“They can do this at any Hell Gate?”
“No, there are only three Gates that are so badly damaged they can be used in this manner: the Gates at Ierusal, Batheba, and Carlenta.”
She made an effort to ignore the effect his nearness had on her and concentrated on the silk. The bold strokes on the cloth were vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d seen a drawing like this. “Why walk through Hell?” She thought of the weakened Hell Gate she’d sensed when she and Caleb had entered Ierusal.
“Less likelihood of capture.”
“Now it makes sense.”
“How so?”
“Right before we reached Ierusal, Caleb wanted to ride back and look behind us. Knowing what I know now, I suspect he met with Speight’s men. When Caleb rejoined me, he tried to talk me into waiting outside Ierusal while he came in to get you. I thought he wanted to kill you.”
Lucian looked down at her. “Last night, when you were speaking to Lindsay, he tried to get me to leave. I thought he wanted me dead. He wanted me out of the way so I wouldn’t exorcise the Wyrm.”
She looked into his dark eyes so full of pain. Rachael whispered, “Would you have turned yourself over to him if I hadn’t been there?”
His frown deepened as the implication of her words hit him. “Probably.”
Not probably. “Yes. Yes, you would have.” Lucian would have walked right into Caleb’s plan. Then once the Wyrm had taken her, Caleb would have dragged Lucian and Lindsay to the fractured Hell Gate and proceeded to Hadra with Speight and his men. “This is strong magic they’re working, and no one at the Citadel suspects a thing. How are they doing this right under our noses?”
Lucian shook his head. “They are neither careless nor stupid. They aren’t working these spells in the Citadel. They’re probably using a holding, someplace far enough away that other members won’t stumble on them. Or they’re using some area already known for its malevolence, some place that would mask the stench of their spells from other Katharoi.”
Rachael went cold. She knew just the place. “Cross Creek,” she whispered. Of course. Merciful God, they’d been working their magic in her house.
“Rachael?” Lucian’s arm slipped around her waist.
“I moved out of the Citadel several years ago to my holding at Cross Creek.”
The blood. She gripped the silk with numb fingers, staring at the marks. What if the third person’s blood was hers? Her breakfast rolled uneasily in her stomach. “What if I’m complicit?”
“No.” Lucian’s hold on her waist tightened.
Lindsay moved into Rachael’s line of vision. “Is that how you know about renouncing your vows, Rachael?”
“Lindsay!” Lucian glared at the girl.
“Why are you so scared, Rachael?” Lindsay demanded.
Rachael straightened. She had to get a grip on herself. “I’m not frightened.”
“You looked like a ghost! You said everything would be okay for Lucian’s trial, but now that you’re looking at one, you’re scared to death. Won’t they give you a fair trial too?”
“That’s enough!” Lucian turned on Lindsay and she flinched at his anger.
Rachael blanched, realizing now how feeble her earlier assurances must have sounded. John condoned savage measures to root out the complicit, and she could expect no mercy with Reynard as Inquisitor. A breeze snatched at the silk, and Rachael balled her fingers into a fist to keep the note from fluttering out of her hand.
“They were working their magic in my house. While I was there.” What if she’d renounced her vows to the Citadel while under the thrall of the Wyrm? Days of emptiness at Cross Creek stretched before her. Sick with terror, she turned away from Lucian.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Not five minutes ago, you let the Spirit move through you. Your prayer awakened me.”
Rachael shook her head; that had been a small charm. It was nothing compared to calling upon her greater talents.
“Rachael, you can only give yourself to the complicit through your free will. You know that.” He gently extracted the cloth from her hand. “Do something.”
“What?”
“Anything. You have other talents. If you’re complicit, you won’t be able to draw on the power of the Spirit.” He gestured to her as if she was a foundling again. “Command the earth.”
Rachael directed her gaze to the sodden ground. She tried to still her heart but doubt redoubled her anxiety. She closed her eye and took a deep breath, seeking the calm she needed.
