Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (18 page)

“It is a fallacy of tradition to claim as truth what is merely labeled as true,” Adria said, regretful she did not remember enough of the Somanan to speak the original. “I have no doubt that, were we given twelve fingers, the Doctrine would hold twelve key tenets, and likely name them Twelvents instead.”

It was among the next Sister tutor’s duties to educated Adria in the Natural Order of life, at least in some small way which was already overshadowed by what Adria had learned from Aeman and Somanan anatomical texts.

What knowledge Adria could glean from drawings of animal dissections and descriptions of their cycles of life led her to many more human questions, and especially the nature of her own life and lineage. But her ability to ask such questions was limited.

It was, Adria knew, easier to know a child’s mother than father. Motherhood is an obvious quality, proved by habitation in the womb, but fatherhood, Adria had come to suspect, could be kept secret. Adria had marveled, then, that her father was so obviously known to her, and yet her mother’s existence and name had remained a mystery.

There were rumors, of course, and Adria had once assumed Taber to be her mother. But as she grew, “Matron” seemed more and more an honorary title, and did not seem to apply to Adria’s relationship with the Matriarch specifically. Many called her thus, and Adria had no illusion that the Matriarch held any particular affections or affiliation for her beyond their respective status. Like in her nanny’s stories, the Matriarch had even taken on somewhat fairytale qualities in Adria’s imagination, a relative omniscience, and servants’ whispers did little to assuage this fear.

Regardless, Adria had already made some real attempts to ascertain her own lineage, requesting books or records she suspected to have such information. But even as the daughter of the king, she felt closely restricted at times, and most of these requests were summarily denied by the Temple librarian, or perhaps even Matron Taber herself.

The Sisters were generally unapproachable about such matters, though they often had little qualms about proclaiming their own parentage, not to mention anticipating the time when they would, if selected, become mothers in turn. It had never been specifically stated by Matron Taber, at least as far as Adria knew, but it was nonetheless assumed by the Sisterhood that one among them would birth, or perhaps had already birthed, the One-Who-Will-Come.

Adria, once convinced of this new Sister tutor’s unwillingness or inability to reveal Adria’s mother, decided to choose this presumption for her irreverence.

“How will we know the One-Who-Will-Come?” Adria asked, though she already knew the answer, in all its vagueness.

“We will know the One-Who-Will-Come by deed and by action, by the order he brings to the world.” It was not an exact recitation, Adria recognized. This Sister was already a little lax.

“And it is quite possible that The One is born already?”

“Well, perhaps…” the Sister said, already uncomfortable.

“Will Her Matron not recognize The One? Is this not why the Sisterhood keeps records of every birth?”

The Sister did not reply for some time, though she seemed to be framing an answer as best she could.

Adria pressed on, nonetheless. “I think that The One is not born, and this is why the Sisterhood keep their records, and why Sisters are permitted to bear children, even though they cannot marry.”

Such thoughts were discouraged, of course, much less such words. But Adria was undaunted, and again did not give pause enough for the Sister to speak.

“Perhaps you will be mother to The One,” Adria suggested. “And then she and I can play together, and learn our Tenets, so we’ll be certain not to disappoint the Matriarch and my father.”

Adria was not certain
why
these ideas were offensive, but she hoped so, and now could easily see discomfiture. The Sister’s face had grown taut, her mouth opened without speaking, and Adria pressed her advantage even further.

“One curiosity, though,” Adria sighed, smiling. “If Matron Taber is certain of the benefit of The One’s birth, then why does she not bear a child herself?”

That was the last day for this particular Sister to teach Adria. She had lasted three days, and her replacement was, fortunately, a better academic, a bit more inclined to allow Adria to dictate her own path through the many books and scrolls of the Temple, and far less likely to shrivel in the face of impiety.

But Adria was never shown a single image of her family tree. Sometimes its branches grew and twisted through her dreams, their white leaves falling to ashes, poison fruit shadowing the surface of the water above.

Adria sighed to herself, still staring at the faceless statue shadowing her body and her life. She pushed aside her reawakening memories, guilty from the pride of her childhood self which they revealed.

Mateko and Sh
í
sha are right,
she smiled.
I am still a little spoiled.

