The High Duties of Pacia: The Complete Saga

Preface

Long ago in a time known as the Anziên age, people lived in a complex and vibrant society which reached levels of technology and genetic engineering unimaginable to anyone now alive. Then 3,500 years before the present time, the Anziên era ended abruptly and traumatically. Why? No one knows but the downfall left survivors in a world of strife and hardship. This world badly needed peace and tranquility.

The only bright spot came in a land called Pàçia. Physically separated from the rest of the world by high mountains, the gentle nature of the Pàçian people set them apart from all others. They built the beautiful city Abbelôn and chose the wisest and kindest among them as leaders. These selected few had no power or authority. They could command no one and certainly were not monarchs. They did not rule; they fulfilled duties – the High Duties of Pàçia. The High Protector kept peace through persuasion; the Benevola cared for and comforted everyone; and the Keeper protected the people from harm. Generation after generation, they made the world a better place. But their strength gradually weakened and three and a half millennia is a very long time.

Outside Pàçia, the population grew and cities, both greater and lesser, arose. The Great Cities were ruled by powerful despots who increasingly ignored lessons of peace and goodwill. Worse, new enemies invaded part of the land. But were they really new or were they terrors returned from a forgotten past?

In this environment, the story begins.

Note Regarding Language in the World of Pàçia:

Although the Anziên era of history ended 3,500 years ago, a handful of words from the language of that time remain in use. In this text, actual words from the Anziên language are written in italics for clarity, although names derived from such words are not. Avoid misinterpreting words just because they have similar spellings. The word Anziên itself is quite different from the generic common word ‘ancient.’ (An accurate translation of ancient would be úralt, which just means very old.) The Anziên word ‘effect’ is also not the same as the current word with the same spelling. Similarly, the second part of the name Annâles-Scientia means ‘all knowledge’ and not just ‘science.’

Geographical Note

The Concordia Comitas is a loose coalition created by treaty among the cities in the land East of the Sea. It is an agreement not an organization. The terms provide for friendship, mutual support, and fair trade.

The Urbs-Magnia or Great Cities are Matik, Riviarre, and Niazport. With huge populations, these three dominate the entire land both politically and commercially.

Urbs-Ordinâre: Dozens of these smaller cities are scattered across the land along with hundreds of towns and thousands of villages. Abbelôn, although similar in size to these modest cities, has never been thought of as one of the Ordinâre.

Regions: These (Amicitia, Hinterland, Corager, Westania, etc.) are merely geographical areas shown on a map, not countries. The only governments are those of the cities and towns, or local counties, which in theory abide by the terms of the Concordia Comitas. Kêltikæ, the beautiful but poverty-stricken island off the coast of Westania, is considered a small region of its own.

Žhìn is a far distant land West of the Sea. For many centuries, the people of Žhìn were completely separated and out of touch with those East of the Sea. A route across the Sea was discovered by Žhìnian sailors only twelve years before the story begins.

PART I:

JOURNEY TO LIGHT

CHAPTER 1: The Little Boy

In the dream, people screamed in fear and pain. The tiny boy, barely old enough to stand and walk, cried as frantic men and women ran in through the open door. He did not know – could not know – what was happening. He toddled to the door and looked out to see . . .

In bed, the boy trembled. His terrified mind wanted to escape, to run away from the awful dream, but his body could not wake. Then the dream changed.

Someone held him and calmed his fear. Someone warm and loving. The evil part of the dream faded. When the sun rose, the nightmare was gone but the good part, the woman who held him, remained.

***

Fabiyan stood in the kitchen doorway of the small cabin and watched as Grammi peeled spuds at the table. When she finally noticed him, she gave him a big smile. There’s my sweet boy, Grammi said and she reached out for a hug as he walked to her. When she finished soaking up his warmth, she took a breath of his fragrance and asked, Are you hungry? Do you need a glass of milk? She tried to rise from the bench as she spoke but Fabiyan still had his arms around her neck and he held on.

I got a drink already. At the well, he told her. And I can get things myself. I’m a big boy now. If possible, her smile would have widened. Pappi said I could come in from the field, he added to explain his presence.

Why is it that when you come in from working outside, you always smell as sweet as new-mown hay, but when your grandfather comes inside he stinks like he has dead fish in his armpits? she asked. It wasn’t true in either case but it still made him laugh. He moved to the other side of the table and sat down facing her.

Pappi said I should do something for you now, he told her.

You can help peel, she said as she handed him a small knife and stacked a few spuds in front of him. He set to work. Making conversation, Grammi said, Your half-birthday is next week. Think of something special you’d like me to cook for you.

But it’s Autumnal Month now and my birthday is in Vernal Month. That’s not soon.

I said half-birthday, honey. That’s halfway between your fifth birthday and your sixth. Do you remember the red-berry pie I made when you turned five?

Yeah, he said.

Well, in half a year you’ll be six, she explained. Fabiyan suspected that this half-birthday idea was just something Grammi made up to please him, but the memory of her special treats meant the boy would never object to any pretend holidays. Lost in a reverie of past tastes and smells, he kept scraping his knife across the same part of the spud over and over. Grammi saw and smiled. You can have anything you want, she told him.

He grinned, but suddenly a totally unrelated thought entered his head. This time he laid his paring knife down on the table. His grin changed into a serious look.

I dreamed about my mother last night, he told her.

Oh, Grammi said as she struggled to keep any note of surprise out of her voice. Her smile vanished. How did you know it was your mother and not some other woman, my darling?

I just knew.

I see. Well, what do you remember about the dream?

I was sitting in her lap. She was warm and her clothes were soft to touch. Her arms were around me, Fabiyan said as he gazed at a blank spot on the wall. Then he looked in Grammi’s eyes. My mother was beautiful, wasn’t she?