Minutes passed before she felt confident enough to whisper a prayer. As the first word left her mouth, she focused on the thick clay earth at their feet. Peace descended over her and she willed the ground to part. The Spirit moved through her body, and as she opened her hands, a crack appeared in the ground.
The full force of the Spirit coursed through her body and the fissure widened, clumps of soft ground fell into the hole. When the crevice was a foot wide, she ceased her prayer and allowed the gap to close. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she stared at the ground.
Lindsay looked at her with new respect.
Lucian reached out and took Rachael’s wrist, guiding her back to him. “Look at it again, Rachael.” He spread the handkerchief open. “Is that your blood?”
Rachael licked her lips and forced her gaze to the brown stains. Scrutinizing the blood again, she stared until her head ached. She disregarded Caleb’s and Reynard’s patterns, unraveling them from the third set of chains winding deep into the silk.
She remembered the account ledger Caleb had left open on her kitchen table. Caleb had convinced her that the sketches were hers, but she couldn’t draw, not like that. The same sure hand that had sketched those images of agony in her ledger drew the sigil on the handkerchief.
Studying the blood, Rachael saw the first clue in the chain. Clearing her mind, she followed one link to another until she recognized the pattern. Dubois. Charles Dubois, the Citadel’s Commissioner.
“Dubois.” She felt Lucian’s hand leave hers as she relaxed. “It’s Charles Dubois’ blood.” Rachael raised her head. He looked down at her with a concerned gaze, and she became aware of his hand at the small of her back.
“Not yours.”
She shook her head and stepped back. “No.” His fingers lingered a second too long on the curve of her spine.
He seemed to sense her discomfort and stepped away from her. “Good.”
“I need something to carry the silk in so it doesn’t get damaged.”
“I got something,” Lindsay said. She rooted in her gym bag and retrieved a small tin that had once carried some kind of peppermint. “You can have it.” She offered the box and glanced down. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. About the trial. And stuff.”
“It’s all right.” Rachael slipped the note into the box and snapped the lid shut. “Really,” she said as she held her hand out to the girl, “it’s all right.”
Lindsay made a fist and held it up. “Good.”
Uncertain of the child’s meaning, Rachael turned to Lucian, but he’d left her side as silently as he’d appeared. She saw him at the back of the shed where he stood near the packs. Rachael thought he smiled as he made fists and bumped his knuckles together gently.
Rachael returned her attention to Lindsay and tapped the girl’s knuckles with her own. Lindsay nodded as if that settled everything and went to help Lucian gather their hastily thrown gear into some semblance of order. He hooked his cane into the strap of his own pack and lifted it. Lucian spoke to the girl and Lindsay answered him in a whisper.
Rather than eavesdrop, Rachael grabbed her pack and went back to the porch. The manacles were curved like a question mark on the wood, and she dropped her bag to open the laces.
The fear of her own corruption still pounded in her heart, and she touched the cold metal, wondering if she would have had Lucian’s courage. He had known the minute he left Hadra what returning to the Citadel would mean for
him, yet he had come regardless. Rachael gathered the chains into her hands so they wouldn’t make a sound before she crammed them deep into her pack.
He had not returned to give her a second chance like Lindsay thought but to make amends. Just a few minutes ago, he could have lied and made her believe she was corrupt. She had witnessed a few Inquisitions, so he might have had little trouble convincing her to turn renegade with him.
Instead, he’d calmed her and made her see the truth, and in return for his sacrifice, she intended to drag him back to the Citadel where a jury of liars and frauds awaited his arrival. Rachael jerked the laces tight with more force than necessary, ignoring the burning in her throat. Lucian had his faults, but cruelty wasn’t one of them, unlike those who wore the cloak of sanctity to shield their corruption.
