Children of a Broken Sky (Redemption Chronicle Book 1) Read online

Lyseira did not sleep.

  Behind her closed eyelids she heard Bella Smith screaming at the bishop's back, and, worse, her abrupt and total silence. She saw Syntal, struck dumb, cowering in the shadows. She saw Kevric, Helix's father, begging Bishop Marcus to reconsider, and Helix himself, pale and shaking, as he mounted a Preserver's horse without resistance. Matthew's dead gaze and gaping mouth permeated all of it, glazing the memories in a red sheen.

  Bella had been Bound by Marcus, and when the miracle had finally broken, she had asked Lyseira for help—pled with her for help. Marcus had left strict instructions that none should follow them back, but Helix's mother hadn't cared. She was a wreck. She had looked at Lyseira like a drowning woman begging for a rope. The Abbot is gone, she'd cried. Lyseira, you're the only one who knows him. You have to make them understand. Kevric had finally reeled her in, and under cover of her hysterical sobs, Seth and Lyseira had escaped.

  "He didn't do it," Lyseira had said to Seth as they crossed the road toward home, her voice threatening to shatter. It had started snowing. She had floated through the drifting flakes, untethered and numb. "You know he didn't do it, this is Helix.

  "This is Helix." There was no more absolute denial.

  Seth was untroubled. "The Church will try him. I'm sure he'll be freed." His blithe certainty gave way to the wash of blood caked into Matthew's beard, and the cycle of nightmares began anew.

  An hour before dawn, she dressed and left for the temple.

  ~ ~

  "Lyseira," Annish said when she entered his office, bolting up from behind his desk as if he'd been bitten by a snake. "I'm glad you're here." It was the first time Lyseira could recall him saying anything nice to her.

  "Father," she said curtly. "I want to talk to Bishop Marcus about Helix. Where is he?"

  Annish's eyes flicked behind her. "Close the door."

  "Is he outside?" Lyseira said as the latch clicked into place. "I thought he would be staying in the temple."

  "Father Marcus is very busy this morning, Lyseira, you understand."

  "I also want to speak with Helix. Are they together? Where is he keeping him?"

  Annish winced and stood up. "All right. Marcus is a bishop of the Tribunal, not a dog. He doesn't come when you call. And Helix is a prisoner of the Tribunal."

  "But he shouldn't be," Lyseira pressed. "That's why I'm here. He had no reason to kill Matthew. He would never do something like that. He—"

  "That is for the Order of Judgment to determine. Marcus had already requested a holy judge, for Matthew; he's on his way now."

  There will be a trial, then. Lyseira's wild bravado abated. That's something. That's important. Once, the Tribunal had been the Order of the Church that had both sought out wrongdoings and punished them, but hundreds of years ago, those duties had been split apart. The Tribunal had kept its name, even as it became the arm of the Church responsible for hunting down and capturing heretics. The task of judging and punishing those the Tribunal discovered fell to the Order of Judgment. However, the Tribunal would often have a cleric present at the trial who could present the evidence they had gathered. Such would probably be the case in Helix's trial.

  Annish came around his desk. The office had always been small, but now, stuffed as it was with odds and ends from around the temple in order to make room for the bishop's entourage, the little space felt particularly cramped. The deacon put a clammy hand on Lyseira's shoulder and mustered a smile. It didn't touch his bad eye.

  "Lyseira. You must understand that you've no call to speak with the Father about this. If he wants to hear you, he'll seek you out. You must trust in Akir and let Him do His work."

  Lyseira bit her lip. He was right, but he hadn't heard Helix's mother begging. He hadn't seen the terror in Helix's eyes.

  "Let me see Helix," she said. The words sounded like a plea.

  "Girl," the deacon said, "you know that's impossible." His one-eyed gaze glommed on to hers and held it. Her throat hitched as she swallowed.

  He smiled again. "All the same, you've done much for me and the Church. I'll speak with the bishop about both of your requests—to meet with him and to be initiated—and find you with his answer. I don't know when I'll have the chance, but I'll do it as soon as I can. I can promise you that much."

  His mention of initiation snapped around her neck like a collar. She felt her hopes of helping Helix diminish abruptly, dimming from the dazzling force she had felt upon waking to a faint glimmer, more painful to acknowledge than ignore. She nodded dumbly.