Oh yes, very beautiful. You’ve heard me and Pappi say that before. Aunt Estelinda thinks so too, even if she won’t admit it.

Did mother look like Aunt Estelinda? Fabiyan asked, and his eyebrows moved together in an expression of concern. Grammi laughed out loud.

No, no, she assured him. Your mother looked wonderful – nothing at all like your aunt. Estelinda was always jealous despite being the older sister.

Now something else worried Fabiyan and he said, Sometimes I think you and Pappi don’t like Aunt Estelinda very much.

That’s not true, honey. We just don’t have much in common with her. Grammi was serious now.

I like her. She lets me ride her horse. The boy meant that Estelinda sometimes let him sit behind her and hold on while she rode.

I wish she wouldn’t do that. You could get hurt. She treats you much too rough. Sometimes I think she wants you to grow up to be a warrior.

Fabiyan looked down at the table to hide his grin. He knew what both Grammi and Estelinda thought about warriors, and they didn’t agree. He had his own opinion too but there was no point in telling Grammi about it. Then he remembered something else from last night.

In the dream, my mother’s hair came down and the ends tickled my nose. It was funny. Her hair was softer even than her clothes and it was very bright and shiny. It was different than mine, wasn’t it, Grammi?

Don’t worry about it, sweet boy. You got your dark color from your father. Pappi and I had the same shade, too, before ours turned gray.

Aunt Estelinda has dark hair and it’s short, not like my mother’s in the dream, said Fabiyan. Then he pondered for a moment. Do you and Pappi not like her because you’re my father’s parents and she my mother’s sister?

Grammi sighed. We really do like her, and she likes us too. It’s true, Fabiyan. It’s just that sometimes your aunt can be, well, a little brusque.

What’s brusque?

Umm, that she’s blunt spoken and a bit gruff. That’s not bad. It’s just the way she is. That makes other people speak the same way back to her sometimes but that doesn’t mean they don’t like her. It just sounds a little bad to sweet boys who don’t know how grownups talk, she said as she reached across the table in an attempt to tickle him. She couldn’t reach far enough but he squirmed and giggled anyway.

I like my aunt, Fabiyan affirmed again.

I know. She lets you ride her horse.

She lets me do other things, too, he said with another grin.

Oh no, thought Grammi, but she kept those word silent. She said, I just don’t want you to get hurt and she lets you do risky things. I tell her often to be gentler but she doesn’t listen to me. She’s very hard-headed.

And strong, too.

Yes, we all know that, agreed Grammi. Well, are we finished talking about this?

Fabiyan wasn’t. Why can’t I remember more?

Because you were just a baby when everything happened, honey, and no one can remember things from that age. It’s not your fault, she assured him. But Fabiyan still had one more thing to say.

My mother called me something last night. Like she was saying my name, but it wasn’t Fabiyan. He looked up quickly when Grammi made a noise. Something was bothering her.

It must have been Lovekin, she blurted out. That was her pet name for you. She used it instead of your real name sometimes. Yes, that’s it. It must have been Lovekin that you heard.

Fabiyan wasn’t so sure, but something about Grammi’s face made him just nod and go back to peeling spuds.

Fabiyan was a good boy almost all of the time but that night he stayed awake in bed pretending to sleep and heard Grammi and Pappi talking in the next room. He couldn’t make out any words until he remembered the knothole in a board low on the wall. He knelt in the floor and put his ear next to the hole.

He hasn’t said anything before about . . . , he heard someone say. The voice was so soft and indistinct that he wasn’t sure which grandparent was speaking.

. . . why now . . .

How can he still remember anything? It’s been four years. This was a little louder and he recognized Pappi’s voice. The response was quieter.

. . . I’m surprised too . . . awful day . . . isn’t just a dream.

I know . . . shouldn’t have said . . . reminds him more . . .

Couldn’t help . . .

. . . If he remembers then he needs to keep secrets . . . aunt should come . . .

Yes I know . . . loves him too.

. . . would listen to her better than us . . . tomorrow . . .

Fabiyan concluded that Aunt Estelinda might come tomorrow. Having heard something he liked, he crept back under the covers and went to sleep.

Not wanting to miss a moment, Fabiyan waited patiently outside the cottage so he could see down the lane. The nearest neighbors were pretty far away; and when Estelinda got past their home, she always charged her horse, Glori, at full speed just so Fabiyan could watch. He wasn’t disappointed. Hearing the thundering hooves first, he saw the horse and rider burst into sight on the dirt lane. Glori ran like lightning and his aunt leaned forward over the horse’s neck while thrusting one fist into the air.

Faabiyaaann! she cried, and the boy laughed at the funny way she stretched his name out. Grammi and Pappi both hurried out of the house just in time to get splattered with dirt as Glori’s hooves dug in and the horse came to an abrupt stop. None of it got on Fabiyan, however. Estelinda leaped down and grabbed him in a great bear hug. Lifting him up, she shook him around until he laughed. My little man! she called him and he clung tightly to her neck, not caring that the buckles of her leather jerkin dug into his ribs.

Be careful! Grammi said as she stepped closer to the much taller Estelinda, frowning and clucking her displeasure as she moved.

I’m always careful, Estelinda insisted as she released the boy back to the ground. When she saw the increasing disapproval on the old woman’s face, Estelinda changed her voice in a way that made Fabiyan laugh. She was trying to sound like Grammi. Why, hello Estelinda. So good to see you. You’re welcome in our home anytime. Switching her voice back to normal, she continued. Thank you, good Theo and Naomi. (Fabiyan knew those were Pappi and Grammi’s names.) You’re very kind and I’m grateful to you. You’re as much my family as you are Fabiyan’s.

Pappi seemed amused at the clowning, but Grammi scowled until she noticed the expression on the boy’s face and tried to improve her look. Do come inside, she said.

