Portraits of the Forsaken

by E. E. Holmes

  Mrs. Mistlemoore shook her head sadly. “I cannot say. I have never seen anything like it. I cannot imagine what bizarre bastardization of a Casting this young woman has undergone, to be found in such a state. I have never seen the Spirit Sight perverted in this way. All I know is that this perversion could drive her mad, if we do not find a way to reverse it.”

  “So… can you reverse it?” Hannah asked. “Is there a way?”

  Mrs. Mistlemoore shrugged. “We cannot reverse what we do not understand. I don’t know why someone would have done this to her. It is cruel and unusual to the highest degree.”

  I looked questioningly over at Hannah. She nodded, understanding my hesitancy. Mrs. Mistlemoore should know what we told Celeste about the Necromancers, but it was not our place to share the information.

  “Mrs. Mistlemoore, did… that is, have you spoken with the High Priestess? Or with her Caomhnóir?”

  Mrs. Mistlemoore nodded again. “Yes. She’s told me what you confided in her—about the Necromancers.”

  “And?” Hannah prompted.

  “I… cannot say for sure whether the conditions are related. Necromancers, of course, have no Spirit Sight. It would not be prudent to say more on the subject at this time, not until the Council has met to discuss it.”

  I bit my lip. Weren’t we wasting precious time, allowing Flavia to suffer while waiting for the Council to “discuss it?”

  “I encourage you all to get a bit of sleep. There are a few hours yet before the meeting. There’s nothing you can do for Flavia, who I assure you is resting quite comfortably now. I suggest you do the same,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said, with a return to her usual brusque and efficient manner.

  “Will you… that is to say, if anything changes…” Jeta sniffed, but Mrs. Mistlemoore waved away the end of the question.

  “I will have someone fetch you immediately if there is any change in her condition,” she assured us. “Rest yourselves, now.”

  11

  The Many-Headed Monster

  AS WAS NOW A LONGSTANDING TRADITION when I was before the Durupinen Council, they were all staring at me with a mixture of fear and horror on their faces. I actually experienced a moment of nostalgia, thinking of all the other instances they had looked at me, just like that.

  Good times.

  On this occasion, at least, I was not really the subject of their shock and horror—I was merely the harbinger of the shocking and horrifying news. Jeta had stumbled her way through an explanation of how she had found Flavia, and then Mrs. Mistlemoore had struck them all dumb with an explanation of what had happened to Flavia’s Spirit Sight. Finally, I had followed up by detailing the connection I had made between Flavia’s condition and what I had observed of the Necromancers’ appearances when last we had seen them. It felt like a very long time before anyone could get beyond their initial surprise to respond.

  “High Priestess, do you… can you… confirm what she says? About the Necromancers?” Kiera finally stammered.

  “I remember it,” Siobhán piped up, her tone one of utter disgust. “I was out in the entrance hall when they arrived to storm the castle. One of them grabbed me and forced me into this room. I pulled his mask from his face in the struggle. I will never forget looking up into his face and seeing those eyes.”

  “And it was all of them? Every single one?” Patricia Lightfoot asked.

  “Who can possibly say for sure?” another Council member said. “The vast majority of them were masked.”

  “And no one ever looked into this? No one ever stopped to investigate what it might have meant?” Kiera asked.

  “No,” Celeste said. “Those still living were rounded up and imprisoned, but I don’t remember any inquiries of that sort being made. We were simply interested in capturing them, making sure they were locked away.”

  Siobhán turned to Catriona, who was sitting in the back row, poker-straight and looking incredibly tense. “Catriona, what of the Trackers? They surely would have handled any investigations of this nature. Do you remember anything coming across your desk about this?”

  Catriona shook her head stiffly. “No, nothing. As Celeste said, our priority was to capture and contain.”

  “Nothing in the interrogations?” Patricia pressed.

  “No,” Catriona asserted. “I can check all the transcripts, if you like, but I can’t recall a single instance of this being investigated. And as most of you know, Necromancers are not known to be forthcoming when questioned.”

