309) The Salvation of Eden, Chapter 73 — The ancient Zhaalmohhrian home

The house was silent, and incredibly opulent, replete with art and statues, suits of armour, treasures and oddities on countless shelves and in countless display cases. It felt like a museum.

They stole silently through the house, first checking the bedrooms down the left corridor. They were sparsely furnished and mostly empty, like the rooms in an inn. One had recently been inhabited; the bed was left unmade and a few articles of clothing lay scattered on the floor, a pair of socks, two pairs of underwear (women's), a cotton shift, and a pair of canvas pants. In a pocket of the pants, Lenny found a note.

She read it out loud. “Krystalline, I'm traveling with Ryldiss' gang; we're heading back to the Spice Coast for another pick-up. Meet up with us when you're done there. It'd be nice to share another spring on the sea. I hope your training is going well. Love, Your Bro.”

“Awww,” Reilly cooed.

Lenny shrugged. “Well, we probably killed her. Sorry bro.” She crumpled the note and stuck in it her pocket.

One of the other bedrooms was clearly the butler’s, judging by the old-man-style of the clothes, and the fact that it was the only other room with a recent inhabitant. Kohra felt a huge stab of guilt as they looked through his belongings. He had a diary in his nightstand; the walls were covered in paintings of dogs, with an easel and paints and unfinished fabric frames against the walls; there were a few shelves of books and knick-knacks; his bedspread was a collage of different breeds of dogs; his pillow even had yarn-whiskers, ears that stuck out of the top corners, and a red felt tongue lolling out the bottom.

Lenny, who had shown not a hint of emotion, took the pillow and shoved it in her backpack, saying nothing and meeting nobody’s eyes. Devona took the diary, and Reilly found a small sack of coins in a drawer by the bed. Otherwise, there wasn't much of value. Unless you were really into dogs.

Kohra felt terrible about what they were doing.

What would Ms. B tell me to do right now?

Feel. Yes, she would tell me to tune in, and feel whatever I’m feeling in my body.

She walked out, stopping in the hallway to take several deep, intentional breaths. She felt hollow, like her stomach had fallen right out of her body. Her heart ached.

I know this is not right. The poor man didn’t even have a chance to get his stuff, not even his diary. Where’s he going to go? What’s he going to do? Travel through the mountains? With no equipment, no food, nothing? Oh Gods, this is so wrong.

She didn’t know what to do at this point, so she just stayed in the hallway. It was nice, at least, to have a few moments to herself. And the house was magnificent. It was FULL of art. Paintings hung throughout, giving the house a weighty, wealthy darkness, showcasing the gloom and glamour of the Royal Bloodline of the Zhaalmorrhians. They were all obviously Whitelings. Each one had their name, she assumed, engraved on a gold plate attached to the frame. Kohra looked at one but it was in an unrecognizable script.

She turned to the rest of the paintings, walking slowly down the hall. They were confusing…surreal. Kohra felt drawn to them, but knew she didn’t understand what they meant. They were haunting, and beautiful, swirls of colour and mist, light and shadow.

The others returned from the old man’s bedroom. Dominic signalled for them to head back to the entrance. Kohra motioned to Devona, hoping to show her the things she’d discovered, but Devona just smiled, giving her a thumbs-up and walking past. Kohra followed, feeling both frustrated and a little foolish. Dev was right; they didn’t have time to stop and admire art right now.

Dominic leading, they crept back to the central courtyard, and down the corridor to the right. It opened into a cave-like room, that looked surprisingly like a living-room, a very fancy living-room, from the large stretched-leather black couches set in a “V” in front of the gold-framed fireplace, to the flock of stuffed ostriches lining one wall. The fireplace was currently dark, but there was a small stack of wood and a rack of fire pokers beside it.

The far walls of the cave-room, away from the fireplace, were lined with bookcases, each one stacked with hefty leather-bound tomes. Kohra estimated there were more books here than in the entire library of Annuvin! Melkorn stood guard at the entranceway while the others perused the titles, each taking a different shelf. After a few minutes, Reilly complained, “I can’t read any of these!”

“It’s okay,” Kohra reassured her. “I can’t either.”

“Whitelin’,” Gorb muttered from a few feet away. “I kinna rrrread it, but I know de scrrrript. I t’ink dis’ is ‘bout hist’rrry.”

“Like, the history of Eden?” Dominic asked.

