Talla's Fallen Temple Ch. 29

Pril gave a nod and sweeping wave of her hand to the four fully armoured guards standing outside Principia Abundance. The sight of these women, Disciples of Strength, comforted her far more than the Enforcers of Form at the entrance to Endowment Hall. With highly improper haste, she darted to the back of the room where her Mistress stood, blonde hair awry, leaning heavily on her desk with fingers splayed.

"Mistress," she gasped.

Atreya, her long dark hair neatly coordinated with her working blue outfit, and Shanata in her armour, helm tucked under her arm, both looked up in panic at Pril's sudden appearance.

"Yes?" the Sorceress's bewilderment strained her voice.

"Talla, Mistress," Pril gasped. "I saw her run into Form with the Fighters. I would have stopped her but I-"

"She did what!?" Abundance asked, her eyes alight with angry fire. "As if I haven't spent the last several weeks making up excuses to dodge whatever reason they have for wanting to 'interview' her again."

"I saw her run off and she looked upset," Pril straightened to attention, fully certain she shouldn't have heard what her Mistress had shouted. "She's probably armoured up by now. I think she means to go with them."

"Because of Zhair'lo," Atreya put in. "She'll have found out somehow."

"The Seal Breaker?" Pril stepped back. "What's he got to do with this?"

"He's going to be the Conduit," Atreya explained with strained patience, jerking her head toward the other women to let Pril know this fact had caused the stress amongst them. "Quite possibly, he already is."

"Rutting beasts," Pril whispered as she looked aside and tried to regain her breath. "He's so young ..."

"Find Talla and get her back here," Abundance snapped.

"Let her go."

Abundance's straightened up with indignation. Her anger dissipated into astonishment as she looked back and forth between Atreya and Shanata, who had spoken the words simultaneously.

"Pardon?"

Without moving her head, Atreya turned her eyes to give Pril a sideways glance, but she only looked at her Sorceress and planted her feet.

"I say again," the Sorceress hissed flatly. "Pardon?"

The two mutineers looked at each other for a moment before facing their superior again.

"Our duty is not just to the Temple," Atreya's lips formed firm, thin lines.

"Nor," Shanata continued the quote, "just to the women."

"The Temple serves the people," Atreya continued the Virgin lecture. "The women and the men."

"Or it serves nothing," Shanata put a note of finality in her voice.

"What has that to do with Talla?" Abundance put her hands on her hips. "She is no warrior. Who will -?"

"She made her choice," Atreya, impossibly, interrupted. "She is a woman and we are to respect how she wishes to Serve."

"More to the point," Shanata carried on. "Who is protecting Zhair'lo?"

"Are you two insane?" the Sorceress asked, her voice carrying a bit too far. "Zhair'lo will be the Conduit, the whole point of the journey. The Fighters will do their utmost to protect him and deliver him to Beshenna."

"To Beshenna," Shanata said. "And then what? He is eighteen, nowhere near ready. We've already discussed what state a man is in after that. Who will guard him then? Who will watch over him as well as Talla would?"

"You are relying on their personal loyalty," Abundance glared at her underlings. "The feelings that landed them in so much trouble just a few ... how long ago was that again?"

"So be it," Shanata folded her arms. "Let my sister go."

"Indeed," Atreya moved to stand hip to hip beside Atreya.

"Sister?" Abundance stalled. "I though that an honorary title."

"I changed my mind," Atreya said. "Just now."

The Sorceress sniffed at the air, tossed her hair and stared into the distance.

"Very, well," she pronounced finally. "By the gods it's on your heads. Especially yours, Shanata. You're going with them as Our Representative. You watch out for her. She'll watch out for him."

Shanata's eyes sharpened with excitement. "Mistress," she said as she bowed, turned, and rushed away.

"I've never seen her move so quickly," Abundance noted. "I wouldn't have guessed her for bloodthirsty."

"Hardly," Atreya pointed out. "Her goal now is to find Talla before anyone in Form notices."

-===================-

Atop a balcony overlooking Form's largest practice field, two women stood, alike in dignity and stature. Beneath them, the Temple's military rolled itself out across a wide, torch-lit yard. The smell of leather mixed with the human scents of anxiety and excitement as hundreds of women marched and hundreds more rushed to don their armour. Others, always at the ready, had laid out stations with weapons.

