Broken Rule | Chapter 9
This post is chapter nine of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.
The story so far:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapters 3 & 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
With a smaller group, Marek made much better time returning to Kubara than he had leaving on his pilgrimage. There was another difference, too. When he had left Kubara he had felt confident, certain of where he needed to go, what he needed to do. Now he felt lost, adrift. Before, it had always been clear to him what the will of the Most Holy was, clear to him what he should do next. Now nothing was clear. He knew where the library was, but that was all he knew. Even if he went to the mountains himself, the prize would be sealed to him, buried beyond his reach. How could he get to it?
Marek understood the source of his problem now. The words. He didn't have the proper words to guide him. Despite his prompting, he couldn't get Amalia to remember the spirit's exact words. She had conveyed the information that the spirit had given her, but information alone wasn't enough. He needed to know the will of the Most Holy, and before he had always found the meaning in the words, found direction in them. Without direction, he had no choice but to return to his normal duties. Waiting, hoping that he would find more words to guide him.
When he arrived in the city there was a tension that hadn't been present when he left. People seemed to be on edge, prepared for some crisis that had not yet hit but was already assailing their spirits. Marek told his followers to return to their normal homes and lives and made his way to the cathedral, down to the chambers in the cellar where the clergy slept. It was the Day of Saint Cornelius, and Marek knew that the bishop would be in his cell, resting up after the lengthy service called for on such a holy day. “Excellency,” Marek greeted Vasili, “I have returned from my pilgrimage.”
“Marek!” Bishop Vasili crowed with joy. “It's good to have you back. It's been a trial here without you.” He embraced the young priest. “I'm sorry, Marek, but we had to close the Poor Kitchen. We couldn't afford it any more. I prayed and prayed for another solution, but nothing came. So many are going hungry.”
“Excellency, don't think that way. Think of how many we helped, not how many we can help no longer.”
“Yes, I know. But it's a hard thing to fail when you have such a holy purpose.” Vasili sat down on his cot, and Marek took the simple wooden chair at the bishop's writing desk.
“I understand, Excellency. But it's not a burden for you to carry alone. I'm here now, and Corwin is here.”
“It's good to have you back, Marek. Did you gain enlightenment on your pilgrimage?”
“It's difficult to explain. I know things now that the Most Holy wishes me to know, but part of His will is still a mystery to me. But I've been gone from Kubara a long time and much seems to have happened here in the city. The people seem troubled.”
Vasili let out a long sigh. “The same troubles as always, Most Holy protect us. The noble houses are squabbling and Tarkannan's neighbors sense weakness. The people know that they're the ones that get caught in the middle in times like these.”
“Another war, so soon? I had hoped we had seen the end to war in my lifetime.”
“Yes, if the rumors are true.”
“In times like these, the people need us more than ever. When people fear, they are more vulnerable to temptation and sin.”
“Yes. I'm glad you're here to help me again, Marek. I fear I'm not up to the challenge on my own. Corwin means well, but he's little more than a boy.”
“Don't give in to fear yourself, Excellency. Your faith is strong, strong enough to sustain the whole city if need be. The people need you.”
“Thank you, Marek. I hope you're right. But as you said, it's nice to have a friend to share the burden.”
“Of course, Excellency. I know you're tired, I'll let you rest.”
Marek made his way upstairs to the main hall of the cathedral, where the services were held and people sometimes came to pray after the crowds had departed. The massive, vaulted ceiling was supposed to inspire a sense of grandeur, awe for the majesty of the Most Holy. Marek had never felt that way here. To him, it was a room like any other. The large size of the hall tended to cause echoes, and it was rarely quiet. Marek sometimes wondered if the space could be better used if it was divided up into cells, quiet places where people could read the Blessed Book and contemplate the words of the Most Holy.
Marek spotted the familiar face of Minister Oleg Dathan, his head bowed in prayer. Few people thought of Dathan as a man with any power in the kingdom, but he attended the king almost constantly and set the court's schedule. There were few men who knew more about the goings on in the royal court than Oleg Dathan. And, knowing as much as he did, his soul was often troubled. When Dathan's soul was troubled, he sought solace in the cathedral, where he had talked with Marek many times. Marek had considered inviting Dathan on his pilgrimage, but knew the man would refuse to abandon his duties at the palace. He had spared the man from having to make the decision, but missed his company while away from the city.
“Brother Oleg, how fare you?”
Dathan was startled for a moment, but turned to see who had interrupted him. “Learned Marek!” Dathan greeted him. “You've returned from your pilgrimage.”
“I have,” Marek assented. “I hope that you've not been too troubled in my absence.”
“I confess, it has been difficult. I can't talk to Bishop Vasili or Learned Corwin. They don't understand things as you do.”
Marek could empathize with Dathan. There were certainly things that he himself was unable to discuss with Vasili. Still, he had just finished telling the bishop that he was capable of caring for the souls in his charge, so he felt obliged to object. “You shouldn't be so quick to dismiss them. They may not understand the details and nuance of court politics, but they do understand the Blessed Book.”
“I suppose you're right, Learned, but talking to someone who does understand is so much better.”
“Then tell me what troubles you, and I'll try to help.”
“The source of my troubles is no secret. They are the same troubles that are on everyone's mind, but I must attend the king, and I never seem to get an escape from them. Benedek's expedition to the mountains was losing scores of men to death and desertion, and now we haven't heard any reports from him for weeks.”
“And because you know nothing, you assume the worst? Overcoming fear can be difficult, but this fear you are conjuring from nowhere. You know that the roads are treacherous. Perhaps the messengers were simply unable to reach the capital.”
“And then there's Duke Gavril. No one knows for sure what he's plotting, but everyone is sure he's plotting something. He's gathering an army of his own. He kept it quiet at first, keeping them inside Thornwood's walls, but now he seems to have abandoned all secrecy. The only question now is when he'll march and where he'll go when he does. Many counts and barons are calling their banners to defend themselves from Gavril's army. And many think that he'll be marching here to claim the throne. It's hard to see how this can end in anything but chaos and death.”
“Have faith, Brother Oleg. The Blessed Book tells us not to give in to despair while there is still hope. Perhaps Gavril can be persuaded not to march at all. Words are powerful things. The Most Holy created the world with words. Perhaps the right words spoken to Duke Gavril will convince him not to make war."
“I hope you're right, Learned.”
Marek was about to speak again when a new man approached them. Marek didn't know the man, but he was wearing a knight's surcoat, although covered with dust from a long journey. His expression betrayed a foul mood. “Minister Dathan,” the man announced, “I am Sir Roddy Meers. I have a report from Duke Benedek. I need to see His Majesty the king immediately.”
Dathan flinched, clearly surprised to be confronted by the topic he and Marek had just been discussing. “Sir Roddy, we've not heard from the duke in weeks. How go things?”
“That's a difficult question to answer,” Meers said with a frown. “I need to report directly to the king.”
“Of course, sir," Dathan said, stumbling over his words, uncharacteristically agitated. "Come with me, His Majesty will be in his private chambers.” He turned to the priest and said, “If you'll forgive me, Learned Marek, I must interrupt our conversation.”
“I understand, Brother Oleg, matters of state are important. But so are the matters of your soul. Don't lose hope and don't choose to suffer in silence. Bishop Vasili is a wise man with a good heart. He can help you even when I cannot.”
Dathan nodded in assent and led the knight away to see the king. Marek noticed that the knight had made no acknowledgment of the Most Holy as he was leaving the cathedral and wondered if that had any significance. Sometimes men turned their backs on the Most Holy after seeing the horrors of battle.