A Quiet Life: Gertrude Kingsley (story)

[Pamela]

August 19th, 733

A great crowd was gathered in the Docks, as Brother Man prepared to leave the cherished land for the first time since the Temple had arisen. Handkerchiefs were waved as banners, hats tossed into the air, and there was the chanting of hymns as the procession worked its way to the Midnight.

“The youngest Brother Man ever acknowledged- and the first to recall the original's life!”

“But she’s so young to be going-”

“And so beautiful- one of the gifts her ranks have offered; reflecting her soul…”

“The first temple to be set up outside the Core- and in Port-a-Lucine! They say it’s an architectural masterpiece! But is it safe for her among the Ezrans though?”

“Who could hurt her? With her powers? They say this will be the last incarnation as a human…”

A reverent silence followed in this conversation. “Who would ever have thought that-”

“Gertrude Evelyn Browning! Have you drowned in there?!”

“Sorry, Mum!” the panicked teenager bawled, as she stood up in the tub and grabbed a towel, drying herself quickly. She frowned at the glimpses that she caught of her treacherous body: stubbles of hair in awkward places; lanky, clumsy limbs; and worst of all, when she turned to the mirror to fix her hair, the bloody enormous pimple that sat above her left eyebrow as some kind of red beacon, hinting at the emotion turmoil that had possessed her in the last few months. Base desires, mood swings- and on top of it, the lack of sleep.

First it had been ‘growing pains’, as she woke up in the middle of the night, her legs aching. Now it was headaches. Her parents had feared it was eyestrain, and she was mortified at the possibility that she’d need glasses. Fortunately, the doctor had determined that it wasn’t the cause, though was unable to suggest anything but fresh air and exercise.

She did callisthenics daily and there was always the walk to the Temple and back. There she meditated on a future within those walls. She read histories and Celebrants' biographies, sinking herself into the past, hoping it would spark her stubborn, dull soul to wakefulness, to a future as a monk. To know that she was immortal; not merely to mouth the words of someone else’s assurance…

[Pamela]

Emily Browning moved away from the stairs, and approached the stove once more. “Her head’s always in the clouds nowadays…”

“Ah, she’s got a lot on her mind,” Philip replied, in a mix of defence and pride. Trudi was going to be the first Browning to graduate, and he was determined to see her into the University. She was already attending public lectures at the Temple, and Brother Dempster had promised to have a word with the lodges when the time came- if she wasn’t a Celebrant by then. Much promise, he thought to himself, savouring the cleric’s words. “Maybe she fell asleep,” he added lamely.

His wife sniffed, and remarked, “She could burn this house down with her absent-mindedness and you’d find a good reason for it.” The tart remark was said with a smile however, and she shook her head.

Philip grinned as he remarked, “It’d be one way to get out us out of the Bowels…”

“Oh, and into Riverside, where we’ll live in the stockrooms, I suppose?” she retorted, laughing at the image. “Or perhaps move back to Whitby,” she said with a wry smile, anticipating the snort of derision at that response.

“Hrumph, and let all our hard work go to waste? Another year, and we’ll be in the Square, especially now that Stan’s here.”

“He is doing well, isn’t he?” Emily remarked, and unconsciously frowned as a stray lock of hair fell over her eyes. She was in her early thirties, and a very handsome woman. Their daughter had fortunately inherited her looks, though not (much to Gertrude’s chagrin) her black hair. “I’ll be glad when those two stop bickering though,” she said lowering her voice. Stanley was busy restocking the shop, and would be along any minute.

The beefy grocer shrugged his shoulders remarking, “They’ve always been close; they’re just not used to living together yet.” He grinned as he added, “Remember when we were first married?”

Emily laughed, and said fondly, “You were always making scenes…” and laughed at his spluttering outrage. She quickly sobered up into the mature matron stance as she heard footprints on the steps. “Ah there you are- do you think you might do us the honour of setting the table?” she asked in a dry tone.

Gertrude scowled as she approached the cupboards. As if I don’t always do it, she thought sulkily, deciding to opt for injured dignity. Her nose slightly in the air, she moved around the table, pausing at her father to lay a kiss upon his cheek, smiling warmly at his own grin. This curdled as she heard, “Get your cousin; we’re going to eat now…”

She stomped over to the door, hurling it open, and frowned at the lean youth who returned her sour look. “Supper’s ready,” she mumbled, closing the door without awaiting a response.

Two minutes later Stanley entered, still wiping his hands on his apron. Who in the world wants to be served by anyone with sweaty palms, Gertrude thought disdainfully. Her eyes narrowed however as he pointedly rubbed at his own clear forehead, smirking. I hate you…

[Pamela]

The Brownings were originally from Whitby, a small town twenty miles upriver. David’s family had run a small grocery for several generations, and in 724 it was agreed that he would move to Paridon to improve the family’s fortune. The extended family had gathered recently to decide that Gertrude would continue her education and that Stanley was best suited to take her place in the Paridon shop. He had moved in nearly two months ago, and the business had begun to grow as the family now had an extra full-time clerk and delivery boy.

