The Chapel In The Wasteland

By L L Watkin

Being a Handmaiden of the Goddess is a job with many perks including a nice coastal apartment and the opportunity to stage a “holy retreat” whenever you fancy lounging in bed all day. Keldaren had always dreamed of a life like this. Well, a life like this except for the constant threat of execution, the fear of assassination, the dread that the Goddess possibly has something nastier in store for her and the knowledge that her best friend certainly has underhanded surprises up her ghostly sleeves. Still, at least the food is fantastic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L L Watkin
• Release date: Apr 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311548115

L L Watkin

LL Watkin is the pen name for writing partnership Liz Smith and Louise Smith, two sisters from the North of England who've been writing together since, well, forever. We write a mixture of short stories and full length novels in the science fiction and fantasy genres, and while some stories may be more Louise's and others more Liz's, all spring from a collaborative process.In summer 2022 we will publish our new four part novel series, The Snowglobe, which is a double-stranded narrative set in a multi-dimensional universe. It concerns a criminal investigation by Divine Law Enforcement (DLE), which aims to locate and arrest a psychotic demi-god, Kaelvan, who is determined to murder a specific human child. Although the plot includes fantastical elements, most often ESP and telekinesis, the settings are all post-industrial societies, some of them more technologically advanced than our own and others steam-punk in feel.

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The Chapel In The Wasteland

The Handmaiden Book 2

Published by L. L. Watkin at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 L. L. Watkin

From the same author

The Leviathan

Jethabel

Therion

Pathiel (coming soon)

The Handmaiden

The Abbey at the World’s End

The Chapel in the Wasteland

Short Stories

The Harpers and Other Stories

The Drowned Leviathan and Other Stories (coming soon)

Copyright © L. L. Watkin 2014

Chapter 1

It was still dark when Keldaren woke, which was very unusual. Partly because her late night schedule and general laziness conspired to make her the slave of her alarm clock but also because all of her previous apartments had had artificial lighting timed in sync with her wake up call. Even her favourite, and most expensive, flat in the newly gentrified South side of Seachester had been reliant on lamps, no one could afford the wide swathes of glazing to render them unnecessary.

It was peaceful now in the warm dark of early morning, curled under thick covers with Shia acting as a living bed-warmer beside her. Her boyfriend was lying flat on his back with his arms straight by his sides. Saluting soldiers were less board like. Kel had never understood how he could sleep so stiffly. In most beds his lanky frame would see his toes hanging over the foot into the cold air, which always led to him curling uncomfortably, but the giant sized four poster they had now was long enough even for him.

Kel curled closer to him contentedly, counting her blessings as she hugged his chest. He snored, which was not the response she’d been expecting. She didn’t try to wake him, though. He hadn’t slept much since his coffee shop re-opened last month, newly refitted with insurance money after being bombed out last summer. Living with her in the Abbey left Shia with an hour and a half commute to work, and he worked long hours anyway. They hardly saw each other really, but she didn’t want him to give up his life’s ambitions to stay with her, out in the sticks with nothing to do. She’d much rather stay with him in the flat above the coffee shop in town, even though it was smaller, less opulent and surrounded by noisy late night venues. It would be worth it to see more of Shia. Perhaps she’d even learn some waitressing skills. How hard could that be?

It was a pipe dream and Kel knew it. The church authorities had forbidden it out of hand when she’d half-raised it as an option. The security considerations were too formidable the Bishop had said, sounding so reasonable, and what could possibly be wrong with her apartment at the Abbey? That had been the first time she’d caught that dangerous undercurrent from him. The thought that if she wasn’t going to act in a way which was convenient for him he’d find a way to hurt her, to tarnish her standing and threaten her life. The suggestion was too outlandish to have been made by a proper Handmaiden.

The church officials weren’t overly keen on Shia at the best of times, or on Kel for that matter, but on this occasion they had had a valid point. The shop had been bombed, after all. Kel had thought to push the point, but since both Missra and Shia had sided against her she’d been argued down. She ended up withdrawing the idea with bad grace. Shia’s long commute was the compromise, but it did mean that mornings like this were very rare, a treat to be savoured.

