Kaybree Versus the Angels

by Harrison Paul

CHAPTER FOUR

  Searching for a Heretic

  "Didn't sleep well?" Mira asked over our plates of breakfast.

  "You can tell?"

  "Well, you did just take a bite from an empty spoon. Twice."

  I looked down at the hot porridge and slab of grainy bread I'd picked up from the serving table. I scooped a spoonful of the porridge and forced myself to eat a bite. It didn't taste bad, but I wasn't in the mood for eating right now. "I guess it was hard to sleep. New place and all. I know I should be used to sleeping in a new room, what with moving sagekeeps every few months, but it still takes me a few weeks to really get comfortable somewhere. The air is never right, or the smell."

  Mira chewed on her bread and looked up from one of her massive books. Its title was written entirely in runes, so I had no idea what it said. "What does your room smell like? I thought all sagekeeps were pretty dank and musty."

  "We're right next to the sea, so there's that fresh, salty smell in the air. I usually like it when I'm outside walking on the beach, but it's weird when I'm trying to sleep. And the air is thicker here; it sticks to you more, and cuts through your clothes. I have to wear twice as much just to keep warm." I didn't tell her the real reason I couldn't sleep: nightmares of Angels rising from the ocean haunted my dreams, faceless giants with tentacles outstretched, stepping slowly toward the shore.

  Mira took a bite of her porridge. "You'll get used to it. And with your mother here, you'll probably stay longer, won't you?"

  I shrugged. "I'm never really sure what she's thinking. But I hope I'll stay." Even with a mysteriously absent mother, I still had one friend in this city.

  Mira rose to leave, and I glanced at the clock on the wall. "We still have an hour until class," I said.

  She packed her book into her bag. "Sorry, I have cartography duty. The bordermen are coming back from last week's patrol, and one of the catrography students has to collect their drawings and make them into workable maps. You wouldn't believe how little of the forest we've actually mapped, so it's a lot of work. And we sometimes get four or five different maps of the same place."

  "Why's that?" I asked.

  "Some of the bordermen can't draw very well."

  I thought of my mysterious messenger. "Does anyone there know who I am?"

  Mira twirled a strand of hair on one finger. "Kaybree, I think everyone knows who you are. At least, that you're the daughter of Lady Staalvoss."

  I gave her a weary smile. "Believe me, fame isn't as glamorous as it sounds. All right, I'll see you in class." She waved and left the mead hall.

  I was glad that she took off early, since I'd wanted to go visit Jans—and even though Mira was a friend, I didn't want anyone knowing I was asking questions about the Angels. I put away my tray and slid on my gloves, heading toward Jans's classroom. Even with the sagekeep's stone walls blocking the wind, it was freezing inside.

  Jans was writing notes when I entered the classroom. "Kaybree," he said, putting his pen back into the inkwell, "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow. Did you need something?"

  "No, not really," I said. "I just had a free hour and thought you might be lonely, being the new sage here and all."

  He smiled. "That's quite considerate of you. Please, have a seat."

  I sat at an overstuffed chair in front of his desk. A statue of a hairy, white nordbjorn with jaws open loomed over me on the right. "I noticed in our class yesterday that you talked a lot about the Angels," I said. Not the subtlest segue in the world, but my mind was still a little foggy.

  Jans chuckled. "Did I? I never really notice." He had a refined accent, the kind that came naturally to nobles and their servants. I wondered if he was from a noble house. "The Angels are a particular fascination of mine, so you will, I hope, forgive me if I ramble."

  "It's all right," I said, sifting through his fancy words. "I'm actually kind of interested in the Angels myself. My mother fights them, after all."

  Jans stroked his chin. "You think so?"

  "That's what people say. She defeated the Angels that attacked fifteen years ago." I looked over at the painting of the War of the Angels. "What does one look like anyway?"

  He took off his spectacles and polished them with a white cloth. "That's a very interesting question. No accounts survive of the Angel's physical appearance, though its path of destruction was clearly laid out. According to the sagas, the Angels can assume a variety of forms: sometimes as animals, sometimes as men. Those who bring visions always appear to us as people, albeit incredibly beautiful ones."

  "Visions?"

  "Yes, this is where we have the descriptions of Angels most often." He patted the tome on his desk beside him. "Silas of Kant is quoted as saying that the Angel's hair, skin, and even eyes appeared like a brilliant flash of light, and emanating an unearthly glow." He cleared his throat. "At least, paraphrasing and translating his archaic language into modern standard. That was the basic idea."

  A pinprick chill began to rise on the back of my neck. The more he told me about these historical appearances, the more convinced I became that this Angel was real. "And why do Angels appear to people? I mean, how do they pick who to appear to?"

