Blood Song (Raven's Shadow #1)

Blood Song (Raven's Shadow #1) Page 43

“Pupil, Aspect?”

“Yes. We served together on the north eastern border, years ago. On quiet days I would teach the brothers of the Sixth relaxation and pain control techniques. It was a way to pass the time. Brother Sollis was always the most attentive.”

They knew each other, they served together. The idea of them even conversing felt incredible but an Aspect would never lie. “I am grateful for Master Sollis’s wisdom, Aspect.” It seemed the safest reply.

His eyes flicked to the drawing again, and she glanced at it over her shoulder. “A remarkable work don’t you think? A gift from Master Benril Lenial of the Third Order. He spent a week here drawing the sick and the recently expired, he said he wished to paint a picture that would capture the suffering of the soul. Preparatory work for his fresco commemorating the Red Hand. Of course we were happy to allow access and when he was done he gifted his sketches to our Order. I use them to teach the novice brothers and sisters the secrets of the body. The illustrations in our older books lack the same clarity.”

She turned back. “You did well this morning. I feel the other brothers and sisters learned much from your example. The sight of blood didn’t concern you? Make you feel ill or faint?”

Was she joking? “I am accustomed to the sight of blood, Aspect.”

Her gaze clouded for a second before her customary smile returned. “I cannot tell you how much it gladdens my heart to see how strong you’ve grown and that compassion is not absent from your soul. But I must know, why have you come here?”

He couldn’t lie, not to her. “I thought you might provide answers to my questions.”

“And what questions are these?”

There seemed little point in vagary. “When did my father sire a bastard? Why was I sent to the Sixth Order? Why did assassins seek my death during the Test of the Run?”

She closed her eyes, her face impassive, breathing regular and even. She stayed that way for several minutes and Vaelin wondered if she was going to speak again. Then he saw it, a single tear snaking down her cheek. Pain control techniques, he thought.

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. “I regret I cannot answer your questions, Vaelin. Be assured that your service here is welcome. I believe you will learn much. Please report to Sister Sherin in the west wing.”

Sister Sherin was the young woman who had assisted the Aspect in the tiled room. He found her wrapping bandages around the waist of the wounded man in a room off the west wing corridor. The man’s skin had an unhealthy grey pallor and a sheen of sweat covered his flesh but his breathing seemed regular and he didn’t appear to be in any pain.

“Will he live?” Vaelin asked her.

“I expect so.” Sister Sherin secured the bandage in place with a clasp and washed her hands in a water basin. “Although, service in this Order teaches us that death can often deny our expectations. Take those.” She nodded at a pile of bloodstained clothes lying in the corner. “They need to be cleaned. He’ll need something to wear when he leaves here. The laundry is in the south wing.”

“Laundry?”

“Yes.” She faced him with the smallest of smiles. Although he fought it, Vaelin found himself taking note of her form. She was slender, the dark curls of her hair tied back, her face displaying a youthful prettiness but her eyes somehow bespoke a wealth of experience well beyond her years. Her lips formed the words with precision, “The laundry.”

He was discomfited by her, preoccupied with the curve of her cheekbones and the shape of her lips, the brightness of her eyes, relishing confrontation. He quickly gathered the clothes and went to find the laundry. He was relieved to find he wasn’t required to wash the clothes himself and, after Sister Sherin’s cool reception, somewhat taken aback by the welcome he received from the brothers and sisters in the steam filled laundry room.

“Brother Vaelin!” boomed a large bear-like man, his hair covered chest beaded with sweat. His hand felt like a hammer on Vaelin’s back. “I’ve waited ten years for a brother from the Sixth to come through our doors and when we finally get one it’s their most famous son.”

“I am pleased to be here brother,” Vaelin assured him. “I have to clean these clothes…”

“Oh tosh.” The clothes were torn from his grasp and tossed into one of the large stone baths where the laundry workers laboured. “We’ll do that. Come and meet everyone.”

