Miserere: An Autumn Tale

by Teresa Frohock

  John looked at Victor. “Why didn’t you tell someone, son?”

  Gayane put her hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Tell him, Victor.”

  John saw Gayane’s fondness for the youth in that one gesture.

  Victor took three deep breaths before he could continue. “That night, before I went upstairs, I saw Commissioner Dubois in the atrium with a similar satchel. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw Master Caleb’s was missing.”

  The boy was lying. John saw it in his eyes, read it in his words. He had been a judge, and he knew the signs of deceit. “Why did you wait so long, Victor?”

  “I just deciphered the message today.” He glanced up to Gayane, but she remained silent.

  John didn’t believe him. “You noticed the satchel was in Dubois’ hands, which meant that someone other than staff was in your rooms. Didn’t that disturb you?” Out of the corner of his eye, John caught Xavier’s smile of vindication. John placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I think you deciphered that message the same night you saw Dubois with the satchel. Now you tell me why you waited so long to notify Commander Balian about the message.”

  Victor stared at his hands miserably. “Miserere mei, Deus,” he whispered and choked on a sob before he could finish the prayer.

  Miserere. Have mercy. John kept Rachael’s ruined face before his eyes. God Almighty, what if he’d misjudged Caleb, and Rachael, half devoured by the Wyrm, was riding with a traitor at her side? A traitor he had appointed. He had no mercy left in him for the likes of Victor Ramos. John slammed his palms on the table. “Tell me the truth, boy! Or your suffering has just begun.”

  “I was afraid!” The youth’s words were barely intelligible. “I didn’t want Master Caleb in trouble, because I knew—”

  “You knew he’d drag you down with him?”

  “He’s my Elder, your Eminence.”

  Now John saw it. If Caleb was suspected of any wrong-doing, his foundlings would also be alleged to be corrupt.

  Victor met John’s gaze. “I swear before Christ, your Eminence, I did not know.”

  John raised his hand, and Victor stopped talking. If what Xavier and Gayane implied was true, then Dubois and Caleb were obstructing information to the Seraph. John turned to Xavier. “Speak plainly to me. Do you believe that Dubois and Aldridge are intercepting our messages?”

  “We don’t know anything for certain, your Eminence. All we have are suspicions,” Xavier said. “I had a brief message via carrier pigeon that Judge Boucher and Constable Aldridge stopped at the Eilat outpost for provisions. That would have been two days ago. The message indicated that all was well.” Xavier paused, and John wondered if the General wasn’t trying to reassure himself too. None of them wanted to believe Rachael was riding with a complicit member. Xavier continued. “It’s possible that Aldridge didn’t know what the missives were, your Eminence. Dubois could have been using him as a courier with Aldridge thinking the notes were being sent to you.”

  John desperately wanted to believe him. He struggled to reel his emotions under control, but he couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that he’d sent Rachael to her death. I’ve killed her. Lord God, I’ve killed the one I loved the best.

  John’s fingers absently found the cloth and he returned his attention to Victor. The boy was in a no-win situation. If he accused Dubois, it would be the word of a protégé against the word of the Commissioner, and Dubois was known for his retribution against perceived enemies. Regardless of whether they were loyal to the Seraph or the Commissioner, the constables would see it as their duty to make Victor’s life a misery, just as they had with Lucian.

  John pressed his thumbs against the corners of the silk. “Who else have you spoken to about this, Victor?”

  “No one, your Eminence. I swear before God, no one!”

  Gayane’s fingers tightened on the boy’s shoulder, but he didn’t calm. It was obvious Gayane thought Victor was innocent, but John wondered if her fondness for the boy was clouding her judgment. If he had not allowed love to blind him, he would have seen Catarina and Lucian’s downfall coming. Gayane needed to stand back from this boy’s fate.

  Xavier glanced at the door. “The only ones who know about this are the four of us and my two guards out there.”

