‘This is ridiculous!’ The high priest stamped his staff in anger. ‘I won’t be blackmailed—’ Another roar of agony cut him off. Nona could hardly see for tears. Her nose ran and she couldn’t wipe it; her throat was raw with shouting for the abbess to stop.
High Priest Jacob’s face was set in a rigid, sickly grimace. He turned and walked back to his chair, taking the three steps to the dais in one, his journey punctuated by the abbess’s screams. He turned, tucked his robes behind his knees and sat down.
‘I will watch the flesh—’ Another scream. ‘—drip from your bones before I let you sell me this—’ A scream that had nothing human in it. ‘—this pathetic lie.’
‘I’ll take the Shield test!’ Nobody heard Nona amongst the shouting and the abbess’s almost unbroken howling. She lunged forward, smashing the weight of her yoke into the table. The candle jolted, fell, and rolled away. ‘I’ll take the Shield test!’ Nona yelled it into the stunned silence. For a moment nobody spoke. Then the abbess collapsed and everyone started talking at once.
17
The rain hit Nona, cold and hard, as she stepped through the doors of Heart Hall, the shock of it seeming to wake her to the truth of her situation. Standing in the chamber before the archons in their finery had been so far outside her experience that events took on a dream-like quality, ending in a nightmare. Out there in the freezing rain the grim reality regained its hold.
She could see little but the backs of the guards leading the way, and to either side, almost lost in the downpour, the grey shapes of sisters and novices huddled in their habits, pressed to the walls for shelter. The icy water burned on her wrists where the yoke had taken her skin off. She flexed her hands rapidly, knowing she would need them soon. The rain ran off her fingertips as if they were pipes spraying it from within.
The procession kept a brisk pace. Nona had no problem keeping up. Free now from the yoke’s weight she felt as if she were floating, as if with one hard kick she could shrug off the earth’s bonds and reach the roof of Blade Hall, a dark shape wavering ahead of them. A few moments later they were through the doors with more men pushing in behind them.
Two guards took Nona off to one side, paying no real care to how they held her, as if she were really just a little girl, not a prisoner accused of murder preparing to take some trial that few full-fledged Red Sisters would try.
The high priest and archons came through the doors and stood dripping on the sand, finery bedraggled. Nona’s mother used to say that the rain didn’t care how long you’d spent brushing your hair, it’d fall on you just the same. The villagers had it that there were gods in the rain, just as there were gods in each river and wood. You could pray to them but generally by the time they got close enough to hear you it was too late to stay dry.
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.