few bees were wandering around the outside. “These creatures have been raised here by the monks for hundreds of their generations. They’re quite docile, but you still have to know how not to upset them. Keep things routine, and most things will accept their purpose peacefully.”
With the knife, she reached slowly into the hive and gingerly cut off a thick chunk of honeycomb, brushing away the bees clinging to it, then cut another slice for herself. As she withdrew it, she paused at the sight of a single bee sitting still on the flat of her knife, unconcerned. They live day after day, accepting our strange intrusions, accepting us as benevolent caretakers. And yet, any one of use could smash their homes to pieces on a whim. Do they ever think of that? “Come, let’s get out of their way.”
She led the girl over past the archery-butts, where a pair of polished stone benches were perched atop rounded stones, carefully stacked so that they were as solid as a single piece. The railing here was shorter, giving those sitting at the benches a clear view of the great city of Ethka and the placid lake Thelta beyond it, with the army camped on its shores.
The honey was shockingly sweet, and Kierna found herself devouring the soft and chewy comb quickly. Chella was likewise absorbed in her meal, giving Kierna the chance to look her over. The girl was gangly, clearly in the midst of a growth spurt. Her skin had an ashen quality to it that, along with her general thinness, hinted at malnutrition. The scratchy rough-spun she’d worn on their trek back towards Ethka had been disposed of, the monastery providing her with a soft cotton shift of undyed wool with a navy colored tunic over it and a good pair of shoes. Kierna could well remember coming to the monastery the first time, realizing after a few hours wearing her new clothes how good it felt just to have tailored, finely made clothing for once.
Chella ate like a wary scavenger, both hands holding the honeycomb close to her face, hunched low. Her food was gone in a minute, and she looked about as if for more, and Kierna wondered if she’d even tasted it. Kierna took another bite, chewing and savoring slowly, then handed half of her comb to the girl, who took it at once. She’s safe here, well cared for, but it won’t make a difference until she believes it.
“How are you finding the Sword Monastery?” Kierna asked.
“Oh, it’s very nice. It’s not at all what I thought it’d be. Back home-” Chella cut off suddenly.
“Back home?” Kierna urged her on.
“Our god, Tzamet. He was always watching, everything, everywhere. Anytime you did something… anything he didn’t like, he’d make you know it.” Her hand went to the back of her neck, almost unconsciously, scratching at the skin there. Kierna leaned back, spotted a faded set of red scratches all across her neck. “If you broke his rules, you’d feel it, out of nowhere, a sharp cut across the back of your neck, enough to bleed. And there were a lot of rules, and sometimes they changed. The cleric told us we weren’t being diligent enough, that we were too lazy to remember our god’s commands. But I don’t think he always knew what to do either. He always wore a thick scarf around his neck, even in the summer, so we could never see if he had sinned.”
“And you’re wondering what Jehx does when you break his rules?”
“I shouldn’t have tried to steal the honey. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“No, I won’t. But you need not be worried. Jehx teaches that there is room in justice for mercy. Master Kenly has a favored saying as well. ‘Avoid the adder, not the thorns.’ It means we don’t worry so much about the small things, not when there’s true injustice in the world.”
“Your clerics don’t seem very much like clerics here,” Chella said, uncertainly.
“You never left your village before, did you?” Kierna asked. The girl shook her head. “Clerics are different all over. Most gods forbid their people to travel, so they never see how things can be different. That’s a pity. There’s a great deal of world they’ve created. Everyone should get the chance to see some of it. But you’re right, Jehx’s priests are somewhat unique, even in Ethka. We don’t call them clerics, because a cleric’s purpose is to rule in the name of their god. Master Kenly is the senior priest here, well respected and loved, but he does not rule. He gives suggestions, and we follow them if they are deemed to be reasonable, which they usually are. If he, or any of the other priests, told us to do something we thought was unjust, we have every right to disobey. Important decisions are made as a group, with each priest speaking their mind. It’s sometimes a slow process, and it can turn very heated, but it doesn’t chafe. We’re not always looking over our shoulder for eyes.”
Chella still had one hand lightly rubbing at her neck, absorbing this new way of living. “And your god, he doesn’t punish anyone? Doesn’t he ever do anything? In Hondarra, anyone who abused a traveler, or any traveler who did not show respect to the shrines, would be hunted down by the Golden Wolf and eaten. In Nmeda, their goddess made it so anyone who ate a meal without giving half of it to the grass would grow sick and retch it back up. But this place… it just seems like people. Do your really have a god?”
