Stained Glass Monsters

Chapter Three

Romantic ninnies were profitable. A whole sennith, just for a couple of hours' walk. Even with the crowds come for the White Lady, Kendall wouldn’t earn a quarter that in a week, which made it worth risking leaving her garden unguarded. And the hosteller hadn’t charged her nearly five petthine to spend the night, either.

The only bad thing about the sudden trip to Morebly had been the arrival of a coach complete with outriders, which had passed Kendall just as she joined the drift of gawkers heading out of Falk. It had taken all her will to press on without waiting to see the new arrivals, or at least try and get a better look at the crest embossed on the door. But interesting strangers weren’t worth the chance of not making Morebly before the sun set, and being outside a circle after dark.

She’d set out as early as she dared on the return trip, hoping the coach would still be around, but of course the sun was well up before the familiar roofs of home came into view. The crowds were already building, even so early. Kendall was just thinking about how the Mayor had said the White Lady was the best thing to happen to Falk when she realised something was wrong.

No chatter. Instead a low murmur tinged with shock, with the air of carnival totally gone. People weren’t queued at the stalls, or waiting in line to enter the Green. They were crowded five-deep around the rope circle, staring at something to their right.

Wriggling through, Kendall caught her breath. The Back Green had sunk! And the trees on the far side had been knocked down. The White Lady was still there, not looking at all different except for being about a foot lower than she’d been yesterday. Kendall could see a line marking the circle where the heaviness above her had ended. But now – Kendall copied the person next to her and held out a hand. The weird force which pinned the White Lady to the Green had moved all the way out…here.

Kendall finally looked right, to the line of flattened plants, smashed fences, and splintered wood.

"No–!"

Forcing her way wildly through the crowd, she ran past strangers standing in familiar yards, and slammed straight into that invisible weight. She fell forward and lay there, a crushed, panting bug, staring at the trampled gardens, and flattened remains of a small garden shed which was everything she had in this world.

"Kendall!"

Harry Lippon. He pulled her backward out of heaviness and clutched at her, face all eyes. "You weren’t – you’re – you’re… Where have you been, Kendall?"

But Kendall had no time for Harry Lippon. Jerking away, she surveyed the remains of her home. It was only a few feet in, the wreckage fanned out in a spray toward the outside of the circle. There were people standing in her gardens, but she didn’t see that she’d be able to get them out.

"I’ve got to get my stuff," she said, determinedly.

"Stubborn brat," said a hoarse voice. Ma Lippon, arms folded across her massive chest. "Should have known you’d turn up in one piece."

Kendall lifted her chin mutinously. She wasn’t going to let Ma Lippon get her claws in her, just because – just because…

"Ay-eh, and here I was thinking I’d never enjoy that black glare again." Ma Lippon reached out and tousled Kendall’s hair in the way Kendall particularly hated. As if she was some toothless babe, some puppy too stupid to take care of itself.

"When did it happen?" Kendall asked, stepping out of reach.

"Just on dawn. Where were you, girl? One of the Sentene went in and checked for your body, and no-one knew what to make of it when he couldn’t find you. Thought you’d been swallowed up by the Devourer himself."

"Morebly. Just a delivery." Kendall shrugged irritably, trying to think what she could do now. Get her stuff, yes, but what then? She wouldn’t let Ma Lippon take her over, like she’d been itching to do these past two years. She– "Did you say Sentene?"

"Three of them," Harry said, with a glance at the crowd gathering around his mother. "They arrived yesterday afternoon."

That must have been who was in the coach. Sentene were monster hunters, special soldiers whose job it was to get rid of the nastiest of the Night Roamers. They were said to be all mages or sword-masters or both, and for three of them to come see the White Lady meant she must be particularly – what? A monster?

Kendall glared at the centre of the Green. Nothing good, anyway. Not from where Kendall was standing. Snorting, she went as close as she could to the remains of her shed. Her savings were hidden by the remains of Gran’s house, but she wanted her clothes, and the few precious things she’d salvaged from the fire.

It wasn’t an easy thing. Even taking one step into the heaviness was enough to put Kendall on her knees, and holding out a rake to try and claw some of the debris out of the circle was even harder. But she found herself with many helpers, and it turned into a competition between the strongest men of the village and the visitors to see who could cross a few feet of wood-spattered grass and pick up a piece of clothing. Showing off, but she had to be glad of them.

Soon enough she had a battered collection, and retreated away from the crowds to the back wall of Gran’s ruined house to sort out what was still of any use. She set herself right next to a certain brick and, double-checking that no-one was near, dug in the dirt beneath until she found a small tin. Normally she wouldn’t risk carrying her savings about, but things were too strange right now, so she quickly stuffed the tin into her big carry-bag.

Kendall had just picked up the tattered remains of her favourite shirt when a step right behind her made her start. Someone had been watching–? She turned hurriedly and found herself eye-to-eye with the hem of a long black coat. Staring upwards, her eyes widened as she found curling lines of red and gold tracing their way up to the instantly recognisable image of a golden bird, small and elegant, head looking back over its shoulder at the great flaming tail pouring down the coat’s front. The Phoenix of the Montjustes, the symbol only worn by the Queens' men.

