The Sorority of Shadows

[Nathan of the FoS]

Paridon
2 December 759

My dear Professor Kingsley,

I hope this letter finds you well and your research progressing as you had hoped when last we spoke, despite the turmoil and unpleasantness of recent family events. Since our last correspondence I have had the very great pleasure of meeting a woman whose acquaintance I think you should make--none other than the Countess Karla von Lovenhorst, who I found to be so like you in her attainments and gifts as to make me think the two of you to be practically sisters in spirit. After describing to her the nature of your research and your goals she expressed a desire to meet with you and encouraged me to arrange your introduction to her. She is wintering with her father the Count in Port-a-Lucine and may be called upon at 17 Rue de Borges at your convenience, should you be in that city.

I hope for your continued well-being and eventual safe return, should the call of warm weather dissuade you from returning immediate to our humble city.

Most cordially,

A. Larner

[Pamela]

January 3, 760
Nevuchar Springs, Darkon

“Excuse me, Professor Kingsley? A letter for you.”

“Thank you, Ragnol.” Gertrude accepted the envelope, and her brow furrowed as she saw the postmark of her homeland. Rupert must be fine, she assured herself as she made her way up the stairs to her room.

Once the door was closed and the lamp lit, she let her worry show as she swiftly opened the letter. The handwriting was familiar but not so much that she could instantly recognize the author. She relaxed as she reached the end of the first sentence, smiling at the subtle reference to the conflagration of the Manoir. She gasped at the second sentence, a beaming smile brightening her face as her eyes quickly raced through the following sentences. Catching the gist, she leapt up from the bed, laughing and clutching the envelope to herself, almost dancing with excitement and joy. “Countess von-“ she exclaimed, unable to complete the phrase in her greedy desire to read the wonderful news once more.

She forced herself to put the letter down after the second proper reading. The professor made a mental list of the people she would have to notify of the coming changes in her schedule, as she began to take out her bags, preparing to depart with the next morning’s coach. When her bags were packed, she went down to supper, the letter constantly taken up as an added enjoyment to the meal.

Upstairs she took out her stationery, and began to write to Theodorus Raines and Cai Grovesong. Apologies were offered for canceled appointments and thanks for previous interviews and information.

Crow and Serd were next. Both were offered apologies for missed meetings, as well as the request to write via her Ludendorf mailing address. Any mail there would be forwarded to her, and she would be returning that way after her visit. She made no mention of Dementlieu; she couldn’t be certain of the purpose of the meeting’s purpose (but oh how she hoped she was right!) nor whether Larner or the Countess wished it to be common knowledge. Both were promised explanations at a further date; their veracity depended on the outcome of her journey.

She wrote a couple of others, then took up her pen one more time before addressing her Zherisian Esteemed Brother.

My dear Mr Larner,

Your letter found me in good health, and granted me good spirits. Bastion Raines has been a veritable font of information and resources; my studies progress satisfactorily.

How fortuitous and welcome your news is! I had been arranging to visit Port-a-Lucine to make the acquaintance of Bastion Caille.

She had been planning to do it in the early spring. The new leader had had a year to establish her place in the church and would surely have begun to introduce, or at least suggest, coming changes and innovations. The library would be rife with gossip and theological debates, and possibly another heresy or two.

I have long wished to make the acquaintance of Countess von Lovenhorst, but never dared to presume. I truly cannot thank you enough for this introduction, let alone your generous comparison.

She lay down her pen, clenching her fingers as she contained her desire to write effulgent thanks; she was embarrassed enough at what she had written so far but knew the task wouldn’t get any easier if delayed. She did owe him gratitude for this favour. He can always blame my gender…or long contact with the mainland, she thought with some amusement.

Lamordian weather willing, I should be in Dementlieu before month’s end. Unfortunately I shall not be returning to Paridon in the near future but I beg your presence at dinner when I do. Until then, I hope winter does not weigh too heavily upon our city or yourself.