And she walked a slow full circle around the statue and into the light, examining it for any further clue to the more recent thoughts of the Matriarch and her Sisterhood. At the far side, she noticed that the folds of its robed arms fell about the form of an unsheathed sword, almost concealed by the robes about the figure’s legs.

Despite its shadowy stone concealment, the sword was unmistakably that of her father, a sword he had not wielded for many years, and which was said to be held in secret trust for his unnamed heir.

Adria shuddered, to think of it passing to Hafgrim.
Or even worse, to me...

She shifted, then, so that the sword fell back into shadow, and she whispered,
“Some things are better left in future, invisible.”

As Adria made her way across the field and to the keep, two Sisters approached hurriedly from the High Temple to her left. They were novices, having recently changed their green robes for black, but still wearing a green sash to mark their lesser status.

Adria stopped and awaited them, now quite certain that she was expected.

“I would speak with Her Matron,” Adria commanded, before the lead novice could open her mouth.

The girl stopped suddenly, blinked several times, and half turned to the other novice before answering, cautiously, “I am… afraid that it is impossible for you to see the Matriarch at present.”

Adria chose to dismiss the lack of formality for the moment. “Is not your Matriarch Chancellor of this citadel, this city, and indeed this nation?”

The girl nodded. She was of an age with Adria, but seemed somehow so… slight. “She… is.”

“And is she present in this citadel?”

“Yes...”

“And you know my name?”

“Of… of course,” the Sister hesitated.

Adria retorted swiftly, “Then, I would remind you that I am required, as tradition dictates, to visit the chancellor upon my arrival. Conversely, and perhaps obviously, she is obliged to attend me in turn.”

The second novice had come forward, and attempted to rescue her Sister from the situation. “You have been gone some time,” she said coolly. “You must understand that there is a protocol now. You cannot simply enter Her Holy Matron’s presence unannounced.”

“I had no such thought,” Adria smiled blandly. “I assumed you would announce me. Or has protocol changed to such degree that I must announce myself?”

“I will… make your… presence known, of course,” the novice parsed and paced her words.

Again, with the excess care,
Adria thought.
It is obvious that I was expected, and yet they have no idea what to expect of me. No idea what I have become.

And this gave her a thought.

“Indeed,” the girl had continued. “Your apartments remain intact, and I would be pleased if you would wait in your rooms, to be sent for if…”

“Address me,” Adria interrupted. She was being challenged for the first time, she realized — challenged by Taber, but through the curtain of her underlings. Adria would not show weakness now, not when she had fought against the Sisterhood and the Knights for three years.

The novice blinked several times, a first small break in her composure.

“Unless my memory fails,” Adria continued with a sigh. “I am the daughter of your king. Whether or not I am announced to your mistress, the councilor and Matriarch, you will address me with all due respect and formality. This is a protocol which I am
certain
has not changed, no matter how much or how little time I have been away.”

The novice Sisters reddened, and the stronger one opened and shut her mouth twice before producing any words.

“My… Lady….” she began finally. Adria gave her a chance to finish now, but the girl faltered.

“Novice,” Adria smiled again, with a little more warmth, but with no less resolution. “Upon the third level of the High Temple lies a scriptorium, perhaps a hundred yards from where we stand. Within it lie the records of every birth and every death known to the Sisterhood. Given this, I have no doubt that therein, should you or Her Holy Matron choose to look, is a certain record of my birth, and at least one of my parents included. I know my father yet lives, and rules this nation in name if little else, and has chosen to pass that name to me, a name which carries a title you and the Matriarch would do well to remember. Does your memory and understanding serve you thus as well?”

The novice merely nodded, mutely. She had clearly not expected such strength of resistance.

“Excellent,” Adria smiled, with all the coolness she could manage. “Then you will remember my words and my title, and will repeat them to Matron Taber as you announce me.”

“Leave us,” Matron Taber said to both her own attendants and the young Sisters now flanking Adria. Taber’s eyes were closed, her hands folded in thought or prayer. She animated only a little when all had gone, opening her eyes directly upon Adria, who now stood within the silver inlay star at the center of the expanse of the Great Hall of the keep.

The shuffling of the Sisters’ slippers fell to silence, and Adria could now hear her own heartbeat, finding herself uncharacteristically breathless, though she bent the entirety of her will to hiding it. The confidence she had felt with the Novices had vanished utterly. Still, she would be the first to speak, but not before a count of five breaths.