“Jehx is real, to be certain. I’ve spoken with him myself. It’s true, though, he does not interfere often. Jehx is the god of Justice, who has commanded his followers to always strive to do what’s right. Exactly what that means, though… most gods have strict rules and commands. Things you must always do, things you must never do. They leave no room for interpretation. Jehx is different. He believes that what is right in one moment may be wrong in the next, and so he has no hard rules. That doesn’t mean he gives us no counsel, of course. We are taught for years to ponder philosophy, work out complex ethical quandaries. We are taught to think, so that we may not act hastily. It’s not perfect. For every priest who ascends to the level of Sword Priest, with the mantle to go forth and uphold justice as they see fit, three or four are expelled from the order for reasons of poor judgment or temperance.” Talking about it, Kierna felt some of the steely hardness in her gut start to loosen, her mind approaching quiet for the first time all night. Doubts plagued her, but she still believed in this, in Jehx’s vision of a world were people could be trusted to govern themselves. She’d lost sight of that.
“You weren’t supposed to help us, were you?” Chella said, meeting her eyes for the first time.
“No. I was commanded by Ethka’s greatest clerics, as a paladin of the Heavenly Host, to hunt down a heretic and bring him back to justice. I found him there, in your village. But when Amauro attacked…”
“You saved us.”
“Not all. Not enough.”
“Still, thank you.” The girl was smiling now, and looked less likely to scamper away in fear. “The Sword Priests… do they always accept women, or are you different somehow?”
“Few women come to the monastery, but yes, they accept those who wish to walk that life. And the priests of Jehx rarely have family, so our ranks are filled largely from apostates.” Kierna turned to give the girl her full attention, certain she knew what was coming.
“Could I join you, please? I won’t steal anymore, and I’ll do whatever I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to fight or anything, but-”
“I’ll talk to Kenly about it as soon as I can. Yes, you’ll be accepted. We turn away no one outright. You’ll be given a great deal of work to do, though. You’ll be expected to assist in all aspects of the monastery’s care. And you’ll begin training right away. Quarterstaff and archery at first, then swordplay, then horsemanship if you make it that far. Few do.”
“Thank you. I’ll do all of it, I won’t give up,” Chella said, deathly serious.
“In that case, you should get some rest. You’ll never become a Sword Priest if you have to stop and yawn every five minutes.” Kierna stood, stretching, and Chella jumped to her feet as well. Spouting assurances that she would be ready, she took off at a quick rush back towards the stone Refuge, where guests slept. Kierna watched her go, her smile fading. In all likeliness, the girl would change her mind, give up with too much work to be done, or prove to be too meek or too violent, without the iron will needed to always hold true to her beliefs. The priests always had acolytes in training, and most lasted no more than a few years. Worse, Kierna’s thoughts betrayed her, she could end up like Jurran.
Alone again with her thoughts, Kierna sat back down, her gaze once more drawing on its own to the campfires of the Heavenly Host. The things she had told Chella, bound in the unshaken core of her deepest faith, had awoken some thoughts in her. Master Kenly does not rule, she had told the girl. He gives suggestions, and we follow, but if we do not agree that they are just…
An hour later, Kierna stood, and walked back into the monastery.
The Sword Priests lived in the upper loft of the Sword Hall, the monastery’s main gathering place for food, discussion, and decision making. The Sword Hall was comfortable and homey, built of thick oak with cedar furnishings that filled the air with a sweet scent, always bright and warm. The stone Refuge against the mountain side was rougher, older, a fortress built in the days before Ethka, when the Sword Priests were seen as heretics by some of the dogmatic local gods, forced to defend their selves against crusading warriors. A sprawling collection of smaller houses and outbuildings surrounded the Small Hall at the monastery’s entrance, used by the acolytes and monks who toiled on the land but did not aspire to become Sword Priests. All of these buildings were built on the relatively flat surface, carved from the mountain by Jehx’s divine sword. But above, accessible only by a steep stone ladder hidden within a cavern, was an old mountain cave closed with a white bonewood door, the ancient rune of Justice carved deep across its surface. The cave was known as the Hallow, where the first Sword Priest had spoken with Jexh and been inspired in his noble mission.
Kierna had brought no lantern, and the cavern was pitch black, but she knew the stone stairs well enough, and climbed steadily to the cliff overhead. The white door seemed to drink in the moonlight, almost glowing in the night. Taking a deep breath, Kierna put her hands to the door’s surface, hesitating. The doors were much too heavy to be opened by a single person, and there was no device to pry them. The highest Swords, Kenly included, had the ability to open the doors. Kierna did not. If she was not welcome here, she would be turned away.
Kierna pushed, and the doors swung open lightly.