We do need to talk, don’t we? Estelinda replied. But first things first. Fabiyan, Glori is thirsty. Take her around to the pond and let her drink.

By myself? The boy’s eyes went wide with excitement.

Why not? She likes you and will do whatever you tell her.

Is that wise? asked Pappi. Such a powerful beast could . . .

Glori will never hurt him, interrupted Estelinda. She recognizes his scent and remembers who he is. She understands he’s family. It’s all right, Fabiyan. Go ahead.

As the boy came close, Glori lowered her head to nuzzle against his hair. He raised his arms to hug as much of the great mare as he could reach. Smiling happily, he walked around Glori to check for burrs in her fur as his aunt had taught him. (Well, to check the lower portions of the big animal within his view, anyway.) Rubbing his hand down her sleek silver side, Fabiyan saw that she wasn’t sweating. One dashing sprint could never tire the mighty Glori, he knew. It didn’t even heat her up.

Be careful, Pappi called to Fabiyan as the boy approached the rear of the horse.

Stop worrying, Estelinda said. She won’t kick him. In fact, watch her tail. The tough leather-whipcord tail could snap and sting a man’s skin but it held still until Fabiyan gave it a gentle tug. Then it wagged like a happy dog’s. When he finished his circuit and took the reins, Fabiyan looked up at his aunt who smiled down at him. Go ahead and lead her to the pond. You don’t have to hurry.

We’ll be inside, Grammi added.

Estelinda nudged her and whispered, Smile at him. Grammi did her best.

Is he out of earshot? Estelinda asked when they were inside the cottage.

Yes, and he’s walking slowly, Pappi confirmed as he looked out the window and then turned back to face the younger woman. He was taller than his wife but still had to look up to Estelinda.

Good. Tell me about the dream.

Grammi described every detail that Fabiyan had mentioned and then added, I always hoped he would forget everything, but he hasn’t.

And I always said you were foolish to wish for that. Now you see I was right, snapped Estelinda. Then she caught herself and softened her tone. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. The only important thing is to protect the boy.

And yourself, said Pappi.

No. I made my decision at the beginning of all this. In fact, I had a dream of my own the night I received your message saying that he lived and the vision was perfectly clear. The boy is the one. Everyone knew that before, and it’s still true. She did not say before what, but they all knew. I’m going to help him every way I can no matter what the risk.

We really do need to decide what to tell Fabiyan now, said Grammi. You were right, Estelinda. It’s wrong to just hope he won’t remember but we can’t tell him too much at this age either.

I know, Estelinda agreed. We have to tell him something, and whatever we say must be the truth even if not all of it. Then we have to trust him to keep secrets. I would rather be doing this when he’s older, but he is brighter and more mature than other children. I’m certain he’ll understand.

After a pause, Pappi said, We think you should be the one who talks to him.

Yes, it must be me. Family blood binds, as they say. He’ll pay attention to me and take this seriously. You’ll see. He’ll do fine and turn out even better than we expected.

How could anyone be better than we expected? asked Pappi.

As Estelinda walked away from the cottage, she saw Fabiyan leading the horse home. The boy’s shoes were muddy and his pants legs were soaked up to the knees. Glori always stepped into the water to drink and the mare was much taller than him despite the fact that the boy was big for a child who was not yet six. Not surprising he’s tall, Estelinda thought to herself. Height runs in the family.

We don’t have to go inside yet, Estelinda said when she reached him. Let’s take Glori and go find a nice place to sit in the meadow and talk. They strolled until Estelinda found a spot that suited her. In the open meadow, no one could get close enough to overhear without being seen. She hesitated just a moment to organize her thoughts and thus let Fabiyan have a chance to speak first.

Grammi said you were jealous of my mother because she was prettier.

What? exclaimed his aunt. For a moment she wasn’t certain whether she should be offended or just amused, but the look on the boy’s face made it impossible to get upset with him.

She said my mother didn’t look like you, Fabiyan replied.

Wait a minute! That’s not . . ., she began but she stopped herself. Well, it is true that she didn’t look the way I do now, but believe it or not, I was beautiful myself back then. I didn’t look anything at all like a man and I wore nice dresses.

Really?

Don’t seem so surprised, my boy. My hair was a lot longer and prettier then, too. I grew up having no reason at all to envy anyone. That is, not until my little sister came along and showed everyone that I was only the second most beautiful girl in the world. She smiled and shrugged. But what could I do?

Did you get jealous?

Yes, I admit I did sometimes, but it didn’t do me any good. She was nicer than me too and people liked her better.

Fabiyan studied her face and said, I think people liked you, too. She laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair. As she did, she lifted a few strands with her fingers and looked underneath. Just the way Grammi did. Fabiyan continued searching her face.

I need to be serious now and tell you something, my dear, she told him.

About my dream?

Yes, that’s right. The dream means you remember things and you’ll probably recall more as time goes by. I don’t think you’ll recollect anything big and important, just little things that a baby might notice. The same as it was this time. But sometimes bad pictures might come into your head and scare you. Honey, you were a toddler when it happened and no one that age could understand what you saw.

When what happened? he asked. Estelinda hesitated but she had already decided she was going to get the words out no matter what.

Fabiyan, I think you already know this somewhere down deep inside yourself, but no one has ever told you honestly. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Your mother died, my dearest boy, and so did your father. On the same day. If you ever dream about that day, it will frighten you badly. If that happens, you run as fast as you can to Grammi, or Pappi or me. No one else! Just let us hug you as tight as we can. Do you understand?

He nodded slowly, causing one small tear to leak from his eye. His lips trembled but he didn’t cry out loud.

