Maribel and Kaitlyn were running out of time. Maribel had reached far into the weave, asking questions, turning stones, hoping someone had insight into the High Council’s decision concerning Kaitlyn. Now she was just waiting to hear from any of the contacts. Only five days separated the carriage from where Kaitlyn’s tribe was projected to be waiting.
The two had grown so close. Partially because they shared the small carriage between the two of them, and partially because there was little to do but talk about themselves. Maribel was struggling with a cognitive dissonance in their exchanges. Unlike the Pirate Queen from the months prior, Kaitlyn was pitiable.
In fact, she deserved pity. She had been goaded and manipulated past a criminal point of no return. And now she was paying for it. The priestess wished she could shed better light on what Matthew had done to those who had and would be passing judgement, but at the same time, Maribel had just barely dodged Matthew’s attack. Sam and Shiner had barely survived it. And there were many who did not.
“Kaitlyn, may I ask you something?”
“Anything, sister.”
“How did you deal with the excommunication?”
Kaitlyn took a deep breath. “I think we kind of touched on it the other day. I replaced my family with Matthew. In the Stone Circle, an individual has no identity.”
“What does that mean?” Maribel asked.
“Everything you do is for the good of the tribe. It was here before you and will be here long after. Your individual deeds mean little in the grand scheme of things. When I was excommunicated, there was a void. I had never, in my entire life, cultivated my own identity. And when I lost the purpose of the tribe, I lost purpose altogether. And that''s where Matthew came in.”
“One man replaced your entire culture?”
Kaitlyn sighed. “And now you see how I could get into this mess.”
“Ladies!” the driver of the carriage called from the front, his voice barely audible through the thick wooden walls. Maribel gestured for Kaitlyn to wait one moment as she cracked open the window.
“Yes?”
“Inn up ahead. Feelin’ thirsty. Mind if we rest for the evening?”
Maribel looked to Kaitlyn, then called through the window “are we still going to arrive on time?”
“Just feed the horse an extra meal and we’ll make it just fine.”
Maribel nodded as Kaitlyn showed a glimmer of hope. “Better safe than sorry. You need your rest. Go ahead and stop.”
The driver did not reply, just slightly sped the wagon up to more quickly arrive at their pit stop. When the carriage came to halt, Kaitlyn put the gilded shackles back on her wrist while Kaitlyn sealed them, just in case.
The priestess stepped out of the wagon to get a look at the surroundings, but before she could even take in the sight of the inn itself, the stablehand had her attention.
“Welcome sister! Your driver said you’d be the one to talk to about housing the horses and getting my gold slip?”
Annoyed, Maribel nodded. “Yes, that is me. The slip is in the carriage. Allow me one moment.”
“Can I get a name, Sister?”
“Maribel,” she replied, and was shocked when she noticed a slight flash in the stablehand’s expression.
“I uh,” he began, looking around. “Really think that habit fits you.”
“Oh! Thank you,” Maribel said, smiling slightly. “I appreciate fine clothwork.”
“As do I,” he replied.
Maribel studied the man for a fleeting moment, noticing a thick woolen mantle, rich dark green in color, that he wore over his shoulders. There was a golden thread that ran through the cloth just where the mantel covered his heart. The name “Snowshoe” was written in code.
“Who is Snowshoe?” she asked.
“Old horse of mine,” he replied. “She’s an old bitch now, but I always loved her.” Satisfied, the man reached into his pocket and removed a thin handkerchief. “For you, I believe, and if not, a priestess is a hell of a lot better of a candidate to deliver it.”
“I appreciate it,” Maribel said with a grin. “Let me get you that golden slip.” As she climbed back into the carriage, she worked to read the message.
Little Sister,
My contact on the High Council on The Throne was, for some reason, cut from all discussions of your charge’s sentencing. This has not barred me from gathering some information, though. Gossip is easy to come by.
It would seem that the council sought to remove her as any sort of liability. They knew well they could not charge and try her without upsetting some of the civilians she and the paladins helped to save.
Not to mention if the tribe learned of her assistance after the Church had condemned her? Relations would be endangered. So they moved as quickly and quietly as possible to get the poor girl off their docket. I hope this helps, dear!
With love,
Kind Countess
So that was that. Political posturing. Without a word to Kaitlyn, Maribel grabbed a golden slip from her travel bag and stepped back outside, crossing to where the stablehand had taken the horse.
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“That you very much,” Maribel said, handing over the golden slip.
“Of course, I will send your regards,” the stablehand replied.
Maribel walked back to the Church carriage carrying Kaitlyn, feeling vindicated in her position in the Weave, as well as her suspicions in the High Council. But now that she knew, Maribel was unsure what to do with that information. As she arrived at the carriage, she made sure the driver was still in the nearby pub eating, or drinking, or napping. Whatever he did when he made one of his frequent breaks.
“Kaitlyn, it’s me,” Maribel whispered through the cracked carriage door.
“Anything yet?”
Maribel climbed into the carriage and sat across from Kaitlyn. “You’re a political sacrifice. They do not want to ignore the relic theft incident, but they can''t ignore you helping when Matthew attacked.”
“Just as you thought,” Kaitlyn said, sadly.
“They pushed the decision to simply get you off the table.”
“Someone else’s problem, huh?”
“I’m so sorry,” Maribel said.
“What can we do?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“You hadn’t planned for this?” Kaitlyn asked, her disappointment mixing with a reignited fear for her life.