  John looked at Victor, but all he could see was Lucian’s misery staring back at him. He didn’t temper his words. “You’re under arrest, Victor Ramos. I won’t forget you went to Gayane with the report, but you’ve lied to me. I can’t trust you. Whether you’re guilty or not, if Dubois or any of the constables, including Master Caleb, find out what you’ve told me, your life will be forfeit. Do you understand?”

  Victor bit his lower lip. A trickle of blood reddened his teeth.

  “Do you have a place to keep him, Gayane?” he asked. “Some place where he won’t be found unless I need him?”

  Gayane’s face betrayed no emotion, but John sensed she wasn’t pleased. “We have some cells down here. It won’t be comfortable, but he’ll be out of sight. I can arrange a reason for his disappearance so no one suspects he’s been arrested.”

  “Excellent, have it on my desk in the morning and I’ll sign off on it. Get him out of here.”

  Gayane took Victor to the door and waited until one of the guards came to her. She spoke briefly to him, then he disappeared with Victor in tow. When Gayane returned to Xavier’s side, the General lowered his voice. “Should I order Dubois’ arrest, your Eminence?”

  “On what charges?” When Xavier didn’t answer, John shook his head. “You can rest assured that Aldridge’s satchel and those missives have disappeared by now. We’ve nothing to charge Dubois with. We need proof. So, we watch them and we act as if we know nothing. Give them enough rope; they’ll hang themselves without the least effort from us.”

  “I’ve already arranged for my people to watch Dubois,” Gayane said. “And Bartell.”

  John raised his eyebrows at her. “What does the Lord Inquisitor have to do with this?”

  “Nothing,” Xavier said. “Yet.”

  John examined the General’s stony features. Xavier, like Rachael, hated Reynard Bartell ever since he used Lucian’s conviction to advance to Inquisitor. Prior to Lucian’s betrayal, Xavier and Lucian had been the best of friends. Both were excellent strategists and thoroughly enjoyed their friendly rivalry during war games. John had no doubt that to this day Xavier felt Lucian was wrongly convicted.

  Reynard certainly hadn’t been John’s pick as Inquisitor, but the Council had been unanimous, and at that time, John was in a poor position to argue. However, he refused to allow his personal feelings for the man color his judgment. “Is this your vendetta against Reynard, Xavier?”

  Xavier’s features remained impassive. “Reynard and Dubois are close. If Dubois is under suspicion, then we must do everything we can to assure ourselves of our Lord Inquisitor’s absolute innocence.”

  John’s smile felt tight. “Nice hedge, General.”

  Xavier didn’t blink. “Thank you, your Eminence.”

  “They won’t make a move without us knowing it,” Gayane promised.

  “And you—” John pointed at her. “—watch that boy. Might I recommend that you don’t get too attached to him? Just in case.”

  She arched a shapely eyebrow at him. “In case he’s using me?”

  In case he’s another Lucian, John thought. “Guard your heart, Gayane. I speak to you from experience.”

  Her expression didn’t change, but he saw concern flicker in her eyes.

  John caressed the silk and pushed it toward her. “What does it say?”

  Gayane didn’t bother to look at the cloth. Her confidence returned; she was back in her element. “It’s from Matthew Kellogg, written three weeks ago. He states that Catarina has solidified her position in Hadra. She has not moved on the churches and temples, but it’s merely a matter of time before she does.” Gayane hesitated and glanced at Xavier. “The last portio
n is a personal message for you, your Eminence.”

  John closed his eyes. “Go on,” he whispered.

  Gayane cleared her throat. “He says: ‘I have dreamed and the Lord has spoken to me. A lost sheep will seek his way back into the fold. Miserere.’”

  PART II

  …do not weep,

  not yet, that is, for you shall have to weep

  from yet another wound. Do not weep yet.

  —Dante

  Purgatorio

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ierusal

  Droplets of water clung to the trees in spite of the frigid breeze, and Rachael monitored the sparkling limbs with a worried gaze. More clouds were rolling through the sky this morning, and the smell of rain was in the air. The horses weren’t shod for ice, so if the temperature continued to drop, they could be in for a rough return trip. The muddy ground was still too warm to freeze, but the Wasteland’s weather patterns had never been predictable.