There’s something else, Fabiyan. Whatever you do dream about must be kept secret. Grammi, Pappi, and I are the only three people in the world you can talk to. I want you to promise that you’ll never say anything about our family to anyone, but first I want to tell you something. In our family, ‘promise’ is an extremely important word. We never say it unless we really mean it so never make a promise unless you’re truly going to keep it.

I promise, he said as he looked deep in her eyes.

Estelinda was certain he would. She could see it in his face. After all, he was far ahead of any other child his age in so many ways. She undid the buckles on her jerkin and took it off. The shirt underneath was much softer. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. He clasped tightly around her neck and buried his face into the hollow of her shoulder. After a long time, his soft voice spoke.

Aunt Estelinda, what name did my mother call me in the dream?

She sobbed, one quick hard spasm, and whispered, I can’t tell you, my love. Not yet.

~EIGHT YEARS LATER~

CHAPTER 2: Graice and Holder

Once there was a place of exceeding beauty where kind and gentle people lived. A city of white sat on a hill overlooking a green plateau while picture-book mountains that seemed almost too perfect to be real surrounded all. When the setting sun was low in the west and its last rays struck the city’s milky walls, every building glowed as if made of gold. People there lived in such harmony that even the birds sang of peace. For millennia, these good folk chose the wisest and most benevolent leaders to fulfill the Duties of guiding them along the path of tranquility and setting an example for the world to follow. Despite a lack of wealth or power, the leaders of this lovely land were so highly respected that for ages they exerted a moral influence across all the lands East of the Sea. And this was not a once-upon-a-time story. The place and people were real.

Matik, however, was NOT that place. Located far from any picturesque scenery or virtuous people, Matik was an immense Urb-Magnia – a Great City with a history measured in centuries rather than millennia. The River divided the splendor of the Northside where the high-and-mighty lived from the squalor of the Southside where nobody of importance lived. Patron Edric IV’s northern palace was the grandest of them all, where (to be frank) his wife Patroness Gildea actually ruled. At the opposite end of the spectrum, the dockyards of the inner port lay along the southern bank of the River near where the lowest of the plebian masses crammed into the worst slums of the city. Since many of those masses chose to spend much of their miniscule incomes in the pursuit of dissipated vices, tawdry pleasures, and blind inebriation, iniquitous businesses accommodating their needs crowded the area, especially along the loathsome streets nearest the waterfront.

Along one such street walked a young woman wearing a white robe with a red sash.

Sistére Graice ignored the stench as she marched down the Lane of Low Entertainments, or Drunken Scum Street as it was more widely known. Describing this street as filthy was an understatement. It would require massive cleaning by hundreds of workers over years of time before it improved enough to qualify as merely ‘filthy.’ Needless to say, no such concentrated effort was anticipated.

Graice could not avoid looking down, of course. One watched carefully where one’s feet stepped or else one burned one’s shoes upon reaching home, preferably on the neighbor’s side of the property line. As a further complication, this day she wore formal slippers on her small feet instead of the sturdy shoes she would have chosen had she anticipated taking this short cut. Her last assignment had taken longer than expected and twilight was upon her, however, and she had urgent business to discuss with Madrére Sybille back at the Sistérian Way-House. All the streets in this area were poorly lit after dark, and despite Drunken Scum Street’s utter lack of charm, it was still the shortest route.

As she sidestepped a dung pile which was too fetid for any self-respecting horse to have dropped, she suddenly noticed that her skirt was dragging the ground. Whenever she walked any distance, she always hiked up the red sash around her waist to raise the hem of her robe just enough to keep it from dragging the ground. This time, as frequently happened, she had forgotten to readjust the sash as she continued. The slenderness of her waist and hips made it easy for a belt of any type to slide down and thus lower the hem along with it. Now the bottom finger-length of her white garment looked horrid.

Moving quickly, she reached down around her knees and pulled her skirt up to shake it clean. (It was made of Sistérian robe-cloth, of course, rather than ordinary.) Just as the robe shed the last of the stains, she suddenly realized what she was doing and immediately Madrére Antonetta’s harsh voice rang out sharply inside her head. ‘Graice, you foolish girl, you’re showing your legs in public. Stop immediately! You’re not a child anymore and you must remember these things. Look! Men of very dubious nature are all around and can see you!’ Even though Antonetta had not been Graice’s disciplinarian since the girl had left School to go to Academy nine years earlier, this Madrére’s voice was the one which Graice always heard anytime she committed some infraction against propriety.

Sorry, Madrére Antonetta, Graice mumbled as she dropped her skirt. The woman presumably could not hear the apology, she being many leagues away now, but it never hurt to be overly cautious whenever this particular Madrére was involved. Glancing around, Graice noticed there were indeed many men on the street – and plenty of dubious women also. None seemed to have noticed her faux pas, however. Not that they were likely to. This was an area where people avoided making eye contact with a wearer of the red sash. Besides, the immodest appearance and scant clothing of most of the women in sight made few men prone to spend time ogling a fully robed Sistére, especially one who was petite enough to sometimes be mistaken at a distance for a girl rather than the young women she was.

She adjusted her hem again as she walked, showing the slippers but not the ankles. Then she sighed, realizing she could not avoid replaying the memory of another incident involving her legs, a man, and Antonetta. Graice had just turned fifteen and was in her last term at Superior Median School; the Mentors had already decided to send her to Academy soon, three years earlier than normal. That day she had finished her lessons before the other girls, as always, and had gone outside to work in the garden behind Avont House. It being a warm day and she having no reason to suspect a man in the garden, she wore short-breeches and a hip-length smock. As she picked lettuce and herbs, she heard the pounding of horse hooves and looked up to see a post-rider dashing at full speed towards her on the garden path. As the man came within ten strides of her, he pulled his horse to an abrupt stop. His head swiveled to look at her, then back the way he had come, and then at her again. Anyone could see that he had made a wrong turn and had mistakenly ridden to the garden instead of the front of the House where the office was.