  I heard a crash behind me. Wood splintered and chairs fell as something ran headlong into the shelves. Books shook in their places. My heart raced—was this one of the Angels hunting me? I looked at what had collided with the shelves. It was a boy about my age, with neatly trimmed hair and wide brown eyes. He wore a wine red jacket that buttoned up the side, its hem reaching the knees of his black breeches. I didn't recognize the silver beehives of his house emblazoned on his jacket, but I did know that the fashion was two decades too late. He brushed himself off, grabbing the sled he'd ridden into the room. The icy slush on the wood indicated he'd just come from outside.

  Jans stood up. "Is there something the matter?"

  The boy blinked. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Just thought you might like to know that you're next in line."

  Jans frowned. "For what?"

  "Some creepy inquisition guy is making rounds in the halls." He pointed to the painting of the War of the Angels. "Might want to put a curtain over that or something. I'm just saying."

  Jans sighed. "Willard," he said, shaking his head, "I've known your family too long to trust a word that you say. Would you mind telling us the real reason you're here?"

  He glanced at me. I noticed a nervous smirk twitching up through his lips. "No, I'm serious. Dead serious. So serious that I'd rather be dead than how serious I am." He pointed outside, and then we heard it: heavy boots clopping down the hallways, along with the swish-clank of swinging weapon belts. An uneasy silence hung in the rooms around us.

  Jans motioned to me. "Get behind the shelves," he said. His urgent tone encouraged me not to argue. I'd known there was an inquisitor coming, but I was innocent; I wasn't an Angel. No, wait a minute. The borderman had mentioned Valir coming to investigate heresy among the Order. Did that mean me too?

  I slid behind the bookshelf right as the hem of a dark blue robe swished into the room. The sage had coal-black eyes, a pale face, and a bald spot that took up most of his head, with tufts of dark hair on the sides. His robe had a huge golden eye embroidered on the breast, but otherwise his clothes were plain. He strode up to Jans, glancing about the room with a curl in his lip. Nobody needed to tell me this was Father Traum.

  "Brother Jans," he said, giving him a stiff, formal bow. "A rare pleasure it is to see you take your research to inhabited lands." His voice was nasally and disdainful, like everything surrounding him was an annoyance. "I trust you've been well?"

  Jans smiled, though his anxiety seeped through the expression. "Quite, thank you, Father." He frowned as a pair of armored guards entered alongside Father Traum. "Last I heard you were heading the Doctrinal Council in Valir. What brings you this far south?"

  Traum swept his beady eyes around the room. "I think you know, Brother," he said. "Of all people, you should be most attuned to wha
t I am seeking." He stopped and looked straight at Jans. "Andreya Staalvoss has locked her tower, and the bordermen have reported a disturbing silence in the forest. At the same time, unprecedented snowstorms have buffeted the northern realms. She sees some sign in all of this, or is planning to save us from another of her Angel attacks."

  "I find it most suspect," Jans said. "In none of the sagas was an Angel seen of thousands of people at once—especially one whose appearance was not remembered afterward. But what could she stand to gain from deceiving us?"

  Traum studied him for a moment. "You will keep watch for me," he said, waving to his guards. "Inform me when the Witch moves. She's up to something, I know it. That's why I'm here in this filthy city, reeking of the forest each time I step outside. We're going to uncover the truth, Jans, and we're going to do it soon."

  "The truth cannot be hidden from He who sees all things," Jans said. "The Almighty will reveal the truth in due time."

  Traum's lip curled again. "Unless you count on seeing an Angel, Brother, I suggest you use your own eyes as well. The Witch is crafty." He turned to leave. "Now tell me, where is her daughter? I hear she attends your class."

  I recognized that as my cue to say nothing. My breaths came faster, though, and I felt my nose itch from the dusty shelves. I reached up and plugged my nose. I couldn't sneeze, not right now, not with the inquisitor asking about me. Jans shrugged. "We don't have class until later this afternoon. Shall I have her find you?"

  I covered my nose with both hands, trying desperately not to sneeze. But standing here like this, not breathing, was taking its toll on my lungs. I had to take a breath soon. So I slowly, carefully took in some air—just with my mouth, not my nose—but the dusty air betrayed me, and I let loose a loud sneeze. The sound rang in the air. I held my breath, waiting for Traum's people to descend.

  "Ah-choo!" said a voice. "Sheesh, sorry about that. I always sneeze when I'm around dusty old books." It was Willard, the boy from earlier. What was he still doing here? I couldn't see him, but his voice sounded close to Traum. "So, anyway, Father, can I interest you in a tour of the sagekeep? I mean, it's your maiden visit, so maybe you'd prefer to wander the halls and get lost a few times like the rest of us, but otherwise, I'd be happy to show it to you. You will put in a good word with my father, right?"

