A cold chill creeps down my spine as Nolan's story comes to an end. The Eternal is a fanciful myth. I’m sure some queen had once been known as the Eternal, had fancied herself as such, but I always imagine the Eternal as a series of queens, each taking the name to follow the reputation. The Eternal was just a very long, very powerful dynasty.
Told in Nolan's voice, with his knowledge from the Creationists... it isn’t enough to make me question, but it damn sure leaves an uneasy feeling in my gut as I open the door. The children sit in a small circle, still enraptured by the story. Nolan glances up and gives me a gentle nod. “Mother!” Kit shouts, leaping to his feet. The other children all scramble up and throw their arms around Corna and me. Neither of us can get a word in edgewise as the children chatter and laugh and smile.
“Come now, little ones, it has only been a week! How do you like Priest Nolan?”
“He tells us the best stories!” Elan says, his eyes glowing beneath his mop of orange hair.
“There are even bakers in them!” Tera shouts. “My dad was a baker, you see, and I always want to know stories about—”
“We even have our own bed! No more sleeping on the ground!” another chimes in.
“Isn't that great,” Corna says in a tone struggling between warmth and annoyance. Tera squeezes her arm in a death grip, and Corna is doing her best to extricate herself. She’s trying to be as gentle as possible, but Tera clings fiercely in her excitement.
“So, it'll be okay until we can come back for you?” I ask, grinning at their smiling faces.
Their voices mix into an incomprehensible babble in confirmation. Kit, though, stays quiet and serious. He pulls me aside, his face set in solemn lines.
“Mother, you know I'll stay here if you wish it, but I don't want to. I should be with you, helping with the job!”
“Whoa, Kit,” I say, blinking at him. “What do you mean, helping? What do you know?”
“I know you guys are doing something dangerous! Otherwise you wouldn't have sent us away. We’re the Family. We're only strong together.”
“You're right,” I say, pride surging in my breast. “And we’ll be back together as soon as this has ended. But, because we’re the Family, I have to protect my children. Allowing you to help would put you right in the sights of someone very, very dangerous.”
“But I can help!”
“Think, Kit,” I say, letting an edge creep into my voice. “Let's say we bring you in, and you do help. Then our safehouse gets raided. We have to run, but first we have to fight. A big, armored man comes at you with a sword. What will happen?”
“I'll dodge, or hide. I'm fast,” he says, but I can see the hint of fear in his eyes.
“No, what will happen is that I’ll be forced to protect you. I'll have to keep an eye out for myself, and you, and everyone else as we try to get out of a fight we can't win. So I turn to help you, and someone stabs Corna. Or I save Timo, and a soldier guts you while I'm distracted. I know you want to help, Kit, but you have to recognize you aren't ready. I know you will be, and it’ll be sooner than I'd like, but it isn't today. Stay with the priest, learn what you can, and then come back to me ready to rejoin the Family.”
Kit nods reluctantly. I can tell he doesn’t agree, but he’s willing to do as I ask. Whatever. He doesn’t have to agree as long as he’s safe. I chat with Nolan for a while, and he assures me that he will treat the kids as his own. I’ve only ever been honest, open, and generous with Nolan. He has no cause to fear me. But, as I shake his hand and wish him all the best with my children, I feel the tremor in his grip and the uncertainty in his eyes. He knows what they mean to me.
***
Corna and I trace our path back through the city, the masses parting around us like stones in a river. We walk to the Pennies, to a particular inn known as the Juggling Bear. The place is ordinary in the extreme. It makes just enough money to survive, but not enough to flourish. The sign is noticeable, but unremarkable. The patrons are day-to-day laborers and travelers. In essence, it’s the most bland and forgettable place we can imagine to have a meeting about robbing the richest man alive. Secret meetings are not made for dark corners. Those have a tendency to be scrutinized. No, if you want to have a secret meeting, make it as open and obvious as possible. Two friends meeting a third at a nameless inn for a meal is hardly remarkable. Two thieves meeting an informant in a dark alley is instantly suspicious.