Graice expected the man to reverse course and leave. So did his horse (a sensible animal mindful of its duty and undistracted by youthful beauty) which chafed and tried to turn back on its own, obviously impatient at the interruption in completing its appointed rounds. But the rider pulled hard on the reins to keep his mount standing still. The man openly stared at Graice. His eyes moved from her face down to her ankles and then back up again. Even though aware that her slender legs were exposed from the knees down to her bare feet, young Graice was not intimidated. She reacted silently and the man felt an intense guilt feeling. His face flushed deep red and his eyes looked down. He was ready to flee from Graice’s effect, but an instant before he left, Antonetta’s voice came from the door of the garden house.

‘Rider! Remove yourself immediately!’

Antonetta’s ordinary words of censure routinely broke glasses and knocked books off shelves. The windows in the Girls’ Common Room had special singe-resistant draperies, and its walls were left unpainted because it was too much trouble to re-paint every time a layer peeled off. And this time her voice was louder, harsher, and more eviscerating than ever before. She had never used such a strong tone with the girls, not even Graice. Just as bad, Antonetta gave the man her Glare along with the Voice. (With this Madrére, the words were always capitalized.) The blaze from her eyes could burn a man’s skin red at one hundred paces (or so everyone believed) and since the rider was considerably closer than that, he undoubtedly needed days for the blisters on his face to heal afterwards. Likewise, her words shook him roughly and rattled the kidneys inside him (as it appeared from the end result, anyway). He lost the strength in his arms, his hands went numb, and he dropped the reins. Now free from the impediment caused by its foolish rider, the horse heeded Antonetta’s words instantly. Even though she had directed nothing at the animal itself, its hide was still pretty warm just due to its proximity to the actual target. Wisely, the prudent creature fled the scene at maximum speed with the offending man holding on for dear life.

‘Come inside, youngling,’ Antonetta said in a calmer and less accusatory tone and Graice hurried toward her.

Now, Graice said to herself, My own memories chastise me when I’m bad, as she walked on down Drunken Scum Street. I just wish they would speak up before I make mistakes rather than afterward. Antonetta could’ve said something in advance before I pulled my skirt up just now. Smiling ruefully, she glanced around and saw that still no one looked at her, although a passing mutt did glance up. Don’t worry. I’m not crazy, she assured the dog. Then she laughed, remembering how eager the other girls had been to hear her vivid description of Antonetta’s effect on the rider. Yes, Graice had told that story many times – and it got better with each telling.

Up to this point on her walk, Graice had ignored the decrepit tenements on either side of her in the same manner that she paid no heed to the stench. The actions and calls of the, ah, dubious women standing in doorways made the nature of their business quite clear; and raucous laughter, hostile shouts, and other noises came from the many bars and saloons along the street. Customers, Graice knew, usually stayed until every last penny had been drained from the bottom of each pocket.

Almost a block ahead of Graice, three men emerged onto the street from one such establishment. In this case, the word ‘emerged’ connoted an action midway between ‘staggering’ and ‘falling down flat.’ Having narrowly succeeded in completing the journey from tavern to street, they paused to steady themselves before attempting further effort. As Graice approached, she saw that they were stevedores since they wore the belts and leather straps of their guild, but obviously they had not spent the day working at the dockyard. All were big burly men of substantial size. Undoubtedly they had strong muscles hidden somewhere, otherwise they could not have worked as stevedores, but they also had bulging bellies through which much beer had passed during their lifetimes. Their clothes were ripped and torn in a few places but would have been reasonably presentable had only they been clean. Chances that the garments would ever be even remotely presentable seemed slight.

The three leaned shoulder-to-shoulder in an effort to stabilize their tenuously upright positions, but the steadiness of their tripod was in much doubt. Moths fluttered around a lamp in a nearby window and had only one of the insects flown close to the men, all three would have been knocked to the ground by the breeze from its tiny wings. Then the men began to speak. The one on the left said something and the man in the middle roared with laughter as if he had just heard the funniest joke in history. The third drunk was less amused and he made a fist and took a swing through the air. Neither companion was in any danger of being punched but the movement of number three’s arm disturbed his balance. Suddenly all three were stumbling crab-wise in a loose-kneed dance as they struggled to avoid falling. Only by grabbing each other firmly around the shoulders until their staggering synchronized were they able to keep standing.

This action proved more hilarious than the joke and great peals of laughter rang out. When one shouted an offensive word, the others followed and poured out streams of profanity at an extremely loud volume. Since each remark was funnier than the last (to themselves, that is), the men were much encouraged to keep shouting. Within an instant, their words formed a dense cloud of blue haze floating above their heads.

Since Graice was only fifty feet away at this point, she heard them clearly. Despite her hurry, she could not possibly let such behavior continue. Her frown intensified and she increased her pace toward them to a fast march. With her delicate features and mild voice, Graice would never try Antonetta’s hard-line approach to the art of discipline, but then she didn’t need to. Besides, just the sight of a red-sashed Sistére charging forward in that manner would intimidate any mortal man. Despite their inebriation, all three noticed her and turned to face her with their mouths falling open.

The blue haze fled in self defense. Proving that fear can indeed induce sudden sobriety, one of the men removed his knit cap and knocked off his friends’ hats as well. All lowered their heads in trepidation. The three were no longer adult men, just naughty little boys awaiting punishment from the stern schoolmarm. Mere snakes caught in the hypnotic gaze of an Arborean mongoose. Convicted criminals at the bar anticipating doom from the ‘hanging’ judge. They had no place to hide. No chance to run away. They were caught and they knew it.

Graice plowed to a stop ten feet away and began, You should be ashamed of yourselves! Suddenly, an unexpected fourth man stepped past Graice from behind and stood between her and the three drunks.

