Blood Song

“My reasons are my own, master.” He knew he was risking the cane but it had lost its sting long ago.

Master Sollis grunted and moved down the line. “What about you, Nysa? Want to join your brother in mopping the brow of the sick and feeble?”

“I would prefer the Third Order, Master.”

Sollis gave him a long look. “Scribblers and book hoarders.” He shook his head sadly.

Barkus and Dentos chose the safe option of the Fourth Order whilst Nortah took evident delight in electing for the Second. “The Order of Contemplation and Enlightenment,” Sollis said tonelessly. “You want to spend a week in the Order of Contemplation and Enlightenment?”

“I feel my soul would benefit from a period of meditation on the great mysteries, master,” Nortah replied, showing his perfect teeth in an earnest smile. For the first time in months Vaelin felt like laughing.

“You mean you want a week of sitting on your arse,” Sollis said.

“Meditation is normally conducted in a sitting position, master.”

Vaelin laughed, he couldn’t help it. Three hours later, as he completed his fortieth lap of the practice ground, he was still chuckling.

“Brother Vaelin?” The grey cloaked man at the gate was old, thin and bald, but Vaelin found himself disconcerted by the man’s teeth, pearly white and perfect, like Nortah’s only the smile was genuine. The old brother was alone, wiping a mop across a dark brown stain on the cobbled courtyard.

“I am to report to the Aspect,” Vaelin replied.

“Yes, we were told you were coming.” The old brother lifted the catch on the gate and pulled it open. “Rare for a brother from the Sixth to come to learn from us.”

“Are you alone, brother?” Vaelin said, stepping through the gate. “I assume in a place such as this there is sore need for a guard,”

Unlike the Sixth, the house of the Fifth Order was situated within the walls of the capital, a large, cruciform building rising from the slums of the southern quarter, its whitewashed walls a bright beacon amidst the drab mass of closely packed, poorly built houses hugging the fringes of the docks. Vaelin had never been to the southern quarter before but quickly came to understand why it was rarely frequented by people with something worth stealing. The intricate network of shadowed alley ways and refuse clogged streets provided ample opportunities for ambush. He had picked his way through the mess, not wishing to report to the Fifth Order with dirty boots, stepping over huddled forms sleeping off the previous night’s grog and ignoring the unintelligible calls of those who had either had too much or not enough. Here and there a few listless whores gave him a disinterested glance but made no effort to entice his custom, Order boys had no money after all.

“Oh we never get bothered,” the old man told him. As he closed the gate Vaelin noted there was no lock. “Been guarding this house for ten years or more, never a problem here.”

“Then why do you have to guard the gate?”

The old brother gave him a puzzled look. “This is the Order of Healing, brother. People come here for help. Someone has to meet them.”

“Oh,” Vaelin said. “Of course.”

“Still I do have my old Bess.” The old brother went into the small brick building that served as a guard house and returned with a large oak-wood club. “Just in case.” He handed it to Vaelin, seemingly expecting an expert opinion.

“It’s…” Vaelin hefted the club, swinging it briefly before handing it back, “a fine weapon brother.”

The old man seemed delighted. “Made it meself when the Aspect gave me the gate to guard. My hands had gotten too stiff to mend bones or sew cuts, y’see?” He turned and walked quickly towards the House. “Come, come, I’ll take you to the Aspect.”

“You’ve been here a long time?” Vaelin asked, following.

“Only five years or so, apart from training o’course. Spent most of my brotherhood in the southern ports. I tell you there’s no pox or disease on this earth that a sailor can’t catch.”

Instead of leading him to the large door at the front of the house the old brother took him around the building and into a side entrance. Inside was a long corridor, bare of decoration and possessing a strong redolence of something both acidic and sweet.

“Vinegar and lavender,” the old man said, seeing him wrinkle his nose. “Keeps the place free of foul humours.”

He took Vaelin past numerous rooms, where it seemed there was little but empty beds, and into a circular chamber tiled from floor to ceiling with white porcelain tiles. In the centre of the chamber a young man lay atop a table, naked and writhing. Two burly, grey cloaked brothers held him down whilst Aspect Elera Al Mendah examined the crudely bandaged wound in his stomach. The man’s screams were stopped by the strap of leather clamped into his mouth. The circumference of the chamber was lined with ascending rows of benches where an audience of grey robed brothers and sisters of varying ages looked down on the spectacle. There was a rustle of movement as they turned their gaze on Vaelin.