Rebel

Chapter 1-2

The bandit screamed in pain.

Rain wrapped her hand around the handle of Nightbane. “It will only get worse.”

“Maka, help me!” the man cried out, but no response came.

Rain glanced over the bandit’s shoulder to see the priestess had handled the third brigand.

“Your friend’s dead.”

The bandit’s eyes shot back and forth. Rain recognized the look — fear mixed with pain.

“Door’s behind me. Use it.”

The outlaw was almost at the exit before she finished her sentence.

Rain released her grip on the katana, turning to the priestesses. The warrior moved with a slow, steady pace, her hands held out.

The priestess, hovering over the others, pointed her sword at Rain. “I see what you can do without a weapon, warrior. I ask that you go no further.”

“I am not here for a fight.”

“If that is so, I thank you for your aid, but I cannot call you ‘friend.”

“I am here to help.”

The woman on the floor was bleeding from her shoulder. One eye bruised, so it could not open. “Tima, it’s all right. She is a friend.”

Rain dropped her hands. “Matron Mother, I assume.”

“Yes, warrior. Your arrival is well-timed.”

The three priestesses eased their guard, tending to the Matron Mother.

Rain knelt by the priestess. The Matron Mother called her “friend,” but she could not remember ever meeting a Sister of the Eternal Light, nor any female priestess. “Do we know each other?”

“No. Not exactly. But we share a common friend.”

“Common?”

“Cratha Nalinskat.”

Rain remembered the name from her time with Arastor. “Yes, the Lady—”

“The librarian from Fallfell,” the Matron Mother shot back.

Rain only nodded.

The priestess stood with the help of her sisters. “I am Janal Burningblade, Matron Mother of the Sisters of the Eternal Light.” She attempted a half-bow, wincing in pain. “It would be an honor if you stayed the night with us.”

More screams came from outside.

“The townsfolk?”

“My sisters will see to the rabble. You have already done much.” Janal looked over at Rain, her armor and skin soaked in blood. “You look as though you could use some rest.”

“Matron Mother, your wounds. You are in no shape to host—”

“It’s all right, Tima. I only need prayer.”

Rain motioned behind her. “I have a friend outside on your doorstep…”

Janal nodded. “Yes, I know. We will see to her as well.”

***

Though it pained Rain to do so, she did as the Matron Mother asked and stayed in the chapel. Her muscles remained tense, listening to the battle outside the church walls. A warrior without war is as useful as a dull blade. Another of father’s sayings.

After the sun had set, the cries of battle outside subsided. The clang of metal and hooves then followed, fading as the bandits that still lived rode out of town.

“Headed East.”

“I’m sorry. What is that you said?” The Matron Mother was doing her best to host, but it was apparent she was weak and in considerable pain.

“Nothing Milady,” Rain finally relaxed. “What happened to Fallfell?”

“Tima can fill you in. I must retire for more prayer.”

“Of course.” Rain bowed, but the Matron Mother waved her off.

Tima showed Rain to a small room. “You can sleep here.”

The warrior had spent many nights in small rooms — inns, dungeons, even a jail cell or two, but never a cloister.

The cubby was sparse, even by Rain’s standards. A washbasin sat on a small table. Clean priestess robes lay on a bed that was too small for Rain’s needs.

“Tima. What happened to the town?”

“It is not a pleasant story.”

Rain motioned to the blood on her armor. “I have no issue with vile stories.”

Tima laid out the last two moons for Rain. Cratha’s escape along with Obadella and the Matron Mother. The burning of the Gray Star Tavern and the subsequent bands of rovers looting and killing at will.

Rain eased out of her armor, muscles sore and still healing from the tortures under the mountain. “It will continue.”

Tima looked puzzled. “What?”

“The killing. The burning.”

“But Fallfell has nothing left to take.”

Rain slipped off her chainse. A bruise the size of a man’s torso covered her right side. “It matters not. They will come from all corners to steal what has already been looted. They will take and take until nothing remains of Fallfell save dirt and memories.”

Tima shook her head, “Such evil.”

You have no idea, Rain thought. The warrior pulled off her boots, shaking out the dirt and dried blood. “Your Matron Mother is a brave woman. That is a rare ingredient these days.”

Tima left without comment, closing the small door behind her.