Leave her alone, the newcomer told the stevedores. Unexpectedly, dim hopes that this man might punish them (instead of the Sistére doing it, you see) glimmered faintly somewhere inside three heads, but their misguided optimism was dashed immediately.

Graice stepped sideways so the drunks could see her again. She told the new man, Don’t interrupt. I’m not finished with them. From behind, she saw a slight twinge in his shoulders and knew he had heard her. Then she noticed the scar on the back of his head. Although his hair partially concealed it, Graice detected a jagged gash that ran from his crown down to the top of his neck. He stood still and Graice returned to her duty. Now that she was back in their view, the drunks focused solely on the Sistére – she knew that for certain even with their heads hanging down and their eyes watching their own shoes – and the new man disappeared from their minds. Which was surprising actually, since he was quite tall and muscular. Most men would notice the stranger immediately and watch him cautiously.

You really should be ashamed of yourselves, Graice said again to the three reprobates as she launched into her lecture. I’m appalled. Profanity is no laughing matter. Foul words hurt feelings and yours are so loud they pollute the air itself. She continued for half a minute while soft moans and sniffles gave audible proof that the three heard her words and felt her effect. Their heads were already as low as their bowed necks would allow, so they bent their backs forward from the waist to bring them lower. Finally she concluded, No one should be forced to listen to you shout like that. There are women present. Don’t you care what they think? And what if a child heard you? Can you imagine how awful that would be?

One head perked up ever so slightly as if the man might say something. Had he been able to develop a coherent thought, he might have argued that the women in this neighborhood used worse language than any hard-drinking working man, and children rarely came to Drunken Scum Street. Well, maybe it was a little more than rarely, but still. Okay, sometimes kids came to buy beer or smoke-weed for lazy parents or for themselves to use or trade, but those children were already so corrupted by woeful home lives that a few rude words in the air would hardly affect them. Or at least the drunk could have argued in that manner.

No such clarity appeared in his mind, however, so he said nothing. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Her next words cut down any possibility of argument like a blow from a battle-axe.

"Don’t you care what I think?" she asked softly, and the actual sadness was clear from her voice.

Oh, no!! They hadn’t just offended her. They had hurt her feelings!

What was wrong with them? What had they done to come to such a wretched end? The dark recesses of their subconscious minds roiled and threatened to spew out the putrid memory of every misdeed committed in their lifetimes and thus reveal to the world what abjectly worthless creatures they were. Moans increased in volume and hands wiped at eyes. Unquenchable sobbing seemed imminent. First one and then the others held out their hands to her, praying beyond hope that she would smack them sharply with a stick and thus let lenient punishment assuage the guilt in their hearts.

But Graice showered even greater mercy upon them. She reached out to touch the back of each hand with one gentle finger and said, You can behave better than this.

Oh!! The joyous relief of her kind words and forgiving fingertip! These men knew they were still as despicable as ever, but they could improve! They knew with certainty just from the tone of her voice. They would become better men! With hope and salvation in sight, they rejoiced and raised their heads to her.

You must not curse again. Do you understand? she said.

Yes, Sistére, they assured her.

You must also remember every word I’ve said, and I mean remember it when you wake up tomorrow and not just tonight. Her tone was sharper now but it was fair and just. Yes, they deserved such words.

Yes, Sistére. Yes, Sistére. Oh yes, Sistére! they repeated. And these weren’t just words but promises, real ones.

All right, you can go now, she said. Released from her power they bolted but not before wide smiles lit up their faces. Graice knew the smiles would be gone within an hour and the ebullient moods would fade during the night. But she also knew her words would nag at them tomorrow, next month, and for many years to come. None of them would ever curse again.

Her immediate task completed, she turned her attention to the other man standing two steps in front of her. He wore frayed but clean work clothes and had a pack-bag of sorts slung over a shoulder. He still faced away from her and at first she mistakenly assumed he had become inhibited by her little performance and thus was reluctant to face her. Bystanders sometimes were struck by back-blows from her effect and she realized she needed to calm his anxiety.

Who are you? she asked in her gentlest tone.

Holder, he replied without moving. His voice was completely firm and calm.

What’s your full name, if you don’t mind telling me?

Just Holder, he shrugged. Then he turned to face her and she barely suppressed a gasp when she saw him from the front.

His Aura glowed so brightly that even the youngest neophyte could have viewed it. The individual auriculae framing his face flowed like ribbons in the breeze, and the colors were vivid – green glowing in many shades of perfect purity with shining gold strands interwoven. Such displays never presented around a man. Only senior Madréres could shine like this, and only Graice herself exceeded his radiance, assuming those who told her how hers appeared spoke truth.

Then she noticed that despite his brilliant glow, she could read nothing.

Stunned, she quickly tamped down her perception so she could ignore the Aura and concentrate on the man himself. The top of her head did not quite reach the level of his shoulders which were broad and strong. He was taller than any of the big stevedores although not nearly so wide at the waist, and his body looked fit and healthy. It occurred to her that those three men might have been in trouble around Holder had she not been there to control matters. His face was handsome enough, she supposed, in a rugged sort of way. The dim light made it difficult to discern the exact shade of his eyes but they were definitely blue and thus out of place with his dark hair. She would get a better look in brighter light, she hoped.

I am Sistére Graice Nínjìng, she said, but mentioning her unique name brought no reaction to his face. I would like to talk to you but I’m in a hurry. Will you walk with me for a while? He paused for a moment before replying.

To guard you? he asked.

