Wine of the Gods 08: Dark Lady (22 page)

Spring 1367

Ash, Kingdom of the West

"Let's see what old friends we can offend by not remembering them today, eh? Wish I had your excuse, Q."

"Oh, most of us aren't that snotty."

Rustle tracked the voice to the herb garden.

A crooked little old lady straightened, cane in one hand, a handful of weeds in her other. "Humph! Now that's an interesting knot you've gotten your brains into. Looks like a charley horse of the gray matter. You must have been trying to shield with the wrong parts of your head."

"A . . . "

"Oh, sorry. No one says charley horse any more. And the brain isn't a muscle anyway. But you've certainly got your neural pathways tangled a bit. Not much real damage, so I expect it will go away. Both the damage and the memory problems." Bright eyes studied her. A brisk nod. "You've erected mazes, since you couldn't manage walls. You will have to make yourself relax, and untangle things. I'm Gisele."

"The Goddess of Health and Fertility." Rustle blinked. Smiled. "I remembered that."

"Yes. One more path through the maze. Work at it." The old woman plunked the weeds into a basket on the ground and straightened. All the way. A wash of brown flooded through her hair.
A handsome matron, experienced and wise, stepped closer. "So this is your little Quicksilver." She reached out and touched the baby's cheek. "Hmm. Interesting. I think you need to avoid the Auld Wulf when he's in a healing sleep. No telling what he'll come up with next." She stepped back and frowned at the ground. Leaned on a cane that hadn't been there a moment before as she bent to pull an offending bit of vegetation. Gray haired, wrinkled and older than time.

Rustle retreated.
That was enough for today. Scary old woman. Or middle aged woman. And I think there's a young version, too.

Spring 1367

Ash, Kingdom of the West

The big barn was used to anchor corridors. Rustle could see them, faint behind illusions of weathered boards. Above the illusions, in paint that nearly matched the weathered gray of the barn, some one had labeled the corridors.
Karista. A faint memory of a city came to her, then disappeared as soon as she tried to remember more. Halfway. No explanation for halfway to what, either on a label or in her head. A foggy view of a twisted pine tree growing between granite boulders.

She stepped through. Coughed, her ears hurt
. Stunted pines giving way to rock. They were standing on a mountainside. Quail sucked in a deep breath and screamed. High altitude, low atmospheric pressure. Rustle turned and stepped back through the side of the barn. Quail gave a last wail then pouted. Rustle wiggled her jaw and popped her ears.

"Ouch! I think that was halfway to Mount Frost.
Or more. I don't think sudden air pressure changes are a good idea." She popped her ears again and patted Quail's back. "You sure didn't like that."

She eyed the end of the barn.

A gate, not a corridor. She could only see the slow swirling energies of the . . . phenomenon. "Must be the world the mages moved to."

Quail craned her head, looking for something more interesting than barn walls.

Rustle walked around the barn; the far side had more corridors.

"
Rip Crossing. Excellent, we'll go there in a couple of days, practice magic with a tiny group. Crossroads? That doesn't even sound familiar." Between the illusion and the fogginess of the corridor, all she could see was brick pavement. She hesitated, then stepped through.

Brick pavement, that ended abruptly at a meadow ten feet away. She turned and looked back. She'd stepped out of a blank wall. Horizontal logs, painted brown. A steep pitched roof with blue trim
. "Harry's Tavern. Now located at the crossroads of the worlds."

She walked around to the porch and through the wide front doorway. Inside, tables were scattered about
, a beautiful polished mahogany bar to the right. She blinked a bit as her eyes adjusted. The bar was a tree trunk, split vertically and propped in place. Stairs led to a balcony, hallways led off . . . she rubbed her eyes. Were those hallways in bubbles?

"Yep. I think You're the first person to notice that in a thousand years." Harry set down his mug and stood.

"Sorry, I didn't see you."

The old man grinned. "That's the Auld Wulf's training. 'Sit there, Harry, and you'll get a good look at whatever comes through your door before it sees you.' Paranoid, I told him. But I still do it, often as not. How are you, Rustle?"

"Better. Not so tender, and improving faster than before." She looked around. "No customers?"

"Damn few, but I feel itchy, not keeping an eye on this place." He glanced ruefully at the door to the side.

Kitchen.
Some certainty in her mind.