We walk in, our dresses blending with the few women present in the inn. The tables are remarkably full for the Juggling Bear. In the back corner sits the man we’re there to see. I notice him immediately, which sends a flash of terror through me. If I can pick him out so fast, surely others will be able to as well. Though his clothing is made of fine material and in the latest fashion, he’s unshaven, and sweat glistens on his brow. His leg taps incessantly, and his eyes dart to and fro. As if spotting an assassin will actually save him when he has jammed himself in a corner that has no easy means of escape.
As we walk over, I glance at the other patrons. None show any undue interest in our friend, but I keep a surreptitious eye on them as we take our seats. The man leans forward, a fevered intensity in his brown eyes. He would have been handsome, but his face is screwed into an expression of stress and fear. His strong jaw is better suited to smiles and roguish charm. The table is close to clean, though the stain of hundreds of spilled drinks mars the weathered wood.
“Do you have the money?” he says, his voice low but insistent.
“Why, darling, what are you so worried over?” Corna says, loudly, her musical laugh tinkling through the inn and quieting everyone else as they turn to look. “That poem you wrote her is lovely. I'm sure she'll say yes!”
“What are you doing?” the man says, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. “Don't call attention-”
“She's saving your ass,” I answer, my eyes narrowed in growing anger. “If you keep acting like you are, you won't make it two blocks with Gordyn on your tail. Pretend what I just said to you was funny.”
He stares at me askance for a moment, but Corna continues to simper and loudly talk about his imaginary betrothal, so he forces a laugh. Soon, everyone in the place looks back at their food or drinks, forgetting about the nervous man and his imminent proposal.
“Now, we have the money,” I start, holding up a finger in warning when he leans forward again. He forces himself to relax and sit back in the booth. His features don’t match the act, though. “Do you have what you claim to have?”
He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a sweat-stained and crumpled piece of parchment. With a shaking hand, he smooths the paper flat and slides it across the table to us. I glance at it quickly, seeing an unfamiliar, though detailed, floor plan, down to circles marking support columns and the location of the various vaults and side rooms. My gaze flicks back upwards.
“How is this special? I could draw this just from walking through the bank.”
“Look,” he mutters, stabbing his finger down at a point on the map. When he moves his hand, he reveals a blank space.
“Are you wasting my time?” I ask, venom entering my tone. Corna reaches forward, scooping up the paper with a warning look and loudly remarking about how beautiful it is to compare her to a rose.
The man snatches the paper back irritably, pointing first at the middle floor.
“See? Here, the second floor has a series of offices and meeting rooms. They extend throughout this floor. The third floor offices are bigger; only Gordyn's closest compatriots operate on the third floor. No client ever gets brought up there unless they are a serious investor or a personal acquaintance of Gordyn himself. But look.” He points again to the blank space. “The area of the two floors should be identical, by outward appearances of the building, but this space behind Gordyn's office is empty. I checked the place visually. There are windows on the back side of the building, and Gordyn's office is the last in his hall. I have been in Gordyn's office, and it doesn't have
any windows. If it was really the last room in that hall, it would. There is something behind Gordyn's office.”
I sit back, the possibilities swirling through me. Whoever this guy is, and however Corna came in contact with him, he isn’t a fool. I'm sure most people would have been too intimidated, actually being in Gordyn's personal office, to notice such things. But his words also send alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind. Gordyn knows this man? He’s seen him, even invited him into his office?
“Corna, pay him,” I say curtly, snatching the floor plan out of his hands and turning to go. An old man looms over me. A full mustache hides his thin cheekbones, but his clothes hang loosely about his bony frame. My hand drops to the dagger hidden in my skirt, but he looks behind me to the nervous man in the corner.
“I couldn't help but overhear, if you'll excuse me,” he starts in a wavering voice. “I have to say, you need to be courageous! If you want her to say yes, you need to be brave, young man.”