Um, no, she said, briefly flummoxed by the nonsensical words. Just to talk. As she spoke, the thought ‘what is there about him?’ flashed through her mind. He nodded yes in reply and they continued her trek towards the Way-House. Glancing sideways, she tried to read him again but still gleaned nothing. Then one strand appeared and told her she had been wrong when she thought she’d intimidated him. He had not been the least bit hesitant to face her when she spoke. He had instead been watching the three drunks scurry away, just to make sure they did not return to bother her again, and he had turned around at the moment they disappeared from sight.

Holder, why did you step between me and those men? she asked.

To protect you, he replied and she couldn’t decide if that was childishly sweet or just half-witted.

But why did you think I needed to be protected? she said and it was clear the question took him by surprise.

Because those men were rough and rude. You’re a nice lady. Such men might hurt a lady. The look in his eyes said he thought the answer was obvious. Why did she need to ask?

She clamped down hard on her reaction so he wouldn’t think she was laughing at him and said, But Holder, I’m a Sistére and I wear the red sash.

Sis-tar? he said hesitantly.

"It’s pronounced Sis-tier, with the emphasis on the second syllable. It’s not the same word as sister, I assure you, and it’s not a name but a title. Call me Graice. That’s easy to say."

Sistére, he replied and this time his pronunciation was perfect. I can speak clearly when I learn new words, he assured her with a just a touch of offended pride.

I’m sure you can, Holder, she said soothingly, expecting her voice to make him smile, but his face remained unchanged. How? Well, call me Graice anyway. It may be easy to say, but it’s still my name.

Yes, Graice. This time she caught a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth but his face said ‘mild amusement’ rather than ‘effect.’ Something was strange here and she was determined to find out what.

Let me tell you something, Holder, if I may. Sistéres don’t often need to be protected and those with red sashes never do. Did you know that?

No.

Surely you’ve seen some of us before. Our white robes usually stand out in a crowd.

I’ve seen white robes, yes, and blue ones too. You know, older ladies. Meaning he had noticed at least one Madrére also.

Yes, our elders wear pale blue. So you do know about us.

I said I’ve seen, not I’ve talked to.

Peculiar indeed, but she decided on an oblique approach for the moment. You don’t look or smell like someone who belongs on Drunken Scum Street. Why are you here?

I went to the docks to ask for work but the people there didn’t like me. Said I don’t belong. Now I’m going back to the caravanserai.

Do you work on the caravans, then?

Not anymore but they still let me sleep there. In the tents, if they aren’t full.

So you lost your job and need work now?

Yes, he acknowledged.

Were you on many journeys with the caravans?

Yes, very many. The last five seasons with Rispoli Trade. Last trip we traveled along the border of Corager and Hinterland from Antrass to Symbola to Low Newk. I’ve been to Matik four other times before this, too. Earlier, I was with other companies. I’ve made many journeys in all directions.

That sounds wonderfully adventurous, Graice said. Holder, Sistéres have Way-Houses in every city on the Eastern Side from Niazport to Anglio.

I’ve been there – both places.

You must have seen some of us in other locations, then.

Seen, yes, as I said.

But you haven’t talked to any until now? she asked and he shook his head no. Well, you think I’m nice, at least. You do, don’t you?

Even with him facing straight ahead, she could clearly see there was no response to her effect but he did react in a purely conventional manner. A slight smile appeared and she knew he was trying to look sideways at her without moving his head. He did not, however, speak at that moment. Shyness? With an Aura like his? That didn’t figure, she thought. Well, at least reticence was easy to cure. It didn’t even require words, just a certain set of her eyes and mouth. And a touch of her fingers to get him to look her way, it turned out.

He looked. He saw. He showed nothing.

Holder turned away before seeing the surprise which Graice momentarily failed to hide in her own face. Did she have no effect on him at all? Nothing like this had happened since she was seven or eight, long before she graduated at Sistérian Academy and donned the green sash five years ago. And she wore the red now! Perplexed, she searched for explanations. That scar on his head. Had an injury damaged his mind? That might explain things but it couldn’t be true. How could he shine the way he did with a damaged brain? Besides, despite his blunt directness, she knew he wasn’t stupid. No. Something was hiding from her.

Holder, would you mind stopping a moment and facing me? If it doesn’t make you feel awkward, I would like to see your face.

He complied willingly enough and she searched for clues. If her intense gaze embarrassed him in the least, he kept it hidden – and who could hide from Sistére Graice? But wait, she’d couldn’t be wrong about the shyness, could she? If she’d thought so, then it must be so. Right? But it wasn’t. How to explain . . . ? She couldn’t remember ever having so many question marks in her thoughts before.

After a full minute of viewing, puzzles still abounded but her rising excitement pushed away her confusion. Something important was hiding. She knew it with certainty. This must be studied! Then she quickly revised that thought. He must be studied, she meant, not this. And helped too, of course. Her attention would be good for him; she was sure. Then she realized with hard clarity that she must take him with her now. She could not risk letting him get away. Anything could happen to an unemployed man in Matik and he might disappear. She decided to make one more effort at effect. If it didn’t work she would at least know for sure, and she could still convince him with logic and gentle persuasion of the ordinary kind.

Holder, come with me now, she voiced very precisely.

Why? he asked without moving and she knew for certain. Her compulsion was subtle but strong. Any other man’s feet would have moved before his head knew what was happening. Holder did not even flinch.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. You said you were going to the caravanserai, right? He nodded and she continued. But that’s outside the city wall beyond West Gate and we’re walking in the opposite direction. It’s a long way to your destination.

I’m a good walker, he said and the little smile was back. She smiled too, and not with calculation this time.

I’m going to the Way-House and we have a guest room there. It’s not fancy, but it beats a tent and it’s much closer. If you like it and are willing to do a little work, you might decide to stay for a while.

I can work, he affirmed.

I’m sure you can. What did you do on your job with the caravans, anyway?

Carrying things and loading wagons mostly, but I also stood guard at night. People get nervous in the deep dark and like having me awake to protect them, he said. Well, that explained a little, she thought.

