Cassandra

II. With Pelor's Guidance

For most of the next week I slept, recovering my strength. The time passed in a blur, leaving a very indistinct impression of itself on my mind. Sometimes I roused enough to eat or drink. At other times the father would change the bandages on my chest, revealing the ugly wounds underneath. They were starting to heal by this time, but they were still quite fresh, and I knew that they would leave some nasty scars. As the first week turned into two I began to rouse a little, and during my waking hours I would watch the Father knit, or perform any number of small tasks that he always seemed to have an endless supply of. Time had no real meaning. The day's passed without my notice, and soon turned into weeks, and then months. I never thought much about anything. After the first storm of grief, my mind had settled into a kind of depressed stupor. My heart felt completely dead.
Slowly over the next two months the Father began to give me small tasks to perform. At first they were only simple things, keeping his balls of yarn from tumbling across the floor when he was knitting, or holding things for him. Even these simple tasks were taxing for me, and I would soon grow too tired to continue doing them. The Father never seemed to mind, but after letting me rest for a while, he would always ask me to keep going. Once every day he would make me get out of bed and take a few steps around the room, to exercise my legs. After the long illness I was very weak, and had to lean heavily on his arm.
It was a slow process, but gradually over the next two months my strength returned until I could begin attempting more difficult and delicate tasks. Sometimes he would give me bits of sewing to do, or have me write short letters while he dictated to me. He began to send me on short errands. Asking me to fetch a paper from his desk, or stir the fire. Each time the tasks were a little more strenuous, sending me a little farther every time. I couldn't help but be amused by his peculiar healing methods.
Throughout this period I had never left The Father's room, and only had a vague idea of what the rest of the small temple was like. But about this time Father Rynoll began to send me on errands outside of the simple room. 'Just hop over and tell Ivan to take the bread out of the oven or it will burn.' He would say, and I would nervously comply.
I didn't like leaving the little room. The sanctuary of the little temple felt too exposed, and I was always haunted by a vague sense of unease. Talking to Ivan was another task that I found difficult to perform. I trusted Father Rynoll, and while in his presence I felt completely safe, but I had grown distrustful of strangers, and I couldn't bring myself to talk to Ivan without being asked to do so. I couldn't have told what the danger was, or what it was that I feared, but the vague anxiety still clung to me.
Father Rynoll knew I didn't like leaving the bedroom, but that never stopped him from asking me to do it. There was something in the Father that made me love him, and I found myself obeying him, in spite of myself. I loved his kindly old face as dearly as if he had been my own father, and I was never as happy as when I was sitting with him. Something about his presence always lifted the heavy sorrow that weighed on my heart. When his priestly duties in the community called him away, I missed him keenly, and eagerly looked forward to the hour when he would return.
And then one day he didn't come at all. At first my vague fear kept me from searching for him, but at last the desire to see him overcame my paranoia, and filled with uneasiness I crept into the empty sanctuary. It was a long room, with double doors at one end, and an alter to Pelor at the other. Simple wooden pews filled the room, and a somewhat worn red carpet advanced down the isle between them. It was a simple place, and the only really fine decorations were the large stained glass windows that lined the walls of the chamber. Multi colored sunlight filled the room, but it was completely empty. Standing silent in the sanctuary, I could just make out the sounds of Father Rynoll's voice coming from the direction of the kitchen on the other side of the sanctuary. Crossing the room I peeked through the kitchen door. There he was, sitting in another rocking chair like the one in his room, knitting peacefully. As he knitted, he was instructing Ivan in the concoction of some kind of pastry, and smiled as I entered.
    "You decided to join us my dear! Come sit down, make yourself comfortable." He rose to pull up another chair next to his, and I timidly sat in it. "Could you peel these for me? It would be such a help." He added, putting a bowl of apples on the floor next to me, an empty bowl and a small knife in my lap. To surprised to argue, I took them and began to peel one of the apples. Without another word Father Rynoll sat back down into his chair, and it suddenly occured to me that he had probably left me alone on purpose, just to make me leave his room of my own free will. It would be just like him to do such a thing. I felt a faint stirring of indignation, but in the end amusement over came it, and I couldn't help but laugh at myself.
