NaNo Trailer

This is the first thing I wrote involving my NaNo novel; it was written about three years ago. Since that time, the story has taken a completely different turn but this shows the genesis of the idea.

Brother Calder turned at the sound of his friend’s approach. He had been standing outside the door to the Archbishop’s inner sanctum for the past hour; idly running his hands over the ornate carvings on the oak door, he had been trying to make out the words of the raised voices of the Councilors inside but the thickness of the door and stone walls was making this difficult.

"Any word?" whispered Brother Damon as he reached Brother Calder.

Calder whispered back, "No. Nothing." Then realizing that there was no need to speak softly, he took the almoner by the arm and said in a normal tone, "Come; I feel the need of some fresh air".

The walk to the outside door took them over brilliant, priceless rugs and past gold-plated ornaments and highly polished and inlaid wooden furniture. Calder had never approved of the obvious display of wealth that Archbishop Bertin favored and rarely entered the private quarters, not wholly approving of the Archbishop himself.

The day had been unusually warm for late Winter, but the chill had returned at sunset and the two men drew up the hoods of their habits as they stepped out into the courtyard.

The night was almost moonless and although the torches had been lit at sundown, the gusting winds had continued to blow out the flames and the torches had finally been left dark. If not for the colorful belts the two monks wore at their waist, signifying their rank in the order, the grey of their habits would have made the men almost invisible as they leaned against the grey stone of the courtyard wall.

"Have we any word on the condition of Queen Liliane?" asked Calder. Although the men were close in age and close in height, Calder still had the build and energy of a much younger man while Damon had lately begun to look and act his age of late middle years.

"Unchanged from an hour ago". Damon pulled his hood tighter against a sudden gust of wind which brought with it the smell of the just blooming honeysuckle that climbed the stone walls. Peering out into the darkness, he said, "I spoke with the physician but he is as close-mouthed as ever. Your nephew, Will, could offer little more, except to say that she has yet to waken".

"That doesn't bode well", said Calder more softly. “A blow to the head like the one she suffered in the fall should not have kept her unconscious this long were it not serious.”

Calder, the newly appointed Chief Librarian, turned toward his fellow brother; pounding his right fist into his open left palm, the anger rose to his throat. "I don't know why it's taking them so long - there is only one answer if the prophecy is to be denied. Devil be Damned!"

"Yes, Brother, and I'm afraid us, too, if the Council comes to the wrong answer."

Calder slumped back against the wall, his gaze settling on the low building of the hospital. Normally, few lights showed at the hospital’s windows at this time of night. There was very little illness among the brothers; the hospital usually housed the elderly brothers, once they had retired their offices, where they enjoyed a well earned, quiet retirement.

Tonight, however, almost every window of the hospital was ablaze with lights as the Queen’s Guard, aides and ladies sat vigil. Since the Queen had been brought to the brothers the afternoon before, more and more of her court had arrived and during the day, the area enclosed by the inner walls of the abbey had taken on a sort of macabre carnival atmosphere. Tonight, however, was unusually quiet as more and more time passed with no improvement in the Queen’s condition.

Calder turned his eyes back to his friend. "I know that no one thought this would ever come to pass, but if Liliane dies, then what? Fulbert should never have been allowed to take the girl through when he accepted his post There. The girl can't be forced to pass back through or made to take the crown against her will."

Damon, his frustration evident, spit out the words, "And then - what? Let the prophecy come to pass? Let the Realm fall? If the prophecy is true, it could only speak of Liliane; no other queen has died without a daughter to take her place in over a thousand years."

For a while the men stood silent, each lost in his own thoughts, until Damon spoke, the worry still plain in his voice. "Well, I'll say goodnight to you, Brother; it's almost time for your post at Reverence."

"That it is, Brother Damon, and I don't recall a night when I've felt more in need of prayer. Try to get some sleep; if there's any change, I'll let you know. Otherwise, I'll see you at first light." Calder placed a hand on Damon's arm, as much for his own comfort as for Damon’s, then began to make his way across the courtyard to the chapel, trying to calm his mind before entering.
Sighing, he gave up the effort and stood in the doorway, surveying the semi-gloom of the windowless stone room. White tapers in black wrought-iron sconces were set at intervals along the grey walls, casting a wavering glow over the simple oak benches, tops polished to a sheen by the many years of use. The benches ran down each side of the center aisle, from where Calder stood, to the altar table at the front where, upon the simple white linen cloth, the Reverence candle burned.