“Maybe the family history?” Kohra suggested. She traced her hands along the spines of the books as she passed them. They were indeed incomprehensible.

From the far end of the room, Reilly cracked open a door and peeked through. “I found a storage closet! It’s got food!”

Devona put her hands on her hips, frowning. “This is already taking too long. Let’s get out of here. We have to get to that Priest. And Graxia’s bedroom, before anybody finds us!”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “But, food? Remember how good it is to eat food?”

She snapped, “We already have Grok’s food! You’re being ridiculous.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“You’re always hungry!” Dev shot back. “We have to go!”

By that point, Dominic was at the door to the storage closet and, with Reilly, slipped inside, shutting it behind them quietly.

Devona growled, deep in her throat, muttering to herself.

The little room was exactly what one would expect: burlap sacks filled with grains and dried beans, jars of preserves lining shelf after shelf, casks, bottles of wine, boxes of empty jars.

“Pickles!” cried Dominic jubilantly, untying his pack. He grabbed an armful of jars and bent down to shove them in.

“Dom!” Kohra hissed. “You can’t take all those pickles!”

He ignored her, pickle jars clanking.

Everybody hushed him.

“What?”

“You’re gonna smell,” Reilly giggled.

“When are we going to find pickles again? Could be weeks! Years!”

“And what if the jars break?” Lenny asked. “Which you know they will, the way we’ve been going. Reilly’s right; you’re gonna reek.”

“Okay, fine.” He put two jars back.

“Maybe just a few?”

“No!” Kohra snapped.

“Dom! Let’s go!” Devona was shifting from frustration to anger.

“Two? And I’ll eat part of one right now?” Without waiting for a response, he unscrewed the lid and popped the seal on one of the jars. The pungent scent of dill and vinegar filled the room. He crunched. “Mmmmmmm….” He crunched some more. “So good”.

Lenny took a pickle. Crunch. “Mmm, yeah, he’s right.” She shrugged. “Okay, take two jars.”

“Let’s GO!” Devona looked like she wanted to attack them.

Quickly Dominic wrapped two jars in his spare clothes and stuffed them in his already-bulging backpack. He had to cram them inside Arrowhead’s carrying case, which didn’t leave much room for Arrowhead himself. Then again, he figured Arrow had been cooped up for some time, and was probably pretty ready to come out after all that trekking through the mountains, the fighting, and everything. He’d be more than ready for some exercise.

Sure enough, the black snake poked his head out within seconds of Dominic opening his case, tasting the air with his tongue. He slithered up Dominic’s leg and wrapped around his shoulders.

Dominic felt Arrow squeeze a little tighter than usual. It was a sign of stress, like a child reaching out for a hug. Dominic made sure the pickles were well padded in shirts, then secured Arrow’s case. Unless they went outside, this would work great.

While everyone had been arguing, Gorb was busy cramming a medley of cheeses into his own pack. Along with more than a couple bottles of wine.

Kohra found a shelf full of jerky. Smiling to herself, knowing how much Dom would regret his obsession with pickles when he learned of her treasure, she stuffed several bags into her own backpack.

As they turned to leave, Dominic snuck an extra jar under his cloak. Lenny surreptitiously gave him a thumbs-up.

They moved quietly, in attack formation down the hall, Melkorn in the lead, Dominic and Gorb on either flank. The corridor was short, maybe twenty paces, before opening into a large kitchen, centred around a cast-iron stove, with a smokestack leading up into a hole in the rock ceiling. It was an abundant kitchen, the cookware gleaming, hanging on metal hooks overtop large sacks of vegetables and food bins.

A small door, already opened, led to a bedroom. It was clearly empty, save the bed, a narrow desk, and the closet.

Dominic turned, one finger on his lips, and motioned toward the closet, taking up position to one side, bow drawn. Melkorn stood right in front of the closet door, shield up, Gorb on his other side, poised to smash his hammer into whoever, or whatever, might be hiding inside. It was completely silent, save their own breathing, particularly Melkorn’s. Lenny, crouched behind Melkorn, reached around past his battleaxe, took hold of the doorknob, and pulled.

Inside, a few greasy aprons hung on hooks, along with a few pairs of loose pants, a navy blue shawl, and two knit sweaters. Gorb moved in to check it more closely. “Nothin’,” he whispered.

Dominic turned to look at the room more carefully. The bed was unmade. He noticed there were no boots or shoes in the room. There had been none outside either. Clearly, the cook lived here, and fled when the valley was attacked. He’d had all night, after all.