After washing, she changed into the robes. It was the only clothing she had that was not stained with the blood of others.

I left my pack on the stairs.

As if by divine cue, a woman, young, only a teen, opened the door, setting Rain’s pack on the floor.

I wonder if that was a coincidence.

Rain sat on the floor next to her pack, preferring the hard stone to the down-filled bed. She emptied the contents. The Dwarves of the Ruby Mountain had insisted on packing it for her.

Along with Rain’s items, it contained various parchments with notes of thank you’s and “Bless the gods.” A few small pieces of jewelry, each Dwarven made and most likely valuable. Rain had no use for the items. She did not wear jewelry.

At the bottom of the pack was a raven’s feather from Arastor and a small leather bag.

Rain opened the pouch, pouring out three rings. One made of obsidian, one of wood, and one of iron.

***

Cratha slid the box across the counter. “It’s the only piece I have.”

The woman on the other side, cloaked in a red robe and hood so as only to show strands of blonde hair, placed her hand on the box. “I am sure it will be enough.”

“It will bind your magic?”

“My powers do not come from a book.”

“But magic is magic.”

“No, Lady Nalinskat, it is not.”

Cratha bowed her head. “You can find the source?”

The red-robed woman tucked the box inside her garments. “I will find the source.”

“Then I wish you luck.”

The woman smiled as she stepped toward the door. The tattoos on her face flashed silver, then faded to a dull black. “There is no such creature as luck.”

“Aislinne,” the tension in Cratha’s voice spilled out, “will you reconsider my offer?”

The red-robed woman said nothing more but slipped out the door like a wisp of vapor rising from morning dew.

***

“Found them in my pack.” Rain tossed the small leather bag on the dining table. “You know what they are.”

Janal opened the bag, pouring the three rings onto the table. “Three rings?”

“You know what they’re for?”

Janal twisted her lips to the side, a habit she started as a child. “I do not.”

“But you know about Cratha.”

“I do. But what do these have to do with her?”

“The rings belong to her. She gave them to my friend, and he gave them to me.” Rain was confused, “How can you know Cratha’s—”

Janal made a motion for the warrior to stop. The Matron Mother raised her hands, palms facing the other. “Sisters, give us a moment.” Priestesses seated made a slight nod of their heads, then rose to leave.

After the last priestess had closed the doors behind her, Janal spoke. “I know little about the work of Cratha Nalinskat. It was only recently that I found out she is head of the organization.”

“The League?”

“The Iron League. That is what she called it.” Janal poured another glass of wine.

“But you knew me. So, you know about Arastor and the Ruby Mountain.”

“Cratha told me when I assisted her escape from Fallfell. She told me you work for her.”

“In a way.” Rain refused the priestess’s offer of wine. “I was with Arastor, who worked for Cratha. I had just returned yesterday to find Fallfell destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” Janal put her hands together like she was praying. “Not yet. But I fear that is where this town is headed. So we must put our efforts into rebuilding Fallfell.”

Our efforts? Rain knew little of cities, having spent most of her childhood in the isolated hovel that is Hollowrock. She understood nothing about the politics and skills needed to rebuild a town, not to mention the financial cost. “Maybe the Knights of the Rose can help.”

“Knights?” Janal said the words with a bitter taste. “Those men… They have no morals. Only looking out for themselves.”

Rain did not respond. Whatever was in the Matron Mother’s past, she appeared to hate men as much as Rain. “There must be someone that can help the city.”

“Doubtful.”

Rain smiled, “I’ve met a jaded priestess.”

Janal leaned back in her chair. “Perhaps. I have seen many things in my years. Not all of them fortunate.” The Matron Mother took a deep breath. “I imagine you are not from one of the big cities.”

“I am not.”

“You have not had a hand in running a large community.”

Rain shook her head.

“For good or ill, I have such experience. And it is not by hammer and nail that you form a town.”

“Government?”

Janal smiled. “Politics.”

Rain was not accustomed to such a deep conversation and felt overwhelmed. “Is that the same?”

“No, warrior. Government and politics are not the same.”

Rain knew to end the conversation. She was getting into waters too deep for her, so she went back to her meal.

Janal sensed the woman warrior was uncomfortable with the conversation and took it upon herself to lighten things.

“From where do you come?”

“Hollowrock.”

“Hollowrock. That’s not a place I have visited.”

