The Walls of Westernfort Read online

  Synopsis

  All Natasha Ionadis wants is to serve the Goddess as a Temple Guard, and she volunteers eagerly for a dangerous mission to infiltrate a band of renegade warriors and imprinters. But, once away from the temple, the issues are no longer so simple and she must revaluate her beliefs, especially in light of her growing attraction for one of the outlaws. Is it too late to work out what she really wants from life? Advance Review of the Celaeno SeriesFletcher has a natural gift for rich storytelling and world-building. The Walls of Westernfort is another compelling Celaeno adventure, filled with intriguing characters and ethically-dynamic plotlines.

  The Temple at Landfall

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  By the Author

  THE LYREMOUTH CHRONICLES

  The Exile and the Sorceror

  The Traitor and the Chalice

  The Empress and the Acolyte

  The High Priest and the Idol

  THE CELAENO SERIES

  The Walls of Westernfort

  The Temple at Landfall

  Rangers at Roadsend

  Dynasty of Rogues

  Shadow of the Knife

  Wolfsbane Winter

  The Temple at Landfall

  © 2005 By Jane Fletcher. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-349-5

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: October 2005

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Cindy Cresap and Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: J. Barre Greystone

  Cover Image: Tobias Brenner (http://www.tobiasbrenner.de/)

  Cover Design: Julia Greystone

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to start by thanking all the usual suspects - Rad, Cindy, and everyone else from Bold Strokes Books, who have provided such fantastic support. My thanks also go to Pauline from the Dimsdale Press for fi rst demonstrating faith in my writing.

  Additionally I would thank the members of the Gay Authors Workshop, who patiently listened to sections of this being read out at the monthly meetings, gave support and encouragement, and a very nice round of applause when I was finally able to announce that it was going to be published.

  Dedication

  For Lizzy

  always

  Part One

  Walking In A

  Dead Woman’s Shoes

  24 August 553

  Chapter One—A Meeting in the Temple

  The skies over the city of Landfall had been clear sapphire blue all day, but as the sun started to drop, the color became tinged with a hint of turquoise, and wisps of high cirrus drifted over from the east. Shadows softened in the bustling streets and passageways, and though the breeze now held the first chill edge, the reds and browns of the bricks were richer and warmer.

  The light was less glaring, but still it flashed off the polished helmets of the two Guards on sentry duty at the main gates of their headquarters and ran like liquid fire down the edges of their drawn swords. The two women were motionless except for the hems of their long red cloaks stirring in the breeze. Their eyes were glazed, seemingly oblivious to the traffic on the road before them. And for their part, the passersby spared no more than cursory glances for the sentries. Only one dawdling child stopped to stare open-mouthed at the brilliant uniforms and the long, sharp swords until an impatient shout from her mother called the girl away.

  The city bells were chiming the hour when a captain appeared in the gateway, her uniform even more lavishly embellished in gold braid than the sentries’. Another Guard marched at her heels. The captain stamped to a halt beside the sentry on the right and then rotated sharply through 90 degrees to stare directly at her.

  “Guardswoman Ionadis.” The officer’s voice gave the impression of shouting without being exceptionally loud.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The sentry’s eyes did not flicker as she acknowledged her name.

  “You are relieved of duty and may stand down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  In a display of rigid, martial choreography, the sentry sheathed her sword and swapped places with the replacement Guard.

  “Come with me.” The captain snapped out the order.

  The road into the headquarters ran between stables and barracks until it reached the central parade ground. On three sides, the open space was bordered by administration offices; on the fourth, it abutted the temple grounds. Few people were about, mainly orderlies running their errands. The captain stopped and, for several seconds, stared at the younger woman as if she had noticed something unusual about her. The subject of her regard stood stiffly at attention.

  “I have instructions for you.” The captain spoke in an assertive undertone.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You are summoned to a meeting in the temple. Present yourself at the entrance to the sanctum in one hour.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” This time, the Guard’s voice was not so crisp. She was clearly confused, and as the captain turned to go, she spoke again. “Ma’am?”

  The captain looked back. “Yes?”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “You will learn all you need to know at the proper time.” The captain’s face gave nothing away.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Guardswoman Natasha Ionadis watched the officer disappear around the corner of a building before letting her forehead crumple in a frown. “Sanctum?” she repeated, confusion giving way to anxiety. The summons was definitely not the one she had expected, and it would have been nice to have a few hints on how best to spend the intervening hour.

  Natasha’s shoulders sagged. Her eyes drifted over her surroundings in bemusement, finishing by looking down at herself. Her uniform had been immaculate at the start of sentry duty, but she could imagine that it now had the faintest coating of dust. She pursed her lips in a wry pout, thinking of the unofficial maxim of the Guards: When in doubt, polish it. A wash and general spruce-up were as good a use of the time as any other, but wandering toward the bathhouse, Natasha shook her head slowly and again whispered, “Sanctum?”