Sincerely,

G. Kingsley

[Pamela]

17 Rue de Borges, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu

The black covered carriage rolled to a stop. The bewigged coachman descended, opened the door, and lowered the built-in staircase. Gertrude stepped out, accepting his hand as she stepped onto the pavement. Her hands smoothed the invisible creases of her faun-brown jacket and skirt before running her fingers through the lace ruffles of her white blouse. Tightening her grey winter coat about her, she moved with her usual poise up the stairs. Her makeup was impeccable and made to seem invisible; her brown and silvery hair in a simple but neat bun as usual. Pearl earrings, wedding and Fraternity rings were her jewelry. She had debated whether to relax her wardrobe standards in this case, but decided to be cautious. Her fear was not outdressing the Countess (impossible and absurd) but not coming across as a Brother. She sighed to herself. Since her entry into the Fraternity, Gertrude had never paid so much attention to appearance to so little effect.

Travelling had been onerous and long as January maintained its cruel grip on Lamordia. She had made her slow way across that snow-locked land, with little contact beyond her fellow-travellers; correspondence had dried up after her departure from Ludendorf. She had brought books with her to keep herself busy, as well as working on various assignments. Raines had been interesting, and she was looking forward to visiting Ste Mere des Larmes.

But once she had arrived in the oasis of Dementlieu, the hopes and concerns she had over the coming interview returned. She had given herself a day of rest upon her arrival in Port-a-Lucine before writing the Countess. Karla von Lovenhorst would be busy with both social and professional engagements, and Gertrude was determined to accept the first opportunity offered.

And the opportunity was now… She took a deep breath, then smiled. She was nervous, but also happy. If nothing else, she was granted the honour of meeting the first female member of the Fraternity. This woman and her father had opened the door for others like herself, and that Gertrude would always admire.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Stepping to the black-painted door, Professor Kingsley knocked--noting with interest the silvery knocker formed as the Ouroboros. The door swung wide almost immediately, revealing a hatchet-faced man of medium height with a nest of wild black hair.

"Madame?" he said, in a tone which commanded more than invited Professor Kingsley to come inside. Once in the entry hall, he took a silver salver from an end table and thrust it toward her. "Your card, madame. You call on the Contessa?"

With a mixture of amusement and disbelief she offered the...footman? Impossible. Surely no ordinary servant would behave this way, and the man's accent placed him as Borcan; he was obviously not a local hiring...her card, which he examined much more closely than could possibly be warranted, then whisked away into some inner recess of the house, leaving Gertrude to admire the exquisitely furnished entry hall. The overall impression was one of simple, almost grim elegance, from the black-and-white tiled floor to the statues--could they possibly be original de Bonnichis?--of Prometheus and Epimetheus on either side of the entry.

Her examination was cut short by the re-emergence of the startling Borcan, who declared, "The Contessa is at home, madame. Follow me."

Turning on his heel, he led Gertrude through the great double doors at the other end of the entry, down a longish and extremely dark hallway with more twists and turns than a Borcan contract, and into a room painfully bright by contrast, even in the weak winter sun of Dementlieu. High windows along the southern and eastern walls flooded the room with light, revealing a young woman seated on a long black sopha near a roaring fire. Professor Kingsley had been right to believe she could not outdress the Countess (for this could be no-one else); she was dressed in a silvery gown of such simple opulence that Professor Kingsley felt herself, illogically, to be embarassingly underdressed for the encounter.

"Madame Kingsley, I present la Contessa von Lovenhorst," the Borcan rattled off. "Contessa, the...Professor?...Kingsley." Bowing, he turned and left as abruptly as he seemed to do everything else.

Standing, the Countess takes Professor Kingsley's offered hand in hers. "Professor Kingsley," she said, her voice high and clear. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, be seated." Seating herself, the Countess gestured toward the place at her side on the sopha.

[Pamela]

Gertrude approved of the décor, though she found it a bit severe. Very Darkonese… The statues impressed and intrigued her. Prometheus I can understand, but Epimetheus? A warning perhaps, though we all can learn from hindsight. I wonder if Pandora is in the conservatory- oh here he comes again…

During their tortuous walk, the professor considered the wild-haired man. It was possible that the ‘footman’ was a long-time family servant, but… Bodyguard, or some other special talents…or, she thought wryly at yet another turn, Perhaps it’s for his innate sense of direction…

She blinked her eyes when she entered the Countess’ salon, dazzled not only by the streaming sunlight but the woman’s exquisite gown. The Borcan’s abrupt and hesitant introduction immediately brought her back to herself, chip firmly in place on her shoulder at the question of title.

