Prologue ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 ... 11 ... 12 ... 13 ... 14 ... 15 ... 16 ... 17 ... 18 ... 19 ... 20 ... 21 ... 22 ... 23 ... 24 ... 25 ... 26 ... 27... 28... 29... 30 ... Epilouge ... Glossary

Chapter 6: Burning Time

Esmeree’s not sure why it’s strange to see Andelliza walking through the streets of Cliffs Reach, but it leaves her with an eerie sense of unease nevertheless. There is something about the pure white Lady gliding through the jostling crowds–mixing with the common laity, dirtying her slippers with street grime–that offends Esmeree’s sensibilities.

Andelliza travels these frozen streets as though disconnected from the other traffic. Villeins somehow fail to see her as she passes–no one makes eye contact or acknowledges her passing–and an invisible barrier surrounds her, warding away anyone who would stray too close. Only members of her Mill seem to notice her, and they nod respectfully as she passes. Esmeree sticks close to her Lady and enjoys the benefits of her proximity.

The height of Hard Winter–the Winter Equinox–is largely considered the peak of Gock the Dragon’s power. At this time of year, the Medianist laity are out in force. Acolytes stand at street corners, singing songs and chanting prayers in effort to protect the populace from Gock’s sinister influence. Sleighs and wagons are adorned with chimes, and children run through the streets ringing bells to drive away demons.

While it hasn’t snowed in days, it is still bitterly cold. Foul-smelling black slush collects in corners and alleys, and the constant traffic has pounded it into treacherous ice on the street. Somehow, Andelliza navigates through the mess, never slipping or losing her footing. She just seems to hover above it all. Esmeree, however, has difficulty as she hurries after her, and sometimes she has to cling to her Lady for support.

Wearing no more than her gauzy white gown, Andelliza doesn’t seem to notice the cold, but Esmeree is freezing. This winter, she’s purchased a new pair of shoes and a set of cold weather clothes, but today they just don’t seem to be doing their job. Her simple canvas shoes are already soaked through with icy water, and the bitter wind bites right through her cloaks. Hunching her shoulders, she wraps the rough blankets tighter around herself and hustles after her mistress. As the day progresses towards dusk, the sharp breezes carry needles of ice and the sound of bells.

Windows along the Doge’s Promenade are adorned with dark green holly and emerald root, their latches tied shut with heavy red leather ribbon–Gock’s minions cannot stomach the poisonous plants or solve the complicated knots–hence, the laity will remain safe from attach this night. More garlands, punctuated by blazing torches, are strung along the road all the way up to the Citadel. A long line of villeins winds its way up to Ascension Square, countless tapers and lanterns lighting the way. Anxiety and excitement fill the air.

Tonight, God does battle with the Dragon.

Tonight is the Burning Time.

"Lady, please!" Esmeree shivers as she struggles to keep up.

Finally, Andelliza slows and turns to regard her apprentice with impatience. Esmeree skids to a halt, shivering pathetically, "Lady, please! It is so cold!"

Andelliza frowns down at her. There is something haunted about the Lady tonight. "Stop complaining about trifles. Use your ember. Warm yourself."

Esmeree beats her arms and shoulders for warmth, "I can’t! When I do that, I get so tired! Or things start flying around. Or I get so hungry. Or I get warm in one place and colder in another."

The Lady sighs, looking first at the sky and then up towards the Citadel, obviously weighing the chore of schooling her apprentice against the time still remaining. A stray lock of long blonde hair keeps drifting across her face, and she brushes it away absentmindedly. She extends her hand towards Esmeree, and comforting warmth suddenly surrounds the girl. She shudders with relief and tries to breathe feeling back into her fingers. "Keep moving and stay close to me," the Lady says, "else you’ll keep sinking into the ice."

Esmeree rushes after her. "Lady Andelliza, how do you summon so purely? How is it you avoid the side-effects?"

She barely spares her apprentice a glance. "Practice, primarily. It’s all a matter of delaying or diverting the effect."

"What?"

The Lady watches a sleigh jingle past them, carrying its load of timber up to the Citadel. Something about that cargo causes the Lady to pause in her step. At last, she sighs, "What do you suppose is happening when it suddenly gets cold, or the wind blows, or you get tired whenever you summon?"

Esmeree hesitates. "I don’t know."