  Like everything else here, she thought as she drew her coat up against the chill. She glanced back to check the spare mount; the chestnut gelding walked docilely behind Ignatius. The road sucked at the horses’ hooves as if to draw them down into Woerld’s musky womb.

  The absence of wildlife added to the Wasteland’s desolation. No quail burst from the fields, no birdsong haunted the air; it was like moving through a tomb. Scattered farmhouses began to take the place of trees as she reached Ierusal’s outskirts.

  The empty cottages were mute markers of the people who had occupied the thriving country of Norbeh before the war. Fields overgrown with weeds and shrubs littered what had once been farmland. The houses were set well away from the road, yet even from a distance, it was obvious the buildings were empty.

  A door banged, and Rachael pulled Ignatius to a halt. The noise was too rhythmic to be anything other than the creak and thump created by a broken latch and the wind. She located the sound’s origin at a dilapidated cottage with ivy snaking through the blind windows. The front door swung in the wind and slammed against the frame. Near the house, a plow leaned against a barn wall, but the rest of the building was gone, perhaps blown away by some other savage Wasteland storm.

  Ahead, the walls of Ierusal loomed behind the Rosa, which had grown substantially since she had last been here. She recalled her dream: Lucian standing before her in a city of death while her blood pooled at her feet.

  I can’t make it stop.

  Mouth dry, she took a sip from her flask, then nudged Ignatius back to his slow walk. The Wyrm had been silent for the last three days, not offering the slightest push against her consciousness. The demon’s lack of activity was unnerving. Twice in the last sixteen years the Wyrm had withdrawn, only to resurge with a fierce assault. Both of those times, she had resided at the Citadel and John had helped her put the demon down.

  She would have no help in the Wasteland. Caleb simply wasn’t strong enough to be any assistance against the Wyrm. His lack of skill would do more to imperil her than save her. She was better off fighting alone.

  The thump of hoofbeats caused her to turn, and she hated the way her neck ached in the cold. Caleb emerged from the forest and caught up to her, his mare tossing her head as she slowed.

  “Everything all right?” Rachael inquired.

  “Oh, yeah, I just like to look behind once in a while.” He took his gloves off and blew on his fingers. “You know, I’ve been thinking, Rae.”

  She made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat and nudged Ignatius to a fast walk with Ierusal’s gates in sight.

  “Don’t you think it would be better if I went in and brought Lucian out to you?”

  The wind gusted and lifted her hair out of her face as she reined Ignatius to a stop again. Between the cold and damp, her joints ached with fierce pain. “Say again?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Hmm?”

  “About the Rosa and the Wyrm.”

  She said nothing. John had taught her to wield silence with deadly skill.

  “If the Wyrm is strong in you when you leave Ierusal, it’s possible the Rosa will strike against you. It’d be safer for you if I went in and got Lucian. I could bring him and the foundling out. Nobody would ever know you weren’t there for the initial arrest.”

  “I would know.” She’d made her peace with death soon after she discovered the pain of living. If the Wyrm was so strong as to attract the Rosa’s wrath, then let the Rosa have her. Rachael had no intention of prolonging her demise.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Duly noted.” She kicked Ignatius to a trot, hoping to dissuade Caleb from sharing any more of his concerns. “Now do your job so I can do mine.”

  His mare kept pace, and he was quiet, his expression grim. The odor of wood-smoke hung just under the scent of the Rosa; Lucian and the foundling were close.

  The city’s southern gate was open. Rachael slowed again, distracted by the evanescence of a fractured Hell Gate somewhere nearby. The Gate strained to swing through the threads of time and space, seeking a way to open. Rachael slowed Ignatius until she was sure the ancient spells locking the ruptured Gate were secure.

  “You feel it too?” Caleb asked as he reined his mare to match Ignatius’ pace.

  “We’ll be fine.” She returned her attention to Ierusal and the Rosa. The leaves rustled like a murmur in the light breeze, obscuring the flowers hidden amongst the thorns. As they passed beneath the bower outlining the gate, Rachael felt the tingle of the Rosa’s magic caress her flesh.