Life at the Abbey wasn’t all bad. It was so decadent that despite having the newest and most expensive home systems Kel also had a full time cleaner. Food was often prepared by actual chefs in the campus refectories, making her kitchen doubly redundant. If she chose to be lazy Kel need never lift a finger. It was making her soft.

Her thoughts drifted to the packs concealed under the bed. Prepared last year when flight had seemed like the only option they contained everything she and Shia needed to start over somewhere new. Fresh travel papers, clothes, long life food, key burgling equipment, a small amount of cash. It had taken Detective Bright two whole weeks to locate her numbered bank account, but since he had that small pile of coins was all the money she had left in the world.

Not officially of course. Officially she had a healthy trust fund safely under the management of Bishop Carola. Entirely hers as long as she made no attempt to access it. Shia and Kole had even been paid their share, if you counted Church bonds as paid. Shia had used them as collateral for the repairs to his coffee shop. Kole surprised everyone by buying a commission in the Navy.

They’d nearly run anyway, penury be damned. But it was hard to get away from Mal Eddard, and harder still to avoid Bright for long. Then Kel had to rescue Moena from her prison placement at the mines. Shia got tied up in the repairs to his shop. Kole shipped out to start his military training. Missra was in no hurry to go anywhere despite the Church’s insistence that she be rebound to an object rather than Keldaren. Months slid by and escape became an always tomorrow idea, meticulously planned and waiting for the trigger to make it necessary.

It might be safer here anyway. It was hard to say. The chances of disappearing from the grid were small. Mal wasn’t one of the highest ranked Hunters in the Theocracy for nothing – he’d track them down eventually. He’d been called back to Solford last month to meet the Council of Handmaidens there and Kel missed his guidance if not his oversight. She was all at sea with church politics without him. She just didn’t know enough truth, her head too full of half understood religious myths.

The alarm went just as Keldaren began dozing, her head jolting as Shia jumped awake and reached to silence it. He started to climb out of bed, expecting her to still be sleeping as he untangled himself from her arms.

Does that never wake me? It seemed very loud this morning, but she couldn’t recall ever hearing it before.

Oh, you’re awake. Shia stopped trying to move her arms and grinned at her instead. Good morning. He was annoyingly upbeat for a man who’d just been woken by his four thirty alarm.

Good morning. Kel stretched up to kiss him before letting him go. Her eyes had adjusted to the near darkness and she winced when he turned on one of the wall lights. He glanced back at her apologetically as she blinked owlishly.

No, neither the alarm nor the light ever wake you. He grinned again, You sleep like the dead. The dead who roll in their graves. He gestured meaningfully at the tumbled covers on her side of the bed, compared to the untouched neatness on his.

Keldaren scowled playfully. You’re just an unnaturally light sleeper, she had nothing to compare him to. He was the only person she’d ever lain awake beside. She’d shared a bed with some when exhaustion made it impossible to avoid, but she was never in any condition to comment on whether they were untidy sleepers. She’d never been knocked out of bed onto the floor, which meant they’d all been quieter sleepers than she was. Shia kissed the floorboards with embarrassing regularity, particularly since stress had left her suffering occasional night terrors. Lazily she huddled back under the covers, watching him stand and stretch his skinny frame like a cat, each muscle pulling in turn. His pale skin was goose pimpled in the cold air and he moved quickly through his morning routine, bathroom, shower, dry, dress. He was ready to leave more quickly than Kel would have thought possible, sitting on the edge of the bed to lace his boots.

You should try to get some more sleep, he kissed her gently. You have a busy day ahead.

Looking pretty for the higher classes, Kel agreed grumpily, and a dress rehearsal.

You’ll do great. He was pulling on a huge thick overcoat as he spoke, burying his slender frame in its padding, his thin blond hair melding into the golden fur of the hood lining. It’s freezing out there, he explained at her frown.

I wouldn’t know, Kel admitted, I’ve not been allowed out all week in case I catch a cold before the big day.