Andelliza looks surprised, "Really? I’m surprised your old man hasn’t taught you the basic principle of cause and effect."

"Cause and effect?"

Andelliza waves dismissively. "Every action you perform has effect upon the world. You pull the trigger, the gun fires. The gun fires, the bullet flies through the air. The bullet flies and pierces the heart of your target. And so on."

A street vendor stands in an alley selling lamb’s hearts on stakes. He’s been outside for a while, and a sheen of frost coats his wares. The snow at his feet is bright red. Esmeree hurries past him. "That makes sense."

"Certainly. As does the reverse. The bullet that kills your enemy must have been fired from a gun. Every cause has an effect. Every effect must have a cause."

"Right!" Esmeree is unclear where this is leading.

Andelliza stops and looks down at Esmeree. "So explain your summoning."

"What?"

"Fire bursts to life without a spark. Wind blows without weather. Objects move as puppets without strings." She smiles, "Effects without cause."

Esmeree scratches her cheek in thought. "I–I never thought about it."

"Hmmn…" Medianist Templars march by them without a second glance, somehow oblivious to the two under-dressed villeins and the heretical subject matter of their conversation. "What you have to realize, girl, is magic is the practice of creating effects without obvious cause. And every cause doesn’t necessarily produce the same effect." She begins walking again, "And so, to move the apple from the table to your hand–to move it without touching it–requires some other kind of sympathetic effect–an opposite effect perhaps. The room becomes cold, a wind blows in the opposite direction, negation of light, whatever. Your spell took something from the world, and the world is making adjustments."

They pass a small stand of forlorn trees, stripped bare and covered with ice. Small straw men hang from their frozen branches. They are covered with dark reddish-brown stain.

"But it doesn’t happen all the time! Sometimes, my summoning produces no side-effects!"

"Of course it does. Sometimes you just don’t notice them."

"How so?"

"You will learn to control the side-effects in the same way you control your spells. Harness them, use them in a way that benefits you." Andelliza gestures around her. "Look around us. We are warm because I am drawing the warmth to us, and as a result, the air someplace else must become colder. I manipulate the air, so the coldest places surround us, repelling the villeins that would otherwise impede our progress…"

Esmeree watches as a bundled pedestrian threatens to brush close to Andelliza’s circle of warmth. Shuddering with sudden cold, he shakes his head and changes direction.

Esmeree frowns. "I don’t understand."

"Of course you don’t."

By the time they reach Ascension Square, cloudless night has fallen. The stars high above shine clearly through the frozen air. Crowds of laity are packed tightly in the square, competing as much for warmth as for space. The tenor of the people is hungry, and Esmeree is unpleasantly reminded of the Harvest Festival years ago. At Burning Time, however, there is no pretense of joyousness. No parties, no gifts or music. There are very few children in the crowd. Most are locked away at home, behind doors and windows sealed with wards and holly. Tonight, Gock’s ahrounoi minions run through the darkened streets in search of the unprotected, peering into windows, probing for ways into homes. Their favored method of entrance is through the chimneys, which is why wise households burn the geOl log–the largest log of the winter–on this night. By dawn, the ahrounoi butcher the children they catch and soak their clothes in the innocents’ pure red blood.

Something large has temporarily replaced the white marble fountain at the center of the Square, and though Esmeree cannot see what it is, she dares not leave her Lady’s side. It is surrounded by a holly-laden fence, and the crowd presses around from all directions.

Heavy tapers were handed out at the Citadel gates, and almost everyone holds one. They burn hot and bright, and the Square is aglow with thousands of lights. The Lady looks angelic in the light of hers. Ice crystals frozen on the buildings’ masonry shine like diamonds. In every window of the palace shines a single candle, every sill is laden with holly, and every latch has a large leather bow. Esmeree clutches Andelliza’s sleeve. "Lady," she whispers, "I don’t like this!"

She looks down at the girl, "Is this your first Burning Time?"

"Yes!"

"Really?"

"It’s too cold! Me’n the other fishers ‘n fry would hide in the Mill instead."

Andelliza smiles in a cold, cold way. "Good."

"Can we go?"

"No. Not yet." She nods towards the prison wing that will one day join with the new cathedral. "That there is the home for the Inquisition of Cliffs Reach."

