We returned to Castille by sea, once again delighted
to meet with the sights and smells of the home country (except for Fergus,
of course). Upon reaching San Cristobal, we found a comfortable inn
near the port, staying away from the university quarter this time.
We had no wish to be visited by our hot-headed "friends" again. We
freshened up, and went down to the common room for a joyous dinner; after
all, we had prevented great disaster in Vodacce, we had had many adventures,
and we were now back in the loveliest country in Théah. Another
day and we could be back at our estancias. These comforting
thoughts made us feel light-hearted despite the sombre overtones that had
marked the end of our trip in Dionna.
But we had only been there a few hours when
a messenger boy brought a letter sealed in crimson wax for our confessor.
After staring at the seal and reading the letter, brother Cadfaello announced
that he must immediately return to his monastery, where he was being summoned.
We were sorry to see him go. But we were still in a good mood; Lucas
winked at all the pretty girls, and Fergus was not indifferent to them
either, nor to the good wine. Lucas teased me mercilessly about my
refusal to drink more than a moderate glass or to flirt, mocking my "strait-laced
ways".
When we returned to our rooms later that evening,
Lucas and I discovered that we too had received post. Both of us,
upon getting to our chambers, found that letters had been slipped under
our respective doors. I picked up mine with great curiosity and looked
at the seal; it was intact, but plain, without a crest or imprint.
I broke it and opened the folds. To my amazement, it was a poem,
a very pretty poem that spoke of love. The handwriting was one I
knew, for having seen it on countless calculation sheets; and a single
initial was signed at the bottom of the page: "A". My breath caught
in my throat and I felt my cheeks grow warm.
Next door, I heard Lucas's exclamation of
surprise. I quickly folded the letter and went out to see what the
matter was. He had also received a letter, but this one was signed:
"Didi"! She too had written poetry, although Lucas said it was not
very good. I did not choose to mention the contents of my own letter.
It was clear to me the trio of Didi, Rodrigo, and Vincente must be ashore
in San Cristobal. I smiled and went back to my room.
The next morning, we ran a few errands.
Before we returned to the estancias, I needed to see a shipwright
in the capital. I had discussed this with my cousins; I wished to
commission the building of a small vessel. After talking price, materials,
and schedule with the shipwright, I opted to order a small but fleet lugger.
I had a good recommendation from my uncle Enrique, and I had quite an enjoyable
time deciding on the practical details of ship construction. When
I was done, it was still light but a bit late to head out, so we thought
to stay in San Cristobal for one more night and leave in the morning.
We were walking idly through the streets of the
old capital, enjoying the late afternoon and far from any thought of danger,
when we heard a great noise of hooves behind us. We turned around
and saw at least a dozen horsemen galloping down the street, dressed in
scarlet Inquisitors' robes. We moved to get out of their way, but
they made straight for us; in a quick scuffle that took us entirely by
surprise, they captured Miranda and rode away!
Instinct took over me rather than reason;
I was able to dismount one of the last riders from his horse and jump in
the saddle in his stead. Slapping the reins to urge the horse on,
I tore through the streets on San Cristobal behind the abductors, without
first checking whether Lucas and Fergus were able to follow. Riding
at a breakneck pace, I gained on the brigands of the cloth, getting closer
and closer, until I was close enough to touch them; I tried to reach Miranda,
but there was too many of them – and I was alone. In the end I was
knocked out of the fight and the Inquisitors rode away with my cousin.
I woke up at the inn, where I had been transported
after Lucas and Fergus had found me again. Lucas was livid with anger.
He had sent a petition to His Eminence Cardinal Estéban Verdugo
to request an audience. To our surprise, he was granted such an audience
almost immediately. We dressed in our most appropriate clothes and
went to the Cardinal's Palace. After being made to wait past the
appointed time just enough to get Lucas thoroughly irate, we were brought
to Cardinal Verdugo's austere office.
The cardinal was extremely courteous and extremely
unyielding. Miranda was a witch, he said, thus she had attracted
the Inquisition's scrutiny. She would be tried and, if found heretic,
treated accordingly. He (so he said) was powerless to intervene.
Naturally, we did not believe this assurance or powerlessness, but we had
no way of coercing his help and no assets to bargain with. The interview
reached an end and we were dismissed empty-handed.