It’s snowing. Shia snorted, Surely you can see that out of these huge windows everywhere. He hated the windows recently. Kel was sure the coffee shop windows had been the most painfully expensive part of the rebuilding project. He’d had to get some specially constructed type to reduce the energy consumption, otherwise the city had threatened to revoke his licence. His insurance hadn’t covered it because it wasn’t a like for like replacement of what he’d had before. He’d been deeply offended, but Kel used to work for an insurance company so she could have told him what they’d say to that claim.

It was a sore point though, and one prone to trigger Shia’s dramatic bad moods, so she kept the conversation on the weather. Of course I can see it’s snowing. You take care on your long and treacherous journey.

Don’t worry for me, sweetheart. Shia laughed as he bounded back to the bed to kiss her again. The snow isn’t as dangerous as the people here. His expression darkened. You take care, he breathed against her lips. Don’t give them any rope to hang you with. She nodded.

You should wake me more often, she ordered. It’s nice to see you before you go.

I can’t do that, sweetheart. He backed towards the door. You’d either be grumpy as hell or you’d make me late for work. He switched the light off as he exited, to emphasise that he’d got the last word in for a change.

Keldaren listened to him progressing through the apartment, the soft opening and closing of doors as he popped into the dining room for a grab and go breakfast on his way out, his departing footsteps. There was silence. The darkness was lonelier and more oppressive in his absence, possibly because she knew his departure left her all alone in the vast suite. If she’d been able to call out to Mal in the apartment’s other bedroom she might have felt less abandoned.

She lay quietly for what seemed like an age, trying to follow Shia’s sensible advice and go back to sleep. Her hand rose involuntarily to play with her pendant necklace, only to discover she wasn’t wearing it. Eyes widening guiltily Kel glanced at the bathroom door, just visible in the brightening pre-dawn. Missra was going to be cross. The ghost had been against being bound into the necklace in the first place, and Kel’s tendency to take it off and leave it lying around had not improved her opinion.

The soft carpet around the bed was kind to her bare feet as she hopped down, but the surrounding wooden floor was cold as she padded across the room. It was doubly annoying because she had always believed that wooden flooring would be warm. The bathroom tiles were even colder, causing her to hop awkwardly from foot to foot as she hastened to the bath tub and retrieved her locket from where it hung from the silver faucets. She dropped the chain over her head hurriedly, deciding as she did that she might as well take a comfort break since she was in the bathroom anyway.

It’s lovely to be remembered only when nature calls. Missra commented sourly.

I remembered, Kel protested. Just, while I’m in here anyway...

You could have remembered a bit earlier, the ghost grumbled. I’ve been sat in the bath all night.

You get a better view from in here. Kel gestured at what she hoped was a breathtakingly blustery seascape soon to be revealed by the dawn. Right now she could only make out the gable roof of the floor below, grey and speckled with falling snow. She bit her lip worriedly. Shia must be freezing out there.

There’s no view from anywhere at night around here, Missra contradicted flatly. It’s pitch black the whole time.

It wouldn’t have been any more interesting in the bedroom then.

Really? It sounded more interesting from here. Missra chuckled lewdly at Kel’s blush.

Comments like that are what got you banished to the bathroom in the first place.

And here I was thinking I’d just been forgotten. I’m afraid that banishing me to the bathroom to save your modesty only works if you remember where you put me. Unlike Shia, who merrily wandered in this morning and showered butt naked not six feet from my nose.

Keldaren just rolled her eyes. Please don’t point that out to him. He’ll only insist that I leave you in the dining room instead. The clock said it was still only six, so she climbed back into bed where it was warmer. Waking up this early was going to make it such a long day, but the longer she was awake the more nervous she got and it was impossible to get back to sleep.

Do you think it will be alright today?

It’s just a rehearsal Kel, nothing to worry about. The ghost’s tone was dismissive. She was running out of patience with Kel’s constant questioning.

It’s not just a rehearsal at all. It’s a rehearsal in front of senior clergy, to confirm that I’m doing a religious rite correctly. A rite which I’ve never done before but should find instinctively easy because I’m a Handmaiden. Only I’m not a Handmaiden and I’ve never done a rite of any kind before so can’t be sure of faking it. Keldaren twisted the locket pendant back and forth restively, a nervous habit she’d acquired since Missra had first been bound into it. The ghost complained that the motion made her dizzy, so Kel was trying to stop herself from doing it. She wasn’t having any luck with that this morning.