The cave inside was dim, but not black. A small light, not the flickering of a candle but a steady white shine like a star, illuminated the cave from its center. The doors closed behind Kierna as she stepped inside. With every step the ground rang lightly, like the plucking of a high string. The walls, floors, and ceilings were uneven, naturally formed, but the substance they were made of was incredible. It was some kind of crystalline surface, an indeterminate color that reflected almost as well as glass, making her feel like she were floating in some vast space instead of a small cave. Kierna’s reflection looked back at her from every surface, strangely distorted, her silver eyes deep pools that seemed mirrors of their own.
A figure moved, and Kierna jumped at the realization that she was not alone. Jehx, God of Justice, stood before her. At first she was shocked at how ordinary he looked. His features were similar to those of Kenly, whose body he sometimes used as his avatar to address his followers. But looking into those deep green eyes, Kierna realized she could see others. Now they were light blue, then dark, then brown, then black, then the white of blindness, then covered in filmy cataracts, now shot red with broken veins, now leaking tears, now shining with amusement, now narrowed in anger. The skin of his cheeks was lightly wrinkled and speckled, but then suddenly smooth, brown teak, pale white, black as pitch, muddy red-brown, suntanned and sun-burnt. He was now young, now old, now tall and powerfully built, full of intimidating prowess, now slight and swift, youthfully agile, now bent-backed and withered, legs shaking under his own weight. Kierna’s eyes grew wider as they absorbed the myriad, infinite images, until they began to feel as though some force was pressed against them. Her head was aching, she was drowning in too many sights.
With a gasp, Kierna fell to her knees and bowed, forehead pressed to the cool crystal floor. She shut her eyes tightly, taking special care that her Godseye did not open even a crack. The floor rang as Jehx crossed its surface, and she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
“Stand up, now, there’s nothing to fear.”
Leaning on the arm of a god, Kierna stood with her eyes still closed. He led her over to the wall, and she sat with her back against it, legs splayed out in front of her. A satisfied sigh let out beside her, and she opened her eyes and turned just enough to get the impression of a man sitting beside her, resting peacefully against the cave’s wall beside her.
“It’s been a long time, Kierna,” Jehx said. His voice was relaxed, composed, no more imposing than any of the monks Kierna shared the monastery with. “I’m glad to see you’ve taken to the position offered to you.”
“I thank you for it, holiness. You gave me a purpose,” Kierna said, her voice cracking from being in his presence once more. The last time she’d spoken with him, it had been at the ceremony where she’d been raised to Fourteenth Sword. Six years ago.
“Ah, but a purpose is a heavy thing to carry. Those once-skinny arms of yours seem to be trembling to hold up the weight of your sword, now. Tell me, girl, do you doubt?” Jehx’s voice was smooth with amusement, making Kierna shiver.
“I… am not certain.”
“You’re uncertain if you’re uncertain? How very human!”
“No, holiness, it’s not that I doubt the cause you’ve given me. I believe in bringing justice to this world, as much as I did on the day you gave me my sword.” Kierna clenched her sword-hand, wishing she had the blade to hand for the look of it. “The things I’ve seen these past years, out in the grasslands, and even here in Ethka, they prove it’s needed.”
“You seem to have everything well in hand then. Can I assume you only came to my haven to share your late-night snack with me then? I am fond of honey.”
Kierna laughed, shocked by the absurdity of her god making a bad jape.
“No, holiness. I came because I… Master Kenly is planning to go along with the crusade. The other priests are following him as well, and-”
“And you won’t be?”
Kierna did not answer. Jehx let out a long sigh.
“Doubt is a good thing, girl. Don’t ever let yourself grow too sure of things. The worst monsters are those who are certain they’re saints. But in this case, I think you could do with a bit of an explanation. Kenly knows this. The younger priests either know him well enough to trust him or are young enough that they trust him implicitly. Some of them have their own reasons I’m sure. But those aren’t good for you. You need your own reason to fight, as always.”
“An explanation? Of what?” Kierna asked.
“Do you wonder why the clerics have decided to march south now? The gods of Hondarra have always been harsh and callous. It’s no accident. The gods who seek peaceful cooperation and shared rule have centered their territories here among the Throne, as was dictated in the Pact. The south was likewise claimed by a different faction, a faction not of allies, but of rivals who nonetheless agreed on a single ideal: that they alone should rule themselves. You humans have a hard time comprehending a time before yourselves. It’s a flaw in your brains. I know, I know, that’s our fault,” Jehx said, waving a hand. “But the fact is, before we came together and made this world, there were already many factions and organizations among the gods, those who were allies and enemies, friends and lovers, families of a sort. The words aren’t quite the same, of course. Gods are not men. But it’s close enough for you to understand, right?”
“Yes,” Kierna said, growing more comfortable in Jehx’s presence. “So if the Holy Hundred and the southern gods are foes, why have they not clashed before?”