Every woman had a place to go and knew her obligations. If one had the eye for it, one could see the organization and purpose in the chaos, as well as spot those out of place.

"Oh, Madra Zen. What's she doing now?", the taller of the two women, a lightly armoured Valkyrie, leaned over the solid oak railing to get a better view through the visor of her helm.

"Mistress?"

"The little one, look," she pointed. "An old grudge breaking into a new mutiny."

The second woman, graceful as a swan, extended her neck to look down into the beehive.

"Talla, Mistress?" she whispered, not quite sure of the identity of the lost woman in her armour. "What's she doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the first said. "We can see the anger from here and surmise the rest."

"There will be no dissuading her, then?"

"No. But we can get her some place better than here."

"How, Mistress?"

"Baccarat's Depot. I can get her that far. You make sure someone's waiting on the other end."

"Yes, Mistress."

"A long time has passed since we last played games like the Little Girls, isn't it?" a smile came over the lips of the taller woman, nearly invisible but easily sensed by her disciple.

-===================-

In the black marble hallway, the seven remaining members of Zhair'lo's squad waited, standing stiffly at attention as they faced off against the equally placid women who guarded the Goddess's inner sanctum. The Temple had taken one of their number from them, and they had found no way to address the matter, so they had reached a decision, without discussion, to prove themselves as patient and emotionless as any squad of veteran warriors.

A woman in full leather armour, her face obscured by an iron helm, pushed a two wheeled cart out through the doors of the Goddess's chamber into the hallway.

Bree gasped, a look of horror on her face. Two wheeled carts, they all knew, didn't usually carry the living.

"Is he alright?" her spoke burned with accusation.

"He'll be fine," the woman's voice carried a cold hollowness. "He will perform a heroic duty in carrying the lost Perfection to Beshenna."

"Who are you?" Kit confronted her.

"My name is Sonja," the woman stared down at him, her voice warning him of the line he had crossed. "And I am to escort him to the van heading east."

"That's ours to do, Mistress," Zia's pushed the astounded Adjudicate aside from the rear of the caisson whilst Z'rus took the front handles.

"Lead us to the van, if you please, Mistress," Del made a show of putting as much courtesy as she could into her voice, as if to apologize for the abrupt indiscipline of her mates.

"Who are you people?" Sonja quirked an eyebrow at her.

"We're Soldiers, first rank," Del replied, her voice even and polite as she walked in front of the cart alongside Sonja. "Zhair'lo is one of us."

"I surmised as much," Sonja kept her voice flat.

Del promptly introduced herself and each of the other six members of the squad.

"Where are your helmets?" the Adjudicate asked.

"With our weapons," Del replied. "Chief Cameron ordered us here as soon as we armoured up. We're headed to the same line of carts as you."

They passed out of the Goddess's central chambers into a labyrinthine set of passages.

"I never noticed before," Del remarked. "These passages are made this way on purpose, aren't they? To make it hard for anything bigger than this caisson to get through."

"Indeed, Soldier," Sonja's tone cut off any further conversation.

They passed through the last set of large, black doors which led them into open air. Sonja went ahead and Z'rus stopped when he became aware of the problem of taking the caisson with their unconscious squad mate on it down a flight of nine stone stairs. Sonja waited at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded, her face unreadable beneath the mask.

"She ain't helping us," Tara pitched her voice only for the pretence of not being heard. Certainly, the cadre of guards around the door heard her.

"The thing disassembles," Bree pointed out. "Yank the pegs."

"Grab all four handles first, one each," Renzi said.

The four girls each took a handle while the boys yanked out the pegs that held the simple plank of a litter to the caisson's wheel base. When Kit pulled the last peg out, the girls lifted Zhair'lo and the board on which he lay free and carried him down the stairs. Following on, the three boys gently rolled the bottom section of the cart down the stairs. Once they had it on flat ground again, the girls moved the stretcher back into place.

"Easy, gotta line up the peg holes," Z'rus hissed.

"Easier to move the wheels while we hold this plank still," Zia grunted.

"Okay, okay," Z'rus accepted the rebuke as he adjusted the carriage. "There, drop it on."