Dom relaxed, slung the bow back over his shoulder and move over to the dresser, searching through the drawers. Simple clothes, a notebook full of recipes, not much else.

They moved on, checking out the final empty room and then turning back to the main courtyard.

* * * * *

The cook, carving knife and meat cleaver clutched tightly in her hands, exhaled and thanked the Gods. Hiding under the bed hadn’t seemed like the greatest idea, but she hadn't time to come up with anything better. She stayed for a long time after the intruders’ footsteps disappeared, not daring to make a sound. She wondered where Master Graxia was, Byron, the Commander, the Priestess, that Thief-girl who was here for training, anybody! She thought of going out into the camp, but decided to wait it out in her room for another day. Whatever had happened to the others, she wasn’t risking her life to find out.

* * * * *

The central hallway was quite different from the others, arched ceilings about thirty feet high at their apex, the walls lined with huge paintings of stately-looking Whitelings looking dour and intimidating. Underneath each painting, resting in its own shiny brass brackets, lay a weapon. There were dozens in all, mostly staves with double-ended blades, but also several swords, pikes, a few elaborate halberds (it seemed the family was really into halberds for a few centuries), and one bow. Most of the weapons looked old and tarnished, although Kohra noticed that only a few showed any signs of having seen battle, the others unblemished as though they were mere decorations.

The ceiling itself was brightly painted, a huge mural stretching across the entire length of the hall. It was a battle scene, clearly, but the combatants were not people, nor beasts. There were flying contraptions with strange sticks poking out of them, squat, lumbering wagons, each sporting an enormous proboscis and armoured like an oversized beetle, and squarish, humongous humanoids with beams of light shining from their eyes and hands. It didn’t make much sense.

Then they heard it, very faint, a deep, sonorous chanting, coming from the end of the hallway. Dominic motioned them forward, everyone falling into attack formation, primed to blast anything that moved.

The chanting droned on, rising and falling in a slow rhythm. As they got closer and could hear it more clearly, it sounded alien, but beautiful, almost hypnotic. Kohra realized with a start that it bore a faint resemblance to the Klliik songs. She glanced over at Gorb; he looked angry but he didn’t meet her eyes.

The hallway ended with two doors, one on either side, with an alcove at the end. A statue of a horse and rider stood in the alcove. The chanting was coming from the left.

Dominic motioned that they should try Graxia’s door first. She was, he assumed, the bigger threat. Melkorn and Gorb stood right in front of the door, shields up. Grok and Reilly stood to one side by the statue, and the other girls formed their blasting line on the other. Dominic guarded the other door with his bow drawn, alert for anything.

No sooner had they arranged themselves then the chanting abruptly ceased and the opposite door opened. A woman stood in the doorway, smiling amiably, seeming not at all surprised, despite Dominic’s arrow trained on her face. An exquisite, shiny black robe hung in folds off her tall frame, a silver star medallion prominently displayed on her chest. She looked dignified, calm, and surprisingly friendly, long silver hair tumbling loose down her shoulders and chest.

“Greetings, travelers.” Her voice was slow, like she was not willing to be hurried by the temporal urgencies of the moment. “Welcome, to this threshold between your world and mine. You are welcome to enter, and rest or do what you may.”

Lenny opened her mouth to say something, but stopped abruptly as the woman’s eyes met hers. Her gaze felt piercing, like she was looking right into her soul, or more accurately, like the woman’s eyes were already inside her, and had always been. Lenny stood frozen with the immensity of a transcendental realization.

There are eyes inside me?

The woman continued amiably, her voice casual but firm, like she knew nothing other than to be obeyed. “I must warn you, you cannot enter this space with weapons. This is Holy Ground.”

Nobody moved.

The woman looked at Dominic. “I would appreciate you taking that archaic device out of my face. You can clearly see I mean you no harm.”

Slowly, he lowered his bow.

“I must say though,” she laughed freely, like this was a meeting between old friends; “I am rather curious. What brings such a suspicious, and terribly sad group of people to my Sanctum?”

Grok opened her mouth, intending to respond diplomatically, but before she could say anything, Lenny blurted, “Who in the Hells are you?”

