15

Confessions and Confluence

"Welcome to Gwavas," said the Gate Guardian, who looked like he hadn't moved a muscle. He looked at her more closely. "Welcome back, I should say. I will call someone to escort you to-?" He looked at her enquiringly.

"I'm here to join up," said Candle. "To join the Ancestors Own."

"Excellent," said the Guardian. "You are doubly welcome then. Lady Dantalion is away right now, but I'll call someone to take her second."

"Is the Mester often away?" Candle asked, cautiously.

"She spends much time organising the defences on the Teurek Border," said the Guardian. "And Gwavas is but one training ground for those who defend the realm."

"I had no idea," said Candle, pleased. Maybe the Mester and her demon would be less of a problem than she had anticipated.

"Few do," said the Guardian. "But those slumbering peacefully in their beds around Havi owe much the Ancestors Own, and to the Mester herself."

The Mester's second was Arthwg, the crusty old assistant who had been so annoyed at her intrusion when she had met the Mester. Was it only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Back are you?" he said, looking up from his paperwork and peering at her over his half-moon glasses. "Well, you'll have to wait for the Mester to return to interview you properly, but I don't think she'll mind if I go ahead and place you in a unit. You might as well start your training at once. Ancestors know we need everybody we can get, with the current situation." He fumbled with a piece of parchment.

"Do you mean the invasion?" Candle asked, blushing a little in embarrassment.

"Yes," Arthwg said, lips pressed together and worry creasing his brow. "Night knows, the Teurek border is bad enough and now this...where is that schedule. Ah yes!" He scanned it, nose almost touching the parchment. "Until the Mester gets back I'm assigning you to Jory Kweniek's unit. They'll be coming in from training at any moment. You can meet them in the mess and then join them for after supper devotions."

Candle felt like someone had punched her. How many days had it been since she had made a devotion? Three days? Four? A week? She really had no idea how long it had been since she left Hanternos that day. She hadn't thought about them, she hadn't even considered them. The Ancestors must think her truly devoid of faith. Arthwg was still talking, not noticing her distress. "Just do as Jory tells you alright? He knows what he's doing? Alright?" She nodded. "You know where the mess is?"

"Yes, syr."

Confusion was soon forgotten as she followed her nose to the mess. What a delight to walk freely, knowing she didn't have to steal her food. It felt strange walking there as if she belonged, just one of the crowd. She scanned the room and her heart skipped as she saw Jory's group gathered around a table, having some sort of argument at the top of their lungs. She walked toward them and they looked up in surprise. Delen let out an ear piercing shriek.

"Meraud!" she cried, dashing over and nearly knocking the smaller girl off her feet as she enveloped her in with a bear hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I decided to join up," Candle said, blushing. Jory and Pasco leapt to their feet, Pasco shaking her hand and Jory thumping her on the back.

"Welcome to the dream team, kid," said Jory.

"Great," said Locryn from his seat on the bench. "Now we have to babysit as well."

"Don't be a prick," said Delen, easily. Then to Candle, "Locryn has trouble being pleasant sometimes. You get used to it."

"What made you change your mind?" asked Jory, as they all sat back down. Candle shrugged, eyeing the food. It was vegetables and some kind of potato pie. It smelled delicious.

"Sorry?" she said. It was hard to focus on the conversation when there was so much food around.

"I don't think she'll be able to talk until after supper," said Delen, laughing. "I wonder if the Mester knows what she is letting the kitchen in for letting this one into the Ancestors Own..."

So Candle ate and listened and felt, that just maybe, she had made the right choice. Maybe she could stay here and make a life for herself, and never be bothered by demons or wights or shades ever again. It felt good to hope.

"We've got kitchen duty," said Jory, when they had all finished eating. Candle raised an eyebrow.

"Someone has to wash all the dishes," said Delen, "there are a lot of dishes...always so many dishes..."

"Delen, since you are so keen to help out I'll let you off if you take Meraud down to see Ia to organise her a uniform and kit. We'll meet you in half an hour for devotions in chamber six."

"Oh, thank goodness," said Delen to Candle. She held up her hands theatrically. "These beauties were made for writing poetry, not scrubbing plates."