She smiled at the Countess’ greeting. “Thank you,” she replied, taking the proffered seat on the black sopha. “The pleasure, and honour, is mine, Contessa,” she replied. Her eyes were adjusting to the illumination and she was able to take in more of her surroundings. “I hope your father is in good health?”

Her minutes-old resolution to equanimity had evaporated in the reality of a long-awaited moment. She would have loved nothing more than to lay aside the pleasantries of small talk, but she was the guest, and of lower rank both in class and the Fraternity. She schooled herself to patience, and to engage in the verbal minuet of etiquette.

[Nathan of the FoS]

"My father is well, thank you," the Countess replied. "Would you like chocolate? Coffee?" At Gertrude's nod she touched a silver bell set on the end-table; somewhere within the house an answering bell tolled, and the Borcan reappeared, genie-like, with a tray of saucers and cups before him.

The Countess raised one fine eyebrow as he approached, but deigned to select a cup of chocolate regardless. "Thank you, Iago," she said coolly, but with perhaps a hint of resigned amusement. "How very solicitous. Professor Kingsley?"

Gertrude's selection made, the Countess made a shooing gesture and said, "Thank you, Iago. That will be all," placing, perhaps, a very slight emphasis on the last word. She and Gertrude watched his retreat, then the Countess turned again to the professor.

"I do apologize, Professor Kingsley," she said, a tiny smile quirking one end of her mouth. "My father has taken advantage of this turn in the weather to shoot in the country with some friends, and Iago has been deputized to watch over me. Which he does very thoroughly indeed," she said in a slightly louder voice, perhaps pitched to reach someone listening at the door. "And how was your trip from Nevuchar Springs, Professor Kingsley?"

As she spoke Gertrude again took the measure of the woman seated with her, trying to sort out inital impressions. The Countess was quite a small woman--shorter than the professor, and slender--with pale gold hair worn straight, an enviably clear and pale complexion, and wearing little or no make-up. Her feature were regular, her eyes blue-grey; she was not quite to the classic ideal of beauty, but certainly near the mark. In her silver gown she suggested, to the fancifully minded, a Snow Queen--or, to the more practical poet, perhaps a stiletto.

As Gertrude began to describe her trip, the Countess took up a quill and paper and wrote, motioning encouragingly for her to continue when she faltered, seeing the Countess apparently engaged in something else. Finishing, the Countess flicked the paper into the fire and smiled.

"Now," the Countess said, her voice slightly muted and flattened by...something...presumably the spell just cast..."we can converse more freely. I am well acquainted enough with Lamordian winters--and summers, for that matter--to know the vicissitudes of your journey. What I am really interested in is your recent research. Master Larner told me something of it...and of your goals."

[Pamela]

Gertrude also evinced some surprise at the Borcan’s appearance with the tray, while containing her amusement. She requested the chocolate; she preferred tea to coffee, and good chocolate was hard to resist. At the explanation about Iago she noted, smiling, “At least he does take his duties seriously.” An image of a dinner party with Iago greeting the guests came to mind and her eyes danced at the thought.

As she described her journey, Gertrude wondered at the Countess’ seeming preoccupation. She didn’t believe the woman was vapid or rude; there had to be some purpose behind it. Was she being tested on her reactions- to see if she took easy offense? Or to see if the professor were able to maintain her train of thought? She continued on calmly, curious to know what the blonde was writing.

Her eyes widened at the burning of the paper but a flicker of understanding arose at the Countess’ magical murmur. Her heart fluttered at the mention of Larner and goals. In her usual serene manner, she replied, “I must confess I was surprised that Master Larner had brought up my pursuits in the religious field. Ezra’s church has long fascinated me; she seems to be an embodiment of the aims professed by the Divinity of Mankind. The church’s ability to spread beyond its original borders is impressive; I personally believe the appearance of sects and even heresies are a sign of health for the faith.” Her voice and manner grew more animated as she entered her cherished field of studies.

