Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

I nodded, and as if to emphasise the point the long and deep lament of Schoperde’s song of sorrow, a Flet prayer for the dead, began to rise over Newbank. Its lingering notes cut through the night while more voices sounded to join it. To Heletians the song was heresy.

Sef turned for the door, but stopped. “Please, Juvela, you’re like a daughter to me, I just want you to be careful.”

I nodded and offered him a smile.

He left.

The song rose strongly outside, it the only sound to disturb the cold night. It seemed my people no longer cared if the truth stood revealed. The parents, families, and friends of the missing demanded time to mourn, and if the Church of Baimiopia couldn’t protect the city from such calamity, then it also couldn’t harm them.

For my own part, led by the sorrow-filled voices in my head, I went to my bedroom’s balcony and joined in. Its long melancholy rose and fell across Newbank, soothing the wounds of loss and asking for mercy for the souls of the dead.

Dawn saw Ossard a cold and bleak place. There was no gradual awakening, no rising sounds of bustle or rush to the markets, even the port lay still and the fishing fleet idle.

A slow wind laden with the bitter scent of burning oleander pushed through empty streets accompanied in Newbank by the last strains of Schoperde’s song. Overhead grey skies glowered.

Ossard was mourning.

Pedro spent the dawn fussing over Maria. He spoke little to me and kept his distance. It reminded me of his manner upon arrival into our home years ago and had little in common with the man I’d glimpsed last night. Watching him frustrated me. For a while I’d dared hope that we could change, that our marriage might somehow bloom, but now…

Finally, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

He ignored me.

I repeated the question.

He met my gaze. “What did you sing last night?”

“It’s a Flet song; the Song of Sorrow. I heard it being sung and it felt right to join in after what we’d seen.”

He shook his head with exasperation. “I can’t believe you sung it after what we’d seen!” he hissed. “It’s forbidden!”

His anger surprised me, but worse made Maria back away. She might not have seen us be close and loving, but she’d also rarely seen us argue.

I kept my voice soft and level, hoping to soothe her as she watched. “It’s just a song.”

Pedro shook his head, “It’s wrong, like the rituals and kidnappings!”

“No, it’s not.”

In a hard tone he hissed, “The Church calls it heresy!”

Maria began to wail.

Wondering of his time at the monastery, I whispered, “What ever did they do to you?”

A knock at the door silenced us. I turned to see to it, leaving him to hiss after me, “Witch!”

It was Jericho, Lord Liberigo’s assistant. “Lady Juvela, an Inquisitor has arrived. You, your husband, and your man-at-arms are required to attend a meeting in the council chamber – urgently.”

The news stunned me.

Jericho lingered and then added, “You need to come directly.”

I gathered my thoughts. “Of course.”

He nodded and left.

An Inquisitor?

My fear of being caught hadn’t even been earned. If I was a witch, where were my spells?

I had no power.

And Pedro certainly offered no comfort.

Last night I’d glimpsed a new life opening up. In that life we could have become the loving family of my almost-forgotten lotus-fuelled dreams. Now it seemed impossible.

Anger stirred within me.

Life…

What kind of a life did I have? I was stuck in a marriage based on a terrible crime with a damaged man who resented me.

I hated it!

My anger once stirred only began to fire. The few things that gave me any solace were Maria, my parents, and Sef.

I closed the door, cutting the view of an empty street and a city enslaved by fear.

Once upon a time I’d married Pedro because it would give me power, perhaps now was the time to start using it.

I walked out of the entry hall and back to him.

He looked up, his face cold.

I said, “Get ready, we’re going back to your father’s.”

“Why?”

“An Inquisitor has arrived. If you like, you can tell him I’m a witch.”

He gasped. “You are a witch!”

Maria sobbed.

My eyes narrowed. “Regardless, I’m sure he can find a way around the castings your master put on me, and then your own shameful secret will be out. If I burn at the stake at least I’ll have company.”

He could only stare at me as the colour drained from his face.

I reached forward and picked up Maria, my poor daughter trying to push me away. With her in my arms, despite her resistance, I growled at Pedro, “Get ready!”

Without a word he got up and headed upstairs.

One of the voices in my head roused itself from its silence. It was the strongest and only stirred to laugh. Behind that hard bark I could hear the crack and snap of flames and the cries of a horrified crowd.

A large crowd waited outside the Malnobla. The people of the city, scared and insecure, had come to see the newly arrived Inquisitor. Some waved branches of oleander while others clutched holy symbols such as the eight-pointed star of St Baimio. Many simply prayed.

We arrived in our own coach with Maria and Sef. Our daughter was to go straight into the care of Pedro’s mother while the three of us would head for the council chamber.

Each of us said an awkward goodbye to her in the entry hall; Pedro, because like all of us he loved her; Sef, because he hated having her taken out of his care; and me because I wondered if I’d be handed straight to the Inquisition and never get to see her again. At such thoughts the voices within me stirred in riled indignation.

They’d never let that happen!

I cursed them. They’d done nothing for me so far but bring me grief.

I picked up Maria and held her close. She sensed something was wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak of it. I just thought of my love for her. Lost in that focus and oblivious to all else another voice whispered in my head, “I love you too, Mama.”

I opened my eyes to see hers locked on mine. Her gaze began to soften, and as I stood there certain we’d again touched minds, Pedro pulled her away.

He whispered, his voice apologetic, “We must be quick, they’re waiting.” His anger had faded.

Heinz Kurgar sat at the council table smiling in greeting. Beside him sat another guildsman, while four more stood behind him. I was shown to a seat, as was Sef, but Pedro, to his annoyance, was asked to stand.

About us also sat Lord Liberigo, the captain of the city guard, and the head of the Merchants’ Guild, while other lesser officials stood. The five remaining chairs were reserved for churchmen with three of them already taken by the priests and monk who’d sat with us yesterday. The arrangement left two empty seats for the Benefice and Inquisitor.

Pale and tired faces sat around that table. I guessed, like me, no one had slept well last night. Hopefully today’s proceedings would bring some reassurance, but I couldn’t help but think we’d only hear more unsettling information.

After a short wait, the door opened to reveal the Benefice. He entered wearing a smug grin and leading a tall man robed in black. That other man wore a matching skullcap embroidered in golden thread set in a repeating pattern. With a stern and long face, its length exaggerated by a neatly trimmed beard, his hair, once black, now shone through white. His appearance lent him a distinguished air, but it was also severe.

The voices in my head rose to hiss in anger, and for a moment the stink of smoke and burning flesh haunted me. I had to close my eyes and concentrate to take back my senses. The feeling left me shaken and even less prepared for the meeting.