The Blue Flames, page 36
The dark cloudy morning made it seem like evening was coming fast again. Once they had all stepped inside, Beatrice lit two lanterns on the trunks of the birch trees. Caradoc removed his hat out of reverence for the place.
“There we are,” the elder woman said when the flames were burning bright. “That’s better. Now . . .”
She waved her hand through the air as if drawing a curtain. Harriet and Caradoc were both struck aghast as a translucent wave of violet light fell down around the temple on all sides. They knew at once it was a shield enchantment, and likely laced with another owing to the dark color of it. When they looked at their hostess again, she addressed them with the same cheerful countenance she always carried.
“Don’t worry. It’s more for keeping others out than keeping you in. There’s a silencing enchantment around us as well. I thought it best to take every precaution.” She straightened her round spectacles and clasped her hands together. “You see, I know who you are.”
Harriet’s heart sank. She saw Caradoc rest a hand on his belt near his pistol, which remained hidden beneath his coat.
“Then you should also know,” he said, “we are prepared to fight our way out if necessary.”
“As is your right, Mr. Caradoc,” she answered. “As for me, I was hoping for something more along the lines of conversation.”
He looked at her in awe, as did Harriet.
Beatrice nodded. “Oh, yes, I know your name. Yours, too, Mrs. Whistler. I may be leagues away from the nearest Entrian town but I am still quite capable of keeping up with current events. I keep at least one copy of every newspaper that comes in. There’s quite a stack of them in the corner of my sitting room. But the first one that made any mention of the Colonists—I keep that in a drawer by my bedside. The East Country has become something of a haven for troublemakers and I thought it wise to make myself familiar with your faces. I recognized you the moment you walked in, so it was nothing you did that gave you away. You were very careful to say the right things. Very clever. Which means you must have discovered my own little secret identity quite early on.”
She paused, waiting for any sort of acknowledgement.
“We did,” Harriet admitted.
Beatrice smiled. “The teacup. I know. That was my own clumsiness. I was too preoccupied trying to confirm my suspicions about you. When I went back to see your horses were tended to, I snuck a glance at the newspaper to compare your faces to the sketches on the warrant list.” She looked at Caradoc. “And then, when I saw you did not remove your gloves, I became convinced it was your way of hiding the Auric Key.”
“You know about the Key?”
“The papers all describe it in very vague terms, as some kind of strange talisman. But I knew it right away from the description. Of course, I did not even hear about the Keyholders until I became a priestess. There are many who consider them a myth, along with the Spektors. But I have never been one to discount things so easily, no matter how far-fetched they may seem at first.”
Harriet’s frown softened as a realization dawned on her. “You let the constables leave Sparrowhaven. Even though you knew about us.”
Beatrice raised her eyebrows with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “They even wanted to take you for questioning when they first arrived. But I convinced them to choose others instead.”
“But why?”
The elder woman dropped her gaze in thought. The lantern flame scattered dull flickers of light across the stone floor. The wind rustled the awning of gold birch leaves above.
“I know of what you stand accused. I have heard the terrible stories. Studied the reports and testimonies—even those of your captured colleagues who insisted you were not to blame. In the end, I decided that if I should ever come face-to-face with a Colonist, I would make up my own mind about them. And now that the moment has come, I will ask you directly.” She took a step closer to better see their faces. “Did you mean to do harm on Damiras?”
Neither of them answered right away. It sounded like a trap, though it somehow didn’t feel like one. Then again, they’d been burned before—the last time by young Frederick Coram.
Caradoc continued to look doubtful but finally dropped his hand from his belt. “The only Entress who ever believed us is now on trial in Ciras. She is a rare case of an Entrian truly able to set aside her personal feelings to see with any clarity. For most others, the pain is still too near, even for those who were not physically present on the island.”
“You are very right to be skeptical about the lie-detection,” Beatrice replied. “In fact, it is the very reason I have not brought the law down upon you. I’ve never been able to understand how all those Elders and court officials and investigators can claim their powers of reasoning are not affected by your crimes. There is not a family who did not suffer loss. As such, it is near impossible for any Colonist to receive true justice at their hands, but they will insist on dispensing it, vowing that their judgment is impartial and their capabilities sound. It is the same kind of hypocrisy I saw in Entrian religious circles, abounding with sanctimonious hubris and false piety. I grew so tired of it. So discouraged. I felt a calling to come east. To make my home among the Cassrians—even though some of them might sooner tar and feather an Entrian than welcome one. It forced me to leave the trappings of my old identity behind, but it was a blessing in the end. Freedom. Sparrowhaven gives me the chance to minister to my Cassrian brothers and sisters away from any religious establishment with human-based rules and requirements. Here, God moves without restriction, and I am finally allowed to serve all people with an open heart and mind. You may rely upon that. And me.”