“As a member of the Fraternity, I have long been considering Ezra’s relation to the Mists and the similarity of her goal to ours. I do not mean-,” she added, gently raising her hands as if to defer protest, “-her purpose, which the sects will never agree upon. Here is a woman who had a particular desire in mind- let us leave aside the Third Book for now. She enters the Mists…and what? Nearly a hundred years have passed since Yakov Dilisnya’s ravings, and the most popular temple in the Land of the Mists has arisen. Anchorites travel across the world, accepted even in such places as Falkovnia. They are granted some control over the Mists! Is Ezra a dupe of the Mists, or does she fight it from within? If she is a dupe, why have the Dark Powers granted her such power? Is she some odd form of darklord?”

She came to herself, then began to laugh. “Forgive me, Contessa; it’s been nearly a month since I’ve had an opportunity to speak to another about these matters. But is this what you were interested in?”

[Nathan of the FoS]

"M'm," the Countess replies--or, rather, fails to reply--sipping at her chocolate. "A fascinating subject indeed, Professor Kingsley, and one fraught with implications. You raise several interesting points...but allow me to profess a certain skepticism toward an unstated premise. It is central to our own conception of this Land of Mists that this material world," here the Countess lays her hand on the table, "is merely a reflection of the mental world each individual creates within himself and imposes, more or less successfully, on the world around him. Or her," she adds, smiling slightly. "If we take this to be the case, then I think we may well question the very existence of Ezra as an independent entity. The continual confusion over the attributes and plans of Ezra might be more profitably described in terms of the beliefs and psychological needs of those attracted to the idea of this merciful, generous protectress in the Mists..."

Setting down her cup, the Countess continues, "Let us consider the following possibility: that the manical delusion of Yakov Dilisnya, maintained with sufficient persistence over a significant period of time, led to either directly a distortion of Shadow, or to the attention and interest of the Watchers in Shadow. Thus is born the Lady Ezra. Dilisnya's intensity of belief wins over followers; as those followers grow more numerous and more distant from Dilisnya himself, their conception of this "protectress" grows more distant and more distinct from his, eventually leading to the schisms which characterize the Ezrans down to the present."

"Now, your questions present themselves rather differently. Rather than asking how Ezra interacts with the Watchers in Shadow, and why they grant her such leeway, we may ask why the idea of Ezra works so powerfully on the imagination of so many people--so powerfully that it offers those most dedicated to her, or it, the ability to manipulate Shadow, the very stuff of the Mists, in a way which even we have not yet successfully duplicated."

[Pamela]

The professor’s eyes sparkled as she listened, chocolate momentarily forgotten. “Then let us do as you request, and consider the reason for Ezra’s popularity and strength.” She was eager to question some of the other points brought up but focused on the task at hand. “The obvious reason, to myself at least, is the universality of her temple. One manifestation is the lack of ethnocentrism. Ezra is given no land of origin. There is no birthplace to gravitate to, no ‘Holy Land’, divine lineage or sacred tongue. This ambiguity encourages the flock to imagine Ezra as one of their own. When they hear about Ezra’s concern and sacrifice, they assume that it is for their behalf, not necessarily the Borcans, the Mordentish, et cetera. Icons around the world dress Ezra in their own garb, hymns are sung in native tongues.

“This universality is surprisingly palatable to governments." It still amazed the professor that Drakov would permit the church within his borders. "Yet the anchorites, whatever their political views, are present to convert souls, not to induce insurrection or expound their own cultural values.” In theory, at least. The reality at times was different, but what mattered for the sake of the argument was the church’s official stance. “Indeed,the leaders are more than happy to have the virtues of loyalty and obedience shouted from the pulpits. Reinforce it psychologically by sculptures and icons of a nobly-dressed Ezra et voila, the state is unconsciously linked to the church.

“The other strength of this faith lies in its flexibility, as revealed through the sects. The schisms cause great turmoil within the church and spark dozens of heresies. It has had to develop a Rite of Revelation to deal with the matter. Yet even when an anchorite’s proposition has been proven unorthodox, the chuch is unable to agree on what to do with the transgressor. This seeming leniency would normally be perceived as a weakness- but every time, the church has emerged whole, and it grows with each effort, even if only to increase a new sect’s local base.