The cousins’ delight at being together had begun to wither as they dealt with the pressure of being constantly together and their new fortunes. Gertrude still harboured some relieved guilt at her granted, unexpressed dream, and she couldn’t completely resist the demon envy as she watched her parents conferring with the store’s new heir. Stanley was delighted at the chance to live in the big city and the chance to one day run the store himself. Homesickness was still strong, especially in these warm months, and he was still acclimatising himself to Paridon’s faster pace of life.

David and Emily had to quietly deal with their own sense of loss of their dreams of a commercial dynasty. There had only been one more child, another girl, who’d died hours after labour. Thrilled at their daughter’s gifts, they privately hoped that she’d never fulfill her dream to become a monk; the idea of their own line completely dying out was too hard to imagine. There were still all the fears of her ability to succeed, especially if her future proved to be outside the Temple. She showed no enthusiasm for medicine or law, and politics was impossible; she had no aptitude for mathematics, so accountancy was out. The idea that her education might simply lead to a future as a governess in King’s Quarters was a private nightmare. “She’ll do fine,” they assured themselves, even as Emily fretted over a woman’s chances to rise high even in sophisticated Paridon.

And so these tensions stirred in the summer heat, as the family struggled to cope individually and together. Pique arose, flashed, and faded, but despite the teens’ sniping, there was no real animosity. They were too intent in their ongoing struggle to appreciate that, however.

[Pamela]

“May the fruits of our labour be sweet and sustain us throughout our days,” Stanley intoned, and the Brownings began their meal. Talk flowed freely, focusing on the shop of course, and the Newsbill’s latest scoops. They were devout reformists, bemoaning the present aristocratic government, as their ancestors had before them. Gertrude discussed the latest sales and fads in Riverside Square- another purpose for her walks to the Temple- and David made a note for the next day.

The cream was going around the table, poured liberally on the apple crumble, when a knock was heard at the back door. Stanley got up, and approached the door, then bowed as he invited in their unexpected guests. The rest of the Brownings quickly rose from the table to make their own obeisances as Brother Dempster came in with a smartly dressed lady whose clothing clearly marked her as one of Shadewell’s citizens. “Please excuse us,” David said, beaming, “We were just finishing our meal, but perhaps we could offer you some pudding?”

The elderly celebrant turned to his companion, who shook her head, saying, “Thank you, Mr Browning, but no, we’ve just eaten. I do hope you’ll excuse us for intruding on your meal. I am Sister Cynthia Ashley, and I’ve seen your daughter in the halls of our lovely Temple many times. I noticed that she didn’t seem well today, and I was concerned. I knew that Brother Dempster tended your local chapel, and he spoke to me about her aspirations.” Her shrewd green eyes turned to the mortified teenager.

Oh no… She’d seen the plump celebrant many times in the library. Today, however, she’d been unable to stop staring at her necklace, which had seemed to gleam with preternatural brightness, even though she hadn’t been seated near a window. Gertrude thought she had been discrete, as she’d tried to figure out what was causing the effect.

She probably thinks I’m a nutter…

Or just rude, and perhaps covetous.

Like that’s an improvement?

“He also mentioned her present bout of ill health, and I happen to have some familiarity with her symptoms. But I will let Brother Dempster speak to you about that, while I confirm my hypothesis.” Ashley looked at the girl, who stared mutely at her parents for some sort of out.

“Show Sister Ashley to the sitting room, Trudi; I’ll be along with tea in a couple of minutes-”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Browning, but I’d appreciate that there be no interruptions until I’m done. I will however take advantage of your kind offer afterwards. This will not take long.” She nodded at the teen, who reluctantly led her upstairs to the small room which was reserved for special occasions. As they went up, the lady began to untie her bonnet, and murmured, “Please do try to relax, Gertrude- or do you prefer Trudi? This won’t hurt, and these are tests that all novitiates take.” She smiled quietly at the sudden show of relief and enthusiasm.

They sat together on the sofa, while Ashley produced a small jewelry box from the small leather case that she carried. “Try to consider this an aptitude test,” the celebrant remarked, her tone professional and soothing. “First of all, I would like you to take out all the pieces which seem unusual to you.” She opened it up, and a clutter of jewelry and stones, fine and cheap, were then dumped on to the coffee table. “Pieces which remind you somehow of my own symbol, perhaps.”

