The Key

10

The Citadel, Ruin

The rain lashed the mountain as Brother Gardener led the small delegation outside into the walled garden at the heart of the Citadel. It had been agreed that the heads and acting heads of the main guilds were the only people permitted to enter, until the condition of the trees had been properly assessed.

‘There,’ Brother Gardener said, pointing at the uppermost branches of an apple tree. ‘See the discoloration in the leaves.’

Even Athanasius, who knew little about nature, could see the tree looked wrong. It appeared to be readying itself for autumn rather than bursting with the vigour of spring.

‘When did you first notice this?’ Axel asked, his policeman’s demeanour sliding through the nasal drone of his question.

‘Just yesterday. But I haven’t been spending much time in the garden, what with all the clear-up work inside the mountain.’

‘And before that there was no evidence of this… blight?’

‘No.’

‘So all this has come about since the explosion?’

‘I suppose it has, yes.’

Father Malachi turned to face Athanasius. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘You should never have allowed the Sancti to set foot outside the mountain. Something sacred has been upset by your actions. This is a clear manifestation of it.’

Athanasius stepped past to inspect the withering sections of the tree. ‘Have you ever encountered anything like this before?’

Brother Gardener shrugged. ‘From time to time.’

‘And what were the causes then?’

‘All kinds of things cause blight — drought, insect infestation, disease.’

‘Might something like an earthquake cause it?’

‘It might. If the ground shifts sufficiently, then roots get broken and the tree starves.’

‘And would we all not agree that the shock of the explosion travelling through the mountain was similar to the effects of an earthquake?’ He turned to Malachi. ‘I realize we are all under tremendous strain because of what has happened here, but now is not the time for superstition and panic. Now is the time for clear heads and calm leadership.’ He turned back to Brother Gardener. ‘What would you suggest as the best course of action?’

The big man stroked his beard and surveyed the trees. ‘Well, if it is as you say, then it won’t get any worse. We can cut away the bits that are dead and dying to speed the trees’ recovery. But if it is something else,’ he cast a furtive glance towards Malachi, ‘then it will spread.’

‘And how might we stop it?’

He took a deep breath as if preparing to pronounce heavy sentence. ‘We need to cut as deep as we dare and then burn everything we remove. It’s the only way to make sure any disease has gone.’

‘Very well, then I suggest at first light you assemble what men you need and carry out what has to be done. As for the rest of us, we should reassure our brothers that we have inspected the garden and it has sustained some damage from the after-effects of the explosion, but that Brother Gardener has it in hand.’

‘And what if it turns out to be more than that?’ came the nasal enquiry of Brother Axel.

‘Then we will deal with that too. We are stretched thin as it is. I advise that we deal only with the real problems that face us, not the imagined ones that might.’

Axel held his gaze, giving no indication whether he was swayed by his reasoning.

‘You are right.’ It was Father Thomas. ‘We are all tired and apt to jump at shadows. We should remember that, until the elections install new leaders, our brothers look to us for guidance. So we must steady the ship and seek to reassure rather than agitate.’

Athanasius had always been fond of Father Thomas. He spent many an evening with him discussing subjects ranging from philosophy to archaeology and everything in between. He found his company intelligent, rational and calm.

‘The best way to reassure the brotherhood would be to re-instate the Sancti.’ All eyes turned to Brother Axel. ‘It would demonstrate a return to order and instantly calm the mountain’s mood.’

‘But who would elect them?’ Thomas asked.

‘We cannot address the issue of the Sancti until we have an Abbot to propose them or a Prelate to confirm their elevation,’ Athanasius continued. ‘Therefore any discussion of the Sancti must wait until after the elections.’

Axel switched his gaze between Athanasius and Father Thomas, as though tracing a fine thread stretching between them. He turned to Brother Gardener. ‘I will post some of my men at the entrances to the garden in case any inquisitive brothers decide to take a midnight stroll. If there is anything else you need from me, let me know.’ Then he turned and marched away.

Athanasius watched him go, feeling the chill of the rain more keenly. There were clearly two factions developing in the wake of the explosion: the rational and the fearful. And fear was heady fuel for those who might seek to exploit it; it was how the Sancti had exercised their dominance over the mountain for thousands of years. Although his decision to remove them had been born of compassion rather than political ambition, he couldn’t help but admit in his private moments that he was glad they were gone and hoped never to see their return. He had felt a difference in the Citadel since the Sancti had left. It felt freer somehow; as if the air flowed more smoothly. But as he watched Axel reach the edge of the garden and disappear back into the mountain he realized their return could come about sooner than he had imagined, and that he had just stared a rival in the eye.