ou will tell them who I am, and that I demand to see them immediately,” Raven ordered frostily to the two guards that stood outside the Questioner’s chambers. They were black-liveried men, their chest bearing the red cross that marked their servitude to the Ecclesia’s Questioners. They regarded her cooly, eyes narrowed, lips set in grim lines. These were battle-hardened warriors, Raven could see, men who had known the company of death.
After a moment, one of them opened the door, and whispered Raven’s words to another such guard on the other side. He then closed the door once more, and returned to staring at the Lothanasa. Raven returned the gaze, her own blue eyes like ice.
She’d first returned to the Lothanasi Temple after speaking with Father Hough. Having left Madog to comfort the boy priest, she’d sought comfort of her own, filling her eyes and spirit with the familiar sight of that blessed temple. The acolytes had all sensed her need to be alone, and had stayed glued to their duties. Even Merai had kept her distance, tending to the faithful in worship.
Inside her chambers were the nine circles. Lines of chalk spaced with candles along each step, they were her guide to peace, to gaining a connection to the world that was often lost amidst the bustle of the day to day activities. It was her root, the bindings by which she was able to feel the bones of the earth beneath her, the very tendons that held all creation together. Inside them she had sat, letting herself sink into the meditative calm that preceded the return of the world.
The first circle had taken from her all other sensation, a well of darkness that served to focus her mind without any outside distractions. It was as if the rest of the world ceased to be, and there was only Raven, her true essential self, floating in the limitless void. There was peace in that void, no fear of anything at all. Nothing was beneath her, but there was not yet even any concept of beneath to consider. It was her pure spirit, unencumbered by the intruding reality.
At the second circle, sensation began to return. It first came in the form of touch, the cold floor beneath her legs, pressing firmly against the fur. The white cloth she wore rubbing slightly over her chest. Her tail lay flat against the stone, curled around to one side. They were empty feelings though, numbness from sitting so long, an awareness of her physical form, but no understanding of where it lay.
And then, when Raven had proceeded to the third circle, context was added to her awareness. The sound of the acolytes singing a song in the temple filled her awareness. Her own scent, dry but firm filled her. The scent of burning wax, pungent and thick, was like a soft blanket in which her mind was wrapped. There were many more subtle nuances, each impacting her, and she spent tireless moment studying those scents, cataloguing and labelling them, putting them back in their place within the world.
The fourth circle brought a strange sort of sight to her, the world of light did not fully return, but she was aware of her own self, a creature of light and shadow intertwined. The very essence of all that was became known to her, limited to experience as it was a variant on her own sight, but there was still so much rich detail that her mind could understand instinctively. The flow of the Keep lived beneath that aura, the very essence of Metamor itself, bound by spells so arcane she could not have hoped to understand them in a thousand lifetimes. It was all hers to see.
And then, Raven let herself draw back, the world growing clear once more. She did not normally go beyond the fourth circle, and had no time for it that day either. When she had looked at the clock, she saw that two hours had passed. There was still much to do before she would see them. Her mind relaxed once more, she sought other things.
Raven occupied herself with her books, reading old passages, scanning words penned by men hundreds of years before. Words of wisdom, and words of warning, both taken to heart just then. She scanned histories, treatises on various ecumenical declarations as well as critiques of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. The last that she examined was the passage that she had shared with Patriarch Akabaieth less than six months ago. The Starchild prophecy, speaking of times that were all too near.
But after three hours, she knew she could delay no longer, and so put aside her books to meet with the Questioners. She had walked as swiftly as possible, lest some stray worry dissuade her for the moment. This was something that had to be done, and the only way that Metamor could remain free from political and religious strife was for her, the head of the Lothanasi faith at Metamor, to do this.
The door opened once more, much wider this time. Raven stared past the sullen guards. The one standing in the doorway inclined his head respectfully. “Lothanasa Raven hin’Elric, please enter.”
She nodded curtly to the guard, striding through the doorway. The room beyond was decorated in bright fabrics, the most colourful of which was pale yellow. She felt as if she had walked within the sun, her white robes blending into its brilliance. Yet, the room felt strangely cold, and as her eyes settled upon the three sun spots that sat like judges at the far end of the chamber, she knew why. The Questioners were black-robed priests, their cowls up to hide any human features they might bear. For a moment, they did not speak, and neither did she.