“Well, I wanted to know why they were doing this to you, and then we could work from there,” Maribel explained.
“Very well, Sister,” Kaitlyn said, slumping. “It must be nice knowing that once you drop me off to my fate you will be returning home.”
Maribel was shocked by the suckerpunch. “What do you mean?”
“Your life is not on the line, is it? But I’m being returned to the people that excommunicated me branded a criminal. You will go home with a ‘job well done’ certificate and get paid for leading me to my death.”
Maribel listened quietly, watching the emotions within Kaitlyn work to free themselves. Maybe it was defensiveness, or maybe clarity of mind, but Maribel responded to the agitated shamaness.
“Yes, I will get to go home. Because I did not attack a clergyman of the Church of the Will. I did not steal a relic of an Elder God. I did not facilitate the deaths of twenty-seven civilians in a shopping area in a world capital. That was you that did that, Kaitlyn.
“Yes, what Matthew did to you was horrific. I would not wish it on you or anyone else, with or without the context of your own actions. You may have felt you had little recourse other than committing the crimes you committed, but you still committed them.
“The Church is treating you like a troubled schoolgirl, and that is inappropriate. But I am not interested in getting you free. Just getting you the justice you deserve.”
Kaitlyn stared at Maribel. It was taking everything she had to keep from weeping, but she was not going to risk it. She, trembling, swallowed the emotions down.
“I’m sorry.” Maribel rose from the seat and went to step back outside. “I’m going to check on the driver.”
“Fine.”
Kaitlyn sat alone, counting her breaths, in and out. As she inhaled, she flexed a set of muscles deep in her core and lower back, and released them on exhales. Just another trick her grandmother taught her to relax.
Maribel had a point. There was a time in her relationship where Kaitlyn did things to satisfy Matthew. She had no idea when that urge to please him transformed into fear of disappointing or upsetting him. And honestly, it would probably be impossible to find. But surely, when she attacked Sam, beginning to show her pregnancy, that surely was the moment sympathy for her should have been lost.
She put the livelihood of her target, her friends, and most importantly, her child, behind her need to please her husband. And the atrocity her husband committed immediately after that battle made clear that Kaitlyn, in Matthew’s mind, was put after his urge to please himself.
Kaitlyn thought back to when Maribel discussed the spread of blame. How much could Kaitlyn be blamed in all of this? More than she was allowing herself, no doubt.
As Kaitlyn fell into a gentle sleep, she, once again, took her position on the cliffside in her dream world. The past few nights of this repeated dream, Kraag drew even closer. His misty eyes were looking up at her, twinkling when they noticed her. And then Kraag spoke.
The voice was not fitting at all. It was refined, well pronounced, and was void of any accent at all.
“Kaitlyn Carpenter. Is this the name you still prefer?”
“I have no other name now.”
“Excommunication,” Kraag replied with understanding. “The Priestess. What do you think of her words?”
Kaitlyn was taken aback. How could he know of the conversation she just had? Suddenly, Kaitlyn’s own awareness in her dream shocked her. Was she even really asleep? “I think there is a reason for what she said. Though I was wronged, I wronged others.”
“So now you will allow me to punish you?”
“You?”
“You are of my tribe. You bow to my laws. And now I will see you convicted for your so-called ‘wrongs.’ Is this not what you expected to hear?”
“How is this happening?” Kaitlyn asked after a moment’s pause. “Are you truly speaking to me? I’ve never known you to do this, Kraag.”
“Do you seek freedom? Freedom to live your life alone? Punish yourself on your own terms and express the emotions that are eating you alive?”
Kaitlyn thought for a moment. “I think it would be best. I do not want my tribe to feel vindicated by my return.”
“Well, Maribel told you plainly. Your freedom depends on you now. No one will help you. No one will take pity on you. You were abused, but your crimes will not go ignored until you free yourself.”
“And how do I do that?”
Suddenly, Kraag’s twinkling, watery eyes turned to blood red rubies. “You know.”
Kaitlyn took a shuffling step, but was shocked when her foot struck something. Her child’s urn sat at the edge of the cliff.
“Open it,” Kraag urged, as black, shadowy liquid poured from his red eyes. “Free your losses and free your emotions, Kaitlyn. Release them to release yourself.”
Kaitlyn smashed the urn and began the end of the world.
“Kaitlyn,” Maribel whispered sternly from the door to the carriage. “Kaitlyn, wake up, please. I have horrible news.”
Kaitlyn woke with a start, her heart still beating quickly from the dream, and her skin still coated with droplets of sweat. “What is it?”
“Your tribe is closer than we had expected them to be. We will be arriving in two days instead of five.”
“What? Why? How?” Kaitlyn was confused. Her tribe’s rules had them maintain a specific distance from Kraag at all times. They were so easy to find.
“It seems that Kraag has stopped walking.” Maribel looked worried.
The King’s Shade floated, his avatar only partially formed as two dimly lit red spheres with his shadowy cloak blending in the shade of a nearby tree. He gazed off to the mountain peak he knew to be the shell of Kraag.
“Thank you, friend,” the King’s Shade whispered. “Serendipity was always your weakness. Too dumb to recognize the messages you send.”
The god looked back to the carriage, satisfied with the potency of his dream weaving. With a last flicker of light from his eyes, the god disappeared, leaving a dust of god tears on the grass.