With a gentle squeak, the board settled into place. The girls held on carefully as the boys wedged the pegs back into place.

As one, they turned to face Sonja, regarding them implacably from beneath her helm. Something like a harumph came out, perhaps an exhalation of breath and a hidden twist of the lips, before she turned on her heel and led them away.

-===================-

Standing in the middle of Form's square, surrounded by a veritable ant colony of anonymous soldiery, Talla maintained her determination but had no idea where to go. At some point, she surmised, they would make an exodus toward the gates, to join the group travelling to Beshenna. She only had to look busy until she could find them.

'If only I could see over all their nine-times-damned shoulders,' she cursed inwardly.

How many of them would join the march to Beshenna? How many stayed behind to guard the walls? Might the departure have already occurred, leaving without her while she stood here, armoured and waiting to go? Zhair'lo would know and she'd lost contact with him at the worst possible time.

Talla had easily pilfered her military needs from what Form made available. As long as some far off Fighter continued to ring that bell, the women here freely let anyone who showed up take on armour and weapons. The thievery of a bow, a quiver of arrows, and light leather armour constituted the sum total of her achievements thus far. At the very least, the helm covered her face, keeping her anonymous.

"You there," a commanding voice called out.

Talla twisted, knowing somehow, despite the insanity of the mob thronging about her, this speaker specifically addressed her.

"What?" she stared back defiantly at the exceptionally tall woman gliding through the chaos like a bird weaving through a thick forest of trees.

The woman, face and hair hidden by her helmet, didn't speak until she closed with Talla.

"This is not a good place for you, dear," the woman's voice flooded Talla with layers of comfort, like multiple bedsheets on a cold winter's night.

Certainly, Talla trusted her instantly and without reservation. The tone said she had Talla's best interests at heart and, furthermore, she had the competence to deliver what Talla needed.

"I - well - where should I be, then?"

"You won't be able to get out of those gates," the tall woman pointed toward Form's exit into the central domain. "Not with armour and a weapon."

"They'll check?"

"Oh, yes, dear."

"Then what?" she put her hands on her hip, damned if she would show fear now.

"Come with me."

The voice neither frightened Talla nor permitted any thought of disobedience. She followed because she fully believed it the wisest course of action, even though the women led her through the crowd into Form's Hall.

"I'm not terribly fond of this place," she remarked.

"Of course you wouldn't be, dear," the tall woman's voice expressed to Talla her complete sympathy, a slight emphasis on the word 'you' suggesting that she knew Talla's past.

'It's like she knows everything about me,' Talla thought, looking sideways at the woman. 'She didn't even say my name, but I know she knows who I am.'

They passed through busy offices and farther back into odd shaped passages linked through storage rooms and structures Talla couldn't track. Could she trust this woman? Facial existed in Form, after all, and Facial women developed all sorts of tricks as they advanced. The possibility that this woman employed some clever mental device in persuading Talla merited consideration.

"Where are we?"

"It only matters where we're going," her guide pitched her voice like a teacher who had finished a lesson and intended to impart nothing further.

They reached a dead end; a dusty old room full of old sacks marked 'flour' and a number of broken wooden cartwheels and shelves. The place reeked of dust and stale air and it seemed to Talla no one had trod these cold, stone floors in ages.

The tall woman reached for a large sack of flour Talla estimated as about the same weight as herself. With a light grunt, she heaved the sack aside and pulled on a rope buried in a pile of dust on the floor. A wooden circle lifted out of the dust with a crack as it unsealed itself from the stone ring upon which it sat.

"Whuh?" Talla gasped.

"Take this," the woman handed Talla a torch. "I have to close the door behind me."

That Talla felt no visceral reservations twigged her intellect. Certainly, this woman could send her to her death, locking her in some tiny underground chamber, but Talla's emotional side wouldn't believe her capable of such things.

With a troubled expression on her lips, she laid the torch on the ground and climbed down into the hole, only taking the torch again when she could barely reach it. Without knowing the length of the ladder, she had no idea of the consequences of a fall. Descending one handed made things slower than she would have liked, but she had no intention of dying here, in such a stupid way.

When she reached the tenth rung, she heard the door above her close and heard her guide descending from above.

"How far is it?"

"Not far," she called down, her voice pitched knowingly, "Not nearly as deep as those sewers."