Harriet glanced at Caradoc. She could tell he was still reluctant, still feeling the wounds of Coram’s betrayal and wearied by the thought of having to make yet another defense. She felt such things in her own heart, but she also knew Beatrice had told them the truth. And indeed, there was not a drop of condemnation in the woman’s eyes. She was simply waiting to be answered with good-natured patience and presence of mind. She wasn’t even armed, though she had enclosed herself in a shield enchantment with two wanted fugitives. All things considered, it was an extraordinary act of courage.
“We meant no harm,” Harriet answered at last. “We learned of a plot to murder half the Entrians in the country by way of a black spell. We hoped to find the conspirator and apprehend them before the peace gathering on Damiras could begin. But we were too late.”
Beatrice tapped a thoughtful finger on her lips. “And so . . . young Darian had to be killed as soon as he began to speak the words of that spell. Which just so happened to be in front of a crowded field. My, that is unfortunate.”
Caradoc looked at her in renewed amazement. “You made that connection very quickly. Even Riva didn’t say as much to the Entrians when she first tried to explain our side of things. She knew they might tear her to pieces for blasphemy.”
Beatrice went to one of the benches and sat down. “Darian had a good heart. Earnest. Well-meaning. But he was not a prophet, nor a saint.”
“You knew him?” Harriet said.
“I did. Back when he had aspirations to become a priest. He attended a few of the religious classes I taught at the temple of Orthys all those years ago. This was after he had already begun to speak out in public about ending the clan feuds and living in peace with the Cassrians. Some of the other priests wouldn’t even speak to him because of his views. They were still deeply angry about the Great Ruin, as well as their displacement by the Separation Decree. During our tutoring sessions, Darian would speak passionately about the High Council’s persistent failings and how they couldn’t be trusted do what was right. I gave him my ear, humored him—perhaps to a fault. Young people are often zealous about such things. I suppose I assumed that time and wisdom would temper him. But then he began to gain a following. It was small at first. Mostly friends and fellow students. And then one day, before anyone knew it, there were suddenly hundreds. Which, of course, made the Elders nervous. They began to consider him dangerous and subversive.” She sighed and shifted on the bench. “Darian left Orthys before completing his priesthood training, convinced he needed no further education. I’ve always thought it was his followers who really persuaded him to leave, impatient for action as they were. As time went on, they puffed him up and put him on a pedestal so high he began to lose sight of reality. He even showed up at the Council House one day, announcing himself an Elder ‘chosen by the people’.”
“He didn’t!” Harriet said in disbelief.
Beatrice dipped her head and raised her eyebrows. “As you can imagine, it did not go well. The Elders shamed and berated him. Wounded his pride beyond reconciliation. Tell me . . . how do you account for his attempt to say the black spell on Damiras?”
Caradoc shook his head. “We always assumed he’d been bewitched. That someone else had used his voice in their stead. It didn’t seem possible that a man of his convictions would ever want to deliberately hurt someone, much less half a population.”
“And the blood that was shed even after the black spell failed?”
“We were never quite sure how it happened,” Harriet replied. “Everything went dark all of a sudden. We couldn’t see beyond a few paces in front of us.”
“Spektors?”
“That’s the most logical conclusion, of course,” Caradoc answered. “But I never sensed any on the island. Not once.”
Beatrice drew her lips tight together, then stood and went to the small table. After withdrawing something from the box, she turned and held it up for them to see.
“This is what I wanted to show you.”
It was all Harriet and Caradoc could do to keep their jaws from dropping. The item was a sapphire pendant in the shape of a flame—the very kind they’d seen on the card which had led them to a sinister meeting at the Tinderbox. The same used in the rite to summon the Mistress of the Spektors, and which she had also been wearing around her neck. Beatrice moved forward and gave it to Caradoc. He sank onto the nearest bench as he stared at it.
“He wrote to me soon after his terrible humiliation,” she continued. “Told me how much he respected my views and opinions. He wanted me to join his growing movement. Practically begged me. He outlined his belief that the Entrian government ought to return to a monarchy. The image of the blue flame had come to him in a dream, and he saw it as a sign that he and his followers were to be pioneers of a new age who would rebuild and revitalize the land. Clear it of hatred and corruption—but only with a strong ruler in place with absolute power. I couldn’t bring myself to join him. There was a vitriol and resentment in his words entirely foreign to me. Frightened me, in fact. I felt I no longer knew him. So I sent my reply and did not hear from him again.” She adjusted her spectacles. “Not many Cassrians are aware of what I am about to tell you next. The High Council doesn’t want it made public, for fear of tarnishing their image.”
She looked out beyond the pillars, as though worried that someone would hear them beyond the enchantments. Before continuing, she took a deep breath.
“A few weeks later, Darian formed a militia from his most faithful followers, those who were so passionate in their cause they were willing to do whatever it took to achieve their vision. When they began to openly recruit new members, the Elders branded the faction as treasonous. The Blue Flames, as they called themselves, pushed back by using legal texts to prove they’d done nothing unlawful. Darian even attempted to make peace with the Elders by offering to disband the militia if they would officially admit him into the priesthood. When this was denied, he began to hail himself as ‘the People’s Priest’ and started giving sermons and teaching at any temple that would recognize his spiritual authority. Those were few in number, of course, but the mere act of it helped to fuel his image as a prophet, which his eventual death also encouraged.” She clasped her hands together again. “A few months later, he went to the Elders with the idea of a peace meeting on Damiras. And the rest you know.”