Gertrude blushed again, then began to look at the pile before her. She was drawn to some, simply because of their obvious expense, but she lay aside her desire. There was no holy symbol in the pile, but there were several pieces that began to eerily glow. She began to pick them up, embarrassed since some of them seemed so plain. She kept glancing at the celebrant, whose face remained a neutral mask as she pulled out a journal and began to make notes. She caught the girl’s eye and remarked, “Carry on, please.”

When this was done, and five pieces chosen, Ashley gave a small, pleased smile, and unceremoniously tossed the jewelry back into the chest. “Excellent. Now…”

[Pamela]

The battery of tests was a strange, mainly unsuccessful mix. Gertrude knew that she had certainly passed one other. It involved the examination of a set of vials and determining which ones were poisonous. The wording had been misleading; there’d only been one vial, a clear liquid which was never properly identified. Whatever was the cause of her headaches, she was fairly sure that they were not a study of some ordinary physical malady. She dared to hope that the few powers she’d revealed were indications of her evolving sanctity.

She watched Ashley finishing her notes and tried not to fidget. The teenager grinned when the notebook was finally put away, leaning forward in anticipation, trying to imagine how she’d tell her parents that she was required to move to the Temple immediately. Even as she imagined putting on the celebrant grays, she worried that her skills were possibly subnormal, and that it could take her mortal lifetime to bring them up to par. “Am I- did I do all right?”

Ashley smiled, and replied, “You did wonderfully, dear. Fortunately, your case of pneumakinesis is quite passive at the moment. Some people have aggressive manifestations, which can be quite difficult."

Gertrude froze, dismay clear across her face. Pneuma…? My lungs are perfectly fine! She must be joking! “I’m sorry, I have…what?”

“Pneumakinesis in its early stages.” The celebrant relented, and said quietly, “This is the medical terminology for the condition, and the one you should use if there are any questions. In less sophisticated countries, the developments might be called magic. But-" she emphasised the word as she saw the glee on Gertrude’s face. “You should be careful about discussing this with anyone, Trudi, outside your family or your Temple.”

Ashley had been aware of the Browning girl’s problem for about a week. Brother Dempster had notified the Temple about the possibility; they had decided that she was the most suitable tutor. She had been encountering the girl all week, bearing certain magical items in the hope that the proximity might trigger a manifestation. It had been done many times before, and, as she’d honestly remarked, the reactions had not always been discrete. Her own certainly hadn't, many years ago.

She was delighted for the girl, but she also knew that it was important to temper her enthusiasm. “I am bound to inform you that your abilities are not particular to the Temple. They are shared by many outside the Core, including those who do not manage them wisely. Brother Dempster has informed me however that you are a faithful, intelligent devotee, with aspirations to a religious vocation. As such, he is informing your family that you will be joining the Sisters of Hesperus. Many adepts have suffered from your symptoms, and we will ensure that you will be properly educated and prepared for any future developments. This education will also extend into the academic field, if you are so inclined; your school records are certainly promising.”

Gertrude had been listening carefully but still unable to fully absorb all that was being said. One thing however was foremost in her mind, and she blurted out, “I’m not a monk then?”

“What? Oh no- or rather,” Ashley quickly added, seeing the disappointment, “There at least haven’t been any definite indications in that direction yet.” Why must they always be so disappointed?

Because we’re always seen as second-best… “Remember that you are required to achieve mastery and moderation in all your abilities. Many monks are clerics or adepts, and vice versa. What matters is that you keep yourself focused on the Temple path, and so to your eventual evolution. It is impossible to do it independently.”

“I see…Thank you,” Gertrude replied, still unable to fully hide her disappointment. Still, it is a start, and maybe once I’ve got this under control, I’ll be able to start focusing on recalling past lives…

[Pamela]

“Magic?” Emily repeated, stunned, while Philip gave a snort of derisive disbelief.

“I know that it seems very difficult to believe,” Brother Dempster said sympathetically. He’d only had to break this kind of news once before; that family had acted as if their son had contracted the pox. Not an unfair comparison, really. You don’t mention it in polite company if you can help it, and it’s not something we wish upon our children…

“Forgive me, Brother, but are you sure that it’s not perhaps a sign of, of-” she struggled for some sign of error, and hope. “- I don’t know- a calling- she’s always wanted to be a monk, you know…”

“I am sorry, Mrs Browning, but Sister Ashley has encountered these sorts of symptoms many times before. Indeed, she herself shares Trudi’s…talents. Magic- pneumakinesis- has an unfortunate reputation in our society. But there is no scientific basis to the idea that those born with it are in any way inferior or backwards. It is not life-debilitating or fatal. The problem is the stigma attached with it. Those who practice it abroad tend to be treated as pariahs. We are a more enlightened society however." We hope.

“Does- does it hurt?” Stanley had been trying to give an impression of mature concern, but it came across as a constipated grimace. As he began to absorb the impossible news, his features had become natural once more, and worry was etched across his face. Whatever rancour he harboured for Gertrude was reserved for their quarrels. While he enjoyed taunting his cousin, he did not relish the idea of her become a subject of public scorn. “And can she hide it somehow?”