“No one has.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a backwater town near the Fire Mountains. No one goes there.”

“There must be trade. You must have visitors.”

“Trade? I guess.” Rain released her fork. This was a subject the warrior could understand. “The only visitors I’ve seen are bounty hunters.”

“What is Hollowrock like?”

A handful of words flashed into Rain’s brain. But, unfortunately, none of them was appropriate for the Matron Mother.

“It’s…” Rain struggled to find a decent description of the place. “It’s not a nice place. Filled with people who don’t belong anywhere else. It’s a good place to hide.”

Janal listened to the warrior’s description. It reminded her of another town, one that sounded akin to Hollowrock.

“What?”

“I apologize, warrior. I flared the thought of a friend. One I miss dearly.”

“Cratha?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to tell Lady Cratha what happened in the Ruby Mountain and return the rings to her. Do you know where she has gone?”

“There is a price on her head. She escaped after an attempt to end her life.”

“Where?”

Janal grasped Rain’s hand. She did not speak a word at first, only looking into the warrior’s eyes.

Rain made no motion to back away. Staring into the priestess’s deep-set blue eyes, she thought she saw her father. Then the eyes looked like calm waters, then a raging torrent. Rain became lost in the blue.

“I see more than a single heart in your soul, warrior,” said Janal.

Rain shook off the mesmerizing eyes. “You see heart, souls. What?”

“Forgive me for being so cryptic. I mean, you are not… one…”

“Race?”

“A less delicate way to phrase it, but, yes, you have a split lineage.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“For you? But not for me. I see in your heart I can trust you.”

Janal squeezed Rain’s hand again. “She is in Tradehaven. You will find her with a man named Luli.”

***

“We found nothing at the master’s mill.”

Garn leaned back on his sofa bed, taking a small sip of wine. “Nothing?”

“No, your worship. Not a trace of the scum. It’s as if the reformers were never there.”

Garn Runechild, Archbishop to the great city of Beormaen, the community known everywhere as “sky city,” arched his neck until he heard a pop in his shoulder. “Tension is such an evil thing. Don’t you think?”

The man standing before the ruler of Beormaen was Vagoll Fogdam. A tall, thin, sniveling, cowardly man who spent every waking day attached to the Archbishop’s butt, hoping that in the future, he would command the city. “The informant swore to the gods they were there.”

“Swore to the gods. I detest such words.”

“His words, sire, not mine.”

Garn eased himself off the sofa. It took a while, for he was neither a small man nor one in the best shape. In truth, the man was one meal away from being unable to walk under his own power.

The joke on the streets was that the city would crash to the ground because it could not support the man’s weight.

The priests who cared for the Archbishop mentioned losing weight and cutting back on his wine.

For their concern, the Archbishop had each one thrown off the highest tower to the ground one thousand feet below the floating city.

The walk to the window left Garn breathless, yet he spat out the words. “Hang him from the steeple.”

***

Rain slid her two katanas over her shoulders. “I am grateful for your help.”

The Matron Mother clasped the woman’s face in her hands. “I had a vision last night. You were traveling unknown roads.”

Rain was fond of the Matron Mother. In only two days, she had captivated Rain with her grace, dignity, and strength. But it often frustrated the warrior that she spoke in such terms.

“I have seen many roads.”

“I mean, you are not familiar with where you are going, the cities you will see, and the laws that keep them alive.”

Rain smiled. “I say you speak true. But I need only one law.” The warrior remembered another of her father’s sayings.

So many laws made by men. You need only follow nature’s law. The law of survival.

“It would be of great comfort to me if you let one of the Sisters travel with you.”

“I will be careful.”

“Someone who knows the laws of the land.”

Arastor would know, thought Rain, though I doubt I will ever see him again.

“No. It’s all right. I travel faster alone.”

Rain took one piece of the Dwarven jewelry from a pocket, laying it in Janal’s hand. “Thank you for your help.”

The Matron Mother looked at the bracelet, wrought silver with an elegant gold inlay. Six large rubies encircled the piece. “Dwarven craft. Worth more than a year of most folks’ pay.”

The Matron Mother handed the piece back to Rain. “I am sorry, warrior, we cannot accept payment.”

Rain refused to take it. “Payment? No. It’s for rebuilding.” The warrior smiled, closing the door behind her.