And then, the centre figure rose from his seat, slowly, as if it pained him to do so. The other two followed his motions, as if they were mirror reflections. With one cloaked arm, he brushed the hood of his cloak back, revealing an old face, much like Akabaieth’s had been. But where the now dead Patriarch had radiated kindness and love, this face bore none of that. It was as heartless as stone, and appeared to have been crudely chiselled from the same.
The other two Questioners also tossed back their hoods, revealing much younger faces, that of a man in his thirties, and one in his twenties. They all bore the familiar tanned skin so common in the Holy Land, as they were called. Except for the central priest, whose hair was whitening, their hair was all uniform black.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” the eldest said, though there was no pleasure in his voice. “I am Father Kehthaek. This is Father Felsah and Father Akaleth. Why is it that you have come, Lothanasa Raven hin’Elric?”
Raven’s gaze was not pleasant, but neither was it grim. At least, not yet. “You are the reason I have come. It is your nature to ask questions, and you expect answers. It is now my turn to ask questions of you, and you will provide me with answers.”
“Why should we suffer any of your questions?” Akaleth shot back darkly. There was poison in his voice, a poison that Raven would not succumb to.
“You are guests in Metamor’s house,” she said, keeping her focus on the eldest priest. He was clearly the head of these three, and it was he that she needed to understand. “We are your hosts. But the first duty of a host is to her family, and if a guest’s conduct begins to threaten them she may have to see him to the door.”
Kehthaek’s lips curled. “In our country, hospitality is something we have long nourished. It is a matter of pride to take in a traveller and see to his needs. They are the ones who ask, ‘what is the road ahead like’, not the host.”
Raven nodded. “In your country, aye . But you are now in my country, and the rules are different here. If you wish to be a guest here at Metamor, you must abide by those rules. You have no wish to offend Metamor by your actions, do you?”
“We wish to find out what happened,” Felsah said, his eyes staring, seeing her as if for the first time. “That is why we ask questions. Offense is not our intent. If we offend by our questions, then perhaps it is better to ask why Metamor would be offended. Is that not so?”
She waved her hand negligently, as if swatting away a bothersome fly. “So why should you be offended when I ask questions of you?”
Akaleth snorted derisively, staring down his nose at her, even though he was only perhaps an inch taller than her. “We are not beholden to the likes of pagans. And you would do well to not offend Yesulam’s emissaries. Or to threaten them. Yesulam will remember your words.”
Her blue eyes slipped over to the young Questioner, staring hard and intently. “For the most part, Metamor is a Lothanasi city. I am the Lothanasa of Metamor. Therefore, events and guests of a religious nature are my concern. Not only is Duke Thomas your host, but so am I. If I so choose, I can order you to leave this city, and you will have no choice but to obey.”
“Would you?” Kehthaek asked, his voice a hand around her throat.
“I say that only so that you will understand under whose sufferance you are allowed to stay here. There are certain issues that we will discuss right now. Know this – you are the first of your kind, be they Patildor or Lothanasi, that have ventured within these walls in a century. My own people’s Questioners were banished from this city over a hundred years ago because they sowed fear and misery amongst the people. Should you choose to do the same, you will meet a similar fate. Our tradition is long, and our willingness to rely upon it is certain.”
She leaned closer, her tail firmly stiff, ears completely upraised. A snarl percolated at the back of her throat, and she let out only the faintest whisper. “Should you chose to force our hand and invoke this tradition, all of the world will know that it was Yesulam who brought offence. It was Yesulam’s emissaries who were poor guests that insulted their host. All the world shall know that the fault lies with Yesulam in this matter. Will you so needlessly weaken the hand of your faith–” she turned her eyes upon Felsah, whose own had gone wide at this speech, “–merely to ascertain the truth as you say?”
It was clear that Akaleth did not like her. In fact, all his efforts appeared to be focussed on keeping himself from throwing something at the priestess. Felsah’s robes were shaking slightly, as if he were shivering beneath them. Kehthaek was as still as a statue, the thin line of his lips set so firmly that a sword could not have opened them.
But then, they parted with words, words so sudden that they almost did not seem to be spoken at all, but fed directly into her mind. “What do you want?” His eyes were fixed upon her. Whether he was convinced that what she said was true or whether he was simply humouring her to further his own arcane amusement she could not tell.
“You have said that you have been given the task of finding out what happened to Patriarch Akabaieth. From whom did you gain such authority?”