“Foes is too strong a word. We have differing opinions, but when we consigned ourselves to the Pact, we agreed to a general peace. We do things our way, and they do theirs. I never liked it. There’s too many gods out there with far too high opinions of themselves, thinking that anything they do is good simply because they’re divine. It’s childish, and I’d love for a chance to give them the spanking they deserve. But no, differing philosophies haven’t moved the Hundred to attack for these past centuries, and things haven’t grown any worse down there. The reason is very simple.”
An image appeared in Kierna’s mind, as clear as if she were looking right at it. A tall man with white hair and white skin, standing holding a white staff, his eyes lost in darkness. He loomed tall, casting a jet-black shadow far across the world, like a cut from a giant sword. An imposing, threatening figure.
“Isaand Aislin Laeson. The heretic Lector of Szet the Deceiver.”
“One man? How can a crusade be worth the life of one man, when so many others will die?”
“It’s not the man that’s important, but his goal. I know nothing of this man Isaand, personally. The Serpent shadows his steps.” Jehx spit the term ‘serpent’ like a curse. “Neither I nor any of the Ethka gods can detect him, even looking backwards in time. Nor do we know what he is doing. The whole region has grown… cloudy. It’s troubling. Imagine you’ve lived every day of your life in a garden for centuries, spent day after day caring for and tending the flowers. Then one day you come out to your garden and find one of the flower beds has vanished beneath your sight. You can still smell it, the fragrance of the flowers, but beneath that is something foul… something rotting.”
“So there’s a heretic on the loose. That’s nothing new. As paladin, I know of at least a dozen heretics uncaptured, and those are just the ones who serve the Unbound,” Kierna said.
“Those heretics do not serve Szet. Tell me, what do you know of him?”
“Szet? Very little,” Kierna admitted. “The records detail small cults to him that have been uncovered all over the world, even here in Ethka. But they’ve always given up peacefully when discovered, and caused little harm that we know of. But he’s never had a reported Lector or cleric working under him. He’s never claimed any reported territory. He’s never even performed any miracles that we can prove. As far as the Unbound go, if you’ll beg me saying so, he seems to be of little threat.”
“You see so little in the short lives we’ve given you, I’m afraid. A python may devour a child and sleep sated for weeks, peaceful and quiescent. Should a man come along during that time and discover it, he may determine that is of no danger. But when the hunger returns…”
“Szet has a history then? You called him the ‘deceiver.’ Did he perform some great betrayal?”
“The greatest of all. In the days of the Fourth World, blood ran hot. It was a bad time. The world was in ruins. Nearly all of the creatures and beauty we’d created were dead, destroyed in the wars unleashed by gods on their brothers and sisters. Humankind, our children, were extinct. The very fabric of reality was strained. Stars were failing, and all rushed towards eternal entropy. Those of us who longed for something good, something lasting, were in despair, realizing that it was all happening once more, another wasted universe coughing its last breath. The gods were set against each other, more violent than ever, and it seemed unlikely that another world could even be created, with so few willing to work together. Szet changed all that.”
Jexh’s voice took on a somber quality, the last of his jovial tone dissolving.
“Szet was one of the Eldest. Well respected by all, with no serious enemies. Loved, admired. He had a gift for resolving conflicts, turning grudges into compromises, enemies into friends. It took a long time, thousands of years while the stars burned out one by one, but he convinced us all. A way we could change things, end the war, make a new world, a lasting world, that wouldn’t die, because we wouldn’t be allowed to destroy it.”
“Szet wrote the Pact?” Kierna said, awed.
“I wouldn’t go that far. He suggested it, worked closely with various factions, helped them all come on board. He was instrumental, the greatest advocate, but he let us build our own cage. And when everyone had finally agreed and it came time to swear it, he held back, and let us all chain ourselves while he went free.”
“Why?”
“No one knows. He’s done nothing since, and no one can even reach him, not even the other Unbound. Outlaws they might be, but they were our brothers and sisters before the Pact was signed, and there are many gods who are still on speaking terms with the Unbound. But not Szet. And now, after centuries of letting us settle things, now he decides to act. Why? Did he just want to hold onto his power while the rest of us crippled ourselves? I won’t believe it, not of Szet. He never spoke a word without a hundred more behind it, ready to quash any argument against his theories. We gods think long, compared to you mortals, but Szet is older than most of us, and he thinks longer still. No, Szet has a plan, and the Pact was only the first act. Now he’s moved on to the second. And this Isaand is his instrument, his scalpel cutting across the surface of our world. He must be stopped. The coming crusade will be horrible, and Master Kenly and my priests will do everything they can to limit the death and destruction, to make certain that as much good can come from it as is possible. But even if all of Hondaara must be drowned in blood, the Lector of Szet must be stopped.”
Part Two: Chapter Seventeen
Heretic 