Caradoc stared at the sapphire pendant again. The look of astonishment on his face had not diminished. “So the Mistress hadn’t bewitched him at all. He’d been conspiring with her. She must have . . . promised to help his cause in some way.”
Glancing at Beatrice again, he saw she hadn’t understood him.
“The Mistress of the Spektors,” he continued. “A friend and I stumbled upon her while we were charting Damiras. She was living in the ruins of an abandoned temple. At first, we thought she was only a troubled woman who’d been driven there for some reason. But then she started boasting about the new life she was soon to begin. She told us things about the Elders she shouldn’t have known. About events that were happening hundreds of miles away. And then she began to talk about a black spell that would kill half the Entrian people. She bragged about it, eager for the peace gathering to commence where the spell would be spoken. Said she would be crowned a queen once it had succeeded. Now it all makes sense, with his militia willing to fight for a monarchy.”
Beatrice returned to the bench and sat down with both hands clutching the edge, as if to steady herself. “Mistress of the Spektors? So she does exist.”
Caradoc drew his eyebrows together. “Not only does she exist, she’s worshipped by an underground cult calling themselves the Blue Flames. They call her an angel. Their guiding light. I never knew they were Darian’s militia. That explains why they keep in hiding. The Elders would be all too eager to crush what remains of them at the first sign of re-emergence.” He looked at Harriet with growing excitement. “This may be all the proof we need to clear our names! It was the militia who caused the massacre! When we stopped Darian from saying the black spell, they must have taken up arms as an alternate course of action!”
“But why would Darian want half the Entrians dead?” Harriet asked. “It makes no sense for him to go about preaching love and acceptance and then want to kill so many people.”
“Maybe he’d grown so frustrated waiting for change he decided to incite it himself. Maybe the Mistress told him it was the only way to succeed. She claimed the powers of an oracle. She might have shown him something that convinced him of it. A way to destabilize the government and install his own. But we can put that very question to his Blue Flames now that we know where to find them. They might even know why Bash was killed! Why Ink is being hunted! They are the key to everything!” He sat back on the bench, his enthusiasm deflating in an instant. “Except . . . no one will believe the part about the Mistress. And it would be all too easy for her cultists to deny it when questioned.”
“Might she still be found in that ruin on Damiras?” Beatrice asked.
“No,” Harriet replied. “We went back there to search for her soon after the Battle. She was nowhere to be found.”
“We only know she’s hiding on an island somewhere,” Caradoc said. “Perhaps you know of other places to look? From your studies?”
The Entress furrowed her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t. All I can remember is that she was given her powers by a spirit of darkness—the demon Hesserus, according to some sources, which is so terrible it might just be true.”
It was Harriet’s turn to take her own bench. “Good heavens.”
Caradoc closed his fingers over the pendant, then stood and went to sit beside Beatrice. “Your life would be in danger if the wrong people found out what you’ve told us.”
Beatrice chuckled nervously. “Yes, I suppose it would.”
“So why did you tell us?”
She looked at both of them before answering. Compassion shone through her eyes.
“Because you are innocent. And I like you far too much not to help. I also know you suffered a great deal even before the Battle—at least, from what the papers have said. A few journalists took it upon themselves to investigate your personal histories, digging up every detail to be found.”
She gazed at Harriet on the bench beside hers, then leaned over and took her hand.
“I am so sorry about your child. So very sorry. I cannot begin to imagine the pain it must have caused, and still causes. But you must know that she flew straight into the arms of God, and now helps prepare for the day he restores our world. At which time you will be together again.”
Harriet tried to smile, but the tears caught her first. She nodded instead and looked away before they could be seen. Beatrice let go of her hand and looked at Caradoc again.
“You have been under a cloud almost your entire life. Your mother was killed when you were only a boy. The Entrians are still baying for blood after your father instigated the Great Ruin. Blaming you for Darian’s death is just another log to the fire. And goodness knows what you’ve had to endure by carrying that Key. You tried so hard to make reparations for your father’s actions, for which the reward was two years’ hard labor in Talas Prison for smuggling goods to the Entrians, then another two for refusing to give up the names of your fellow smugglers. And now, after saving half the Entrian nation, you must all hide in the shadows simply to stay alive. It is the farthest thing from justice I can imagine. On the other hand . . . I also can’t help feeling this will come to good somehow. Perhaps for us all.” She chuckled. “Or perhaps it’s only the ravings of a silly old woman.”
He shook his head. “You’ve done more than we can ever hope to repay.”
“Oh, I very much doubt that’s true. That fence alone would’ve cost me more than I care to think about. Now, I know you are anxious to be on your way, but there is no cause for you to move on if you’re worried for your safety. Sparrowhaven is well-protected, as would your identities be, and you are more than welcome to stay.”