"Yep. And no cook. I need to try to recruit some witches. So I can't even offer you lunch, unless you cook it yourself."

Rustle nodded. "I used to work here, didn't I?"

"Eh, witches don't so much work here as have cooking contests."
He was looking a bit hopeful, so Rustle peeked through the door.

A wave of familiarity pulled her through. Wood stove, cold. Sink. Polished wooden work spaces. Pots and pans hanging. Collecting dust! Cupboard
s that she knew held plates, that one had the bowls, the eccentric flatware . . . Beginning metal molding practice pieces.

She pulled the drawer open and smiled
at the wild range of design and size. Iron, steel, brass, bronze. Some that appeared to be pure copper, but no sign of a green patina marred them. "I don't remember which of these I made. Or . . . did I do something else?"

Harry chuckled. "Ball bearings, wheel rims, and harness buckles for Havi and the Goat Boys."

"Hmm . . ." She remembered Havi suddenly. Black hair and amber eyes, but otherwise the image of her father. Her best friend growing up. "My half-brother. And . . . " Other children with black hair and golden eyes. Others, she remembered a younger Ask, another blonde girl, and two red headed boys. "The Goat Boys . . . and Primo . . . the dragon?" Campfires, ghost stories, laughter cascaded through her mind.

"Yep, and his eleven siblings. They moved far away, off to Asia and well away from those Earthers." Harry sighed. "I don't know how they're doing, they don't make roads." He stepped out the back door, then came right back, bearing a
large wrapped paper package.

"Going to have some cowboys coming through later. They're moving their herds, as the water holes start drying up. My own cooking never did get much better than mediocre."

Rustle reached out and took the package. "Venison? Do you have any vegetables bubbled up somewhere? Fruit, flour, sugar, and lard . . . no, wait. I remember the bins now. I hadn't realized they were bubbles . . . "

It was a pleasant way to spend the day, the yeasty odor of bread, spices, apple pies baking
. Slow roasting meat. The ranchers and their hands reminded her of the ordinary people of Joramtown.

After they
left, she slipped outside. In the dark, she could see the glowing circles of gates. She headed for the first one to the north and stepped through.

The wind was warm and dry, the grassy hills even emptier. The moon was in the right place, but turned even further than she remembered. What had someone said? That it rotated once every nine months, or had they said nineteen?
Must have been nineteen, because it's barely a quarter of the way around since I came. . . five months ago? Or is it almost six?
She rubbed her temples.
Do I dare get near a Summer Solstice celebration?

She lay in the grass, thinking
slow peaceful thoughts.
I could live here. Or through one of the other gates. Or anywhere . . . except Quail would get lonely . . . would Xen come with me, or stay with his father, his school and friends?

She blinked in sudden alarm and bolted back through the gate.

Quail was still sleeping peacefully where she'd been left. Harry was kicked back in a chair, reading by the light of a hovering ball.

She gave a relieved huff.

Harry chuckled. "She's a bit young to be one of my strays. And you're older than most. You can stay here, if you need to Rustle, but all my strays move on, sooner or later."

"Thanks Harry. I don't think I'm lost, just confused. But I'll see if some witches are interested in cooking duties, or contests as the case may be."

"Any guests I get will appreciate that."

Rustle hefted Quicksilver and walked out. But before she walked through the corridor, she looked back for a long moment at the gate to Arrival.
I wonder what Liz is doing?

Monday, June 15, 3493 AD

City of Arrival, Arrival

". . . and this is the Grand Cathedral." Kurt had brought Liz to the square in a roundabout path so she first saw the whole perfectly balanced edifice.

"That's . . . it looks light and airy enough to float away." He caught her again trying to not look intimidated.

He hesitated, then dived straight in. "How are you doing at . . . home?"

She sighed and shook her head. "The, umm, staff are a bit shocked. I guess they are just the minimal caretakers, and most of the staff travels back and forth from East Heights to the Arrival House with the baroness and her children." She gulped. "They should be arriving tomorrow. It's going to be . . . interesting."

"I wish I could be there." Kurt chewed a knuckle.

"Ha! You've got to explain Lady December to the archbishop and his council. They'll probably make you do some sort of, umm, service meditation? Isn't that the usual?"

"Oh yes." He stopped in the shade of an old oak and pulled her into his arms. "The worst they can do is a year and a day of service, away from the World to contemplate
God without exposure to more corruption. Will you wait a year and a day for me?"