Please come. The room is private and no one will intrude. I bet you can’t say that about your usual place. Come with me, all right?

Thank you, yes, he said and they resumed walking.

Madrére Sybille was going to be so pleased about this, Graice thought. How incredible to find such a marvel in a Southside slum! Then she laughed inwardly at herself as she often did and thought, well, if Sybille isn’t completely pleased, at least I am.

CHAPTER 3: Graice and Holder § 2

At the end of Drunken Scum Street, a gated fence blocked the way. It had been erected by citizens in nearby neighborhoods to keep the denizens of the dockyard slums where they belonged. It didn’t work very well, there being many ways to get around it, but symbolism was important to the people of Matik. When Graice and Holder reached it, an elderly watchman opened the gate for them. As he did, he grabbed a torch and held it out to Graice.

Take this, Sistére, he said. It’s gotten plumb dark.

Thank you, kind sir, Graice replied and a smile cracked the man’s weathered old face. His look changed to bewilderment, however, when Holder reached and took the torch instead. Noticing Holder for the first time, the watchman frowned but then turned back to the Sistére and knew everything was all right. A pleasant evening to you, good watchman, Graice said as they passed and his smile widened to the absolute limits of his lips.

A moment later, the man realized he had forgotten his manners and called out, Thank you, Sistére.

Graice led Holder up the hill on Potters Street and then half-left onto Madder Lane. The quality of the buildings around them improved as they walked. This neighborhood would never be fashionable but it was a noticeable improvement from the street they had left. Shops and small manufactories seemed to be profitable, and reputable-looking people (well, most of them anyway) were in the process of locking the doors for the night and heading for bed. Those who were on the street usually said hello to Graice and a percentage of them actually made eye contact with her. Obviously, the latter were those with clear consciences. When they saw Holder, however, they shied away and left him plenty of room to pass. Once or twice he overheard murmurs as one said to another, Don’t worry, he can’t cause trouble. The Sistére has him.

We’re going to Regents Avenue. The Way-House is near the old city wall. Not far from Sudost Gate to be exact, Graice explained as they walked. But it’s really not as far as it sounds, so don’t worry.

I won’t, he answered and then a moment later he added, You walk well.

Thank you. I get a lot of practice.

Your shoes look bad, though.

Graice looked down, mostly to make sure her ankles weren’t showing. I think these look nice. What’s wrong with them?

Fancy. Too soft for walking.

I guess they do seem fancy considering the embroidery, but that’s only the upper parts. Underneath is real leather with strong soles, she explained. Actually, I only wore these today because I wanted to impress someone I met with earlier, and frankly I expected a carriage ride home that wasn’t offered. You would approve of what I normally wear I think.

You could walk far with good shoes, he said. I can tell such things.

Hmm? Oh, I understand. Working on caravans, you must have evaluated people based on how far they can walk. I guess I sounded silly telling you don’t worry, it’s not far. I realize you can walk much farther than I can. Faster too. My legs are hurrying and yours are just strolling.

Mine are longer, he pointed out. He turned his head to her and added, I can carry you if you get tired.

What? That’s not a prop . . ., she started, but she caught herself as she saw his face. There was no guile in him at all, nothing suggestive. He was not trying a trick to get to touch her. (But why, Graice wondered, had she mentioned her legs like that? Madrére Antonetta didn’t say anything, but she was lurking inside Graice’s head, ready to pounce.) Graice calmed her voice and said, Thank you, but I’m quite self reliant.

I didn’t mean to carry you now. Maybe someday if you need it.

I’ll keep it in mind but I don’t think it will ever be necessary.

As you say.

Before long, they reached the wider spaces of Regents Avenue, a good road with streetlamps, almost half of which were lit. Holder’s torch hissed and faded now but it still shed a modicum of light. Here the buildings were spaced apart and surrounded by stone walls with sturdy gates. Although still not exactly a fashionable neighborhood, these homes were for successful businessmen who had made enough coin to move up a notch in the world. Separated from the others stood a building with no protective wall at all, only a low fence made of wooden slats painted white.

This is it, Graice said when they reached the gate. Seeing a young girl in the doorway, she called, Helena, please go ask Ignacio to show Holder here to the guest room. Then get some clean bedding and give it to Ignacio. The girl nodded and hurried away. I’m sorry to rush off, Holder, but I need to go inside now. I have matters to report and I’m later than expected. Ignacio will be here in a minute to get you set up. Please wait outside the gate until he comes.

As you say.

Please say you’ll stay in the morning so I can talk to you. I’m sure Madrére Sybille will want to meet you too.

If you wish. The words themselves seemed compliant but his manner did not. He was not the least bit subservient, only polite.

You’re a puzzle, you know, she told him. Well, goodnight for now. Ignacio will be here momentarily.

Holder watched as she hurried to the door and went inside; then he looked around. The House sat on a larger lot than others on the street and the white fence enclosed only a portion of the property. Obviously, the fence was meant as a boundary line and not an obstacle since Holder could have easily climbed over it. The building itself looked homey and sturdy, not ornate or extravagant. Fine trees grew around it, both inside and outside the fence. It was the nicest place Holder had seen within the sprawling walls of Matik, but then he had never been to the area around Patron’s Hill on the Northside, of course. Soon a small man carrying a candle came around the side from the back of the property. He walked outside the fence.

I’m Ignacio. I’ll show you the way, he said when he arrived. You can leave that torch here in the gutter. Holder gave the man a fast look-over. His hair was gray but his body was whipcord thin and seemed fit. Holder surmised that the man could walk a good distance before his age betrayed him. Then Ignacio saw the open gate and became alarmed. Wait, did you step inside the fence?

No.

"You wouldn’t do that, would you? If you can’t be trusted, I should tell