  *

  A fair part of the allotted hour still remained when Natasha left the barracks. She paused in the doorway and tried to evaluate her appearance, using the back of her helmet as a mirror—a pointless exercise. She was of medium height and athletic build, but in the helmet, she looked like a potbellied giant. Her softly formed, square-cut face was contorted like a pig’s snout, with her lips smeared across. The only thing she could tell for certain was bad news; her hair was far longer than the specified soldiers’ close crop. Natasha grimaced. She had put off the visit to the Guards’ haircutter for far too long, and there was no time now to rectify it. Oh, well. Perhaps I’ll be able to keep my helmet on, she told herself optimistically, stepping into the sunshine.

  The sight of her uniform cleared the way as she walked up the steps and into the great hall of the temple. Groups of worshippers faded from her path. Natasha was hardly aware of them or of the anxious looks they shot in her direction. She stood j
ust inside the entrance while her eyes adjusted to the scented gloom and felt the familiar waves of peace and reverence wash over her. Directly ahead was the main altar, where Himoti’s eternal fire burned. Natasha felt as if the light were flowing through her, filling her with the blessing of the Goddess. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly; then she took her eyes from the flames and began to walk slowly around the perimeter of the hall.

  A painting of the first landfall dominated the bay on her right. It showed the blessed Himoti about to alight from Celaeno’s sacred shuttle, her foot descending on the grass of the new world—the world Celaeno had chosen for her daughters. Natasha knew that the shuttle symbolized the loom of fate, with all of creation woven in its great design, but there was also something in the twisting strand of wool reaching up into the heavens that suggested an umbilical cord, connecting the world to the mother Goddess.

  A group of the Elder-Ones stood behind Himoti on the enormous shuttle. Studying them, Natasha whispered the words from the Book of the Elder-Ones, “Their skins were diverse in tone, and their hair was yellow and red and black, and all the shades between.” Her gaze left the painting and flitted over a huddle of fellow worshippers. Like all women, they had light brown skin and dark brown hair. Natasha tried to imagine meeting one of the multicolored Elder-Ones, such as the figure depicted at the blessed Himoti’s shoulder, with the improbable mane of golden hair and the sky blue face. Natasha shook her head in entranced awe and continued her slow march.

  Along all the walls and surrounding every column were shrines where the pious might pay their homage to the appropriate Elder-One, the patron of their trade or calling. The size of the shrine was a fair guide to the status of the occupation. Natasha’s destination was one of the more impressive, although none could match the grandeur of the monument to Himoti, patron of Imprinters, the greatest of Celaeno’s disciples. Natasha’s footsteps halted at the military shrine, set into a deep alcove in the wall. She wished to take time to pray. It was why she had rushed her grooming slightly. She had the feeling that prayers might be necessary.

  When the captain had taken her away from sentry duty, she had assumed that it was to learn the result of her application for promotion to corporal, but that would be purely a military matter. She would not be notified at the temple and certainly not in the sanctum. Something else was at issue—something serious. Again, Natasha searched her memory for some clue about the summons but found nothing, either in the barrack-room gossip or the official dispatches.

  She tried to push the anxiety from her thoughts and stepped into the alcove. The statues of three of the Elder-Ones looked down at her: the patrons of the Guards, the Rangers, and the Militia. She bowed her head to her namesake, Natasha Krowe of the Rangers, and then knelt before Su Li Hoy, the Guards’ patron. The figure’s bright yellow skin and flame-red hair mirrored the uniform of the Guards. Natasha’s eyes fixed on the comforting statue, and she began to pray:

  Please, my patron; guide me in the ways of honor and courage

  That I might find favor with Celaeno, who is Goddess over all...

  *

  By the time the bell rang out the hour, Natasha felt far happier. The calm of the temple had soaked into her, and she had reached the reasonable conclusion that she was unlikely to be in trouble. Not only was her conscience clear, but also, if she were accused of a crime serious enough to warrant the Sisters’ attention, the authorities would have dragged her to trial in chains.

  The entrance to the sanctum was set to one side of the main altar, the secret world within hidden behind hanging drapes. Six Guards from Natasha’s company were on duty. Their eyes showed the barest flicker of recognition when she came to a halt, slightly unsure what to do next. Within seconds, the curtain was pulled aside, and a white-robed Sister appeared.

  “You are Guardswoman Ionadis?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Follow me.”