Esmeree looks though she doesn’t want to. The wing is a narrow building, taller than it is wide, and while it was obviously built after the prison, it looks nearly as old. It has many tall, narrow windows, so thin she doubts if a man could fit his arm through. She wonders what it was used for before the Medianists came to Cliffs Reach.

She wishes Myrdd was here with her.

"Do you know, Esmeree, that a witch cannot be executed in the Seven Kingdoms until she has confessed her crimes against God?" Andelliza nods. "It is true. To kill an unrepentant witch is to send her soul straight to the clutches of Gock. The Medianists would never do such a thing." She smiles down at Esmeree, "Why add one more soul to Gock’s legions?"

Esmeree suddenly feels very vulnerable, frightened. This is not the place to be talking about witchcraft and sorcery.

Without ceremony, the doors to the Inquisition’s lair are thrown open. The laity closest to them roar with excitement, and the wave spreads across the Square. Soon, the entire Citadel is cheering. Some kind of procession exits the doors and moves towards the center of the Square. The crowd tries to surge forward, only to be forced back by a phalanx of musketeers.

Esmeree watches the procession march to the center. There, they gather in small groups. She has difficulty seeing more than the tops of people’s heads. A single scream pierces the cacophony of the crowd. Something horrible is going to happen here. She tugs at Andelliza’s sleeve, shouting above the din, "Please can we go?"

"This is why," the Lady continues, "we have the Inquisition. They have the knowledge, the ordeals to derive the appropriate confessions from their subjects… Did you know, Esmeree, that they have three degrees of ordeal? Each one becoming more severe, more… invasive. The third degree is the final option, calling for procedures so destructive, so horrific as to ultimately cause the death of the subject." She smiles at the activities at the center of the Square. "To give someone the third degree is far more involved than simply asking them difficult questions…"

Tears stream down Esmeree’s cheeks as she looks up at her Lady. "Why are you saying these things?"

"The Inquisition serves an important purpose, Esmeree. Through their pious diligence, they root out all sources of evil and heresy. Through their ordeals, they acquire the necessary confessions. And through the Burning Times, they expediently purge the world of God’s enemies."

"Not you!" Esmeree screams desperately over the crowd, "You live in Cliffs Reach! You live in the Mill! You rule the most powerful gang in the city! You are a witch! How is it they haven’t found you?"

"As the wheel turns, child, it grinds all of us beneath it. One day," she looks down at Esmeree with distant eyes, "one day, they will find me… perhaps through my own carelessness? Or treachery?" She touches Esmeree’s cheek, "And all my power and all my fishers and sticks will not save me."

"But why?" screams Esmeree, "Why are you here then? Run away! Run away from the Seven Kingdoms and the Inquisition!"

There is a collective sigh from the crowd as something is raised from the center of Ascension Square. Once it is standing, the roar reaches a new crescendo. It is a giant wicker man, built of planks of wood and stuffed with hay. Black pitch and tar adorn his limbs and body. Quiet screams come from this giant. There is movement inside, and to Esmeree’s horror, she realizes he is also stuffed with people! One is curled in the head, four in the chest, and two in each arm and leg. A total of 15.

At his feet are small pyres; Esmeree cannot count how many people are tied to stakes there, and their cries are lost in the roar of the Square. Cries of witch, caragus, and gwrach fill the air.

Medianist wizard priests begin chanting. Even from her distant vantagepoint, she can see their embers summoning. Soon, almost everyone in the Square is participating in the prayer. Esmeree is familiar with it. It is an invocation of death. She holds her breath, fearing what might happen when that prayer completes.

"These are your peers, Esmeree. Fellow witches, fellow sorcerers. This is the fate of all enemies of God." As Andelliza speaks, the front-most members of the crowd throw their candles. The nearest pyres burst into glorious flame, each one sparking the next. The laity surges forward, adding their tapers to the inferno.

"But they’re witches!" Esmeree shrieks, "Why can’t they escape? Why can’t they use their magic?"

The Lady nods towards the Medianist wizards, "The spells of the priests, the power of the crowd, their bloodlust." She sighs, "They are helpless."

Esmeree watches in horror as flame leaps up the legs of the wicker man, consuming arms and chest quickly, and then finally the head. The hay burns first, and she can see and hear the victims’ final agony.

"Should you choose to follow my path, Esmeree," Andelliza watches the fires with rapt fascination, the bright inferno flashing in her eyes, "There will be a Burning Time for you too."

© John Lawson 2001