Jadde – The Fragile Sanctuary Read online

CHAPTER THREE

  It had long been said that Jadde had left the Seconchane a great treasure. However the scriptures ignored the tale and the priests shook their heads in denial when asked. But folklore told of a great prize hidden somewhere in Cyprusnia and that when the Seconchane were worthy it would allow itself to be found.

  The legend had always intrigued Malkrin for he had knowledge of Jadde’s scriptures from Sire Josiath’s teachings. But his mentor had always been elusive when Malkrin mentioned the subject. Malkrin had often attempted to question him further. Josiath had always mumbled, ‘wishful thinking,’ and moved to more weighty matters. His tutor’s refusal to discuss the subject allowed the young Malkrin’s imagination to run wild. So he had eventually surmised that Jadde’s treasure waited to benefit the one person who fulfilled her greatest requirement – that of gaining the highest of highsense. He really hoped that he would be able to achieve this perfection, then after sufficient honing and practice he could reveal the treasure. He would use it and his new skills to help the people of Cyprusnia. He would arrange for them all to have better homes. He’d clothe them in the same luxurious garments the Brenna wore and perhaps have the priests teach them to read the scriptures. If enough treasure was left he could then even bribe the priests to copy Jadde’s great texts and distribute them to the now knowledgeable citizens.

  Before his highsense failed, he needed to discover what truth lay in the fable. He thought the best way of succeeding would be to apply his unique abilities to the search.

  As he walked through the town he tried to increase the power of his hunter instincts, to trick the treasure into revealing itself. After many failed attempts he clenched his fists in frustration and fervently wished he could develop the talent Jadde had gifted him. Perhaps the treasure could not hear his request. He needed to be nearer its location, so walked further from Edentown, focusing the energy from his inner ear and attempting to change it to sending a request. After many days of failure he decided the solution was not to be found this way. He vowed to start anew.

  Three sunsets later Malkrin sat watching chickens pecking at seed in his backyard and thinking idly of Josiath’s tales of lost gifts. Having forfeited a highsense sun and being partially disgraced fermented his determination to create the highsense like bubbles increasing in a pot of heating water.

  He mulled over his existing gifts. Enhancing them hadn’t worked. Should he attempt to create a new highsense? One specifically created to hunt for the great prize.

  Then a sudden flash of inspiration – develop an inner sight to compliment his powerful highsense hearing. Use it to look through walls, beneath the ground or within hidden spaces – the very places where the treasure might be concealed. So he began to focus and channel the flow whenever he felt his gift strong. But after days of hard concentration, nothing developed. His frustration led to increased determination and he practised even harder in spare time between hunts.

  He persevered, and a wisp of something formed in his mind like distant shapes in a winter fog. He channelled the inner energy along this new path creating more connections to his eyes and mind. Gradually foggy shapes sharpened as he learnt to focus them. At first it was a strange experience. The inside of a log was full of burrowing, whispering insects. The space between buried rocks teamed with dark snakes that slithered and hissed. The inside of sheep and cats were a vivid red that gurgled and pounded.

  Now ecstatic with success he had to keep his attempts secret – the Brenna Council would have expected permanency. If the new highsense disappeared then at best he would look a fool, at worst his other highsense sun would be forfeit. He would be rightfully outcast. He kept his blossoming ability from Josiath as well. In case the mere mention of his fresh talent would wither it, causing his mentor to lose faith in him.

  Over the following weeks he sent his new inner eye into places that were previously inaccessible. But peering into voids in walls or secluded holes between buildings revealed nothing. He tested under the floors of hovels, huts and barns then under woodland clearings, but still nowhere revealed the hidden prize.

  Then one day he viewed the familiar outline of the ancient Priests Keep above the people’s homes and wondered why he hadn’t searched nearer the massive structure. With a tingling anticipation he could think of no more obvious place for the treasure to be hidden. Labyrinthine tunnels were rumoured to lie beneath the holy mount. Using his new inner-sight he decided to see if they really existed. Then if they were there he could see through to where the great treasure resided.

  He walked up the cherry and plum tree lined track and then around the hill to the stone walls of the keep. At intervals priests stopped him. Had he been ‘ordinary folk’ he would have been turned back but his highsense sun meant they waved him on. He pretended to examine the fruit trees as he wound his way up the priest-walk. Then with frequent pauses to look downhill at the smoking chimneys and reed roofs of Edentown, he strolled around the base of the towering walls. Outwardly he was taking a relaxing stroll but inwardly he gathered his inner sight and hurled it beneath his feet.

