A Blossom of Flames

By midday, one of the auditoriums on the first floor, normally a place of lively debate about Essence Theory, had been transformed into what everyone assumed to be basically a torture chamber. The Emberwardens had pushed the benches and tables against the walls and turned the room into a makeshift interrogation room. Heavy curtains had been drawn in front of the high windows, allowing only a few strips of light to penetrate. The smell of incense and a bitter herb that was supposed to ward off demonic influences made people downright dizzy.

In the center was a solid wooden chair that looked more like an instrument of torture than a piece of furniture. Metal rings were attached to the armrests and legs to restrain whoever was to be questioned. The most disturbing element, however, was the complicated device on the armrests – finger-wide metal rails with leather straps that could immobilize each finger joint individually, the palms forced upwards.

"An elegant solution," Vyxara remarked with clinical detachment as Valentina glanced into the room from the corridor. "Fixing the palms upwards and immobilizing the fingers in this way makes it almost impossible to perform the necessary movements of hands and fingers for Essence Weaving. Very effective."

Two Emberwardens had posted themselves as guards in front of the door, their faces expressionless beneath their hoods. Their hands rested on the maces on their belts – a silent warning to anyone who even thought of resisting.

A number of students had apparently already been called for their questioning, waiting pale and sweating despite the late autumn chill that pervaded the corridors. Valentina recognized Ginevra, a first-year student from a modest merchant family. The girl was shaking so badly that the piece of parchment she was holding fell to the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, she bumped into the student in front of her, who impatiently pushed her aside.

"Can't you be more careful?" he hissed, a tall young man who was obviously completely nervous himself.

"I'm sorry," Ginevra whispered, her voice barely audible.

Valentina tried to remain inconspicuous as she watched the scene. She was leaning against a pillar, seemingly absorbed in her notes, but her eyes took in every detail.

The door opened and an Emberwarden stepped out.

"Ginevra of Green Well," he called out in an echoing voice.

The girl froze. For a moment it seemed as if she wanted to flee, but then she straightened her shoulders and stepped forward. The Emberwarden led her inside, and the door closed behind them with a muffled sound that echoed like a death sentence.

"By all the flames of the Martyr," whispered a voice beside Valentina. It was Crispin, pale and with a damp brow. "She's only in her first year. What could she have done already?"

"It's not about what she did," Valentina replied quietly. "It's about stirring up fear. The more innocent the first victims appear, the greater the fear instilled in everyone else."

"Clever observation," Vyxara murmured. "Illumination prefers to start with the weakest. They break more easily, deliver names, create panic. A tried and tested tactic."

Valentina closed her eyes and activated her Essence Listening, able to hear through the heavy oak door as if she were standing in the room.

"...do you understand the consequences of lying?" Eastwald's voice was gentle, almost fatherly.

"Yes, Illuminator," came Ginevra's trembling reply.

"Good, very good." A sound of rustling fabric. "Then explain to me why you were alone in the library last week, after the allowed time."

A pause. "I... I had to study for Professor Whitehall's course. I'd forgotten the time."

"Hmm." A skeptical sound. "And were you really alone?"

"Yes, Illuminator."

A sudden clang of metal, followed by a startled gasp.

"That's strange. This amulet reacts to lies, you know? A wonderful creation, infused with Lieht and Schate Essence."

"He's lying himself," Vyxara commented immediately. "The amulet can't detect lies. I'm pretty sure it reacts to fear, to increased heartbeat, to sweat. A simple trick, but probably effective enough."

"I... I wasn't..." Ginevra's voice broke. "I was there with Toby. Toby of Havershim. We... we were just talking, I swear!"

"Just talking? In a dark library, after closing time?" Eastwald's voice dripped with skepticism. "Girl, you're not here for a secret rendezvous. You're here because we want to know who seduced you, who corrupted your innocence."

"No one! We were just talking! I swear by all the flames of the Martyr!"

A long pause followed. Valentina could hear Ginevra's heavy breathing, the sound of fabric brushing against wood.

"What do you know about demonic influence at this university?" Eastwald asked suddenly.

The question was unexpected. Valentina felt her own heart beat faster.

"Look at that," Vyxara murmured. "He's abruptly changing the subject, hoping she'll blurt out something useful in her confusion."

"I... nothing, Illuminator. I've only been here a few weeks."

"Have you noticed any strange Essence patterns? Unusual phenomena? Dreams in which beings appear to you, offering you knowledge or power? Animals behaving strangely? Students making unusual noises? Or have made great progress in a short space of time?"

"No! Please, I am a faithful servant of the Martyr! My family has always-"

"Enough for today," Eastwald suddenly interrupted her. "You can go. But remember, we'll keep an eye on you. The Martyr sees everything, my child. Even what happens in the dark."

Valentina quickly released her Essence Listening when she heard the sound of chairs moving. Seconds later, the door opened and Ginevra stumbled out. Her face was white as a sheet, her eyes red. She was shivering as if she had a high temperature, and her neat plait was a bit disheveled now.

The next student – Gareth, the son of a miller, from her own year – was called in. As he walked past Valentina, she could see his hands trembling.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Valentina spent the rest of the day unobtrusively observing who was being interviewed and in what condition the students came out. A pattern began to emerge – Eastwald focused first on the younger, more nervous students, the ones most likely to be intimidated. He asked about their personal habits, their friendships, their relationships and knew a scary number of things already even before the interview.

But there was also a second category of people to be interviewed – older students with exceptional Essence Weaving skills. They were questioned for longer, and some came out with welts or minor injuries, a sign that stronger interrogation methods had been used.

"He's looking for me," Vyxara stated matter-of-factly. "Or something like me. He senses something is wrong here, but can't pinpoint it. Or perhaps they have noticed the change in the Essence currents caused by the corrupted Essence that leaked into Faustus' room and are now looking for the source. But he's still fishing in the dark."