  “We were reeling,” Fiona piped up from where she slouched in the back row. “I don’t think anyone was much fussed with the details. What did wonky eye color matter in the scope of what had happened? We were in self-preservation mode. Capture, kill, imprison, and contain the damage. That was all we were interested in.”

  The Council sat in silence for a moment, some looking defensive, others incredulous that such a detail could have escaped investigation. Then Hannah stood up in the second row, looking nervous but determined.

  “Please, if I may,” she began. “We aren’t going to get anywhere looking backward. Perhaps it ought to have been looked into, but it wasn’t. There were so many more life-or-death details to contend with. We have the chance to look into it now. Let’s take that chance.”

  There were several nods and murmurs of assent amongst the group. Then Patricia Lightfoot flicked a finger into the air to signal she meant to speak.

  “Are we even sure there is any relevance here? That is to say, are we even sure that this girl’s condition and the Necromancers’ condition were the same?”

  “A valid question,” Celeste said. She turned to Mrs. Mistlemoore, who was sitting in a chair to the side of the platform, a stack of medical notes clutched in her hands. “Mrs. Mistlemoore? Can you speak to this? Do you think there is a connection?”

  Mrs. Mistlemoore stood up. “They may look similar, but I would have to examine a Necromancer with the condition in order to have a clearer idea. Certainly, none of the Necromancers that came to Fairhaven suffered from their condition the way that Flavia does.”

  “How do you mean?” Celeste asked. “Can you clarify?”

  “The Necromancers were fully functional. They undertook a complicated and multi-pronged attack on the castle while dealing with whatever condition gave them that appearance. Flavia has been rendered incapacitated. She can neither see outside of her own body, nor speak coherently to answer questions.”

  “There you are,” Patricia said, as though this settled the matter. “You see? How can these two details be related if the symptoms are so different? It makes no sense.”

  “It would surprise me if the two were related, but I would still recommend looking into it,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said.

  “But why would we…?” Patricia began, but I cut her off.

  “Why wouldn’t we? I mean, if there’s the slightest chance that Flavia’s condition is related to the Necromancers, why wouldn’t we try to rule that out?” I asked.

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Patricia asked, a definite sneer in her voice.

  Mrs. Mistlemoore answered before I could retort, which was probably lucky, as I was fairly sure that nothing polite was going to come out of my mouth. “I will likely have to make a trip to the Isle of Skye, to the príosún there,” she said, her voice dripping with distaste. “The surviving Necromancers—those who weren’t killed in the attack on the castle—are all being held there.”

  My heart seemed to skip a beat. I chanced a glance at Fiona, who was looking determinedly at her feet. I quickly did the same.

  “And some of those Necromancers have this… condition?” Patricia asked.

  “It would take only a phone call to confirm it,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said.

  “High Priestess,” Siobhán said quickly, holding up a hand to silence the half-dozen voices now trying to weigh in on the matter. “How do you wish to proceed?”

  Celeste was not looking at anyone, but staring thoughtfully at her own clasped hands.
Finally, without looking up, she said, more to herself than to anyone else, “Never let it be said of me that I repeated the sins of the past by shrugging off the threat of an enemy to revel instead in the glow of our own superiority.”

  “I’m sorry?” Siobhán asked.

  Celeste looked up, her face calm and determined. “We will investigate the Necromancer connection. If this event is in any way related to Necromancer activity, we must know, and we must act upon that information quickly and decisively. I will not allow another Necromancer uprising to gain a hold while this Council and these clans are under my watch.”

  Patricia made an incredulous noise through her nose. “High Priestess, even Mrs. Mistlemoore has said that the chances are very remote—”

  “Let them be remote. I care not,” Celeste said quellingly. “What purpose does it serve to ignore those chances, remote or otherwise? We all thought the fulfillment of the Prophecy was an impossibility and here we are, four years later and still reeling from its consequences. No more.”