  There were plenty of small cavities shaped by draining water through aeons of time. Other gaps were full of cobwebs and spiders. His inner eye crept closer to the walls then darted through the solid foundations.

  And beneath this huge building his internal eye bounced from a wall of black – a complete absence of – anything. His mind reeled as if struck by a hunters club. His legs faltered and he stumbled. Somehow the priests had shielded his view. The treasure must be secretly stored there and they were guarding it with an unknown magic.

  Or maybe they knew nothing of it.

  With a hammer blow thought, his head felt about to shatter. What if it was not the priesthood that had banned him but . . .

  Then in a sudden full sweat he realised he may have invaded Jadde’s’ privacy and that the Goddess herself had created a vast nothingness to hide the treasure – or herself.

  Had he just offended her?

  He reeled from the revelation.

  His heart pounded and he staggered in alarm . . . could it have been the Goddess who had barred his vision? Or maybe the treasure was not there at all and something else lurked there, something evil. His mind spun as possibilities assaulted him and he drew huge breaths as if he’d spent a day running down a stag.

  What else could be there?

  And things that inhabit childhood nightmares filled his mind.

  Were the holy men in league with an unknown evil that could tell he had probed their most secret sanctum? His new highsense froze in alarm. His body became unresponsive. He stood in passive resignation for a crowd of angry priests, or a dark vengeful unknown to come for him. They, or it, would torture him in a macabre chamber deep in the black nothingness.

  Scenes of other agonising punishments rose then overflowed.

  The track back to Edentown seemed endless. And then he didn’t sleep for four nights worrying about what may befall him. Had he offended the Goddess, or was he about to suffer gruesome torture by the unknown that hid behind the black nothing?

  He had four lacklustre hunts during the daylight hours. No one blamed him. How could they; the game did not appear to be there.

  No knock came on his door. No priest or Brenna came to drag him into the dark space under the keep. The Brenna Council failed to summon him for banishment. Even Josiath did not ask awkward questions. He proclaimed himself sick and unable to lead any more hunts that week.

  Another week passed; then two more. Gradually he went about the hunt and his chores as normal. He began to relax and Cabryce sensing this relaxed too, although she had had no idea what had ailed him.

  He was too afraid to use his new found ability during those terrible weeks of turmoil.

  After a time he gently began testing it by looking into small spaces wherever he happened to be. No retribution descended on him, so he turned his attention to the Great Hall and Jadde’s mysterious altar. Could it contain
the treasure, guarded by the Goddess and under the tribe’s eyes all along? After being so close to the imposing stone during his trial he remembered the strange tingling that had touched his highsense. Not uncomfortable or probing, it had merely brushed like a feather and disappeared back into the great artefact.

  He mulled over what her altar might contain and how the wondrous stories of its magic could be embodied and created within it. He even pondered on whether Jadde herself actually dwelt within the stone just like the priests taught. Did her glowing presence really fill the heart of the carved stone? He dismissed that idea; it was the equivalent of thinking the Goddess caged. Perhaps it was solid stone and his inner eye would just follow its meandering fault-lines. He just hoped the altar did not contain any unfathomable darkness.

  There was only one thing to do. He had to get near enough to the sacred altar to use his inner eye. And that meant sneaking in past the Brenna guards at the Gates of Justice leading to the Great Hall.

  Cabryce was often his confidant but he didn’t want to involve her. The less she knew the better, should the Brenna guards discover him and come for her as well.

  Malkrin began by loitering around the walls of the Great Hall browsing the market that had always traded there. He pretended to examine the wares, all the time keeping a close eye on the gate-guards and using his highsense ear to listen to their conversations. He risked asking a stall-keeper a casual question, and found the guards changed every third hourglass. After three visits to the market he noticed times when the guards were lax. For a large number of breaths the huge oak doors were left unguarded. This especially happened when an overweight gatekeeper was the next on duty. Malkrin continued to wander the market every evening and began to accumulate trinkets and effigies of Jadde as he sought to define the sentry routine. He was particularly pleased when highsensing a conversation between two guards. They had just bartered cloth for food from a stall-keeper.

  ‘One more duty and I can take two days to be with me children. I hate guarding this place.’

  ‘You’d miss leering at the stalls-women if you asked for other duties.’

  ‘I’d rather guard inside Jadde’s Hall.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t, it’s so quiet in there you’d fall asleep. Just Thank Jadde no one has ever had duty inside that ghost filled place.’