She leaned comfortably on him. "Heck. I might even wait a year and two days. Although to be honest, I can't exclude running off to Jeramtown for a good solid part of it. "

He chuckled. "Smart of you. Especially when it's time for Moxie to foal. If nothing else, you can use the money in your Exchange account for a small horse farm. I'll find you, wherever you've gone off to, even if I have to try and find a 'gate' and hunt down Lady December."

Liz chuckled. "Now there's a thought. I'll tell my mother if I'm going that far abroad, though."

"And we're being horribly pessimistic, aren't we?" Kurt resumed strolling toward the Cathedral, enjoying the growing awe on Liz's face as she realized how big the building truly was.

He led her up the broad steps and gave her a personal tour of all of his favorite parts. Their presence was noted but they were left alone for several hours of rambling.

A young man, a student by the colors on his robes, brought Kurt a message from Bishop Langdon, requesting a moment of his time. Liz bit her lip, then suddenly decided she'd take some more time in the small chapel, if he'd excuse her.

The Bishop greeted Kurt looking like a fox in the hen house. "The diary of the priest who married Jameson to this Lucy Garner is quite clear, and damning. He suffered considerable agonies of guilt and shame, mostly, I'm afraid, after spending the money the old Baron paid him to remove the record of the marriage. He has been questioned extensively. The Council agrees with me, that it is the vows spoken before God that are binding, and the record is just a matter of book keeping. They have signed writs of annulment on both Jameson's subsequent marriage and Lucy's. The pair of them will have to come to us and request a divorce from each other, which—under the circumstances—will of course be granted." The bishop was suppressing a smile. "What a scandal. The Baron with four children and the, ahem, Baroness with eight from their now dissolved marriages."

Kurt gulped. "I do hope I don't end up regretting bringing the subject up. Baron Jamison will be bad enough. What the, err, Not-Baroness is going to say or do boggles the mind."

The Bishop almost lost control of his smile. "One suspects that she will be making Jamison's life quite uncomfortable."

And Liz is going to be in the middle of it. Kurt winced. "Yes."

Wednesday, July 1, 3493 AD

City of Arrival, Arrival

"This shocking belief in magic and gods is disturbing, Prince Kurt."

"Magic, as I explained, is a useful term for phenomena I observed. These odd gods, as I said, are not the creator, nor actual gods of any other sort. They are simply strong magicians. I do not 'believe' in them." Kurt nodded politely to the archbishop.

"I believe that a suitable interval of peaceful contemplation will allow you to wrestle these heretical ideas from your soul. You will remain within the inner precincts of the Cathedral for a year and a day."

Kurt sighed. "As you wish." The Council had given a strong impression of having not listened to a word he said.

"Go with our blessing, my son."

Kurt stood, bowed to the Council and walked out. He had an escort of three full priests.

"I'm Father Miles Alabama. I will be your Counselor for the year." Father Miles was the oldest of the three. "Do you have any questions?"

"Yes. I got the distinct impression that my reporting of observations were being taken as if they were declarations of faith. Why was that?"

"My son, what you described was simply impossible. The strain of the siege clearly unbalanced your mind and caused these fantastical hallucinations and dreams."

Kurt gawped, then slowly shook his head. "This is going to be a long year. Tell me, father, what is the worst sin? To stupidly tell the truth and accept punishment, or to lie by omission, and avoid all mention of things that could cause punishment?"

"My son, this is not
punishment
. This is a peaceful time to reorder your thoughts and return to the grace of the Lord."

"I have not left the grace of God. I have merely upset the Council of Bishops, which I'm sure you agree is a much lesser thing, despite their ability to imprison me for a year and a day."

"This is not a prison. You may walk out at any time."

"It is a prison. The bars are threat of all future standing in law."

"The threat is separation from God."

"No, Father. The threat is for all the Church to treat me as if I have left the grace of God. The Church can remove my ability to make a legal marriage, sign contracts or own property. Only God can dismiss me from his graces. That I do not fear."

"You worshiped a false god."

"No Father, I did not
worship.
I witnessed. And reported as fully and completely as possible. The clergy needs to go investigate the Arbolian's religion, and then they will better understand what a devil or demon is. I have seen corruption of faith closely, father. I place my faith and care of my soul in the hands of God, and I will do God's will."