  Traum snorted. "Ah, I see. A Matthias. I should have known." He walked back into my line of vision, his back to me, heading for the door. "That won't be necessary. The Sages of Valir do not trade favors with merchants."

  "Now, Father, you're getting the wrong impression altogether," Willard said, following him as he walked out. "We adhere to a time-honored tradition of service and satisfaction. Our reputation is everything. In fact, letting me show you around the sagekeep would actually be doing me a favor. It wouldn't even take . . ." His voice trailed off as Traum's footfalls became farther distant.

  "You can come out now," Jans said. I poked my head out to check before I emerged to join him. "You're probably wondering what that whole exchange was about."

  "No, just sounds like ordinary sage talk. Does everybody really think my mother is a witch?"

  Jans sighed. "The term has become so diluted now as to mean nothing," he said. "Naming someone a Witch before the sages is a serious accusation. It's . . . oh, I won't bore you with the details. I should let you get to class. Your riding class starts in ten minutes, unless I'm mistaken."

  "Right," I said. I'd become so engrossed in talking about the Angels and avoiding Traum that the time had slipped by me. "Then I'd better go. Thanks for letting me talk to you."

  "One more thing." I stopped, and Jans came over and whispered in my ear. "Father Traum and I both suspect that something not quite right is going on in this city, and I think your mother may be at the heart of it."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, nervous.

  "These Angel attacks. Does it not seem odd that there have been no sightings of the Angels in fifteen years? And that Lady Andreya happened to stop it with a power that we are not allowed to inspect?"

  "That's what Vormund does."

  "But not the Angels. They don't attack people at random, or cause destruction without reason. Kaybree, everything the Angels do is for the good of mankind. It is man's evil intentions that twist the gifts of the Angels into darkness. That is what I believe is going on in this city. Someone is performing forbidden actions and using these fabricated 'Angel attacks' to draw our attention away from them."

  I swallowed. "You think it's my mother."

  He set a hand on my shoulder. "I cannot say unless I have evidence. But you may be able to help exonerate your mother of suspicion. I need you to search through her belongings, or her records. Look for evidence of what she does behind those locked doors." He spread his hands. "If nothing leads us to believe she is behind the Angel attacks, then she'll be cleared of any charges and Father Traum will leave." He cleared his throat. "If I'm right . . . then let's just say that your mother may not be the mother you thought she was."

  I don't know, I thought. If she's not the mother I think she is, she might just have a soul. "I'll do my best," I said. "But no promises. My mother doesn't trust me any more than Traum—she won't even let me into her tower."

  Jans ushered me out of the room. "Whatever you find might be helpful," he said. "Look for something written by your mother, anything at all. If she will open her doors to any of us, it will be you." He smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  I left, troubled by his accusations. My mother was cold-hearted, but could she be responsible for so many innocent deaths? I wouldn't know until the sealed tower opened.

  I made it to the stables before class started, so I studied the rangir we'd be practicing with. I didn't know if they'd have us riding the first day, but it would be exciting to learn anyway. I passed several pens with different rangir, some male and some female. It was nearing wintertime, so all had grown a full set of impressive antlers. I'd heard that rangir wore special helmets when they were ridden in combat to protect their heads, but they had to have two types, winter and summer helms. In one of the few books I'd read from cover to cover—one on rangir habits and handling—I'd discovered a picture of winter helms, two pieces that snapped together to allow the antlers through. Antlers were even tipped with metal sometimes.

  Mira was there with some of our other classmates. I avoided Danelle by slipping behind one of the stable doors. A powerfully built doe rangir looked back at me, eyes meeting mine. "Hope you don't mind me intruding," I said with a smile. "I'm new here." I knew rangir couldn't understand us, but something about her eyes seemed to say that she knew what I meant.

  I walked into the center of the room as class began. Our instructor assigned us to different rangir to go for a practice ride, and after a brief review of saddling and bridling the animals, I found myself next to a gentle-looking rangir whose coat was the color of chestnuts. "Her name is Dagmar," the groom said, handing me the reins. I climbed up and settled myself on the rangir's back. "Take good care of her."

  "I will," I said. We started out of the stables at a slow walk, going out into a forested path via a road out of the city. We passed a shipyard, where workers were sawing wood for ships and caulking them with mud and tar. Longships and the larger cargo ships were being created all over the city, and it seemed that Kant Vakt was personally supplying the fleets of explorers venturing into the unknown lands beyond the sea.