The celebrant gently replied, “No more than the headaches that she’s had. Those will begin to decrease as she gets accustomed to her abilities.” He paused as he tried to think of a correlation. “Think of it like learning some physical exercise, where the muscles get accustomed to the unusual labour. It’s the same with the mind.

“As to hiding it, it depends on how soon she can begin to recognise her particular skills. Some people have, well, accidents, I suppose. But,” he hastened to add, “It varies with the individual as well as the speed with which the condition is identified and treated.”

“You make it sound like a disease,” Philip grumbled disheartened.

“What else is he to say?” Emily sharply replied. “Do you really look forward to telling your mother about this? The less people know, the better for all our sakes. They’ll start calling Trudi a witch, and she’d only be able to look forward to a future abroad or, heaven forfend, an exhibit at the Ellie-Mack.”

“Now that’s going too bloody far- sorry, Brother Dempster,” the grocer muttered as he cut short his outraged roar.

“Please, both of you- I know it is difficult. I have spoken to you plainly about the matter because you are her family, and there is a very real possibility that her condition might erupt with bizarre effects. We did not wish you to be caught unawares. I ask you please to visit me over the next few days and weeks. Sister Ashley will also be talking to you about it and giving you insights into the situation. This problem is not going to disappear, but it is a manageable one. It shouldn’t take Gertrude long to master her skills, and after that, it’s merely a matter of discretion.

“Bear in mind that the adepts in the Temple are all gifted with this condition. Sister Ashley feels that your daughter’s natural devotion is a benefit, and it will give her an avenue to direct her…energies. It meshes well with her own desires and ambitions. It doesn’t change who she is.”

Doesn’t it? Emily thought, worried over the unexpected obstacles that had suddenly arisen for her only child.

Philip was beginning to consider the advantages. He hadn’t really wanted his daughter to be a monk, and they had been planning to investigate the lodges. Now they were approaching her. He didn’t much care for the idea of his daughter doing odd magical things, but then he had no idea as to what the difference was between those used by the different factions in the Temple. Trudi’s smart enough that she’s probably able to do all of them, given time.

Huh, Stanley thought, privately impressed. I wonder if she can fly, or set things on fire? That’d be something. Although if her head gets any bigger… He made a mental note to lay off the practical jokes, just in case.

[Pamela]

September 3, 734

Gertrude sketched a circle in the air, as wide as she could. She imagined it glowing blue, then expanding with her measured breaths till it formed a man-sized ring before her.

Next, a yellow square was formed. When she had successfully maintained the two images in her head, she took a step forward, merging herself with the geometric figures. She assumed the pose upon her pendant, imagining her figure outlined in red.

Her hands came down to her sides, and her brow furrowed unconsciously at the effort of the coming change in visualisation. The circle turned, and in its movement, transformed from a two-dimensional image into a blue sphere. Next, the square rotated, falling down upon the ground- she still couldn’t fully grasp this part of the image, and so skipped over it quickly to its culmination, when it rose from the sands of a golden desert as a pyramid, reaching up into the impossibly clear azure heavens. She herself stood atop the pyramid, which was flat on top. She herself was the capstone, of course.

Another series of measured breaths, but her brow was relaxing. This was one of her favourite parts of the meditation, imagining herself in this silent desert. A smile crept upon her lips as she turned to the east, hands rising to meet her heart then stretching out as she imagined the sun rising. A breeze caressed her as it trumpeted the dawning of a new day, a new life.

The sun rose, and again her hands came to her breast and she turned counter-clockwise, then looked up, stretching her arms up towards the noon sky. Its heat showered down upon her, and she was briefly distracted as she considered what it would be like in a real desert. She caught herself, and then slowly encouraged the sun to begin its descent, turning westward. A light spray of water wafted over her; she always imagined this as coming from some ocean unseen beyond the dunes. She’d kept meaning to ask if it was permitted, but had never remembered till this point of the meditation. Next time, she ordered herself yet again, before bringing herself back to the task.

Now the sun sank, and the teen’s eyes closed tightly, as she imagined herself surrounded in utter blackness and death. She bowed her head, her hands reaching down to the floor as she imagined the midnight hour, that mysterious point when one day died, and another was born. Here she was required to imagine the stone covered with sand, and her toes curled within her shoes as she tried to imagine the texture. Her eyelids flickered as she relaxed and finished the orbit of the day, and the meditation.

She yawned, then stretched, before traipsing over to the window. “I wouldn’t mind being in the Amber Wastes right now,” she grumbled as she balefully eyed the pouring rain. She looked down at the traffic that was already filling the streets, then closed her drapes to the gloomy morning.