Dereliction's Penance

A trial of sorts, set in the same world of "The Mourning War", though much later in the world's history.

She's gone.

She's gone.

Carric stood outside the Warden's Hall, the fresh loss rolling over him again as though the very walls of the Monastery had fallen atop him. Every breath took too long as he wrestled with the unhinged despairing rage in his breast. His adoptive great-niece, granddaughter of the Scion woman he'd secretly loved. Though he could never have allowed himself to engage her as a wife; how could he risk his tainted blood harming her? Or Lords and Maiden forbid that their child die inside her. So few of his kind, Helfrens, bastards of Sire and Scionkind, make it to birth. Those that do are, like himself, strange mutants. Longer lived than Scions, perhaps even as long as Sires, though no Helfren in the record has ever died of old age.

And despite his training, despite living in the shadow of Elmenos Monastery, the very heart of Church power in the North Vale, he failed to protect her. He ignored his Lords' and Maiden sent visions—visions that haunted his nights and the nights of his fellow brother and sister monks. They sought guidance from their Master, Manaulfas, who dismissed them as 'excitable zealots, desperate to justify themselves in blood'. Carric didn't understand how Manaulfas had retained his position while believing such.

"Brother Carric. Brother!" reality snapped back into view before him as Brother-Commander Gawain sought his attention. "Head Ainard wishes to hear your testimony, against our Master. Are you able?" His mentor gave complete eye contact, a rarity even among Monks, as Carric's eyes were silver orbs with pinpoints of a black abyss in their centre.

"Yes Brother. I am." Concern crested in Gawain's eyes before he nodded, pulling the door open as he stepped back to allow Carric within the Chamber. Carric summoned every lesson and shred of will his training had shaped to hold his fury in check, lest he simply kill the Scion he held responsible for leaving Elmenos vulnerable to a Witch, who kidnapped his dear Niece, one among hundreds of children throughout the Vale across its history. Seeing Manaulfas in chains soothed it in the mildest form, a drizzle of rain upon a bonfire of burning wroth.

"Brother Carric, I'm told you were among those who claimed visions of an impending plot?" Head Ainard spoke smoothly, and every word was a masterclass in delicate diction.

"Yes, Head Ainard." Carric spoke as he bowed, his words clipped, his fury barely masked. "I was the second to have them, from what I know." As he stood again, he felt his eyes pulled inexorably onto Ainard's.

"And it was your chosen Niece who was taken, correct?" Ainard's unblinking stare bore into Carric's abnormal eyes, searching for the faintest whiff of a lie in his eyes.

"Correct." Carric felt his nails digging into his grey skin as his fists screamed to be unleashed on Manaulfas, desperate to feel blood on his knuckles for the loss of his Niece.

"What specifically were your visions of?" Ainard asked, subtly forcing the Helfren's eyes onto his to gauge his response and distract him from acting on the murder blatant in his posture.

"Our Monastery, encircled by darkness, something shifting within it. The children of our village were running to the Monastery, and one by one the darkness swallowed them." Carric's voice became flat, emotion drained as despair subsumed the rage while recalling the images burned into his mind. He continued after a shuddering breath, "As the last child was taken, a Witch was birthed from the darkness, and her magics tore our walls down. None survived the massacre, brought on by the very children we failed to protect."

"The children, did you recognize any of them?" Ainard spoke as he compared Carric's testimony to the four others he'd heard thus far. The descriptions varied, but the story was identical across each. These visions certainly bore the nature of rare prophecy given by the Lords and Maiden. Manaulfas' refusal to act, even marginally, was becoming definitively damning.

"No, none of their faces were familiar. I'm not sure why, nor why multiple children were taken in the vision, but only one Witch was attacking the Monastery." Rage was reigniting in his heart, the despair of the visions dissipating as he sought to ignore the wrenching abyss metastasizing within him.

"Thank you, Brother. You may go. I may suggest comforting the mother, as best you're able." Ainard dismissed Carric, watching the Helfren leave before he released his mental gag of Manaulfas. As the door to the Chamber closed, Manaulfas dared to attempt to speak, and Ainard reapplied his gag for a moment before speaking himself. "Four of your charges have been interviewed thus far. Four have told the same story, warnings of impending doom. It is my understanding that there are eight more who were given these dreams, and you, Master of Elmenos Monastery, whom I entrusted to guide and protect these brothers and sisters of our Order, and the families who shelter in our shadow, against the darkness that has haunted our people from the beginnings of our history, failed to heed them?"

"Head Ainard, It's been years since-"

"Since a Coven was discovered, that is correct. There have, however, been disappearances in other villages in the North Vale in recent months. Disappearances that have not been solved. An attack, or, as these dreams prophesied, kidnappings, were not some distant fever dream of idle minds. Particularly as you chose to withhold the news of the disappearances in Arthenry and Glewellen from the lower brothers and sisters. And yet, it is the lower brothers and sisters who report these disturbing visions." Ainard's gaze bore deep into Manaulfas' eyes, his disgust and disappointment dripping from every word as he considered whether it was worthwhile to hear the other eight monks' testimony or if he should simply punish Manaulfas now and end the investigation. The people of Elmenos wanted answers, deserved answers, and justice had to be delivered. Hearing the same prophecy eight more times was unlikely to provide anything new he'd not already learned, and keeping the monks here did nothing to track the child already taken nor protect those still in the village. "Brother-Commander Gawain," Ainard had decided, looking to the Monk who'd alerted him to Manaulfas' failings, "organise three hunting parties. Those Monks who are best able to track, and those whom you trust to fight if they can catch the heretics, of course. And a pyre." Ainard's gaze became distant, cold and ruthless as he condemned an old friend, "The Warden's laws are clear, Manaulfas. You swore an oath to protect, care for, and heed your fellows, and the Common Folk who gathered close to us. You have been found wanting, and the price for your incompetence may well be the life of a child. Yours is forfeit."