The big man turned out to be a master, not a brother. His name was Harin and when he wasn’t taking his turn in the laundry he taught the novices the finer points of bones. “Bones, master?”

“Yes, m’boy. Bones. How they work, how they fit together. How to mend them. I’ve snapped more arms back into sockets than I can remember. It’s all in the wrist. I’ll teach you before you leave, if I don’t break your arm first.” He laughed, the sound easily filling the cavernous chamber.

The rest of the brothers and sisters gathered round to greet Vaelin and he found himself assailed with numerous names and faces, all of whom displayed a disconcerting enthusiasm for his presence, as well a plethora of questions.

“Tell us, brother,” one brother said, a thin man named Curlis, “is it true your swords are made from star silver?”

“A myth, brother,” Vaelin told him remembering to keep Master Jestin’s secret. “Our swords are finely made, but of plain steel only.”

“Do you they really make you live in the wilds?” a young sister asked, a plump girl called Henna.

“Only for ten days. It’s one of our tests.”

“They make you leave if you fail, don’t they?”

“If you live that long.” It was Sister Sherin, standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “That’s right isn’t brother? Many of your brothers die in the tests? Boys as young as eleven years old.”

“A hard life requires hard training,” Vaelin replied. “Our tests prepare us for our role in defending the Faith and the Realm.”

She raised an eyebrow. “If Master Harin doesn’t need to prolong your presence here the teaching room needs mopping.”

And so he mopped the teaching room. He also mopped all the rooms in the west wing. When he was done she had him boil a mixture of pure spirit and water and soak the metal implements the Aspect had used to treat the young man’s wound. She told him it eradicated infection. The rest of the day was spent in similar endeavours, cleaning, mopping, scrubbing. His hands were tough but he soon found them chaffing with the work, the flesh red from soap and scrubbing by the time Sister Sherin told him he could go and eat.

“When do I learn how to heal?” he asked. She was in the teaching room, laying out a variety of instruments on a white cloth. He had spent two hours cleaning them and they shone brightly in the light from the overhead window.

“You don’t,” she replied, not looking up. “You get to work. If I think you won’t get in the way I’ll let you watch when I tend to someone.”

A variety of responses flickered through his mind, some caustic, some clever, but all certain to make him sound like a petulant child. “As you wish, sister. What hour do you require me?”

“We start at the fifth hour here.” She gave a conspicuous sniff. “Before reporting for work you are expected to wash thoroughly, which should help diminish your rather pungent aroma. Don’t they wash in the Sixth Order?”

“Every three days we swim in the river. It’s very cold, even in summer.”

She said nothing, placing a strange looking implement on the cloth: two parallel blades fastened by a screw device.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Rib spreader. It allows access to the heart.”

“The heart?”

“Sometimes the beat of a heart will stop and can be recommenced by gentle massage.”

He looked at her hands, slim fingers moving with measured precision. “You can do this?”

She shook her head. “I’ve yet to learn such skills. The Aspect can though, she can do most things.”

“She’ll teach you one day.”

She glanced up at him, her expression wary. “You should eat, brother.”

“You’re not eating?”

“I take my meals later than the others. I have more work to do here.”

“Then I’ll stay. We can eat together.”

She barely paused in scrubbing at a steel basin. “I prefer to eat alone, thank you.”

He stopped a sigh of exasperation before it escaped his mouth. “As you wish.”

There were more questions at mealtime, more intense curiosity almost making him wish for Sister Sherin’s disinterest. The masters of the Fifth Order ate with their students so he sat with Master Harin amongst a group of novice brothers and sisters. He was surprised by the variety in the ages of the novices at the table, the youngest little more than fourteen whilst the oldest clearly in his fifties.

“People often come to our Order later in life,” Master Harin explained. “I didn’t join until my thirty-second year. Was in the Realm Guard before then, Thirtieth Regiment of Foot, the Bloody Boars. You've heard of them no doubt.”

“Their renown does them credit, master, ” Vaelin lied, never having heard of such a regiment. “How long has Sister Sherin been here?”