Red Sister

Once through the doors the archons didn’t get long to find their bearings as more figures pressed in behind. First priests and the attendants from the church party but then the nuns, and on their heels the novices, and nobody moved to stop them.

With hardly a word spoken the entire assembly shuffled along the left side of the hall and up onto the tiered seating at the far end. The last few backsides were settling by the time Abbess Glass came through the main doors, escorted by two church-guards, supported by Sister Rock, a solid and hatchetfaced Red Sister, on one side and by Sister Rose on the other, still adjusting the edges of a mass of linen bandages that bulked the abbess’s hand into something almost spherical. Abbess Glass seemed unsteady on her feet, allowing herself to be led. The guards took her to stand before the lowest tier of the seating. When she passed Nona the abbess shot her a quick look, fleeting but long enough for Nona to see those same shrewd dark eyes that had assessed her that first day back at the base of the gallows.

Nona searched the stands. The classes were mixed together, novice sat by nun, but she spotted Clera and Ruli huddled together on the second tier. A glimpse of colour drew Nona’s gaze a little way behind the girls: Sister Apple’s red hair escaping her headdress, Sister Kettle tight beside her, no less close than Clera sat with Ruli.

The high priest stood in the highest tier, his hat discarded, wet grey hair plastered back across a reddened forehead. ‘Sister Wheel … Sister …’ He glanced at the black-clad man beside him who muttered something. ‘Sister Rose. You are, I understand, the Sister Superiors at Sweet Mercy? Deputized with authority in the abbess’s absence. And as a prisoner of church law she is absent from authority. So, it falls to you to administer the ordeal of the Shield to this … novice.’

Sister Rose said something inaudible and hurried over towards Nona, her fatness jolting and jiggling around her. ‘Oh my dear …’ She dropped heavily to her knees, ignoring the guards, and took Nona’s hands in hers.

Suddenly Nona wanted to cry. She felt like a child, as she had been in the mists of her memory, when her mother’s arms were a fortress and a haven. She shook herself free of Sister Rose’s embrace. Her mother had let them give her to the child-taker: the weakness Sister Rose offered wouldn’t help her.

‘What do I have to do?’ she asked.

Sister Rose’s eyes darted past her, to where the practice dummies stood, crowded together on their round bases, each of them a leather man-shape about six foot tall, battered by innumerable punches and kicks. The dummies would rock back when struck, absorbing the force of a blow, then bounce forward as the lead in their base pulled them upright once more. ‘Well … with the bigger girls, the new sisters I mean … it’s been a few years now … Kettle was the last … she took spear and dagger …’ Sister Rose struggled to her feet, shaking her head. ‘You there!’ She waved to a couple of guards by the main door. ‘We need one of the practice-shapes moved against that wall.’ She turned back to Nona, looked to the stands, then back at Nona. ‘But … but this is madness!’

Madness or not the two church-guards crossed to the dummies and began to haul one to the spot that Sister Rose had indicated, its base leaving a smooth and wide depression in the sand.

‘Wait!’ The high priest rose from his place on the highest bench. ‘The Shield protects the Argatha, a precious gift from the Ancestor, not some lump of leather-bound horsehair. Let us have her defend flesh and blood at least, so there is some echo of the pressure under which such work must be done.’ He held his hand out towards Nona and looked around, his smile returning. ‘Who will volunteer?’ He turned his gaze left, then right. ‘Have you no faith in this Shield?’

Sister Kettle made to stand, biting her lip, but the Poisoner caught her arm and dragged her back, her brow furrowed, eyes intense. They fell to furious whispering.

‘No one?’ The high priest spread both his hands and his grin now.

‘I will.’ Sister Tallow got to her feet just five places along from the high priest, unwrapping the wet sling from her arm as she did so. She started to move along the bench towards the steps, nuns and archons standing to let her by.

‘I think not.’ The high priest leaned his staff into Sister Tallow’s path as she reached him. ‘Mistress Blade, is it not? How would we know, those of us with slow eyes, if it were the child who defended you or if you defended yourself?’

‘I would tell you.’ Sister Tallow narrowed her eyes into a stare whose discomfort Nona could feel across the hall. The high priest wilted before it.

‘Yes, yes …’ He rallied as a new thought struck him. ‘But the child could hardly defend someone as tall as you, Mistress Blade. She barely reaches past your hip. We must pair her with someone close to her own stature, no? For a fair test.’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘We need a novice. If there are no volunteers then that lack of faith speaks for itself – she can hardly be the Shield if no one believes in her. As well as defend, the Shield must represent and carry our belief.’ The high priest looked around, his gaze running across the crowded seating. ‘A novice! A girl from her own class would be most suitable. Who is ready to put their lives in this criminal’s hands?’

Nona wondered how many of those present had seen the ordeal of the Shield undertaken. None of the novices, if Sister Kettle had been the last to take it. Perhaps there were demonstrations, or maybe just stories, and sometimes the story of a thing created more fear than the reality. Either way, none of Red Class were leaping to their feet. Clera had her eyes down, staring at the back of someone’s head. Beside her, Ruli was at least looking at Nona but with a wide and hopeless stare. She spotted Ketti and Ghena together, the former pale, her mouth half-open, the latter scowling furiously as if she’d just been insulted. Behind them and to the right two shaved heads. Jula seemed to be crying, Arabella about to open her mouth, perhaps to laugh.

‘No one?’ High Priest Jacob pressed his lips into a thin smile. ‘The matter is settle—’

‘I will.’ Hessa had been bending down for her crutch. Now she used it to get to her feet.

Nona’s eyes misted. The story running wild through the convent was of how she’d failed to save Saida. How she’d let her friend die. She hadn’t expected any of them to trust her to protect them. She looked down at her hands, made fists of them, and squeezed until it hurt.

Hessa made her way down from the seating with agonizing slowness, awkward on the steps, all eyes upon her. The high priest leaned forward to the tier below him and tapped Sister Wheel on the shoulder. In the hush as Hessa descended the last steps High Priest Jacob’s voice carried further than perhaps he intended.

‘—not chosen to be a Red Sister. She’s not quantal?’

Sister Wheel muttered something in reply. Nona heard the word ‘waste’ in the high priest’s answer. Maybe he thought quantal blood too precious to spill in such an exercise, but Sister Wheel seemed unconcerned, perhaps willing to pay that price to rid the convent of a peasant. And a crippled one at that.

Hessa stumped across the sand to join Nona and Sister Rose, swinging her withered leg, the foot leaving shallow scuff-marks behind her. She offered Nona an uncertain smile, the blue of her eyes darker than Nona had ever seen it.