Red Sister

Nona came to stand beside the nun. She had the peculiar smell that old people get, no matter how clean they might be, not musty or sour or stale … just old.

‘Now that we know you are of the blood, Nona, you should understand that what we quantal do here in this convent is easier and more effective because of the shipheart. Where it beats, the space between the pieces of the world is narrowed. It is easier to touch the Path here, easier to walk it, easier to shape its energies.’

‘Really?’ Nona had wanted to use a sharper word, one that might even be new to Clera’s foul-mouth, or the sailors who taught Ruli to swear … but she swallowed it. She stared up at Sister Pan. ‘Really? Because “easy” isn’t a word I’d use for any of those things.’ Mistress Blade had beaten her half to death before she could even make glancing contact with the Path.

Sister Pan just smiled a small smile. ‘Novice Arabella. Approach the Path in serenity. Take a single step and return, owning what you have been given.’

29



Nona left the hidden room after Hessa and Arabella. The rest of Grey Class was long gone. In the windowless chamber it was easy to miss Bray’s call. Sister Pan had held her back, instructing that she set her hands to the sigil-crowded walls and allow any stray trace of Path-energy to leave her body.

She hurried down the spiral stair, still bubbling with exhilaration. Her contact with the Path had been fleeting but glorious. The Path had filled her and in doing so had woken her to the understanding that for all her life she had been hollow. It turned her flesh to gold, her mind to crystal. She wanted more. Even as the power of it terrified her and she felt her body shaking beyond her control, she wanted more.

East door slammed behind her, closed by the wind. Nona paused at the tower base, staring at the greyness of the day in wonder, knowing that behind it all, through it all, ran the Path.

Someone took Nona’s wrist from behind in an iron-fingered grip, jolting her from her musings. A hand to her elbow immobilized the limb, and a moment later Nona was bent forward, crying out in pain, her arm raised out straight behind her. Her attacker steered her back against the tower wall.

‘You, child, will stay away from Zole.’

‘Yisht!’ Nona snarled, recognizing the accent of the ice-tribes.

‘Tell me that you understand and will obey.’

Nona gritted her teeth against the agony in her shoulder. With her face pressed to the cold stones and her arm locked there seemed no possible means of escape. ‘You’re going to break my arm?’ She snatched a breath. ‘How many novices can you break before the abbess throws you out?’ Nona hadn’t thought about challenging Zole again but she was damned if she would be bullied.

‘I could break more than your arm, child.’ The pressure increased. ‘I could break every joint of every finger.’ Yisht spoke without relish but something in her tone left no room for doubt. She would do these things. ‘I could tear the eyes from your head—’

Nona lurched away from the wall, shouting against the pain. If she’d left by any other door she might be seen from the other convent buildings.

‘A true fighter, I see.’ Yisht steered her back against the stonework. ‘Too brave for threats. But I have watched you. You care for the cripple. Cross me, in any way, and perhaps she will limp off a cliff one windy night.’

She released Nona with a shove that sent her stumbling forwards as if in demonstration of what might happen to Hessa. A dip in the rock caught Nona’s foot and she fell, face first, feeling something tear in her lacerated back. By the time she righted herself Yisht had gone.

‘How did it go with the Holy Witches?’ Clera wanted to know when Nona entered the dormitory. ‘I missed you at Blade, and at the bathhouse, and at dinner! Jula said something must have come up with Sister Pan and she kept you for special lessons, but I said—’

‘She said you were dead,’ Jula called over from her bed. ‘She said, “Nona wouldn’t miss a meal unless she was dead”.’

‘I ate at the sanatorium while Sister Rose changed my dressings and took out some stitches.’

‘So …’ Clera rolled over and rested her chin in her hands. ‘What’s the secret? Where does Sister Pan take you witches to play? It’s something to do with the tenth step isn’t it? I always said it was.’

‘Yes. The tenth step. Tap it right and it opens a hidden passage.’ Nona climbed into her bed with care.

‘Oh you liar!’ Clera swung her knees under her. ‘Tell!’

‘Sister Pan said she’d make an example of—’

‘Don’t be such a coward. You’re Pan’s favourite now. She won’t hurt you.’

‘—of anyone I told,’ Nona finished.

‘Oh.’ Clera slumped, then brightened. ‘Tell Jula! She can tell me after.’

Nona snorted and lay down on her side, taking care not to stretch her lacerations. Sister Pan had cautioned her to secrecy but secrecy had been in her nature long before she reached the convent. Sister Apple had told her to strip on that first morning, and she hadn’t wanted to, but she’d done it because it was true, she had needed a bath. Giving up secrets though, that left her more exposed than any degree of nakedness. She would rather walk nude through the convent than reveal her true nature. They had seen it at the village. Her own mother had seen it. And she had left there in a cage with curses and clods of earth thrown at her back. The words had been heavier and had hurt the more.

Sleep came hard that night, surrounded by the soft sounds of dreaming. Images of Ara and Hessa working with the Path’s energies played across the darkness again and again. Bright and crackling light filling hands to be thrown at the sigil-covered walls, or drawn back into the flesh to imbue an awful shuddering strength.

Visions of the Path finally faded and still Nona couldn’t escape into dreaming. Yisht’s iron grip held her from sleep, the bruises on Nona’s arm anchoring her with a dull ache. She hadn’t told the others. It would scare Hessa and gain nothing. All Nona had to do was not pursue any vengeance upon Zole. But, beyond that, it was shame that kept her silent. Shame at how easily the woman had overmastered her, and shame at the fear she had felt. She lay, staring at the darkness. Not until the blaze of the focus moon had come and gone would Nona’s mind release her to oblivion.

The best part of three weeks passed before Nona’s back felt fully healed. She returned to Blade classes with a passion, pitting her knife-work against the older and more experienced novices, though keeping clear of Zole. She would of course have to face the girl if Sister Tallow instructed a match, but the nun kept both Ara and Nona away from her.

Nona made sure to get to the blade-path chamber at least three days in every seven now that she never escaped a Path lesson. No matter how slowly she took the course though, and no matter how much resin she applied to her soles, she still managed to get no further than halfway, and usually less than that. The articulated pipes always seemed to end in a different combination of positions at the end of the previous attempt, making the course unpredictable, with sections swinging or rotating in unexpected ways and at unexpected times. Her only consolation was that Zole had yet to cross a third of the way without falling.