There wasn’t much else she could see. The coat was all-enveloping, covering even the hands, with an outsized round collar so high and wide Kendall couldn’t even glimpse the face from this angle. It was like the coat itself had walked up behind her.

"Do you have time for a few words?"

The voice was a woman’s, reassuringly ordinary, and Kendall nodded, feeling a little less like she was about to be turned into a frog or something. When the Sentene turned and walked away it took her a moment to realise she was expected to follow. Pausing to grab up her bag left Kendall far enough behind so that she could see the top of the woman’s head. Carroty-red hair, not at all the proper colour for a soldier who hunted Night Roamers.

Conscious of the interest of the crowds, Kendall trailed the Sentene to Micajah’s Hostelry. The coach she’d seen the previous evening was sitting out front, and one of the outriders, dressed in dark brown and burnt orange, stood by the door so that everyone would know who was inside.

The Hostelry had been full to overflowing the previous day, but it seemed the Sentene had turned everyone out. Kendall followed the woman through the silent entry-hall into the taproom to the right, eyes widening in awed interest. All the tables had been drawn back to the walls and a woman in a dark travelling dress was kneeling in the middle of a complex circle of weird writing chalked on the well-swept floor. Magic. The very idea made Kendall’s nose itch.

"Here’s your stray, Captain," said the Sentene woman, as Kendall belatedly noticed there was a third person in the room, standing near the far door. A man this time, lost in the gloom so that only the Phoenix was properly visible.

"Put her in the corner for now," the man said, and Kendall shivered. His voice was strange, whispery and thinned out. Definitely creepy.

What did they mean by your stray? What had she done that Sentene wanted to talk to her about anyway? But still, this was ten times more interesting than anything she’d read in the newssheets, so Kendall obediently took herself to a chair in the corner and joined the other two in watching the woman kneeling in the circle.

She looked totally out of place on Micajah’s floor. Her dress wasn’t fancy but it was quality, and her iron-shot black hair was braided up in a way that Kendall couldn’t imagine spending the time over. She wasn’t doing anything much, just kneeling there with her eyes closed and her hands held loosely at her sides. But the air felt thick, and made Kendall want to sneeze. It was a disappointment when, after a long while where exactly nothing happened, the woman just opened her eyes and let out her breath.

"Any result, M’Lady?" asked the female Sentene.

"There’s no sign of an origin point in the near area." The older woman rose stiffly. "Nor does this show any sign of waning."

"Not what you expected?"

"Far from it. The White Ladies are rare, but a known phenomenon, occurring only once or twice a century. They invariably vanish within a day or two of their manifestation. Nowhere in my records is there an instance of one persisting so long, or producing an Efera expansion. This is something new. It is –" She paused. "It may be very serious. I will attempt another divination shortly."

Turning, she noticed Kendall. "What is this?"

"The missing resident of that shed. Captain Faille wanted to interview her."

"Oh?" There was tolerant amusement in the word. "This is your great disbelief in coincidence at work again, Faille?"

"It is too convenient," the male Sentene said, leaving his corner. "You were in the next town?"

Kendall was disappointed. This was all they wanted with her? "It was just a delivery, a note," she explained. "The Hosteller will vouch for me."

"I don’t doubt that." He was a tall man, and she saw that his hair was a bleached grey, though his face – the top half of it at least – didn’t look so very old. His eyes were faded grey too, and uncomfortably direct. "Who sent you?"

"One of the gawkers come to see the White Lady. It was just some silly woman sending word to her boyfriend," Kendall explained. "Father didn’t approve, that kind of thing. Nothing strange."

"She couldn’t use the post?" the female Sentene asked, taking a sceptical interest.

"It was urgent." Kendall tried to picture the woman being involved in some kind of plot. "Supposed to meet him that night, but her father was dragging her off to Sark instead. Easiest sennith I’ve ever made, and she paid for the night’s lodging." Which was…convenient? That woman had saved her life, whether or not she’d meant to.

"Did she speak of the White Lady at all?"

"No. Asked me what the weather was like, when the White Lady first arrived, but didn’t seem to care much. Called her this apparition, if that helps."

"The weather?" The older woman leaned forward, studying Kendall narrowly. "And what was the weather like, when she arrived? You would have been close."

"Exactly like it is today," Kendall said. "Sunny and cloudless."

"And what did it smell like?"

Perplexed by this interest in minor details, Kendall shrugged. "It did smell like it was going to storm, but nothing came of it."

"Ha." The woman smiled with strange approval at the one called Captain Faille. "Your instinct, as ever. I suppose, girl, that it smells like it’s going to storm now, as well?"

"A bit, I guess." Kendall sniffed. "It’s not the same."

"It wouldn’t be. And did it smell like it was going to storm when you were speaking to this woman?"

"…yes."

"Ha."

