The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 46

Before the Rule of Sir Anatos, those who drank of the Blood fell helpless to the Blood Rage, which stripped from them all humanity... "Rage Slaves," Anatos named them, and, being one himself, labored to master it. ...And so, even as the god Arkus gave Arkendians the Two Laws forbidding the use of moon magic or the worship of gods, The Rule of Anatos is of two laws made: the first is Eat no Flesh of any Beast, for All Flesh Feeds the Fire; and the second is, Master the Blue Meditations and Make them Your Continual Practice. ...Upon this Rule, Anatos founded the Blue Order.

— From A History of Arkendian Immortality, by Nicola Clouch

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WITCHES

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A loud voice trumpeted Brolli's name from the bottom of the ramp.

Brolli grinned and descended the trellis to the source of the voice. "Mima!" he called.

The owner of the voice was a gray-haired Kwendi-matron with a sooty and pox-scarred face. She grinned with what seemed like genuine pleasure, and when Brolli joined her, she drew him into an embrace.

Harric took Fink on his back and descended the ramp to stand behind Brolli.

Mima's announcement of Brolli's arrival caused the hall to surge with excitement. Shrill cheers erupted from various parts of the hall, and dozens of beaming female faces converged toward him, flashing teeth and craning necks for a look. Love and admiration radiated from them. The cheers spread to distant parts of the hall, and repeated several times before the place returned to some semblance of its former business.

One of the smaller tryst servants approached Mima and swung to a stop beside her. In its feet it carried a heavy bandolier of witch-silver hurlers, which Mima took and presented to Brolli.

"Ah! I need these," said Brolli, speaking slowly and deliberately in Arkendian. "I used some of your last batch. They were excellent."

Mima said something in Kwendi as she wiped her hands on a leather apron so sooty it seemed unlikely it could accept any more from her hands. Patches of perspiration stained the long vest and short pants under the apron, leaving pox-scarred arms and legs quite bare.

"Still no Stilty, eh, Mima?" Brolli chuckled.

She made a distasteful sound in her throat, and turned away into the hall, beckoning Brolli to follow.

"But you understand it well enough."

She shrugged but did not meet Brolli's eye. Now that the initial excitement of his visit had subsided, she seemed weary, as if at the end of a long working day.

A pressure like a leaden hand settled on Harric's heart. He stood now in the dreamed-of center of the Kwendi mystery, at the apex of magical secrecy and wonder. Yet it was also a hub of Kwendi war preparation. Here the Kwendi women worked just as hard to bring war against Arkendia. It made him ill and sad. And it made him angry.

Mima led Brolli into the aisles of tables, and Harric followed as close as he could, but Brolli attracted the younger Kwendi women, which made it dicey to stay too close to him. Wherever Brolli went, weary faces lit up, and when he passed they seemed to work with renewed purpose.

Soon it appeared to Harric that Mima was parading Brolli about for that very reason. She brought him to every corner of the hall, and in each one they were greeted by other matrons, distinguished from their apprentices not only by their gray hair, but by leather aprons, while their helpers wore aprons of cloth.