  The guards had quickly retired to the warmth of the barracks.

  Finally Malkrin decided the fat guard’s duty would offer the best opportunity for him to sneak by. This sentry had the evening watch for the next four days. By the look of the gathering rainclouds the man would be particularly liable to take cover that evening. He bought a last figurine, wished the stall-keeper a prosperous season then left to prepare for his intrusion.

  He asked Nardin Fleetfoot to cover for his absence when he called round to Malkrin’s home later. He was still keen to repay a debt to Malkrin. Last year Malkrin had highsensed Nardin’s daughter Rawan choking after falling into the river. He had raised the alarm and run. She had been clutching bulrush stems and only seconds remained before she would have been swept away. He had just reached her in time. Then he had brushed her father’s gratitude aside. Nardin was a good friend and ally, he and Cabryce had known him since childhood.

  Later he was ready, grabbed his cloak, made an excuse to Cabryce and left.

  Malkrin waited in the overhanging shadows of a grass roof opposite the Great Hall. It was late evening and the clouds were now emptying lashing rain on the township. A tall haggard guard strode restlessly, eying the approaching storm. On cue the deluge worsened and the gate-guard sloped off. Malkrin estimated the fat one would not appear for thirty breaths. He slid along the wall toward the arched gate shielded by the night and sheets of splashing rain. Beyond was the hall. He kept his inner ear focused on the barracks door. It opened with a dull creak and a large figure blocked the lamplight then reluctantly strolled out. The figure paused to look longingly back into the warmth.

  Malkrin dived under the arch then through the shadowed courtyard and along the right angled wall. He reached the overhanging stonework of the hall as the fat shape plodded head down. It finally reached the thatched walkway that led to the gate arch then the sentry position under the vaulted stonework. Water streamed from the gatehouse roof like a waterfall, restricting the fat guard’s view.

  Malkrin ran along the Great Hall’s outer wall. Its thatched overhang sheltered him from the downpour. He reached the engraved oak door, opened it soundlessly and slipped inside.

  The shadows within held the kind of grey that closed in with a press of ghosts reliving the judgements against them. Malkrin used all his senses, normal and high to detect sound and movement. The silence answered noisily with nothing but the hiss of the storm. He released pent up breath and it steamed in the dim grey from the arched windows. Water dripped from his cloak to form a puddle on the clean marble floor. He left the cloak hooked over the wall brackets of an ancient iron candelabrum. Then he shook water from his leggings and ran through the Citizen’s Gallery. Before him the Brenna Council’s carved chairs loomed, then – Jadde’s ornate altar.

  There was just room behind the ancient altar to squeeze between two statues of previous Brenna leaders. In the shadow of the carved stone Malkrin crouched and took stock of his surroundings. The narrow arched windows were glazed with multi-coloured glass which let coloured light dapple the altar. It also brought a deception of life to the stone statues of previous Seconchane rulers lining the near walls. Malkrin forced his attention from the foreboding sculptures and concentrated on the inscription on the sides of Jadde’s altar.

  He didn’t need to be able to read to know what the lettering said, all the Seconchane had been taught the words from an early age. It was embedded into their childhood memories. No ordinary folk were able to read letters and words, but he repeated the memorised lines anyway. His eyes followed the flowing script in a semblance of literacy – it helped to focus his highsense.

  ‘All men and women whether high-born or low shall be judged equally by my altar, which is the true symbol of justice. Deceit will not reign when my surface is struck. My stone body is the anvil of judgement where no falsehood will prevail. My vigilant eye and alert ear will deliver righteous judgement to elevate the innocent and lower the guilty.’

  Everyone believed that from within the altar Jadde still emitted the potent magic that proved the inscription was not mere empty words.

  Malkrin was about to prove the truth or the lie.

  He touched the inscription. His hand felt cold rough stone. In his mind it was warm and smooth. He pressed his ear to the stone and faintly his highsense ear detected the sound of bees. But so distantly he decided it was probably elsewhere in the Great Hall or just the returning murmur of the clinging silence. He gathered his inner eye and cautiously focused on the engraved stone before him. Then peered into the stone and slowly journeyed through the structure of the slab to a hollow within. He peered into the space hoping not to view dark emptiness again.

  But within the enclosed space, lights flashed in rainbow colours. Bright movement flashed through his mind – from all directions.

  His inner eye seared, as if he had been staring into the bright sun and was ejected.