"What did the note say?" Captain Faille asked.

Kendall, about to deny reading it, faltered under the man’s steady gaze. She had, of course. It hadn’t been sealed.

"It was addressed to Joshua Goodwin," she said slowly. "I’m sorry. Papa insists we go directly to Sark. He suspects, I am sure. I have not changed my mind. Please – come for me." If there was some hidden meaning in that, Kendall couldn’t guess it.

"Send Ricaden to see if anyone collected it," Captain Faille told the other Sentene.

"And bring it back," added the older woman. "We may be able to use it as a trace."

"Describe her," Captain Faille commanded.

More interested in why the weather was so important, Kendall thought back to that brief encounter. "She was, um, about as tall as this lady here," she said, indicating the older woman. Higher than average. "Her hair was black, and long, mostly straight, with just a bit of a curl at the very end. Worn loose at the back, but the sides were caught up. She was over twenty, I guess, but not thirty yet. Dark eyes, slim, pretty but not really beautiful. Sounded like she came from the north, not Sark. She wore a hat with a couple of black ribbons trailing off the back. Good clothes, not cheap but not showy. Fitted jacket, split skirt with riding breeches beneath. Old boots, nice ones. No jewellery. Clean hands."

"Well observed," said the lady, sounding approving. "I needn’t ask if you would recognise her again."

Kendall nodded, then asked cautiously: "Why does it matter if it was going to storm?"

"It mattered because that scent, scents like lightning, or dust driven by oncoming rain, that is given off by raw Efera, by unshaped power or loosely worked magic. This person was a mage, and she had just been casting. I imagine you looked at the sky, reacted to the scent. She saw that, and asked if you had smelled anything when the White Lady arrived."

"You can smell magic?" Kendall asked, astonished.

"You can smell magic," the lady replied, with gentle emphasis, then turned away as the other Sentene returned. "Lieutenant, this girl needs some basic instruction in magecraft. We will take her with us."

"Yes, M’Lady," said the Sentene, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Are we to leave soon?"

"That will depend on the result of my next divination," the woman replied. "I fear we may have little choice on the matter."

The Lieutenant bowed, then came sit beside Kendall.

"So what’s your name?" she asked, unfastening the collar of her coat so that it flopped down. She had a round face, spattered with orange freckles to match her tightly-braided hair. Not scary at all.

"Kendall Stockton."

"I’m Jolien Danress. That’s the Grand Magister, Lady Weston, who has charge of the Sentene. And my Captain, Illidian Faille."

Kendall supposed her eyes had gone very round. The Grand Magister, here in Falk. It hardly seemed possible. She stared at the woman settling back onto the floor of Micajah’s taproom. "Why–?" She paused, wondering what to say.

"Why are we here, or why are we taking you with us?" The corners of Lieutenant Danress' light blue eyes crinkled with sympathy. "You because you’re our only link to a woman we’ve reason to trace. You’re the only one who can positively identify her. And, well, you’re a homeless orphan able to sense magic, and Lady Weston would no more leave a potential mage undeveloped than pass up a chance to investigate interesting magical phenomena, which is the reason we came here. We weren’t expecting this morning’s drama." She frowned, then shrugged. "It could still come to nothing."

"I’m a mage?"

"You could become one. Not such a bad thing to be. I’ve always liked it, anyway, and I would have killed to have Lady Weston taking an interest in me when I started out."

Taking her over. Kendall stared from Lieutenant Danress' face to the woman kneeling on the floor. Taking her over, just like Ma Lippon had been itching to do for years. And a damn sight harder to escape from.

Could she say no, and leave? And did she want to? Magister Kendall Stockton. That sounded strange, unlikely. But it meant money, the one thing that had been so central since the fire had taken Gran away. Mages were important, even shoddy ones, so long as they could manage a shield circle. Every farmhouse, every village and town, they all needed circles to keep Night Roamers like Life Stealers out. If she could just learn to do that, she’d be set.

Anyway, she needed somewhere to go, now that the shed had been destroyed. She’d probably get to see the capital. And Lady Weston was surely a busy person, who’d get caught up in other matters once this thing with the mystery woman was cleared up. Nor could she make Kendall stay, or try to hold some kind of debt over her. Kendall was the one who decided what happened to Kendall. No-one else.

She’d just settled this to her satisfaction when she noticed that Lady Weston had opened her eyes again. Her mouth, usually full and generous, was set in a thin line.

"Faille," she said, her voice lacking any note of humour. "Send to Sark for troops. We need to evacuate this village."

Even the grim Captain straightened in surprise at that. "M’Lady–?"

"It’s worse than I thought. Unless I’m sorely mistaken, some fool is trying to repeat the madness of Queen Solace."

"What?" Lieutenant Danress shot to her feet, face incredulous. "The Black Queen’s Summoning? It’s not possible."

"So we thought." Lady Weston brushed dust from the skirts of her dress. "All the same, I cannot see any other explanation. The apparition out there is the first expression of a Grand Summoning, and this village will shortly be destroyed."