'She even knows about that? Madra Zen!'

Indeed, only twenty rungs down, her feet hit solid rock and she found herself at the end of a long rocky passage with only one way to go.

"Come along," the tall woman held a second torch high over her head. "You'll not find the way yourself."

Talla found the subterranean journey bewildering, full of backwards cuts in the rock and unseen zigzags recognized only by her guide. The flickering torchlight played all sorts of tricks on her eyes.

'If this women leaves me, I could conceivably die down here.' Talla remembered now her concerns about the tricks of the women of Facial. Had she brought anything with her, even a piece of chalk, to help her find her way out?

The engineers who had laid out the sewers had done so with a logical efficiency; a need to follow certain basic rules of physics of which Talla had an instinctive understanding. Whoever had laid out this maze had worked under no such compunctions.

Eventually, however, the cross cuts ceased and the cavern began to open up. Her guide, ducking her head under a last rocky overhang, waved her through into a long straight passage bearing all the signs of proper masonry and the use of quarried rock.

"Only a bit farther, dear."

Talla took advantage of the width of the passage to walk directly beside her guide and try to peer up under her helm. The flickering of the torchlight prevented her from getting a clear look through the visor.

Stymied, she faced forward, squinting her eyes to probe the edges of the area they lit with their torches. Consequently, panic seized her when she realized her guide had left her side. Talla twisted around to find the otherwise graceful woman had fallen to one knee, panting heavily.

"Mistress?"

"I - I have to return, Talla," she whispered. "They'll miss me soon regardless."

"But -"

"But nothing. It's not much farther, child. You'll find a ladder fifty metres ahead on the right. It exits onto the second floor of a grain storehouse. Drop down to the first floor and wait outside the front door."

"Wait for whom?"

The tall woman slid backwards and inhaled a deep breath of air as she regained her feet.

"How should I know, child? Someone, certainly. Best of luck. May the gods be at your back."

"But who are you?" Talla stepped closer, trying to get at least a good look at the woman's eyes.

The woman only laughed, very lightly, and danced out of range. A moment later, though she never seemed to run, she disappeared into the maze of caves.

Alone in the dark, Talla realized her options had shrunk considerably and her emotional confidence had departed with her guide, coming to match the intellectual doubts she'd harboured from the start.

Together, she and her guide had walked a considerable distance, possibly enough to have left the Temple, which meant she'd escaped with armour and weapons. If the woman hadn't lied, she could now join up with the departing army and get herself alongside Zhair'lo.

She looked at the sides of the passage, then back along the way she'd come and finally in the direction her guide had pointed her.

'Forward, then, since I have no other choice.'

Holding the torch high and listening for the sounds of enemies she suddenly feared, she began counting her steps and marched down the long straight passage.

-===================-

H'reena, Officer of Facial, stood within the Goddess's triangle, just outside the gates joining it to Form. She watched armoured women hustle in and out of those bronze doors, moving to take positions on the walls or carrying messages to far flung places in the Temple. To an unknowing eye, H'reena acted in some official capacity. Perhaps she waited for a messenger, or carried a message herself. Or maybe her duty lay in overseeing the behaviour of the low ranking women moving around her. At any rate, she comported herself in a way so as to remove all doubt about the legitimacy of her presence.

Internally, however, her mind spun, critically examining every move of every body that passed within range of her vision. In order to expand her visual range, she removed her helm and tucked it under her arm.

Her Mistress had given her an order and she intended to see it through, no matter how vague and open ended. The key lay in finding someone appropriate. If absolutely necessary, H'reena could go to Baccarat's depot herself, but that would draw far too much attention. Besides which, she had no authority to join the departing van to Beshenna, nor to add any other members to it. She would need to retrieve the foolish girl, transport her to the military carts and find a way to get her added to their escorts.

What had the Sorceress imagined in giving her this order? Where had she expected H'reena to find a woman with both the sympathy, rank and of the right Discipline to -

"Shanata!" she called out suddenly at a woman in full armour quietly slipping past her.

"H'reena," Shanata called back, clearly upset by the identification.

Armour could hide a lot of body language and facial expression, but H'reena could still measure eyes and posture. Shanata, she surmised, operated somewhat illicitly.