  "But I do still have need of you. Go to the back and find Galen Wick, the Justicar. The holy judge will not arrive alone, and Sir Wick is setting up the camp for his entourage. He has a list of requirements you can help with. I've cancelled morning sermon, which will give you the rest of the day to complete his tasks. It ought to be plenty of time."

  He turned back to his desk and ignored her until she left.

  ~ ~

  Galen Wick put Seth to work assembling tents and preparing camp. Lyseira was made to clean the temple, dusting and polishing every inch of it. Her work took her outside occasionally, where she could see a tent had been erected over the jail wagon. Helix was inside. She wanted to sneak in to make sure he was well, but one of Marcus's Preservers was posted outside it at all times. She wouldn't be able to get past him.

  The holy judge arrived a few days later. The rumble of approaching hooves made Lyseira hurry to the window, her heart suddenly leaping into her throat. She had expected him to have a Preserver or two, like Father Marcus; maybe a Justicar, as well, for additional protection on the road. Instead, he had brought a small army.

  The black mare at the head of the procession bore a Justicar. To either side of him rode a banner-bearer, one with a griffon and a lance—the sign of King Gregor—and the other with a God's Star.

  Behind these three, the group was thick with priests and their Preservers, knights of Lord Locklyn, and soldiers.

  So many soldiers.

  Father Annish, who had been cleaning nearly as much as she had, turned from the books he'd been dusting and rushed outside. Through the window Lyseira saw Bishop Marcus sweep out of the prison tent, one of his Preservers gliding behind him.

  The group parted and a cleric rode to the front: Holy Judge Gideon Elmoor. He was balding, aged, and plump, a vision of Father Annish in twenty years, but he carried himself with more dignity than Lyseira had ever seen Annish muster. His two Preservers followed behind him, each unarmed, on twin dusty brown stallions. He and Bishop Marcus exchanged a few words.

  Then the group began dismounting and making its way into the field behind the temple, where the camp Galen Wick had been preparing suddenly felt far too small.

  ~ ~

  Three days after Elmoor's arrival, she and Seth were hauling two giant buckets of water down the hill. As Lyseira's eyes fell on the campsite, she grimaced. Tents, tethered horses, and spent campfires pockmarked the field behind the church. It reeked of horse manure and smoke, languishing under the grey sky like a festering sore.

  Sir Edward Kalbear had a tent in the middle of camp. When they reached it, Lyseira sighed and dropped her buckets, sloshing water to the ground. She paid it no mind, wincing as she rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms.

  Seth set his pails gently next to hers and waited.

  "You could do this all day, couldn't you?" she accused as she massaged her right bicep.

  "I have, many times," Seth answered. "This is much like life with the Preservers." His eyes flicked across the campsite. "Dirtier," he added, with a trace of disapproval.

  Sir Edward emerged from his tent. "The water," he said, nodding at the buckets. "Good. When you have an opportunity, my horse also needs to be brushed down."

  Lyseira seethed, but didn't say anything. Such requests were, in her opinion, beyond what should be required of her, but she hadn't been able to speak to Father Annish about them. She saw Seth nod humbly, and it only annoyed her more.

  The knight st
arted away, his boots slopping through the mud, but he stopped and turned back. "Lyseira, is it?"

  "Yes," she answered carefully. She was tired and still frightened for Helix. Every muscle in her body burned. The last thing she wanted from this man was another task. The sun had nearly set, and already she had enough work to keep her running around until well after it did.

  "Father Annish asked me to direct you to the church if I saw you. He wants to speak with you."

  "Thank you." Lyseira's mind scrambled, trying to reassemble the list of complaints and requests she had for the deacon. "I'll see him at once." The knight grunted and turned away.

  "I can brush Sir Edward's horse," Seth offered.

  Lyseira could've sagged with gratitude. "Thanks. I'll find you when I'm done." She left and headed for the temple, dodging people she recognized along the way who might have chores for her.