"Is that what you like to do for your devotions?" asked Candle as she followed the older woman down a flight of stairs and along a draughty corridor.

"Well, I try," said Delen, rolling her eyes, "but my Ancestors remain unimpressed. But then my grandmother never had very good tastes so..." She shrugged and pulled open a stout oak door, inlaid with iron and they passed through it, pulling it shut behind them. Down they went another flight of stairs and into the bedrock of the Keep. Down here the air was chilly and sluggish and oppressively quiet. Delen's witch light threw up odd dancing shadows up against the walls that Candle eyed warily. A few little spirits danced harmlessly in the half-light.

They walked down a long corridor and Candle jumped as the stillness was abruptly disturbed by a loud, guttural moan. Delen barely turned a hair.

"This is where the bad ones are kept," she said, seriously. "The mad ones and the moonsilver addicts. Whatever you do, you don't want to end up down here."

Candle walked as close to Delen as she dared as they passed various cells. Some were bare while others contained comfortable furniture, writing tables and piles of books. Some incumbents were asleep in their cots, others watched balefully as they walked past. Most were men, but not all. One woman yelled incomprehensible nonsense at them, drooling and rattling a tin cup on the bars. Her eyes were a vivid, unnatural blue, and her hair was white as a snowfield although she could not have been more than thirty. Behind her hulked a small, hunched looking demon, which grinned evilly at Candle as they passed. She wasn't the only incumbent that was demon possessed, Candle counted at least three as they made their way past.

Dear Ancestors, what had she gotten herself into, she wondered. At least these people were locked up and surrounded by cold iron. She assumed The Mester knew about their demons even if no one else did. It was cold comfort.

At the end of the block, they found Ia, the housekeeper. She was as small and bent as Candle remembered her from the morning. She was clanking around with a pile of clean blankets.

"Good evening Ia," said Delen. "You remember Meraud? She's decided to join up and needs a kit.

"Lovely girl," said the old lady, beaming at Candle with a rather toothless smile. She was very short and didn't look young enough to have the kind of energy she was exuding. Her hair was white, but a natural colour, streaked with grey. Her eyes twinkled like rather faded golden stars. "Hold these for me, there's a dear." She piled a heap of freshly laundered blankets into Candle's and Delen's arms and gestured for them to carry them along behind her. "Help me with these and then I'll see what I can find."

They followed along behind the old lady as she handed out bedding to the inmates behind the bars, ticking them off in her ledger as she went.

"Now then, Meraud sweetheart, the rules are simple enough," she said as she tottered along. "Up with the morning bell, and you'll have a bed in the west dormitory with the other ladies. Be polite, don't antagonize anyone. There's no drinking, no drugs, that's a hard rule, the forgetting of which will see you in one of these cells for a few weeks."

"Truth," said a happy looking inmate, with a rakish air who saluted Ia. He took a blanket from Candle, and grinned at her, his handsome face looking strangely out of place in that dark cell. He was well groomed and looked completely sane. Candle wondered why he was locked up.

"Hello, fresh meat," he said to her, eyes twinkling. Delen made a small sound of disgust as Ia whacked him on the side of the head with her ledger. "Have mercy old woman," he cried theatrically, "you know I like them young and damaged."

"Stay away from this one, dear," said Ia to Candle. "He's a rapist."

She stamped past him, chains clinking, as Candle recoiled in shock. The horrible man grinned back at her, completely happy in his depravity. Candle felt like she might throw up, and swallowed quickly as she followed Ia and Delen.

"Now where was I? Oh yes, I'll find you some clothes, hopefully we'll have something small enough," she glanced at Candle up with a practised eye, "and I'll leave them in the kist under your bed. Pasco and Jory will keep you on the straight and narrow. Now be off to your devotions with you. We need all the Gifts the Ancestors can give us in these troubled times..."

They left the old lady muttering to herself and ascended the stone stairways back up a level. Delen led her past several rooms, one full of people sawing away at musical instruments in a way that would have made Lady Enys pull her hair out, and another where several men sat in a circle sewing great nets out of green fabric. Their ankles were all chained and there was a great deal of cursing.

"They are making camouflage netting," said Delen. "Let's give that a wide berth."