  The feeling faded as they passed beneath the portcullis. Although dim, the entrance tunnel was clear of debris, and they soon re-emerged in the pale morning light. The horses’ hooves echoed against the cobblestone road. Wind whistled through the buildings and alleys.

  In the back of her mind, the Wyrm slithered before it quieted again. Rachael shuddered. Wagon frames jutted from the rubble of a collapsed building. Jagged piles of bones littered the street where people had died on top of one another in the assault. A horse’s skull lay several feet from the disaster, the empty sockets fixed on Rachael.

  Across the street, a missing wall from another building revealed a table and broken chairs. A bundle of rags fluttered in one corner of the room. The only sound was the moaning wind.

  She allowed Caleb to pass her and followed him onto a back street to avoid the carnage. They wound their way through Ierusal’s alleys, stopping every so often so he could listen. Rachael tensed each time he stopped. She wanted to be done with this whole mess.

  The morning slipped away from them and the clouds grew heavy with rain. It was early afternoon before Caleb held up his hand. They dismounted and tied the horses to the post of a house. The signature of Lucian’s magic flowed over her, as familiar as his touch. She knew without a doubt Caleb had led her true. Lucian was close.

  Caleb pointed to what she thought was a small house a block away. She examined the roofline and saw the steeple had been damaged. It was a church.

  Where you always knew to find me when I was troubled.

  A thin stream of smoke filtered through the chimney; the fire was all but out. As they neared, she noticed two back entrances, one through a partially demolished picket fence and the other via a porch from the alley. Rachael glanced at the windows. No one moved inside.

  They drew their swords. She motioned for Caleb to take the alley entrance as she stepped through a gap in the fence. She lost sight of him when she stepped onto the porch. Through a dirty window, she saw the kitchen. An empty scabbard was abandoned on the floor. A pot lay on its side in a puddle of liquid. The presence of Lucian’s magic was overwhelming, and she remembered his voice rumbling through her bones when he had opened the Gate.

  Biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, she waited until she had her heart under control. She twisted the knob; the door was locked. She knelt before the keyhole and reached into her pocket to retrieve a thin piece of metal, which she used to pick the flimsy lock
. The kitchen door opened. Rachael paused, listening.

  She made a full count to ten before she eased into the room and with five steps she was at the sheath. The scabbard was old, but when she looked closely, she saw it bore the unmistakable Citadel emblem. Where had Lucian gotten a Citadel sword?

  Lucian’s weapon was broken when he was exiled. John had presented the destroyed blade to her in a formal ceremony as a symbol of the Citadel’s retribution. She wrapped the pieces in a blanket and curled up in bed with the remnants of the shattered steel. For three days she had not moved until John lost his patience and forced her to accept the truth of Lucian’s betrayal.

  Rachael blinked against something in her eye. If Lucian used the blade, then it was a gift, because a stolen Katharos’s sword would bring agony to a thief. But what Katharos would give a renegade something so precious?

  She cocked her head and listened. Someone moved in the next room. How and why he’d come by the weapon were irrelevant. He was armed.

  A shadow moved and when she looked up, he was there with his sword only a few feet from her chest. She reflexively brought her blade up as she stepped into a fighting stance. The kitchen was too narrow for either of them to swing their blades so it would be a fight of thrusts. He held the advantage with his longer reach. She needed to draw him into the open.

  Lucian kept his right leg away from her and leaned heavily on his cane. Blood seeped into his beard from a wound on his cheek. Beneath his tan, his skin was sallow, the circles beneath his eyes black.

  In his gaze, Rachael immediately recognized the agony no drug could heal. She knew that look well. She had broken all her mirrors so she wouldn’t have to see her own distraught stare day after day.

  Now her pain looked back at her through obsidian eyes and for one blind moment, she wanted to run him through with her sword. Just to make their anguish stop. For once she wanted to let the rage she harbored in her heart give her license to kill.