“Patriarch Geshter and the Council of Bishops sent us here,” Akaleth crowed, his chest expanding slightly. “We are acting with the full authority of the Ecclesia and of Eli himself.”
“I see,” Raven said, raising her eyebrows and allowing her eyes to widen slightly as if she were impressed. “I assume, then,” she asked innocently, “that you have the seals of Patriarch Geshter, of the Council of Bishops, and of Eli himself to prove this?”
Akaleth sneered. “How dare you ask that?! In the lands of the Ecclesia, none would dare such impertinence as to doubt Eli’s own messengers.”
“That may be so,” Raven conceded, nodding once. “But as I said before, you are in Metamor now, and we dislike playing host to a disruptive guest.” She turned her focus suddenly on Kehthaek, dropping all pretense, and spoke in a low voice, every word filled with quiet intensity. “If you cannot produce a document bearing the seals of your Patriarch and the Council of Bishops, then you will have come here under false pretenses and I shall have you thrown out. If you have such a document and refuse to produce it, then I shall also have you thrown out.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “Do not test my resolve in this matter.”
She eyed all three of them menacingly, her ears erect. Under her fierce gaze, she could see Akaleth seethe in repressed fury. Kehthaek considered her calmly, his eyes studying her as his mind pored over her words. The last, Felsah, just stared emptily as if his mind had retreated within, shutting out the outside world. Her aura sight could sense nothing from the latter two, a fact that disturbed her – it was as if they were not even there. She looked into their eyes in an effort to read them visually, but their expressions were as blank as their auras.
“Father Akaleth,” Kehthaek said at last, his voice slow, measured, but firm, “would you kindly produce the document that Lothanasa Raven hin’Elric requests.”
There was definitely an unhappy moue upon Akaleth’s face. However, he reached within his robes, and held out a small scroll case only the width of his hand in length. It was jewelled at both ends, bright yellow citrines set against green iolite. With a twist, she undid the case, and a small roll of parchment slid out. Unfurling the parchment, she quickly scanned the text, and the seals of the Patriarch and Council of Bishops. It was legitimate, there could be no question of that. And they were only meant to inquire after the Patriarch’s death.
Returning the parchment to its case, she redid the clasp and handed it back to Father Akaleth. “Very well, you will be allowed to continue inquiring about Patriarch Akabaieth’s murder. But I am not yet satisfied.”
Akaleth snatched the jewelled scroll case back from her paws, and stuffed it once more within his robes. “Not yet satisfied! You have seen that our being here is mandated by the highest authorities in this world. There is nothing left that needs to be said. Get out and stop interfering with our duty.”
Raven suppressed a snarl as she turned to take him in fully. “Oh there is much still to be said, Questioner,” she said, smiling tightly, her voice cool and almost patronizing. “Without that parchment, you would be well on your way outside the city walls by now.” She raised her eyebrows again. “With it, you are a guest – but now, like any responsible host, I must have your assurance that you shall do nothing to abuse our hospitality.”
“And what will you do?” Kehthaek asked, though all she could hear in his voice was curiosity. She wondered if more was there, or if he was as blasé as he seemed.
“You will put your own seals upon a document stating that you will refrain from certain activities while you are here. There will be no torture. There will be no rampant accusations. There will be no threat of reprisals against anyone. Any person you question shall have the right to be accompanied by a witness of his or her choosing. You will make your decisions known to Duke Thomas, myself and others before you leave. And you will leave by Saturday at the latest regardless.”
“That is an outrage!” Akaleth spluttered angrily, his robe quivering.
Raven turned her gaze upon him and let her widen slightly. Though her voice and face were calm, turbulent waters were being stirred beneath them. “You wish to be a poor guest, Questioner?” He continued to seethe, but said nothing more.
“Do you have a document already written, or do you wish to compose it now in our presence?” Felsah asked, his voice quiet.
Raven reached within her white robes and pulled out a scroll case of her own, though far less ornamental. She offered it to Kehthaek, who took it in surprisingly strong hands. He unscrewed the lid and pulled the parchment out. Akaleth shot vile death with his eyes at Raven, as the elder priest read through the words she’d carefully written out only an hour before. Felsah’s eyes appeared slightly distracted, as if he were staring at something only he could see.
Inspecting it for a few moments, Kehthaek then laid the parchment down on the small mahogany table set before his chair. From his robes he produced a small medallion, the cross of the Questioners inset in the centre. “Wax,” he said, and one of the two guards retrieved a candle. He brought it to the table, and set it beside the document, along with a stick of wax. Kehthaek nodded, took the stick and held it in the flame before pressing it against the parchment. He then pressed the face of his medallion into it, sealing the sign of the Questioners into it.