Father Miles sighed, and turned down a back corridor. "You will sleep here, and serve in helping the elderly priests in their retirement." He opened the door and Kurt eyed the clean and nearly barren room. A small high window, a cross on the wall, a bed. A very plain wardrobe. "These should fit." Kurt looked at the plain tunics and pants, sandals in the wardrobe. "Place all of your Worldly goods and clothing in the sack. It will be stored and returned to you at the end of your penance. At the first bell, you will rise and cleanse yourself." He led the way down the hallway and out to a basic privy and wash basin under a separate roof from the rest of the complex. "At the second bell you may, if you feel in God's graces, join the community for early prayer and then breakfast with us. Father Derrick is in charge of the retirement house, and will speak to you after breakfast." He nodded politely to Kurt, and turned to walk away.

Kurt bowed to his back, and set out to familiarize himself with this previously unknown part of the Cathedral. He changed first, stuffing the sack. Was there anything he wanted to keep? Money? A knife? His hip flask full of the Dark Lady's wine? Only the latter, really, but the former might be a useful test of how much he was trusted. He tucked the flask into the waist of the draw string trousers and set out to find a good place to hide it. Around a corner and down a hallway, a low cabinet in a niche holding a portrait of a former archbishop held a miscellany; furniture polish and rags foremost. The flask, flat at the back would probably not be noticed. His knife went under his pillow, and a small purse was left in the wardrobe. Both coin and paper money were concealed about the bare room. In the morning he had no trouble finding the chapel for morning prayers, nor the dining room for a bland breakfast.

Father Derrick nabbed him immediately after, as if expecting him to run off like a naughty child. He spent the morning changing bedding all through a wide maze of rooms. They tended to cluster, each with a pretty garden, and he eventually stopped getting lost as he returned to rooms with fresh bedding and clothing, and then returned to assist in doing the laundry. He pictured Franklin's expression if he caught him washing the sheets of incontinent old men and grinned.

One of the others on laundry duty eyed him. "You think laundry's funny?"

"I suspect that before my year is up I'll be quite tired of it. So don't grudge me seeing the humor in it on my first day."

"Oh, ho. You got the whole year and a day?" The young man looked surprised. "You don't look like you've got horns sprouting."

Kurt snickered. "No, but I managed to tick off the Council, none-the-less. Hmm, am I a Brother for the year, or do we heretics just use our names?"

"Oh, just your name, unless you're planning on staying. I'm Ferrit."

"Kurt. So you were bad too?"

"Less lip than you, most like, and more paint.
I
thought my cartoon about Father Will was quite amusing. I suppose I ought to have put it to paper, not done it up large on my da's barn. Three months. One still to go. What did you do?"

"Described, as accurately as I could something I witnessed, and made the mistake of calling it magic. Somehow it all got twisted around to me
worshipping
it. I haven't quite figured out how. I guess I expected the Council act more like a court of law than a close minded paranoid power structure."

"Oh." The boy blinked at him in astonishment. "If they
could,
they'd have had you in here forever. You're better off going against God, than threatening the power of the Church."

"Umm, not really.
God
is the important one. The Council is merely powerful."

Ferrit was grinning and shaking his head. "Ooo. I am going to have to avoid you to keep out of trouble."

They sat together at lunch, silent like the rest of the brothers, then returned to hang their wash to dry. By the time they were done, the first was dry and they started folding. Then evening prayers. Dinner.

Then Father Miles. "How was you
r first day here?"

"Very pleasant." Kurt told him. "I hadn't ever thought about the fate of retired clergy, and I'm delighted to find them so well taken care of and in such pleasant surroundings."

"Indeed. Of course many return to their families. But those who do not have that option generally come here. Come walk with me. I'll introduce you some of our oldest pensioners."

Kurt trailed him and met a dozen former council members and two retired bishops. Some were quite old, and one of the bishops spoke of christening Kurt's great grandfather.

"The senior clergy seem to be long lived," he commented, after they left.

"Indeed. Godly lives do seem to be quite long." He glanced toward another cluster, but turned away. "And sometimes the impious. Poor man isn't in his right mind anymore. Such a pity. He'd be an inspiration to us all if he just didn't . . . well."

Kurt made note of the location. Impious? Something to look into.