I sigh inwardly and let the dagger stay hidden.
“He will. He's going to do it in a few hours! He just sent me to get the money for the ring!” Corna says, plopping the fat purse down on the table conspicuously. Even I have to suppress a shudder at the flagrant display of wealth. It’s best to keep anything from appearing secretive in such a public place, but the amount of money changing hands is staggering. Our friend will be able to have a good start on a new life with the gold in that purse.
“Ah, well, good luck, lad. I'm sure you don't need it!” the old man says, smiling and ambling away.
We leave as fast as we can, the information already tucked away in the folds of my dress. We stroll arm in arm, the perfect picture of two young ladies out for an afternoon walk. The Winter air starts to bite as the sun drops towards the horizon, so we hurry like many of the other passersby towards warmer climes.
“We are about to learn something very important,” I hiss at Corna under my breath, our heads barely an inch apart.
“What is that? Why are you clenching my arm so hard?”
“Jon Gordyn met that man. He was in Gordyn's Eternal-damned office. Do you think he could get away with what just happened?”
“Wait, you're saying...” Corna says, eyes growing wider.
“Yes. That man, and our money, is going to be in Gordyn's hands. Soon. It's our job to watch and observe. We need to know how long it takes Gordyn to find him, and what he does to our friend when he manages. What did that man do that he wants to betray Jon Gordyn of all people?”
“I don't know,” Corna says softly. “I met him at a party thrown by Duke Graevo. Some merchant got invited, and I went on his arm. Weeks later, he sees me in the street and knows me. As in, me, Corna of the Family, not Corna the merchant's date. He wanted to sell me something valuable, and I listened because he was desperate.”
“We're going back to the Temple,” I say, turning us around and heading south again.
“What? Why?” Corna asks.
“We need to pray.”
Chapter 6
Jace
The Fortieth Day of Winter
In the year 5219, Council Reckoning
The first I know is warmth. I shift towards the warmth, the life, that holds me to the world. Little more than that sensation, a glow of life and love that envelopes me entire. Air moves across my face, her breath. My arms strain to reach above me, struggling to touch, to feel, to know.
The warmth intensifies. Soon the heat is unbearable. The roar of fire swallows my cries. Yanked from the embrace around me, I plunge into a stinging, burning brightness I can’t escape. I open my mouth to scream, but smoke rushes in.
I wake up on my side in a bed, covered in sheets and bandages. The same familiar dream rocks its way through my racing heart, and I shudder against the fear. The movement opens up entire avenues to pain. Every inch of me hurts, my neck a black pit of unrelenting agony. I can still feel the heat from my dream burning on my face. That’s new. I snap open my eyes.
A blazing fire burns in front of me, flames licking up the wall and scorching bright orange and red. My nightmare made real. I gasp, trying to edge away, but the pain is too great. My heart beats erratically as the flame consumes the blue curtains in front of me. The fire eats with relentless appetite. I can’t move. My body won’t respond to my frantic commands. The flame grows, racing towards the walls. The fire is going to consume me as easily as the drapes, and all I can do is lie still and watch it come. My throat tries to scream.
I must make some kind of noise, for the silhouette of a man blocks the fire. Slender and graceful, the fire moves in accord with his movements, two dancers in perfect harmony. Time slows as if to allow the two their moment, the silent figure and the roaring fire moving in time. The moment breaks as he yanks the drapes down from the wall. The heat and smoke blazes brighter. My panic finally overwhelms the pain, I jerk back. My neck explodes, and oblivion takes me.
***
With a groan, my eyes open onto white linen illuminated by brilliant, liquid sunshine. I’ve never seen white sheets before. I bring my arm up painfully and stroke the soft, clean purity with reverence. It’s a luxury too large for words, too rare for use. Even at an upper-scale establishment like the Simply, too much goes on between the sheets to ever worry about what they look like. I struggle to roll onto my back, but lancing pain strikes me all along my neck and lower body. With an audible groan, I give up the attempt. Footsteps approach my bed with quiet certainty as Reknor takes a chair next to the bed.