After slipping the medallion back within his robes, he waited a moment before offering the parchment back to Raven. “No, Father,” Raven said, her voice steely. “All of you must mark your insignia upon it. Not just you. All three of you.” At this, she let her eyes wander specifically to Akaleth, who still bore a disgusted moue.
With a sneer, Akaleth produced a similar medallion to the one Kehthaek carried. He did the same as the elder priest, placing a dab of wax upon the parchment, and then marking it with that cross. He then withdrew his medallion from the wax as if it stung his fingers to touch the parchment. Raven felt her tail twitch, as if some strange wind had just blown through the room, but the air was still and occluded outside.
“Father Felsah?” Kehthaek asked, glancing upwards at the priest to his right. But Felsah did not hear him, staring wide-eyed as he was at something in the far corner of the room.
With an uncertain trembling, he raised his arm and pointed with his hand. “What is that?”
All eyes turned to follow his eyes, including Raven’s. The corner he had been staring at was clouded in shadows, deep ones from the sways and draperies decorating the wall. Little light penetrated the corner, but what did gleamed off the brightly polished surface of the figure crouching there. The priestess blinked and felt her legs nearly give out beneath her. This was the second time in nearly as many hours he had simply appeared from the shadows.
“Madog!” Raven called in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
The metallic fox crept out of the corner, glancing around at the gaggle of priests staring in befuddlement at him. The two guards had drawn their swords and interposed themselves between the fox and the Questioners. Madog sat back on his haunches and panted as if he were laughing merrily at them. “I wanted to meet them,” Madog said then, his voice bereft of any malice. It was merely curious.
Raven blinked. So did the Questioners and their guards. It was Felsah who spoke at last. “What are you?” He leaned down a bit, stepping to the side of one of the guards so he could see the automaton more clearly.
“I’m Madog,” the mechanical fox said, blinking once, ears turning towards the Questioner. “What’s your name?”
“What is this toy?” Akaleth snarled, narrowing his eyes in distaste at the automaton. His shock had passed, and he was now glaring balefully once more.
Raven had to put one paw upon the back of the chair to stay standing. “He’s an automaton. A creation of a bygone age. He was unearthed a few years ago and rebuilt. I do not know much more than that.”
“Who does?” Felsah asked, unable to take his eyes from the mechanical fox. He had bent down, gingerly creeping past the guards to approach Madog.
“He is not why you are here,” Raven said, reminding him.
Felsah nodded. “Of course.” Madog stared back up at him, turning his head to one side, blinking metallic eyes.
“Get it out of here. It is a demon beast!” Akaleth snarled, waving to the two guards wildly.
Madog turned his head to the younger priest, licked his jowls once, and then turned around. He walked to the door and nosed it open, despite the latch being closed. The guards outside were quite surprised, and stared inside to make sure that all was well. Kehthaek waved them back to their posts, and glanced back down at Felsah, who had stayed crouched down to watch the automaton leave. “Father Felsah, Lothanasa Raven hin’Elric still needs your insignia.”
“Of course,” Felsah repeated, pulling his medallion out with oddly slow deliberation. The corner of his eye was ever upon the spot that Madog had stood, but he too managed to stamp his cross into the parchment. Raven waited a moment to make sure all the wax had dried. She then took it in her paws, and nodded.
“I have all that I have come for. If I hear that any of you have broken this accord that you have signed, then I shall call for your immediate expulsion from this city. Is that understood?”
Kehthaek nodded. “It is. There is much still we need to do. Unless there is anything else, might we be allowed to continue our inquiries?”
Raven nodded her head as well. “Very well. Do not give me cause, Questioners.” And with that she turned and glided regally from the room, refusing to give them any indication of how strongly she wished to be out of their presence. They said nothing as she left, and for that she was grateful. She half expected to find Madog waiting for her in the corridor beyond, but he was nowhere in sight. Why had he come to see the Questioners? She doubted she would ever know the answer to that.
Gripping the parchment more tightly in her paws, she headed back to the Lothanasi Temple. This had to be put somewhere safe immediately. It surprised her that they had folded so easily. And it also unnerved her. What their true game might be, she could not help but wonder the whole way back to the temple. But no answer came.
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