  Stepping into the sanctum, Natasha felt a confusing tangle of emotions. Curiosity and reverence were at the forefront, with apprehension and a degree of smugness playing a part. Many Guards would pass their entire careers without ever setting foot inside the sanctum where the Sisters and Imprinters lived out their daily lives. This was the heart of the greatest temple in the world. Nowhere else could a woman get closer to Celaeno. As she followed her guide, Natasha felt her soul swelling with love of the Goddess—a sensation hindered only by the urge to peer around like an inquisitive child, drinking in every detail of her surroundings.

  The route took them through a series of courtyards and corridors. Eventually, Natasha was ushered into a small room on an upper floor, clearly someone’s office, with shelves containing books and a large desk covered in piles of paper. A window at one side led to a balcony overlooking the Guards’ parade ground. Two women were waiting for her in the room, and at the sight of them, Natasha’s feeling of happiness vanished.

  The one standing at the side was familiar from dawn parade each morning. Natasha did not need to count the gold stars on the epaulette to identify Commandant Jacobs of the Guards. The face of the other was hidden behind the gauze mask of a Sister, which would have made her impossible to name with certainty, except that this Sister wore Himoti’s pendant hanging on a thin gold chain at her throat. With a jolt, Natasha realized that the woman seated at the desk was Chief Consultant Pereira, the leader of the Sisterhood, and the thirty-second to have held the title since the blessed Himoti, the first Chief Consultant.

  Natasha felt her stomach turn to ice. She could not begin to guess what reason the most important person in the world had to speak with her. Fortunately, her trained reflexes took over, and without conscious thought, she snapped stiffly to attention.

  “Guardswoman Ionadis reporting, ma’am.” Natasha was surprised to hear her own voice.

  The Commandant acknowledged her and said, “You may stand at ease, Guardswoman, and remove your helmet.”

  Oh, no, my hair, Natasha thought in anguish, even as she moved to obey. She prayed that no tufts were sticking out and fought the temptation to try frantically to smooth them down. It would only draw attention to her lapse. Natasha’s mouth was dry as both women continued to study her, but after several nerve-wracking seconds, she realized that neither appeared to be hostile.

  At last, the senior Guard spoke again. “I guess you’re wondering why we’ve called you here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Natasha was not sure if she should admit to curiosity, but to deny it would have been blatant lying.

  “That is understandable.” Commandant Jacobs’ lips compressed in the tight line that was the nearest her habitually stern face ever came to smiling. Jacobs was well below average height and was rumored to cultivate a stern demeanor deliberately to counteract any perceived deficiency, although other schools of thought claimed that she was just naturally humorless. She exchanged a look with the seated woman, as if asking permission to continue. The Chief Consultant indicated her consent.

  Jacobs relaxed her stance slightly and drew a deep breath. “We’re planning a very important mission, and we’re looking for volunteers. For several reasons, your name has been put forward as a candidate, but before I say more, I must warn you that the chances of our agents returning is low—not impossible, with the grace of the Goddess, but very unlikely. Which is why we want volunteers.”

  “I’ll do it,” Natasha said instantly, almost before the Commandant had finished speaking. It was the sort of opportunity she had not dared dream of. Then she remembered the status of her audience and tried to restrain her childish overeagerness. “I...I would count it an honor, ma’am.”

  Commandant Jacobs’ face showed approval. “Which is the response I’d been led to expect from you. However, before I accept your offer, you must learn more of what the mission involves, and this is what the Chief Consultant wishes to talk to you about.”

  Natasha turned her attention to the woman behind the desk. For a few seconds, the eyes above the gauze mask continued
to regard Natasha in silence. The skin around them was deeply lined; the Chief Consultant was not young. Her body was completely concealed by her white robes, but from the way the folds lay, the form underneath was approaching skeletal thinness. When she spoke, her voice held a trace of a waver.

  “Guardswoman, what I am about to relate is not in complete agreement with what we are obliged to tell the general population. If you’re accepted for this mission, you may discuss what I say with the other members of the team, but you must give your oath never to repeat it to anyone else.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I swear by Hoy’s sword.” Natasha gave the traditional Guards’ oath.

  The Chief Consultant pressed her fingers to her pendant in recognition of the vow. “Then first, I would like to know what you have heard about the heretics who follow the accursed Gina Renamed.”

  Natasha drew a deep breath, torn between pride and nervousness, dreading that she would say something wrong and disqualify herself from the mission, but it was not a difficult question. “The heretics set themselves against the divinity of Celaeno. They renounce the teachings of Himoti and the Elder-Ones, and they use their perverted creed to justify the hideous crimes they commit. Most have been brought to account for their sins, but a few have escaped and are hiding in the wildlands.” From the nod of agreement, Natasha knew that she had given the right answer.

  “Have you also heard of the place known as Westernfort?”

  This was a slightly more awkward topic. Natasha hesitated for a moment before restating the official account. “It’s the name given to a fictitious town the heretics are supposed to have in the mountains.”