  She turned with a forcefulness of purpose so powerful that I was reminded overwhelmingly of Finvarra, who, despite her failings, never wavered in her surety. “Mrs. Mistlemoore, we will arrange for you to leave for Skye Príosún as soon as possible. Catriona, you will coordinate with the Tracker office to launch a new investigation into this issue. I will speak to the Caomhnóir and ensure that security is taken care of. If there is any chance this attack is connected to the Necromancers, I want it to be thoroughly disproven before we lay it to rest.”

  “Yes, High Priestess,” Mrs. Mistlemoore said, Catriona’s voice a murmuring echo of the same words.

  “Now,” Celeste said, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I have a few more questions for you, Jeta, if you would be so kind.”

  “I will answer them if I can, High Priestess,” Jeta said, her voice still thick with repressed tears.

  “You mentioned that Flavia was living in London outside of the boundaries of Traveler protection, which was why she did not have a Caomhnóir. Can you elaborate on that?”

  Jeta shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I don’t like to discuss Traveler business with outsiders.”

  “The High Priestess of the Northern Clans is hardly some riffraff outsider,” Siobhán cried out, practically swelling with indignation.

  Celeste held up a hand, and Siobhán fell silent. “Nor am I a Traveler. I understand the close-knit nature of your clans, Jeta, and I respect your secrecy. However, you brought Flavia here rather than to your own Council, and I therefore must infer one of two things. Either you thought the distance to the Traveler camp too far to travel with her in this condition, or else, you thought that she would not get the help she needed if you brought her back there. Which is it?”

  Jeta swallowed hard. “I… I was not sure if they would help her.”

  “And for the Traveler Durupinen to ignore the duty to serve and protect one of their own bloodline, there must have been a truly unforgivable transgression committed,” Celeste went on.

  Jeta’s face spasmed with pain. “It… it shouldn’t have been unforgivable.”

  “Tell us what happened,” Celeste said. “Please. It will be important in deciding what to do going forward.”

  Jeta dissolved into tears again, and I put an arm around her shoulders. “Can I tell them?” I asked her quietly.

  She looked up, sniffling.

  “If I tell them, then you won’t have betrayed anyone’s trust. I’ve got no Traveler trust to lose, not anymore,” I said. I looked up and caught Celeste in a fierce gaze. Her eyes darted quickly to Jeta instead.

  Jeta, who had taken the moment to consider the matter, nodded her head gratefully.

  Giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, I looked up at the expectant Council and said, “Flavia is a friend of mine. She has been my friend since she helped me survive the Necromancer attack on the Traveler camp four years ago. She is a Scribe, a very good one, but her love of books and learning goes far beyond Durupinen history. She chose, against Council wishes, to break with tradition and move away from the encampment. In giving up her role in the camp, she gave up their protection as well. They no longer acknowledge her as a member of their clans.”

  The Council members’ faces were all frozen in various attitudes of shock, disgust, and incredulity. It was Kiera who broke the silence at last.

  “They’ve withdrawn her protection… simply for living outside of the boundaries?” she asked.

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “That’s absurd,” Siobhán declared.

  “That’s tradition.” Celeste said firmly. “Need I remind you all that we have many traditions of our own that would seem incomprehensible to outsiders?”

  I couldn’t help it. I let out a snort of laughter, which I quickly stifled behind my hand, though not before I earned several dirty looks from the Council benches.

  “Is it fair to say, Jeta, that there are those amongst the Travelers who are unhappy—even angry—with Flavia?” Celeste asked.

  Jeta hesitated, then nodded.

  “Then there is a second possibility that must be investigated,” Catriona said, “and that is Traveler Durupinen involvement in the attack.”

  I felt Jeta stiffen beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Milo reach out toward her, trying to reassure her with the immediacy of his presence and a few whispered words.