    Ivan, after staring at me for a moment, shocked that I had come into the kitchen without first being asked, went back to tossing flour and other dry ingredients in a bowl. I had never voluntarily spoken to Ivan, or remained in his presence for longer than necessary, and as I peeled my apples I took stealthy glances at him. A young man of nineteen or early twenties, with disheveled pale blond hair, and a bit of stubble on his cheeks. He had sharp clever blue eyes, nimble fingers, and a tall, active body. Looking at him, he didn't really seem like the sort of person that would become Father Rynoll's disciple and devote himself to Pellor. But I knew that he was the only other person besides the father living at the temple.
    "My dear..." Father Rynoll said, breaking the silence that filled the little kitchen, and drawing my eyes away from Ivan. "You've been with us for nearly three months now, and I'm glad to see that you've been healing so well..."
    "Thank you sir." I said slowly. Seeing that he paused and looked at me searchingly, a vague sense of apprehension settled over me, I could sense that walking across the temple sanctuary was not the only test I would endure today.
    "I think it's high time you told us a little more about yourself." His voice, which so far had been gentle, now carried a hint of steel. "I want to help you my child, but I can't until you tell me how."
    I nodded and bit my lip. I had known that this moment would come, but I had hoped that somehow they would forget to ask. But in my heart I knew that I owed them an explanation, these were the people that had saved my life. Hesitantly I told them everything. It was a short, cold, little narrative. I left out all but the most important details, relating only what they needed to know. As I neared the end of my narrative I spoke more and more softly. At last my voice failed me and I came to a halt, afraid that if I continued my emotions would get the better of me. The Father listened in complete silence, letting me tell the tale in my own way, knitting as I talked. Ivan had silently drawn close to listen, occasionally giving vent to a wrathful grunt. By the end of my story his eyes were blazing with furious indignation, Father Rynoll's mouth had become a thin line, and as he continued to ply his knitting needles he drew the yarn so tight I half expected it to snap.
        "I see..." Was all the father said when my voice failed me, and silence filled the kitchen. Retelling the story had rekindled some of my old emotion, and as I peeled the apples tears stung at my eyes, but after the first swell of grief, anger quickly replaced it. The old fire flickered within my chest, little more than a dull glow, but it was enough to shake me a little from the deadness that had settled over me. I felt less afraid than I had before.
"What about Whitestone?" I asked at last when I had regained the power of speech. "What's happened since the massacre, have the Briarwoods been looking for me? Did anyone survive? Anyone at all?"
"They haven't been looking for you. If that's any comfort. I would say that they probably think that you're dead...So did we, for that matter." The father said slowly. "They told us that the de Rolo family and the rest of the castle had fallen to plague, and that they had come into power. It was a fairly obvious lie. Most of us had seen the flames at the castle, and several objected. Anyone who stood up to them was shot down with arrows. After that they proceeded to drag the noble families out of their homes and kill them. There was some fighting, but most of it ended quickly. The Briarwoods have brought a great deal of power and influence from where ever they came from."
"The nobles are dead?" I exclaimed in disbelief. The noble families, under my family's guidance, had ruled over Whitestone for centuries. They had been more like aunts and uncles, than my parent's subordinates. Caroline and her husband had both been there when I was born...These people had been my greatest hope. Mother's letter had been for them. For a few moments I sat frozen, trying to make myself believe Father Rynoll.
The father nodded sadly, saying. "The Briarwoods have given the noble's titles and property to various minions and cutthroats that came with them from where ever they came from. They've given the new nobles complete control of Whitestone. So far they've allowed us to continue with our lives much as we did before, and they've promised us safety, but I doubt they will keep their word." 
    "What are these 'New Nobles' like?" I asked. Righteous anger was starting to rise within me, burning my grief away. My mind felt horribly clear. "What kind of men are they?"