She glanced over her shoulder, and in the depths of the shed, she saw him watching her. Maybe she had to take him back to the Citadel, but she didn’t have to abandon him once he was there. She owed him that much at least.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
a wish
The pungent scent of roses filled Lucian’s senses. In the alley he and Lindsay occupied, a twisted wagon frame rested against one wall. Otherwise, the lane was clear of debris and well sheltered by a row of buildings on either side. The clouds had dissipated; late afternoon shadows lingered over the cobblestones.
Lucian leaned against the corner of a building and looked down the empty street where Rachael had disappeared. She’d departed over an hour ago to mark Speight’s position. Behind him, Lindsay held the reins for the three horses.
The wind whistled through the empty buildings, a low, lonely sound. The noise did nothing to soothe Lucian’s raw nerves. Rachael’s concern was Speight, but his thoughts turned to his twin. Surely she’d felt the disturbance of the Wyrm’s passing and knew he was involved. She would interpret his interference with Rachael’s possession as an act of war.
Yet what could she do? Catarina wouldn’t jeopardize herself by leaving Hadra, and even if she did, how would she reach Ierusal? Lucian kneaded the head of his cane and sighed. He was doing himself no good worrying over a future he couldn’t control. He left his post and returned to Lindsay. “Would you like for me to hold them?” He indicated the horses.
She shook her head and continued to stroke Ignatius’ nose. “I’m okay.” Her expression said otherwise, and a tear slipped from her eye. She swiped it away. “I miss Pete.”
“Of course you do.”
“Do you ever cry for Catarina?” She sniffled and glanced at him.
“I used to.” He stroked the gelding’s mane and remembered a time when he didn’t fear his sister. “I used to think that if I loved her enough, she would turn away from the Fallen and return with me to the Citadel.” He had used that vain dream to sustain himself during those first years of his exile. Somehow, he thought they could return in triumph if Catarina went back to the Citadel repentant.
Lindsay unzipped her gym bag and handed him his Psalter. “Here. I don’t need it anymore.”
She had rewrapped the book in the scarf, and he felt the resonance of her spells tingle through the cloth. Lindsay was everything he wanted his sister to be. He handed the Psalter back to her. “You keep it.”
She slipped the book into her bag and looked up at him. “You think I might need it again?”
She was such a solemn child. “Perhaps,” he said.
A rock clattered in the street and Lucian turned to find Rachael standing at the mouth of the alley. He patted Lindsay’s shoulder. “Will you be all right?”
“Sure.” She knotted the reins in her hands and acknowledged Rachael with a nod.
Rachael rewarded the child with the ghost of a smile and gestured for Lucian to join her.
He couldn’t keep the sound of relief from his voice as he reached her side. “I was getting worried.”
Her palms were scraped and bloodied, and she wiped them on her pants.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“It’s nothing.” She glanced at Lindsay, then moved around the corner. When they were in the street and out of Lindsay’s earshot, Rachael stopped. “Is she all right?”
“She will be.” Time would heal her better than any spell he could conjure for her benefit. “About this morning, when she accused you.”
“It’s forgotten, Lucian.”
He saw the truth in her eye; she wouldn’t mention Lindsay’s accusation to John, he was sure of it. Relieved by her assurance, he looked over Rachael’s shoulder. The portcullis of Ierusal’s southern gate lay about fifty yards away. A patch of long grass bent from last night’s rains darkened in the wake of the setting sun. The leaves from the Rosa obscured all but a small sliver of the field. Twilight shadows slid over the streets; full dark was still an hour away.
“They’re out there,” Rachael said as she followed his gaze, “about a hundred yards southwest of the portcullis. They’ve pulled back into the field between Ierusal and the woods. They’re rotating watches, so we’ll not slip out unseen. I can’t fight seven men by myself.” She reached behind her and handed him a knife with a wide blade. “It was Caleb’s. Hold on to it. Keep your sword. Lindsay has your knife, and I suppose that’s as armed as we get. How good are Speight’s men?”