  She found Annish just inside the chapel, speaking with one of Elmoor's initiates. The boy couldn't have been more than fourteen winters, making him at least two years her junior. The sight of him was a shock—an acute reminder that she would never be initiated—but she tried to squelch her shame. She had too much to say, and agonizing over her failures wasn't going to make finding the words any easier.

  "Father," she said briskly as the boy scurried away, "have you been able to—"

  "I've asked for Marcus to speak with you. He's waiting in my office."

  "Now?" she stammered.

  "Yes, and he's been in there waiting for you for some time. I've been trying to find you all evening, but you haven't even been on the grounds."

  "I was bringing water for Sir Edward," she said, knowing as she did that the excuse meant nothing. Thinking fast, she thanked him and walked away before he could find something else to berate her for.

  Her thoughts whirled as she marched toward the door to the deacon's study. Suddenly, she couldn't remember anything she had wanted to say to Bishop Marcus. For several hours after her earlier meeting with Annish, she had rehearsed and refined her words, trying to prepare. That had been almost a week ago. Now, with only seconds left before the meeting, the only words left were, Helix is innocent.

  Marcus's Preservers loomed to either side of the closed office door. She drew a breath and stepped between them, knocking briskly before her nerves could get the better of her. A clipped voice from inside answered at once.

  "Enter."

  Bishop Marcus sat at the deacon's desk, where he had strewn a motley assortment of papers, anchored at either end by a giant book. Lyseira recognized them as the temple ledgers.

  "Close the door. Sit." He rolled up a scroll and set it on a nearby shelf; she obeyed. Once again, the tightness of the space leaned in on her. The creeks outside would freeze in a week or two if they weren't already, but inside the cramped room she was nearly sweating. She tried to gather her thoughts about Helix, but the words she wanted kept flitting away, chased off by her quivering nerves.

  Then Marcus's stare fell on her like a mountain. When his eyes latched onto hers, the words she had been chasing didn't just escape. They vaporized.

  Bishops control whole regions of the kingdom, not just one temple. This man is probably responsible for the Tribunal's actions in all of the Shientel Valley. He reports directly to the Archbishops of the Tribunal.

  And now he is looking at me.

  "Deacon Annish tells me you wish to become an initiate."

  She had expected to discuss Helix. "Yes," she answered, marveling at how level her voice was. "For many years."

  "Yet you've performed no miracle."

  The accusation came like a knife. There was no argument against it.

  "No, Father," she said. The heat in the stuffy room seemed unbearable. Her face felt like it was glowing.

  "Akir chooses those who are most faithful to be miracle workers. Only they receive the divine blessing, which is why only they may be initiated."

  Lyseira swallowed. The motion of her throat took forever. "I know," she said.

  "Then what made you think to ask?"

  The words were flat and factual, devoid of curiosity: another accusation. That quickly, her dream had slipped beyond her grasp, but she wanted it too badly to let it go. She fumbled after it reflexively, a baby rooting for milk. "Some are initiated who can't work miracles."

  The bishop's eyes widened as if she had cursed him. "Such as Eoler Squirehand? A man who spent his entire life devoid of coin and devoted utterly to the Fatherlord's works, for years before receiving his recognition? Or Elynor Highlund, who was crippled taking a blow from a knight errant who meant the strike for her abbot? You, a girl of sixteen, compare yourself to these?"

  She wanted to flinch from the words. They struck her like darts.

  "The deacon has told me you would sooner have this temple fall into ruin than do your duty as it would be commanded by the Fatherlord. That you would waive the peoples' donations for the privilege of Akir's counsel and aid, and that you resist when given even the simplest requests."

  Annish, she thought. He's twisted everything around. Before her shame could stop her from speaking, she snapped, "That's not right."

  Marcus arched a brow. "Are you calling the deacon a liar?"

  "What you said is not right. He's exaggerating it." Everything was spiraling out of control. Sehk, Lyseira thought, too angry to even be surprised at the curse. If you're going to condemn me, at least condemn me for what I've actually done.

  "You honestly expect that I should take the word of a peasant over one of Akir's chosen?" Marcus said.

  "What about the fact that I have practically run this church by myself since I was eight years old? Did he mention that?" Lyseira, some distant part of her said, don't yell at the bishop. But the voice was lost in the flood of desperation. "Or the fact that Abbot Forthin once said to me that if he could, he would initiate me himself?"

