Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 6

  “That’s it!” shouted a farmer near the back. “The law that’s been broken.”

  “This was the predominant suggestion among the Council,” said Chief Torin. “Others, theft and such, also arose, but appear symptoms rather than the root of our problems.”

  “Those crimes only began after Lyssanne abandoned her duties,” said Ratomer.

  Stares and whispers focused on Lyssanne, and a space widened around her.

  “Abandoned?” Lyssanne said, her voice raspy. “What are you saying?”

  “You’ve broken the Fifth Law,” Ratomer said. “You are guilty of sloth.”

  Lyssanne stared at the councilman. “Sloth?” Surely she’d misheard.

  “You haven’t performed your duties in fifteen moons,” said Councilman Torin.

  “I’ve been ill!” Heat flooded her face, as she turned to Aderyn’s father. “You know me,” she said, forcing a calm tone. It wouldn’t do to let anger rule her tongue while addressing the Council. “You all know me. Never have I shirked duties or tasks, even when they were difficult.” She paused for breath. “If I had, I could never have accomplished anything.”

  “Everyone gets headaches,” said Madam Nettleworth, her face growing less distinct. “If I stopped bailing hay every time I have a wee pain in the head, my animals would starve.”

  “But I’ve tried—”

  “Your illness has ended, has it not, Lyssanne?” asked Councilman Torin.

  “The pain is no longer as constant or severe, but it hasn’t ceased altogether.”

  “Doubtless a curse laid upon you by the King,” said Madam Nettleworth. “He knows the hidden truths of the heart.” She turned to the Council. “Girl’s been lazy all along, playin’ with children like some lady of leisure.”

  “Leisure?” Madam Sewell snorted. “Herding children’s not as easy as slopping pigs.”

  “She just got used to not doin’ anything, sick for so long,” a woman said.

  “I’m glad she isn’t watchin’ over my boys anymore,” said Aderyn’s brother, Adalbin. “Those stories she was always tellin’ filled their heads with fancy ideas and foolish dreams. They talk nonsense about leavin’ the village and havin’ adventures!”

  “Yeah, she poisoned their minds against our customs,” said a stout man several feet away, “ones that have been good enough for Cloistervale since our ancestors rid us of the Oppressors. Why, my boy says he doesn’t want to be a farmer!” He shook his fist at Lyssanne. “What’s want got to do with it? I’m a farmer, he’ll be a farmer.”

  “She’s brought disaster down upon our heads!” Mr. Riles shouted. “And if we let it continue, we’re just as guilty.”

  “She’s already suffering punishment,” said Madam Nettleworth. “Fer lolling away her time with frivolous reading and such.”

  “Not even Mistress Evlia knows what caused the illness,” Lyssanne said.

  Madam Nettleworth huffed. “You squander what the King’s given you, it’s bound to displease Him.”

  “He wouldn’t do such a thing.” Lyssanne hugged her arms and shivered.

  “Now, you claim to know the mind of the King!” a woman shouted. “Blasphemy!”

  “No, of course not, but the Kingsword says—”

  “Enough!” Councilman Torin rapped his cobbler’s mallet against the table.

  No one was listening. Chatter and haze swirled around Lyssanne, building into a frenzy.

  “The poor dear has attempted several trades,” Madam Sewell said. “Last week, she nearly collapsed helping Mr. Whiskin at the bakery. She just hasn’t found anything she’s suited to.”

  “More like nothing suits her high-minded taste,” said Madam Nettleworth, her voice dripping venom and her body engulfed in shadow.

  “’Tis the fog again,” Lyssanne said. “You would not say such things, else.”

  “Trying to deflect blame, girl?” said Madam Nettleworth.

  “Can you not feel it?” Lyssanne glanced around. “Can none of you see it?”

  “She’s gone daft!” a man shouted.

  “Making up phantoms to excuse her sloth, more like,” Mr. Riles said.

  “She isn’t making anything up.” Aderyn squeezed between two women and stepped to Lyssanne’s side. “She’s seen this fog thing for months.”

  “And this is the first we hear of it?” asked Councilman Ratomer. “Convenient.”

  “Explain,” Aderyn’s father said in a calmer tone.