As Brother Calder peered at the candle, its flame flickered as melted beeswax ran down one side. The top of the candle was just reaching the inscribed mark signaling the end of an hour. Calder began to walk slowly down the aisle to the front bench; his disquiet was no cause to keep Brother Vincent from a warm bed and the candle must not be left unattended.

Tapping Vincent on the shoulder, Calder arranged himself on the bench in the position he favored for prayer, his hands clasped, elbows on knees and head bowed. But the words would not come. He tried reciting the prayers aloud, but still could not gain focus and the words died on his lips before he had completed the first prayer. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he stared at the stone floor, letting his mind drift.

Normally, his time spent in Reverence, in the last hour before midnight, was given cheerfully, but tonight the voluntary assignment felt like a duty. The sense of peace he had always felt here, alone in the quiet at the end of the day, had deserted him.

The chill of the room caused his flesh to tingle and he slid a hand up each sleeve of his habit, hugging his arms closer and causing the large silver key to press into his chest. Even after a month, he was not accustomed to the weight of the chain and key around his neck nor the rainbow colored belt of the Chief Librarian at his waist.

Twenty years before, Calder had come to the abbey as an act of desperation and remorse. To his surprise, the life had suited him well and he had never regretted his decision to stay past his first year. Although joining the brotherhood had cost him a great deal in rank and fortune, he knew that he had made the right choice.

In thinking back to that time, he knew he had done the best thing; the question now was would he be able to remain true to his calling if the Council reached the decision he feared they might?
Could it really have been only yesterday that this had all begun? Damn her, he thought. Liliane knew better than to go out riding without her Guard. Had she not been unexpectedly needed and looked for so soon, who knew when she might have been found.

Calder had known Liliane since her infancy and had often laughed at her childhood pranks and daredevil feats, but as Queen, she had no right to be so reckless. Now Liliane lay quite possibly near death and the very future of Kinsmohr lay in the balance.

He thought of his predecessor, Brother Ranulf, and wondered what the old monk would have advised in the present situation. While it was possible that Queen Liliane would recover and that no decision would be required, Calder found it inconceivable that the decision to act was being debated so fiercely.

A new thought suddenly came to Brother Calder. Ranulf had been ailing for many years, but only two months ago had his condition worsened. When it had become apparent that his days were numbered, he had named Calder his successor and begun showing him the texts kept in the locked chambers of the library.

These holdings were the oldest and most important documents of the kingdom and abbey, handled only by the Chief Librarian due to their age and significance. Chief among them were the books of prophecy.

At one time, these were made available to any whom wished to study them, but several valuable manuscripts had been lost or destroyed through careless handling and since before Ranulf’s time, they had been locked away.

Had anyone thought to check those old texts? No, Calder was sure of that as he had the only key to the rooms where they were housed, and the key had not left his possession since being placed around his neck by the Archbishop. Ranulf had of course known the content of each book and scroll, but Ranulf was gone. What if maybe, just maybe, there was something there from the time of Wizard Sivis, something about the prophecy that could help them now?

He was jerked out of his thoughts by the touch of Brother Micah on his shoulder, just as the tower bell began ringing midnight. Had it really been an hour since he had entered? Rising, Calder felt a new sense of purpose as he made his way to the wooden box holding the chapel candles. As his hour of Reverence was the last of the day, it was his duty to replenish the candles at the end of his shift.

Calder quickly completed his task and was making his way to the door when his nephew, Will, a member of the elite Queen's Guard, entered the chapel.

Seeing his uncle, Will knelt on one knee and bowed his head until Calder came to stand before him. Raising his head slowly, Will said softly, "The Queen is dead." Then, meeting his uncle's eyes, he said with determination, "God save the Queen".

As he placed a hand to his racing heart, Calder heard the bells begin tolling the sad news. Beautiful, young Queen Liliane was dead. The question of whether or not something might have to be decided was no longer the issue. The prophecy had been invoked. Straightening his shoulders, Calder set his own course in motion in a clear, firm voice. Meeting his nephew’s eyes, Calder said, "God save the Queen; God save us all." And then, turning his back to Will, he prayed silently, "God, help me for what I may have to do."