  Coldly, Marcus answered, "Forthin is dead. You would do well not to mention him again. There are discrepancies in his records that shame him in his grave." He squinted at her, the intensity of his stare focusing even further. "Or were those your doing?"

  "I don't know what discrepancies you're talking about."

  "Of course you don't. What else?" he said.

  It took her a second to realize what he was asking. "After Father Forthin passed, I conducted the affairs of the temple until Deacon Annish arrived. Some of the townspeople felt that I should even give the Dawnday sermon."

  "Did you?" The words settled in the air like a trap.

  "Of course not!"

  "Do you believe the peasants of Southlight should determine who is initiated?"

  Lyseira parsed the question. "No—"

  "Nor do I," Marcus interrupted. "So you have cleaned the mud from the floor for many years, and even earned the respect of your peers. Which of these things compares to the sacrifice of Elynor Highlund?"

  Lyseira's mouth opened, but she had nothing to offer. As quickly as it had come, her burst of furious courage withered.

  After her silence had spoken for her, Marcus pursed his lips. "Helix Smith," he said.

  "Yes, Father." The change in subject was a book slamming shut on the other conversation, an abrupt death to her lifelong dream that left her no time to mourn. She tried to gather what courage she had left to face this new topic.

  "The deacon tells me you have something to say about him."

  Her thoughts whirled, the remnants of her week-old rehearsal ricocheting off each other as they tried to scramble into place. I want to speak with him. His parents should be allowed to see him. I would like him moved indoors, where it's warmer. I wish to speak with Father Elmoor.

  She managed to stammer, "Helix… he's innocent."

  "Were you present when Matthew was murdered?"

  "No, but I — "

  "You did not witness the deathblow."

  "No! Let me finish!" Marcus's eyes widened at her insolence. Her face flushed. I'm sorry, Father, she thought to say, but smothered the words
. This could be the last opportunity she would have, and she meant to seize it. "I've known Helix for many years, since we were children. He's never harmed a soul. He is a gentle and decent-hearted young man, if a bit shallow." Lyseira winced inwardly. This wasn't helping. Damn her nerves! "He has learned a small bit of swordplay from his father, but nowhere near enough to—"

  "To murder a blind man?" Marcus nodded. "Very well. You've known the boy for years. That is your testimony. Yet my Communings with Akir have revealed that he did this thing. A moment ago you expected me to take your word over the deacon's. Now you expect me to take your word over God's?"

  Lyseira felt her face sagging with shock. His Communings?

  Communion was a rare gift, even among priests. A cleric in Communion was said to hear Akir's words as if they were in a room with Him, able to gain knowledge from the most divine and pure of sources. It was said that at times the knowledge could be incomplete or misunderstood, but it was never false. Any failings of a Communion were the failings of the priest who initiated it, not of Akir. If a Communion had revealed to the bishop that Helix was guilty...

  "He was found with the weapon in his hands, covered in blood. He has claimed, upon questioning, that the murderer rode a horse that attacked Matthew, but we've found no such wounds on the body. And, Akir has made it known to me that Helix did not act in this alone."

  Lyseira's heartbeat thundered in her ears. All words had abandoned her.

  "I…" she started. The word trembled ominously. Furious with herself, she cleared her throat and tried again. "I don't know what to say."

  "Akir has revealed that Helix had an accomplice." He peered at her. "But I don't need to tell you that. You already know. You overheard them discussing the plan, but since no names were mentioned and Helix is your friend, you assumed it was some game they were playing and mentioned it to no one. Your failures have caused Matthew's death, but they are understandable and the Church may forgive them."

  Lyseira shook her head, the room's heat dragging at her cheeks.

  "Judge Elmoor does not possess the gift of Communion. He can't divine the truth of what happened on his own. It's the Tribunal's sacred trust to pursue evildoers and present the case to the Order of Judgment." The bishop settled forward. His eyes glinted in the lantern light. "Tomorrow, you must tell the holy judge what you heard. There will be no doubt of Helix's guilt then. As you said, you are respected in this village. If you tell what you heard, the villagers also will believe you. It will make the news easier to bear if it comes from someone they trust."