  “Well, there was…” Aderyn turned to Lyssanne as is seeking release from her promise.

  “Willem,” Lyssanne said. “At Aderyn’s wedding. She’d declined his offer of marriage, you see, and…” Under the weight of Aderyn’s stare, she had to fight back tears. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Had I spoken sooner, Kevan—"

  “You dare accuse me?” Willem’s voice boomed from the back of the hall. “Of what?”

  “I accuse no one,” Lyssanne said. “I merely answer the Council as to what I’ve seen.”

  “Yes, let us discuss that wedding,” said Councilman Ratomer. “You stood as Pillar of the Marriage, did you not? Dropped the ceremonial pole during the vows.”

  “Ill omen, that,” an old woman said. “Didn’t I say as much then?”

  “Ridiculous,” said Aderyn, one hand pressed to her stomach. “She’s brought us only joy and prosperity. Her encouragement got Kevan started in his new woodcarving trade.”

  “Oh, and how did that turn out?” asked his mother. “Your fields and house burned, and my Kevan, dead!”

  The light in the hall dimmed, and Lyssanne rubbed her arms for warmth as blood beat against her temples. “You can’t possibly think me responsible for that.”

  “She’s cursed!” said a reedy voice. “Everything she touches goes foul. Just look what happened to her own poor father—and Brianne, dying so young.”

  “Hoola gah ri!” Mr. DeLivre shouted. “This is foolish talk. She wasn’t even born when Lysander’s forge exploded!”

  Had the townsfolk known how colorfully Mr. DeLivre had just insulted them, they would have doubtless called him into judgment beside Lyssanne.

  “Th-there’s another sacred law she’s broken,” said Madam Blythe.

  “Which law is this?” asked Councilman Torin.

  “Self-importance.”

  “Preposterous!” said Mr. DeLivre.

  “Truly, and worse, she has involved the children. They call her lady…Lady Lyssanne.”

  “No, it isn’t like that.” Lyssanne said, wiping moisture from her eyes. Everyone, everything, remained blurred through a sheen of tears and darkness. “It is just a game they play, a name of affection they gave me. I never…”

  The noise of the crowd drowned out her words, the frenzy rising to a frightening pitch. Her shoulders bowed like metal that had been drawn from a fire then thrust into icy water. Such an act would shatter un-tempered steel, and she feared she was made of even less durable stuff.

  “This is a serious charge,” Councilman Torin said, his voice booming above the clamor. “Not only does elevation of self contravene our most basic ideals of equality, it is against the laws of Lastarra to present oneself above one’s station. If the queen’s man heard even a child address you as a noblewoman, you could be sentenced to prison, or even death. The royal court would not care that it was a game.”

  “Worse still,” said Councilman Ratomer, “it would bring too much notice to us. For years, the royal house has allowed us to govern our valley as we see fit, but if such an incident were brought to Queen Stella’s attention, she might reestablish an overlord in Cloistervale.”

  The entire hall gasped.

  “And if she is seein’ a fog ‘round people right before trouble happens,” Mr. Irvin said, “perhaps she’s causing it.”

  “Sorcery!” someone shouted.

  “What’s to be done?” asked Mr. Murrough.

  “The penalty for sorcery is death,” Mr. Riles said.

  Lyssanne’s vision lurched, and
Aderyn caught her elbow.

  Aderyn’s father held up a hand, and the crowd hushed. “We have no proof of sorcery. The only certainty is crimes against the Fifth Law. Like a fever, sloth can infect an entire village. So, the offender,”—he looked at Lyssanne—“must be removed. Permanently.”

  “R-removed?” Aderyn said.

  “As in banishment.”

  “Leave?” Lyssanne’s voice squeaked. “Wh-where would I go?”

  “That is not our concern.”

  Aderyn’s voice shook. “But, Father, she’s ill. She—”

  “You can’t!” Jarad shouted from the rear of the room. “She…she won’t survive!”

  “Remove that boy from the hall!” Councilman Ratomer shouted. “No children allowed.”

  As the door slammed, drowning out Jarad’s shouts, Lyssanne turned to Councilman Torin. “You always say families take care of their own.”

  “I am not your family, girl. Your father left no living kin, and your mother—”

  “Was an outsider!” Ratomer shouted, spitting the word.