You may not have done it before, but I’ve done it thousands of times and it’s almost entirely up to me to do it anyway. All you have to do is show up looking pretty, smile sweetly and avoid saying anything incriminating or heretical on camera. It’ll be easy.

On camera. There was the key issue. How persuasive was she in a big public setting? Face to face she’d always had the knack for getting her own way, but the effect was so subtle it had only recently been pointed out to her that she was using her extra gifts to do it. She now knew that her attraction was magically enhanced, a skill they called Influence, but how well it worked over large distances, huge audiences and media screens was untested.

Just look pretty and smile. Missra repeated firmly. You are not going to be the first Maiden in three thousand years to generate bad publicity during a holy mass healing.

Kel shrugged non-committedly, unable to shake off her personal belief that the whole event would be a disaster. There was no logic behind her concern. As Missra said the ghost had been taken out of storage year in year out for centuries to perform the same miracle. While the timing could vary from annually to once a decade depending on the availability of Handmaidens to do it, the ritual was a routine part of the calendar for the priest organisers at the Abbey and at Seachester Cathedral. The event was so familiar and stage managed that it had its own set of traditions and folklore. To them her arrival had made planning even simpler by removing the need to fly a Maiden in from Solford, across dangerous and potentially war torn space, to do the honours.

She rolled onto her back, trying to imitate Shia’s straight limbed posture, pinning her arms down to stop herself from making her friend dizzy by spinning the pendant anymore. It fell heavily back onto her chest, warm despite its sojourn in the freezing bathroom. Gradually dawn crept over her, stained green and gold as its light fell through the stained glass panels which blocked the lower half of the window panes and then a cold clear grey tone as it reached the clear upper glass. Kel decided it was a reasonable time to get up and went to run herself a bath.

The warm water was reviving, especially with the herby scent its rising steam brought with it. It remained peculiar to have floor to ceiling windows in the bathroom while you bathed, so Kel had taken to keeping her back to them at all times, as if that made the space more private. The final fitting for her healing outfit was first on her agenda today so she tied her still damp hair back into a loose bun and didn’t worry much about what to wear. Dressing herself in soft, slack dark gold pants and an equally roomy top in a paler yellow which matched her hair she took a short cut through Mal’s bedroom on her way to the dining room. The Hunter wasn’t there, and wouldn’t mind even if he had been, he was too highly trained to hide away from his responsibility, which was protecting her. She didn’t make life easy for him, but she would feel safer when he got back from Solford. As long as he wasn’t the bearer of bad tidings that is.

Toast, cereal and several large cups of coffee made her breakfast menu. The food unit was equipped with a huge range of options, but she almost always ordered the same simple fare she would have had at home. She was in a pensive mood by the time she finished eating, not helped by Missra’s long silence. Any quiet time where she was left alone to think was troublesome nowadays. It allowed her resentment of her situation to simmer. Keldaren hated to know that she was being managed, though she knew she’d always been shamelessly manipulated by her few friends and often failed to notice. It was all the little things she couldn’t control now which irked her, despite the luxury she found herself in. It was that she couldn’t decide where she lived, or how she decorated, or who lived with her, who was allowed to visit or even what she wore.

Keldaren hadn’t even seen the outfit yet. Her opinion wasn’t required. The Bishop had designed it personally, Acorn said, with only the tiniest hint of surprise that his superior didn’t have anything better to do with his time than design dresses for a woman he equally feared and loathed.

All of her clothes were like that now, the dark side of having a full wardrobe created before she even arrived. Items would just magically appear in her cupboards while she was out, or she would be guided without warning to a fitting room occupied by a seamstress ready to make all the adjustments needed for a perfect fit to a dress she’d not asked for. The clothes were lovely, unique, expensive, often intricate and all made especially for her. They didn’t belong to her though. Most came with polite cards advising her of the name of the man who’d gifted it. It was always a man, any women wanting favours sent jewellery.