The silver-haired woman smiled warmly. “I am Sister Sacrylline, High Priestess of the Divine Interdependence, and Emissary of the Starborn Faithful.” Her eyes seemed to twinkle with delight at these uncouth, awkward visitors. “It is my pleasure to meet all of you. Despite your rather brusque way of introducing yourselves.” She looked directly at Lenny. “And who might you be?”

Lenny felt her gaze somehow…within her. Her bravado evaporated like lantern fuel on a hot day. “Um, I’m, yeah, I mean, I’m nobody really.”

“You must come from a distant world, Nobody Really. One must always account for the strange customs of others.”

“What are you talking about?” Reilly yelled, stomping her feet. This was all getting to be too much. She just wanted to punch somebody. Or light them on fire.
“Most beings living in Her dreams, under the pink skies, respond in kind when greeted with friendliness.”

  For one of the first times in her life, Lenny found herself at a loss for words. She stared at her feet. The woman looked over the others, examining their faces intently. Each person squirmed in turn, feeling awkward and exposed under her gaze. It would be comical, but nobody felt like laughing, other than Sister Sacrylline it would seem, whose delighted smile never wavered

“Very well. I will offer you a deal.” She addressed Grok directly, as though concluding she was their leader. “You clearly have managed to overcome the defences of this home, so I must assume you are here for purposes that would contradict the wishes of Mistress Graxia. Yes?”

Grok nodded slowly. The woman’s unperturbed demeanor, in the face of a squad of heavily armed, blood-stained people showing up at her doorway, was deeply unsettling.

“What business you have with her, or the Zhaalmohhrians, is no concern of mine.” She smiled conspiratorially, continuing in a much quieter voice as though sharing a dirty secret. “Personally, I think she's a fool, and if this is how she goes down, so much the better.” Then she added with emphasis, “But you still cannot enter my Sanctum with weapons.”

Grok found the presence of mind to reply, “Sister Sacrylline, I must ask, won’t you get punished? By Graxia, I mean. We don’t want you to get in trouble on our behalf.”

Sister Sacrylline couldn’t suppress her smirk, as she shook her head. “No, I will be find. But thank you, kind one, for your caring. The Starborn Faithful serve a much higher power than a mere Zhaalmohhrian Heir. I see your attack of this stronghold as the Word of the Law.”

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” the Sister asked.

Lenny stammered, “You mean, like, you, and us, we're cool and everything?”

Again the warm, unperturbed smile. “Yes, Nobody Really, we're ‘cool'. I am content to leave you to whatever purpose the Word has ordained. Do what you wish, outside of my Sanctum. The Zhaalmohhrians have brought this on themselves.”

Slowly, Grok nodded. Everyone else did as well.

“May your souls find peace.” She stepped back, still smiling, and closed the door, leaving everyone standing in the dark hallway, staring at each other.

After a few seconds, the chanting started up. Kohra realized it wasn’t the Klliik song that she knew, although there were some similarities in it that she couldn’t put her finger on. It was like they were from the same culture, or period of time.

“Well that was the weirdest thing ever,” Lenny exclaimed, trying to regain her composure.

“She was crazy!” Reilly concluded.

“Or perhaps surprisingly wise?” Grok suggested.

They stood in the hallway for a couple of minutes, in part because the chanting was so beautiful that they simply wanted to listen to it. They also knew they were in ridiculous danger, that at any moment it was possible troops would enter the house, Graxia would come back, reinforcements would arrive, the bodyguards of the merchants would come, or…anything seemed possible in that house. But strangely, they didn’t worry too much in that moment. After Sister Sacrylline, it just seemed like everything was okay now. Nothing was going to go wrong.

“What do we do now?” Melkorn asked in a whisper.

“Bust down that door!” Lenny responded, in a much louder voice.

Melkorn reprimanded her sharply. “SHHHH!”

“Don’t worry, Korn,” Lenny chuckled. “It’s not like she’s on the other side of that door!”

“How do YOU know?” Devona challenged.

“Because if she were, she’d have been all over us when we were distracted by that Sister lady! Her room has a back door or something, and she’s taken her barrels and is off to blow something up and get the Inheritance.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to attack us then. Maybe she doesn’t want to get the Priest mad,” Devona suggested.

Dominic nodded. “Maybe there’s an ambush, just on the other side of that door.”

Devona gasped. “Maybe she’s going to blow us up when we open the door!”

The door was stone, reinforced with thick steel bands. Melkorn jiggled the handle, then before anyone could stop him, pulled. It swung open easily, on silent hinges.