“Tried to move, did you?” he asks, smiling.
“Just fancied a little stretch.”
“No doubt,” Reknor says, grinning wider. “But you wouldn’t lie on your back even when you were unconscious, so I don’t think I’d try it now, either. Now, out with it. What happened after you left my house last night?”
“I fell off a roof.” The charred and blackened wall across from my bed has peeled away to reveal the timbers beneath. “What happened to the drapes?”
“They caught fire,” Reknor says, cocking an eyebrow.
“That's it? They caught fire? No elaboration, no detail? ”
“Well, you just fell off a roof.”
I get the hint.
“I fell three stories. And those thugs thought they would rob me, but they apparently were too thick to realize I’m as poor as yellow grass in Winter. You saved me before they could carry me off and do something nasty.”
“Remarkably vague and light on detail.” Reknor loses his smile. “I would recognize Timo’s ugly face even in the dark. You think he hasn’t tried to make me pay protection money to the Family?”
“Ah,” I say tactfully. “The Family, well, banned me from their territory on pain of death. Kettle made the pronouncement in front of about a thousand people in a public square.”
“Oh, you’re that Jace. Word spreads fast when a secretive leader of a secretive group makes a public appearance. You went to their territory?” Reknor asks in a tone that questions my sanity.
“I was distracted,” I say defensively. “You gave me a lot to think about. And the whole damn city is their territory now. It’s your fault more than anything. If you hadn't been so nice to me this never would have happened.”
Reknor looks at me incredulously. My anger fades, and I start to chuckle. Pretty soon we’re both laughing, though I’m a bit more reserved because it hurts so much. It feels good regardless. It’s a breath of relief after the past few days.
“Well,” Reknor continues finally. “We’re going to need to develop an appropriate identity for you if you’re going to stay.”
“What are you talking about? I can't stay. They even know who you are now, and that means they’ll be coming. Creator's middle finger, they've got to be coming.”
I start to move around in my panic, doing my best to ignore the shooting pains down my spine.
“No, they won't,” Reknor says, leaning forward and gently restraining me. It doesn’t take much. “It was dark, and I to
ok my eye patch off and put up my hair. I also kicked the crap out of them. No one would expect that of a scribe.”
“How did you beat them?”
“Tactics,” Reknor answers, shrugging.
“Tactics?” I ask in disbelief.
“Tactics,” he says matter-of-factly.
I glare at him, though the expression is probably softened by the bandages and the fact that I can’t move off of my side. Reknor’s face looks stricken, and he sits back in his chair.
“Damn me, boy, remind me never to make you angry. You look like you’re about to open a gate into the Eternal's tomb and drop me into it.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I fight to keep myself from smiling.
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” I say flippantly.
“Right. Well, if I think you’re ready, and Creator forbid you never glare at me like that again, I’ll teach you some of my tactics. Regardless, no one will ever recognize you now. While you were sleeping I had a doctor come in and look at you. Part of the process was bathing you so that we could even see your wounds.”
“What do you mean, no one will recognize me?” I ask, skeptical.
“When was the last time you looked in a mirror?”
“I see myself in windows all the time,” I say quietly.
It’s a lie. It’s been two years since I’ve gotten a proper look at myself. I can distance myself from reality looking down at my toes. I can imagine that those legs are a different person's, that I’m not actually wearing that burlap sack as a shirt. Looking in the mirror, though, even partially, would be looking at myself in reality.
Reknor pulls a hand mirror from a nearby drawer and angles it towards my face. The boy staring back at me in the mirror is a stranger. The roundness and childishness of my cheeks are gone, lean hollows showing between my jaw and cheekbone. My hair is the pleasant, deep red-brown of mahogany, not the black-brown of dirt, tar, and filth. Even my eyes have changed. Where once they were the light, pleasant blue of a clear summer sky, now they’ve deepened into the tones of a clear mountain lake.
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 12