  Lyssanne flinched as if spittle might reach her all the way from the dais. “But you are…Cloistervale is my family. You said so at Mother’s graveside.” Recalling the chief councilman’s exact words suddenly seemed the most important task of her life. “You said, ‘When one member of a body suffers, all suffer. If a foot is injured, the other members must take up the lack until it recovers.’”

  He sat motionless as stone, voiceless for the first time in Lyssanne’s memory.

  “And if that foot is infected with gangrene,” said Ratomer, “you…cut…it…off!”

  “The Council shall hold a vote,” Aderyn’s father said, holding up a strip of bark. “White side, innocent, Lyssanne stays. Brown side…” He didn’t need to finish.

  Lyssanne’s gaze swept the councilmen. Oh, if only she could see as others did. If she could have looked each in the eye, perhaps they would recognize the truth in hers. “Please…”

  Fire roared in her ears, though ice coursed through her veins as, one by one, the councilmen placed their pieces of bark in a box before Aderyn’s father.

  The ground shifted beneath her. No one took notice. The world was shaken, and only she could see. Ironic, that.

  The pounding of the gavel was a blow that all but knocked her to the floor.

  4

  Shattered Light

  “Exile!”

  The word filled the hall—pressed into every corner, beneath every surface, around every beam—leaving no room for air. Lyssanne’s stomach fell into her feet, and the Council swam before her eyes.

  “Lyssanne E. Caelestis,” Aderyn’s father said, “by decree of this Council, you are hereby commanded to vacate your home and leave Cloistervale—never to return.”

  The ringing in Lyssanne’s ears grew deafening, yet his every word boomed distinct.

  “Sentence to be carried out in one week.” The chief councilman gestured to encompass the room. “Citizens, Lyssanne of Rowan Hill is henceforth shunned from our midst. She has seven days to trade for provisions, but outside those transactions, she no longer exists among us.”

  The gavel pounded again, and someone announced the close of the meeting. Lyssanne could not move, could not think. She hardly breathed.

  A loud sob wrenched her from her frozen state. Had the cry issued from her own throat? But no, Aderyn uttered another, quieter, sob as she struggled against Madam Torin’s attempts to usher her away from the dais.

  Lyssanne stumbled to the council table, which, resting on its platform, stood level with her nose. She stepped onto the thin strip of dais in front of Aderyn’s father. Her voice quavered. “Please, you must help me.”

  His head jerked up. “Lyssanne…”

  “You can’t let them do this,” she whispered. “You know these charges can’t be true.”

  Why was he shaking his head? “It is done. The decision was not mine alone.”

  “But you could speak for me. On your word, they would surely reconsider.”

  “Even if I could…” He sighed. “As much as it pains me, I am not entirely convinced they’re wrong.”

  What was he saying? “Sorcery? You can’t possibly think…” She took a slow breath. “You’re like an uncle to me. I’ve slept in your home, dined at your table.”

  “Not sorcery,” he murmured. “Such is foolishness.”

  “Please,” she said. “I—I know I’m not good at things…things other women find easy to do, but sloth?”

  “For months I’ve watched, hoping you would get yourself together,” he said. “You have not.” His voice softened. “I partly blame myself for that. I favored you. We all sheltered you because we’ve pitied your…condition.”

  “I never wanted your pity.” Nausea rose into her throat at the very thought. “All I ever desired was to live a useful life.” Her voice trembled along with the rest of her body. “People assumed I wouldn’t be able to do things,” she said, “cooking and…things, because of…” She waved a hand in front of her eyes then smacked it onto the table. “My life has never been easy, but I always found a way. Maybe a different way from others’, but one that worked. You know this. You’ve seen me struggle.”

  But had he? Had anyone ever truly realized the time and effort simple tasks required of her? Or had she been so skilled in adapting, her self-sufficiency masked its cost?

  “No one disputes your past accomplishments.” He snatched up the box of bark fragments and pushed back his chair. “That only makes your present inaction worse.”

  “Please!” She couldn’t let him leave like this. “I’ll do whatever you wish.” She gestured to the rest of the table. “Whatever work they want. Anything. I’ll…I’ll find a way.” She didn’t know how she could do more than she already had, but she would try if it cost her last breath. “Just give me a chance.”