  Mira rode up beside me. "It's a beautiful view, isn't it? I go riding all the time to meet the scouts coming back from patrol. Riding is a major class here too, so you'll probably get to see a lot of the border forest this way."

  "We're really close to the forest," I said. "How far do you usually range out?"

  "We stay within sight of the walls. The bordermen go out farther, of course."

  The shipyard expanded into a woodcutter's camp that bordered on the forest. Our riding path took us right next to it, and we skirted the treeline as we continued getting used to our mounts. The w
orkers used small hand axes to cut the logs that came from the forest, hacking off portions of it and tossing them into a large pile of scrap wood. Rows of long, uncut tree trunks sat on one end of the yard, beside a stone hearth and one of the bordermen's stone towers. Steps led into the tower and up to the top, where a few archers could stand and shoot arrows at an approaching enemy. A cookfire rose from the center of the camp, the smell of roasting meat coming with it.

  "Does anyone guard the woodcutters?" I asked. "I'm amazed they'd be bold enough to go into the forest for wood."

  Mira shrugged. "Where else would they get it? They pay the baron to use the bordermen as guards, but they usually don't encounter any trouble. Most of the animals run from us, especially this close to the city. If you go a few miles out, well, then you'd need guards for sure."

  We rode in a column, urging our mounts to a trot through the cleared brush. There was a path that led along the forest, taking us under the branches of thick oaks and pines. A patrol of four bordermen rode past us. They wore the same dark green cloaks I'd seen on my mysterious borderman when we'd spoken on the bridge, fastened at the breast with a brass clasp in the shape of a tower shield. Swords hung from their belts, and leather armor showed beneath their cloaks.

  I turned to Mira after they had passed. She seemed to know a lot about Kant Vakt, so she might know if the bordermen had any kind of rivalry going on with Vormund. "So, what are the bordermen like? Do they talk to other people much, or are they separate like Vormund?"

  Mira gave me a sidelong look. "They're not cloistered away in a mysterious tower, if that's what you're asking. They actually come out to the taverns and games all the time. Some of the girls in our class might end up marrying one. Even commoners who join the bordermen can gain noble titles if they rise high enough."

  "Oh?" I said with a smile. "You have your eyes on one in particular?"

  Mira blushed and shook her head. "No, not me. I'd be too scared to walk up to a borderman."

  "But I thought you said they were basically normal guys."

  "Well, I kind of have a hard time talking to normal guys too."

  We reached the edge of the camp and took the path eastward, looping back toward the sagekeep. One of the riders waved at us. It was Willard, the boy from Jans's classroom, in a brown cloak with the hood down. "Are there normal guys in this town? So far I've only met the strange ones."

  Mira glanced over and laughed. "You've met Willard Matthias?"

  "He sledded into Jans's classroom and crashed into the shelves to warn me Traum was coming."

  Mira smiled. "Well, it's the thought that counts, right? He's a good guy, even if he is kind of strange."

  My rangir stopped. I pitched forward, catching myself on the saddle. "Whoa, what's the matter, girl?" I said, stroking the rangir's fur. "Dagmar, right? We're just going back to the sagekeep." The rangir stayed frozen, even as I tried to spur her forward with an encouraging kick. I looked to Mira for help, but her rangir had stopped too. "Does this usually happen too?"

  Mira stroked her rangir and whispered something soothing into her ear. "They must have smelled something," she said, shaking her head. Our rangir started moving again, but their movements were quicker now, moving in haste rather than fluid grace. "Maybe one of the bordermen killed a beast out there, and traces of its blood are still on his cloak."

  The other students were having similar problems. Instead of keeping to the nice even column, the rangir were scattering, each taking their own path across the underbrush. Dagmar turned to the side, trampling a bush and snagging her hoof on a root. We jostled forward, but the rangir caught herself and kept running. I steered her back onto the path in time to see Mira turn her rangir back as well.

  "Get them back to the stables," I said, taking hold of the reins and kicking Dagmar hard in the flank to get her moving. "The grooms will know how to calm them down."

  An icy chill flashed through me. A pale shape flew from the trees and collided with my rangir. I gripped the reins with white-knuckled hands, searching for the attacker. The rangir screamed, and I was pulled downward as something yanked on the animal's leg. I lost my grip on the reins. My body was thrown through the air, and when I hit the trees, my vision was blurred and disoriented. I fell with a thud, brushing leaves out of my hair.

  The rangir lay on her side, blood flowing from a bite on her leg. A huge white wolf prowled beside her. Its golden eyes met mine, and it slowly advanced, blood dripping from its jaws.

  A deep, gravelly voice spoke, issuing from the white direwolf before me. "So I've found you."