    "Most of them are nothing more than thugs that happened to be particularly useful to the Briarwoods." The father said. "Sir Kerrion Stonefell has been put in charge of the agriculture and logging. He was the captain of the Briarwood's guards. So far he hasn't done more than require taxes on every harvest. Duke Gorron Vedmire appears to be some distant relative of the Stone Giants, and in theory the keeper of our temple, but so far he hasn't shown much interest in our doings. He's stupid but strong, nothing more than a killing machine." The father's face had been grave up until this point, but now his face darkened, and I could see hate similar to my own burning in his eyes. "Count Tyleeri has taken over management of the Whitestone mines. Out of all the new nobles he seems the most sadistic, beating his servants for fun, attacking anyone he deems a threat, and spreading death where ever he can. His men are equally barbarous, burning down homes, and arresting people for no reason."
Ivan let out an angry grunt, and spat in the fire. The father sat silent for a few moments, knitting feverishly, as if he didn't trust himself to speak.
"Countess Anna Ripley is the last of the Briarwood's lackeys." He said giving himself a little shake and continuing. At the sound of this name I gave a start and looked quickly at his face. Both Ivan and the father saw it, and he shot me a searching look.
"She was at the castle in the attack!" I exclaimed excitedly, then I realized they were both looking at me, and a wave of embarrassment washed over me "Percy said she interrogated him. I think she was torturing the servants while the attack was taking place." 
"Really..." The father said slowly, and his eyes became distant, as if he was lost in thought.
"I don't know what she was looking for..." I said lamely, half wishing that I hadn't spoken.
"I wonder..." Father Rynoll said at last, running his fingers through his beard thoughtfully, and he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to us. "The Briarwoods haven't given her any duties in the city to attend to, and she spends most of her time up in the castle...I wonder what she's up to..."    
"Have you tried to get word to the emperor about the noble families' deaths? Tell him about the Briarwoods taking over?" I asked, breaking the long silence that had settled over us. The mood of the room seemed to grow even darker after I asked this question. The father's hands shook as he knitted, and Ivan's face became a dark cloud.
"Several families tried to escape, and we gave them letters to give to the emperor, but none of them made it." The father said grimly.
"Why? What happened to them?" I asked apprehensively, half wondering if I even wanted to know the answer.
"They're all dead." Ivan said bitterly, speaking up for the first time, his face contorting into a mask of ferocity. "All dead down to the littlest child, with their bodies hung from the Suntree as a disgusting mockery."
A horrible vision of the majestic tree in the center of town, dripping blood from it's leaves, with black bodies dangling from it's branches, swam before my mind's eye, and my stomach heaved.
"The Briarwoods have proved themselves to be quite ruthless." The father said. "They've mercilessly destroyed anything that stands in their way."
"So there's no way to get help from outside."
"Indeed." The father assented. "We are essentially held prisoner in our own homes."
All this time the fire in my chest had been growing steadily hotter. It was now blazing inside my chest, filling me with angry warmth. I could picture the faces of my family, of the nobles, the servants the Briarwoods had slaughtered. I could recall the screams I had heard, the dark pile of bodies that had been so carelessly tossed into the dungeon cell. The image of the bloodied defiled Suntree lent my hatred further fire.
I knew I couldn't hide in the father's room anymore. I had work to do. The Briarwoods had murdered my family, invaded my home, and oppressed my people. For they were my people now. My family was gone, the nobles were dead, I was the only one left. I now knew why Pelor, or who ever it was that controlled all this, had spared my life. Whitestone needed a leader, someone to give the people hope, and I was the one that had been chosen. At another time the responsibility would have frightened me, but at the moment there wasn't room for anything else but burning hatred in my heart.
"Then it's up to us." I said with grim resolution. "We have to fight back."
Ivan was staring at me, hands frozen in the act of mixing the ingredients in the bowl he held, awed by my sudden tone of authority. For as long as he had known me, I had been shy of notice and had never spoken so much in front of him. The complete change took him by surprise. In fact my tone of authority surprised even myself. Father Rynoll on the other hand smiled, seemingly unsurprised by my new courage, as if he had known that I had it in me all along.