  Celeste seemed to realize that her statement had offended Jeta, because she addressed her next words to her rather than to the Council. “It is critical to examine every possibility, no matter how remote. I do not wish to cast doubt on the suitability or methods of the Traveler justice system. Your laws are your laws, and they have always, in my experience, been carried out fairly.”

  It took every fiber of my strength not to laugh at the top of my lungs until my laughter turned to screams that shredded my throat raw. I clenched my fists, bit down on my tongue and prayed for self-control.

  “But there is always the possibility,” Celeste went on, “that unofficial justice was carried out in some way, or else that someone from the Traveler Clans may have information pertaining to this attack. For that reason, I ask you, Catriona, to launch an investigation into this possibility as well.”

  Jeta threw out her chest. “The Traveler Council will not take kindly to this, ma’am,” she said, respect and defiance mingled in her tone. “But I trust you already know that.”

  “I do,” said Celeste and her tone was gentle, even comforting. “But we have been put into an awkward position here. We are, in essence, harboring a fugitive. We are glad to do this,” she added quickly, for both Jeta and I had opened our mouths angrily. “You were right to bring her to us, and we will do all we can, both to heal and protect her. But therefore, we must be fully aware of what we have undertaken. If we are acting against the wishes of the Traveler Council, we must know it. If we are reversing a punishment they have deemed appropriate, we must know that, too. Much of how we proceed with Flavia’s care will be informed by this information.”

  Jeta scowled, but she did not seem able to find any sort of argument against what Celeste had proposed; there was too much common sense in it to reasonably ignore.

  “In the meantime, our Scribes and Mrs. Mistlemoore are doing everything they can to discover the nature of Flavia’s condition and reverse it. We must put our hope, for now, in their admirable skill. With that, if there are no further questions for her, I would like to excuse Mrs. Mistlemoore so that she can go attend to her patient.”

  No one offered any objections, and so Mrs. Mistlemoore stood again, bowed stiffly, and hurried down off the platform and out the side door.

  “I would also like to thank you, Jeta, for your courage, and for trusting us with the care of your friend. We will do our utmost to prove that your trust has not been misplaced. You are welcome to stay here at Fairhaven for as long as you wish during Flavia’s recovery. We can provide you accommodations, if that is your wish.”r />
  Jeta’s mouth twisted as several emotions battled for dominance, but in the end, she nodded and mumbled, “Thank you, High Priestess. I would like to stay until she is well.”

  “I only ask,” Celeste said, “that you delay contacting the rest of the Travelers until such time as we can ascertain their involvement in Flavia’s attack. Can you do this?”

  Jeta nodded. “I will need to check in with my mother and sister to let them know I’m well, but I can do that without letting them know what’s happened. But if the full moon arrives and we still have no answers, I will have to return home for the lunar Crossing, and once I do, I cannot see how I can hide the truth from them.”

  Celeste nodded approvingly. “A more than fair window for the Trackers to make their investigations, wouldn’t you say, Catriona?”

  Catriona forced her face into something resembling a smile. “Piece of cake,” she said dryly.

  “Very well, then. If there are no further details to discuss, I suggest we adjourn and allow Jessica, Hannah, and Jeta to get some much-needed sleep,” Celeste said, rising from her throne beside the podium. “I can’t imagine that any of you were able to rest much last night.”

  None of us felt the need to reply. Nor did any of the other Council members, who began to mill about, gathering their things and murmuring quietly to each other. None of them acknowledged us as they walked out except for Fiona, whose pointed effort to give us a wide berth on the way out could be construed as acknowledgment.

  We waited as Hannah descended the benches, and then began the walk back to the entrance hall. Somehow, now that the details of Flavia’s stay had been settled, a bubble of adrenaline inside of me seemed to have burst, and in its place was a bone-deep exhaustion. I needed a big breakfast and a long nap. I was about to tell Hannah this when I noticed her eyes were glimmering with tears.

  “Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” I asked her.

  She started to nod, but couldn’t force herself to do it, and dropped her head into her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” came her muffled voice from between her fingers.