“While this state of affairs is a nightmare for the church bureaucracy, it promotes an exchange of ideas and debate over their worthiness. An educated believer is able to consider another sect’s precepts without fear of being excommunicated by the local anchorite. Artists are not hidebound to rigid icongraphic standards. And all these practices, consciously or not, further impress upon the believer Ezra’s professed virtues of compassion and acceptance. Indeed the Mordentish sect, has best profited from this situation. What worshipper, hoping for their own salvation, would be able to resist a guardian who would forgive an inhuman monster?”

Gertrude paused at the end of her rhetorical question, and took up her cup and saucer. “This is very good, by the way, thank you.” Whether she was referring to the chocolate or the discussion was uncertain. The Fraternity could certainly benefit from considering the value of flexibility and change, especially after recent events…

[Nathan of the FoS]

"And yet," the Countess muses, "not every Ezran believes in forgiveness, at least to that heightened degree you speak of. That is what I understand of the most recent outgrowth of this philosphical tree, at least. What is Bastion Raines' position on the matter?"

"But I am in full agreement with you, that the universality of the Ezran Church, combined with the diversity of the personage of Ezra, is very striking. And yet there is one point that is never seriously disputed by any theologian--that Ezra is a woman."

Raising a significant eyebrow, the Countess continues, "What, do you believe, is the reason for this remarkable commonality on what might initally be considered a minor point?"

[Pamela]

“Certainly not all,” Gertrude agreed, “And for the average layman, I’m sure they’re less anxious about Ezra’s generousity towards redeemed members of the Armies of Darkness than that their own faults will seem miniscule in comparison, and therefore more deserving of reward.

“Bastion Raines is the antithesis of the Mordentish sect. He wishes corporal if not capital punishments for heretics, believing that they are hiding their own agendas under Ezra’s names and thus leading misguided souls to perdition and the Armies of Darkness. He considers them the human scouts of this army, and that they are even more insidious than the monsters because of their seductive blasphemies. I believe his motto would aptly be summed up in the phrase, “Slay them all! Ezra will know her own!” After all, a soul is more valuable than a life, and a heretic is a contagiously corrupt soul. He certainy feels that Ezra will forgive such overzealousness in the performance of duty.”

She smiled with some satisfaction at the reference to Ezra’s gender. Sometimes she wished herself capable of faith if only to share solidarity with this model. “The most basic reason is of course Yakov Dilisnya’s first vision, and the fact that all the others' visions have not seen fit to disagree with this aspect. The sects argue about whether Ezra was a mortal healer or a goddess, and what her message and place in the Grand Scheme is. But symbols are resistent to change, and this church is still fairly young. I have seen images of an elderly Ezra, as well as different skin tones. Nevuchar Springs actually contains one which has suspiciously non-human features. They are permitted, but there is controversy in the presentation. An alteration as extreme as gender- that will take at least another century, I’m sure. I wouldn’t be surprised if it started here,” she remarked, thinking of the bookish third sect. They'll probably define her as a number, first...

“Beyond that, as we well know,” she remarked dryly, “Gender is rife with many cross-cultural implications. The feminine is associated with the heart, and its virtues are emotional. Ezra upholds these virtues. Notice as well that her approach to the Mists is passive; she doesn’t fight it, or attempt to conquer it for the sake of souls.” A look of ironic amusement. “At least, not directly.” She began to quote from the First Book:

You cannot bid me enter, yet I cannot turn away. I offer myself to you so that you may know the suffering of my people. If I must be destroyed for them, then that is what must be.
The Mists of Death fell silent. Then the voice spoke, once more. “Enter the Mists if you must, mortal, but not as you are. Your kind has no place here. To enter the Mists, you must become as one with the Mists. Never again shall you leave them. Will you forever sacrifice yourself to watch over these few mortals?”
Spoke Ezra, “Such is my role in the Grand Scheme. So must it be.”*

“A splendid case of passive aggression, really,” Gertrude added drolly. “This mode of verbal sidling is certainly something associated with feminine behaviour. But I am being facetious."

*John Mangrum, "Anchors of Faith", Book of Secrets, p 16

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Yes," the Countess replies, running one finger along the edge of her cup. "Gender is certainly more defining of a person, or personage, than almost any other characteristic...and, as you say, Ezra offers something as a woman which a male divine figure cannot."