She led Candle instead into a smaller room where a score or so people were sitting around working on various projects. The concentration was palpable and they walked in quietly, trying not to disturb anyone.

"All sorted?" asked Jory, softly, looking up from his parchment. Candle nodded yes and he smiled, returning to his words. Candle wondered what he was working on, it looked like some sort of score.

"So why did you change your mind?" whispered Delen, as they slid onto the bench next to Jory. "About joining up? She slid out a small, scruffy notebook and opened it in front of her. Candle could see the stubs from all the pages that had been torn out and offered up to Delen's Ancestors.

"I thought I might have some relatives in Gelliwic," she said. "I was wrong."

"I thought you said you were from Gelliwic?" said Locryn, who was sitting nearby. He was sucking on the end of a pencil, the parchment in front of him filled with a passable likeness of Pasco. Candle decided to ignore the question.

"I'm not wanted," she said, "at home."

"So you ran away?"

Candle shrugged, uncomfortable.

"No one will miss me," she said. She thought guiltily of Ishbel, but the painful truth was her sister probably wouldn't mourn her loss for too long.

"And these people who won't miss you," said Jory, leaning over with exaggerated casualness. "Where are they located?"

Candle shrugged again and looked around for something to work on. Pasco offered her parchment and pencil she took, with a nod of thanks.

"Ah well," said Jory, with a sigh. He squinted at his parchment with one eye. "Ancestors know, we all have our secrets."

"What about all of you?" said Candle feeling bad. For some reason winning the approval of these people felt very important to her. "Where are you all from?"

"I'm from Boragweyth," said Delen, at once, naming the large city to the north. Pasco leaned over and waved his fingers around expressively.

"Pasco is a refugee from the Teurek Territories," Jory translated. "But he says Gwavas is his home now. I'm from Hammett, up the coast, and Loc's family were travelling merchants."

"If you don't mind," said Locryn, with some ire, "I'm trying to concentrate..."

"Sorry," said Candle, Delen and Jory all at the same time. They grinned at each other and settled down to work on their respective devotions. Candle watched everyone from under lowered eyelashes. Delen was scribbling words with a frown of concentration. Locryn was drawing a portrait of Pasco with a frown of concentration on his face. Jory was humming tunelessly under his breath while Pasco was carving a little piece of wood.

The low fire burning in the corner leant a rosy glow to proceedings and Candle felt comfortable and content. She was so relaxed it was a struggle to stay awake. She forced herself to sit up straight and do a little sketch. It was hard to work with her vision obscured by the blindfold so it came out rather rougher than she would normally have liked, but she did not want her new teammates to guess she had had an aetheling education so that was well enough. She drew the forest glade of Gelliwic, just as she remembered it in dappled shade, framed on either side by the forest elders with the moongate in the distance.

After an hour or two, she burned it with the others in the ritual devotion and turned pink when everyone complimented her on her skill.

"Two hours of devotions!" complained Delen. "I can't feel my hand..."

"Is usually shorter?"

"For sure," said Delen. "We are simple folk here, not aethelings with nothing to do but paint all day!"

"The Mester is asking for longer devotions," said Jory, "so we can keep up the glamour on the keep. She thinks hiding it in plain sight is the best bet to keep us safe from the invaders."

"Do you think they will come?" asked Candle.

"Yes," said Locryn.

"We don't know," said Jory, looking worried. "We don't know anything about them except what the refugees from Sterlester have told us, and that wasn't much. The Mester should be meeting with the Kenning right now to decide on a course of action." Pasco gestured next to them and rolled his eyes, smiling. "Pasco says you have picked an interesting time to join up, young one."

"The Mester will know what to do," said Delen, stoutly. "Look how she handled that trouble with those rogue Teurek shamans five years ago."

"I'm sure she will," said Jory, but the frown never left his face. "Anyway, we'd best to bed. We've drawn the dawn watch, so we must all be up by the fifth bell."

Yawning they parted. Candle followed Delen up to the dormitory she had slept in before and tucked herself into the same little bed in the corner. Ia had left her kist full of clothing in the colours and style of the Ancestors Own. She pulled on a clean shirt to sleep in with a happy sigh. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, but this time she had the presence of mind to pull the blanket over her head in case her blindfold came loose in the night.