As dusk fell and the last interviews of the day were over, Valentina retired to her room.

"What should we do?" she thought. "He'll question me sooner or later."

"He will," Vyxara agreed. "And you have to be prepared. His amulet is a trick, but his powers of observation are not. He has years of experience in exposing liars."

"How should I behave?"

"Calm. Confident, but not arrogant. Admit what's harmless – yes, you were in Dusktown, yes, you're the duke's protégée. These are known facts. Don't deny what's easy to prove. But be vague about the details. And as for your... more intimate experiences..."

"I'll have to lie," Valentina thought grimly.

"Of course. But you mustn't be afraid. You are a peasant girl from a pious family. Innocent, naive, loyal to the Martyr, but not stupid – just as you really were when you arrived here. Play this role. He will want to believe it."

Valentina nodded slowly. "And if he asks more directly... asks about you? If he suspects something?"

"He won't. If he knew about me, or was even halfway sure with a suspicion, you'd be on your way to the stake by now – at least if we'd just let him do that. He won't ask about demons directly. He'll talk about 'unusual experiences', about 'strange voices', about 'dreams'. Vague things. Be confused, but not too much. Excessive confusion looks suspicious."

That night, Valentina lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling of her room as she played through various scenarios, rehearsing different answers. When she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Ginevra's frightened face, hearing the metal clink of the amulet, feeling the tightness of the interrogation chair.

"Don't let your mind run in circles," Vyxara murmured softly in her head. "You can do this. Fear is your greatest enemy in an interrogation. Control it and you'll control the situation."

"Easy for you to say," Valentina whispered quietly into the darkness.

~

The third day after the Illuminator's arrival began with a spectacular display of his power. Very early in the morning, Valentina was woken from her sleep by loud voices and the muffled beating of a drum. She hurried to the window of her attic room and looked down onto the main courtyard.

The scene below her made her blood run cold. Several wooden pillories had been erected in the middle of the square, which was otherwise populated by hurrying students and chatting professors, with two young students strapped to them, their heads and hands stuck through the holes. A small crowd had already formed and was growing rapidly.

"The next demonstration of power," Vyxara commented dryly. "Nothing stirs up fear as effectively as public humiliation."

"What have they done?" whispered Valentina as she hastily slipped into her clothes and got her hair in order.

When she reached the courtyard a few minutes later, a sizable crowd had already gathered – students and professors alike, some with horror and some with morbid fascination on their face. Illuminator Eastwald stood in front of the pillory, the burn scars on his face looking deep and dark like fresh wounds in the morning light.

"These two young men," he announced in his carrying voice, "were found in possession of obscene poetry. Writings that mock the Martyr's sacred teachings and encourage carnal sins."

"Twelve hours they will stand here," Eastwald continued, "as a warning to all who believe that the words we write and read have no consequences."

"Disgraceful," murmured a voice beside Valentina. It was Professor Emberfell, her eyes flashing with suppressed rage. "Those are brilliant young minds to be broken."

"What can the Decan do about it?" Valentina asked quietly.

Emberfell shook her head. "Nothing. The Illumination acts with the direct authority of the Scorchbishop. Even the king would hesitate to stand in the Illumination's way."

Before Valentina could reply, a shrill scream rang out from the other end of the courtyard. Avie Oakheart, who was attending some of Professor Whitehall's classes with Valentina, was being dragged through the crowd by two Emberwardens. Her long, red hair was disheveled, her dressing gown half torn from her fight against the men.

"Let go of me!" she shouted, her voice breaking with fear and anger. "I didn't do anything!"

Illuminator Eastwald turned to her, a smile playing around his thin lips. "Nothing? Is it nothing if a young woman dresses lewdly to attract the eyes and impure thoughts of men? Is it nothing if the daughter of a merchant and nobleman wears her hair down like a harlot?"

Avie's face lost all color. "My hair is usually always braided, I just wanted to see what the commotion was-"

"Enough excuses," Eastwald interrupted her. He nodded to the Emberwardens. "Ten strokes of the rod for improper dress and defying the authority of the church."

A murmur went through the crowd. Valentina felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as one of the Emberwardens pulled out a thin, flexible rod.

"They can't do that," she muttered, "not in public."

But they could, and they did. With almost bored casualness, the Emberwardens lifted Avie's robe, bared her buttocks to the crowd, and forced her to bend over a low log that stood by the pillories. The pale skin of her bottom glowed in the morning sun, and despite her tears and pleas, Eastwald's face remained unmoved.

Valentina wanted to look away, but couldn't. A cold rage grew inside her as the first blow fell and Avie's scream echoed across the square. It had not been a soft blow. Nine more followed, each accompanied by a cry of pain from the young woman and a collective gasp of horror from the crowd.

When it was over, Avie was left crying on the platform, her bottom marked with bleeding red welts. No one dared to help her for fear of becoming the target of Eastwald's wrath.

"Let this be a lesson to all," the Illuminator proclaimed, his voice soft as poison. "The body is a temple for the Martyr's spirit. To desecrate it and display it improperly, whether through lewd dress, actions or impure thoughts, is a sin that will not go unpunished."

Valentina saw Innogen on the other side of the square, her friend so pale she looked ill. Her eyes met Valentina's, and in them lay a silent question – who will be next?

"He enjoys it," Vyxara noted intrigued. "Not because of the physical pain he inflicts – but because of the fear he sows. What an amazingly depraved man."

"I'd like to wring his neck," Valentina thought grimly.

"That would make your life quite complicated," Vyxara replied soberly. "But don't worry, his time will come. The fanatics always burn out in the end – sometimes literally."