We tried to find someone who would have influence
with the Inquisition and the Cardinal, or who might be able to learn of
Miranda's fate. Had she been imprisoned nearby, would she be tried
publicly? Uncle Andrès, despite his position as advisor to the King, was
of course the last person who could help since this was surely a manoeuvre
by the Cardinal to harm him and to cause his political embarassment as
well. We dared not yet tell Uncle of the situation, although surely
he would find out very soon. Would the Cardinal go so far as to have
Miranda executed?
We frantically approached everyone of influence
or intelligence we could think to petition, but we were having no luck.
At long last, we met Professor Alvaro Arciniega, whom we had last encountered
in San Augustin, seemingly by chance – it was well known he was no friend
of the Inquisition. He, having heard through common acquaintances
of our urgent enquiries, let us know of another rumour he had heard: it
was said that Miranda was at this very moment being transported east
under the close guard of Inquisitors, to be burned in the flames of El
Fuego Sagrado.
We knew, of course, of the legendary Chamber
of the Holy Flame where the Third Prophet was said to have dwelt, but had
no
notion that this was still being used for anything but a pilgrimage site
by the Church, and a rather poorly known one at that, for the Church guards
it jealously. The column of fire that rises through is said to be
impossible to extinguish, and no one has been able to find its source or
what feeds its flames.
We obtained horses and left with all haste
for La Sierra de Hierro. At first we checked every coach we met in
the hopes of catching the Inquisitors and the captive Miranda before they
reached their destination, but found no trace of them. Rather than
delay by searching along the way, we made all speed for the Chamber of
the Holy Flame; even if we overtook the red-robed blackguards we could
still intercept them at the holy site. We changed horses frequently,
but of course once we reached the mountains we could not make the same
speed.
We began the much slower ascension of La Sierra
along steep, tortuous paths, asking everyone we met along the way – a very
small number of people – whether they had seen a group of Inquisitors.
The wary answers we received from those who dared to speak indicated that
a group of such Inquisitors had been travelling less than a day ahead of
us, but no one could or would tell us whether Miranda had been with them.
Then the weather seemed to turn against us, making our progress yet slower
and more miserable.
At last we reached the sacred cave where the
Third Prophet had his vision. As we approached we could hear chanting
in Théan, and we raced forward. The flickering light of the
Eternal Flame revealed a group of Inquisitors in the midst of a ceremony,
with Cardinal Verdugo himself officiating! Miranda was tied up near
him, looking terrified. She could not scream since she had been gagged,
but she shot us a pleading glance. Lucas gave a great cry of rage
and we lunged to Miranda's help. The Cardinal's head whipped around
and he glared when he saw us. The Inquisitors interposed themselves
between us and their victim, and a fight erupted.
"Can't you see she is damned?" thundered the
Cardinal. "She must be exorcised and her sin cleansed in the flames
or she will carry her taint through Castille!"
He seized Miranda, and lifted her bodily.
She is a small woman, and he is a tall and fit enough man; he had no trouble
throwing her in the flames of El Fuego Sagrado.
Lucas roared in anger and bowled through the
Inquisitors, while Fergus and I kept the rest of them occupied. Lucas
rushed forward and, with an almost inhuman effort, jumped through the flame
and snatched his twin sister! The two of them hit the ground on the
far side with a dull impact sound. Lucas shook his head in stunned
disbelief, then frantically checked on Miranda's condition. Meanwhile,
Fergus and I had taken care of most of the opposition, so we retreated
near Lucas and Miranda to protect them from the Cardinal.
"She's alive," said Lucas. Indeed, she
was breathing. But Lucas could not get her to wake up.
Cardinal Verdugo glared at us through narrowed
eyes. "Her foul sorcery has been burned away by the Holy Flame!"
he pronounced in his best ex cathedra voice. "The witch had
no soul, as you can see; you hold but an empty body! Better you had
let her die and be cleansed entirely."
We looked at him with hatred, but he and his
battered minions made no attempt to fight us further. Rather, they
left us with our unconscious prize. Miranda had slumped into a coma.
With great care, we brought her back home, a much slower trip than our
arrival had been. We had to explain the whole story to uncle Andrès,
who showed great sorrow. The best doctors, and even some priests
not of the Inquisitorial persuasion, were brought to look at my poor cousin,
but to this day she remains in a deep coma, beautiful and distant like
some fairy princess.