It was the act of giving and the expense of it which mattered in the process, any Handmaiden would do as recipient. Indeed some of the early gifts had clearly been commissioned for someone else, they needed such severe alterations to fit Keldaren. She had the terrible suspicion that at least some of them had been intended to be gifted to Adlea at the Festival last year, leaving Keldaren walking around in her would-be murderer’s clothes. If that wasn’t bad enough, she missed being able to shop, or window shop she should say. Previously she’d never have been able to afford clothes like these. She still couldn’t, since for all its privileges her new job wasn’t paid and her bank accounts were out of reach.

Keldaren was roused from her self-pity by the sound of the seamstress arriving in the antechamber.

Try to be nice, Missra whispered. It’s not her fault that you don’t get to design your own dresses. Or that you’re in a maudlin mood.

I am not maudlin. Keldaren wasn’t entirely sure what it meant but she wasn’t it anyway. And stop eavesdropping on my thoughts.

There’s no need to, the ghost chuckled. I just know you too well. Come on, though. Maybe it’s pretty. Missra was a soft touch for dresses, particularly long ones, or velvet, or bright colours, or embroidery. The more finery could be appliquéd to a piece of fabric the more the magpie spirit liked it.

At least having clothes fitted was easy and low risk as long as Kel didn’t complain too much. She simply stood still, on a small plinth, and let everyone else move around her. The dress actually wasn’t too bad, pale pink cotton with a floral motif embroidered across it which matched the pattern engraved on her locket. The resemblance was deliberate of course, to bring the mind to Missra’s involvement in proceedings which were part of her eternal punishment, but Keldaren was glad the whole ensemble was lighter than the formal Handmaiden regalia. The only time she’d had to wear that she’d needed an assistant to help her to carry its heavy layers and long trains.

Moena arrived on her cleaning rounds midway through the fitting, but the girl wisely kept her head down and her mouth shut. Keldaren had had to do some serious talking to get her assigned to the comparatively light work and high status of cleaning these rooms during her prison work placement and Moena wasn’t about to risk that by being too forward in public. She was an awful cleaner but since the apartment systems didn’t actually need any help that didn’t matter. She was safer here where Kel could keep an eye on her, and less likely to let her tongue wag with Kel’s secrets.

Kel stared back at her own reflection in the large mirrors the dressmakers had brought with them. The soft pink of the dress somehow made her hair appear blonder even dragged harshly back, and its cut emphasised her slenderness. Apart from its length and the thick embroidery she might have bought it as a sundress, so she looked more like herself than she had in months. It helped that since rebinding Missra she’d regained her natural pale complexion and hair, so she didn’t look possessed anymore. She looked cute, but not influential. It was not an outfit designed to promote her as powerful in any way, which was no doubt intentional and maybe a good thing. She’d been discovering her power was severely curtailed despite her high-sounding rank.

I’m glad that I’ve been practicing walking in floor length dresses, she commented. It was hugely embarrassing when you stood on the hem and fell flat on your face, and dangerous if you did it on the particularly hard to manage stairs.

Yes your Holiness, the seamstress replied absently as she made a minute adjustment to the hem. It would be most unfortunate to trip while doing Her work. She paused thoughtfully. I can pin it up slightly higher if your Holiness is prone to standing on her clothes? She glanced up earnestly to see Kel grinning back down at her.

It’s alright, like I said I’ve been practicing. It was important to pick her battles and clothes were a long way down the priority list. Do other Maidens struggle with them?

Oh yes. The woman leaned forward conspiratorially. Maiden Jenius is infamous for it. At her last healing visit we made her a pant suit. She shook her head as if this was the greatest scandal in the Theocracy. You’ll be fine, though. You’ve not torn a dress yet, for all that you promise to at every fitting.

No, ma’am. Kel grinned again. Are we done?

Yes. Hop down and take it off. I’ll make the adjustments and deliver it back this evening.

No sooner had Kel pulled her lounge pants back on and seen the seamstresses out then her next meeting had arrived. Father Acorn was looking more flustered than usual, his kindly round face creased in a frown.

Good morning, Holiness. No matter how stressed he was his manners were ingrained. I hope your dress fitting went well.

It’s very pretty. Kel knew Acorn was part of the committee that chose her outfits for any formal occasions and noted he looked particularly pleased with her praise of this