  “Lyssanne, it is too late for that. The word of the Council is final.”

  “But—”

  “Save your strength for the days ahead. The King knows, you’re going to need it.” He stood. “Go home, get your affairs in order, and may the King grant you mercy.” He turned away.

  Mr. DeLivre strode toward her, but Councilman Ratomer barred his way.

  “Gierre, you heard the verdict. That girl is to be shunned.”

  “But this is ridiculous!”

  “You chose to live here,” Ratomer said, “so you must obey our laws. If you wish to remain.”

  Mr. DeLivre peered around Ratomer’s restraining arm. “Very well, but I shall record my objections in the chronicles. This is not the last you will hear from me.” He stomped off, colliding with Madam Sewell in his haste.

  Madam Sewell! Perhaps she could reason with the Council. But when Lyssanne drew nearer, the weaver shook her head, wiped her eyes, and turned away.

  Hers was the friendliest response Lyssanne received. Her briefest glance prompted turned backs and icy silence. Even Mr. Whiskin and Madam Murrough withdrew at her approach.

  “I’m sorry,” Lyssanne said in a small voice. “I never wanted to be a burden.”

  Dizziness overtook her, and her knees buckled. She sank onto the edge of the dais. For what seemed hours, her surroundings faded into a jumble of noise and nothingness. ’Twas as if, as the Council had decreed, she’d ceased to be.

  Noire dug his talons into a branch at the edge of the wood behind Rowan Hill Cottage. Sent once again to peer in windows like a common thief! At least the dove hadn’t bothered him.

  Like she had since the town meeting, the little pest remained indoors, her violet eyes fixed on Lyssanne as if the girl were an egg waiting to hatch. Could the dove sense Lyssanne’s distress, or was she, like Noire, avoiding the Mist?

  Venefica’s favored weapon lay like a malevolent second skin over the little stone house, yet the Shadow Mist hadn’t penetrated the once tidy interior. Noire’s tree afforded him an excellent view through both rear windows of the cottage, each flung wide as if the Mist re
ndered the air within those shrouded walls as oppressive as it did its victims’ spirits.

  Why hadn’t Lyssanne used her strange magic to dispel the Mist? Perhaps she didn’t yet know how to control it. Or had she used it unawares? Her Light certainly hadn’t saved her from the sentence Venefica had orchestrated. Still, if she survived, she was sure to learn of its existence in due course. Noire didn’t want to be near if ever she did.

  Light or Shadow, magic was magic.

  Lyssanne passed her kitchen window, sorting items into piles, some to trade and others to take with her. As she worked, she held a one-sided conversation with the dove.

  “Too heavy,” she muttered, placing a large cooking pot on her overcrowded dining table. “I must bring at least one pan, assuming I can find anything to cook in the wild.” Sighing, she glanced toward her kitchen counter. “If only I could hunt like you, Serena. Had I even a measure of your swiftness and keen vision, I might h-have a…chance.” She closed her eyes and clamped her lips shut, then pulled out the only unburdened chair and sat, elbows on knees, chin in hands. “How shall I have the strength to carry all this?”

  How, indeed, when even the walk to the village left her weak-kneed and winded? Perhaps Venefica’s plan would succeed in ways Noire hadn’t envisioned. As the boy Jarad had said, Lyssanne would doubtless be dead within the month.

  Lyssanne at last abandoned her ransacked kitchen to rummage through her bedchamber’s armoire. She pulled out several blankets and plopped them onto her bed, selecting only two for her journey.

  “Where shall I sleep, Serena?” she asked, tracing the delicate pattern sewn into her pale blue coverlet. Tears splashed onto the hand-stitched cloth as she lifted a pillow and cradled it against her cheek. “Where will I go?” Her voice hitched, and she stared at the fluffy pillow. “I don’t suppose I should…” She sighed, replaced it on the bed, and turned to her meager assortment of clothing.

  Her fingers grazed the four gowns hanging above a single pair of shoes in her wardrobe, then she withdrew a folded bit of cloth from the upper shelf. She shook out the shawl, the one she’d worn to her friend’s wedding and to every weekly ceremony honoring their fabled King.