"The Church of Ezra has been a subject of interest for me, both because of things we have touched on and because of the implications those things have for our ultimate goals. A mind cannot hold two thoughts, much less two ways of thinking; it is obvious, therefore, that at some point we must supplant or subvert the Ezran faith-model with our own logical patterns. Have your studies given you any idea of how we might bring this about?"

[Pamela]

Gertrude nodded thoughtfully. Whether the Fraternity is willing to consider them, however… “There are pragmatic and mundane innovations which we can implement in relation to the structure of our organization. We already share certain features, which have strengthened our society. Cells are found throughout the Land of the Mists; the Umbra which head our organization are not a single entity, nor bound to a single nation. As we learned from Il Aluk and Ste Ronges, this diffusion works to our benefit.

“A Brother may be denied promotion or even entrance upon the basis of his presentation, but it is not permanent unless the individual is truly out of bounds. Our areas of interest are broad, and there is room for healthy debate, discourse, and the exchange of ideas. Solidarity is encouraged across national and intellectual borders.

“A church however is more than a body of priests. Individual anchorites, much as the Brothers, hire and commission mercenaries or other organizations to fulfill various duties. But the church has branches and orders which cater to its needs as a whole: these contain paladins, monks, laymen of particular skills dedicated to their causes. Standards are established and fulfilled, based on loyalty and aptitude for service. These affiliations and orders accept the Bastions as their ultimate authority.

“The Fraternity is aware that there may be traitors posing as loyalists. Many are hiring escorts, bodyguards, and spies- but who is judging the reliability of these mercenaries? The Brothers individually. Our Brothers are renowned for their intelligence-” a mental sneer at this as she thought of certain ones- “but they are human, and thus prone to error. In our twenty years of existence, we have surely gathered a corpus of regular services, be it as individuals or cells. Let these resources be presented to the Fraternity, for ready- and sanctioned employment.

“Some of these resources are neutral to our causes. So be it. But perhaps it is time to organize a secret society within our own- under our own- for those who are sympathetic but do not fit our requirements. We do not have nor want a symbol like Ezra; we create one,” she said calmly. “The pursuit of knowledge and enlightenment, the destruction of the armies of the undead- we have principles galore at our disposal. Human beings enjoy personal inclusion at others’ expense; it makes them feel elite. Mercenaries will always have a price, and a limit. A follower, now, who believes in his cause- he will give everything, including his life.

“Then there is the Fraternity itself…” She took a sip of chocolate then looked at the Countess. “Ezra's church is, at least technically, willing to permit monsters sympathetic to their cause within their midst. Perhaps the Fraternity should take this time to reconsider its own taboos against certain...pariahs.”

[Nathan of the FoS]

At this closing sally the Countess smiles widely for the first time. "You need not mince words in present company, my dear professor. Even in its name our own Fraternity makes its prejudices clear."

"And yet..." the Countess shrugs and thumbs the silver band adorning her left hand--a ring in the shape of intertwining asps clutching an onyx in their opened mouths--"not all our brothers, nor our Fathers, are impervious to a demonstration of excellence. Few are so liberal as Master Larner, more's the pity, but I can think of one female initiate other than yourself. Lady de Casteelle might have gained entrance, I think, if her husband were not the consummate chauvinist, and there was a Darkonese woman--Salome Hightower, I think the name was--who was refused only because there was suspicion that she might be an agent of the Great King, although the fact that her personality slays at five meters also worked against her. A woman with the right friends can go far..."

The Countess falls silent and examines the bottom of her cup with interest. "But friends she must have. And, better still, a sponsor."

[Pamela]

Gertrude returned the smile, relieved at the rare chance to be able to commiserate. She listened avidly to the Countess, raising her eyebrows at the description of Hightower. “I suppose she mustn’t get out much,” she dryly remarked. She didn’t have much sympathy for Lady de Casteelle; she personally couldn’t imagine living with a man who’d thwart her ambitions.

Her heart raced at the mention of a sponsor. “Master Larner has been a great aid to myself. But Paridon’s cell is small. Our island may be socially and technologically advanced, but it lacks the clout of the Core. When I came to Ste Ronges, I was looking forward to seeing our headquarters, but also to making further acquaintances. Circumstances however, made that a little difficult."

Ask, or wait? Carpe diem... "Would you perhaps be aware of any Brother who might be willing to give a hearing to the ideas we have been discussing, Contessa?"