At least she didn’t intend to deliver him trussed and ready for the trip to Hadra. Lucian slipped the knife into his belt. “Well trained and vicious. Participate in no parley; it will be lies. Give no quarter and expect none. Once we engage, it will have to be to the death.”
Rachael frowned at her boots as she absorbed his words. “Lindsay is going to be a liability.”
“You can’t let them take her.”
“I know,” she whispered.
Neither of them spoke, and Lucian fingered the hilt of Caleb’s knife. At the Melasur Bridge, he had thought he could kill Lindsay rather than see her captured. Now he knew he couldn’t perform such an act. One look into Rachael’s cold features told him she’d have no trouble saving the child from a fate she’d endured, even if it meant Lindsay’s death by her hand. He found no comfort in the thought and was glad when she spoke again.
“We could try slipping out of one of Ierusal’s postern gates.”
“Into the Barren?” He pulled his mantle tight around himself.
“We could skirt the Barren by staying close to the Rosa.”
“Rachael, I came through the Barren. If it hadn’t been for Lindsay, I would still be there. She made it through the first time because no darkness shadowed her.” He lowered his voice. “Now, after all she’s been through.” He shook his head. “John was right to tell us to avoid it. The Barren isn’t an option. Besides, we’d still have to pass them at the edge of the wall. We’ll delay the inevitable and do nothing more than tire the horses.”
She crossed her arms and stared at the ground in a hauntingly familiar pose. Lucian found the well-known signs of her frustration comforting; it was nice to find not everything had changed while he was gone. He offered an alternative to the Barren. “We’ll wait until midnight and try to slip past them.”
“With three horses in an open field?”
“Not with silence, with speed. We can outride them. I did it once with Lindsay.”
“In the daylight, Lucian. Not at night. This is hopeless.”
“Getting out of Hadra and defeating the Wyrm was hopeless, but God led me through. You said yourself we narrowly escaped Caleb’s plan to divide us. God kept us safe. God will lead us through this too.”
Rachael raised her eyebrows. “Has it occurred to you that God just might be saving us for something really spectacular?”
“Don’t blaspheme, Rachael.”
A wicked gleam ticked in her eye, then she turned serious again. “I have an idea.” She drew close to him, and with the nearness of her, he forgot his distress. “It’s risky, but I believe it’s our best chance.”
He was on his guard again. “How risky?”
“They won’t expect us
to ride straight toward them.”
“And why should we?”
“Because I’m not fully recovered and neither are you. We’ll have to work together. I can bring a chant to open the ground, but Speight and his men will have to be close and riding fast to fall into the crevice.”
Lucian kneaded the head of his cane. It could work.
“Do you remember how to engage St. Peter’s Cross?”
He recalled the maneuver; two Katharoi could draw their powers together by crossing their blades close to the hilts. The dominant Katharos channeled the chant while the secondary Katharos fed the first his strength. Done properly, they could move mountains, but the effect on their strength could be crippling.
“How close will Speight’s men have to be?” he asked.
“Twenty yards. Maximum. Ten would be ideal.”
Lucian’s chest constricted as he imagined watching Speight and his men ride down on them. “We can’t do this from horseback.”
“That’s the risky part. There’s a hillock, midway between the Ierusal gate and where Speight’s men are camped. It slopes down then rises again to leave a small gully. They’ll have to ride right through it. We can open a chasm in the gully. They will crest the hillock and plunge in. The rear riders will be expecting the forward riders to momentarily disappear in the ditch, so they’ll suspect nothing. By the time they realize they’ve lost part of their force, they won’t be able to rein their own mounts in.”
The excitement in her eye told him she was convinced the plan would work. He wasn’t. “We’ll have to gather a great deal of power to create a chasm large enough to take them all down. I don’t know what affect a summoning this large will have on the Hell Gate or the Barren. We could open up something terrible, Rachael.”
Miserere: An Autumn Tale Page 25
