He bit his tongue, drawing blood, and finally snapped out of it. Instead of delving the cosmos' secrets, he scurried to the fallen couple. Leaving aside their personal effects, they carried a combined total of nearly two golden crowns. A fierce relief seized him.
He wouldn't be sleeping in the streets tonight after all.
8
i. Helix
"I knew you were a chanter."
Dusk, and they were gathered around a small fire, having a dinner of dried venison. Most of the day had passed in silence; Angbar's halting efforts to ask Iggy about what happened at the river had been met with a cold shoulder, and the others had taken the hint.
Now, it seemed Syntal was done waiting.
Iggy scowled. "I'm no chanter."
"It's a'fin, Iggy." Angbar put a hand on the woodsman's shoulder. "We're your friends. I know it's scary―"
Iggy lurched to his feet, and Angbar jerked his hand back as if he'd touched a hot stove.
"I'm no chanter," Iggy spat. "I don't do what you do. You―" He looked at Syntal, his jaw working. "Do you even understand how badly you hurt her?"
Syntal leaned forward: earnest, but mystified. "Who? I'm not trying to hurt anyone."
But Iggy wouldn't answer. He shook his head, turned away.
"He can heal, Syntal," Lyseira said. After the fight at the river, Iggy had used his herbs to restore his horse's leg, healing a wound that every other horse in history had been put down for. "That makes him different from you. His miracles must come from Akir."
"They don't come from Akir!" Iggy snapped. "For the love of winter, Lys, not everything is black and white!"
"I never said―" Lyseira began, and abruptly fell quiet, her eyes searching the ground.
"How long?" Seth asked. "Will you at least tell us that? How long have you . . . been like this?"
'Been like this?' Helix thought. Akir, Seth. You make it sound like he's got a disease.
The fire crackled and the river babbled, a parallel dialog to their own. Finally, Iggy said, "Since the Storm. The first Storm. When we were kids."
"Of course." Syn's eyes danced with excitement. "That makes perfect sense."
"Why?" Iggy looked pained. "Why does that make any sense?"
"Because that's when I woke the Pulse. I don't know everything it did, but we're learning more all the time. It created my chanting, maybe the arc hounds. Your . . . magic, whatever it is. All these things that didn't exist before. It changed the world. I told you," she said, directing the last at Angbar, who raised his hands in mock surrender.
"The trolls," Seth muttered. "Did it make those too?"
Syntal snapped her mouth shut and looked away—then abruptly met his gaze. "Yes. The second Storm probably did."
"Then all those deaths in Shepherd's Hill are on your head." He kept his voice level, but Seth's eye held a righteous zeal: that of a man who's finally found proof of a crime.
Syntal clammed up, and Helix spoke for her. "That's sehk, Seth, and you know it. Syntal didn't know what would happen when she opened that book."
"No, she didn't, but if she'd waited two heartbeats so we could discuss it, maybe she would have realized it wasn't a good idea."
"What's done is done," Syntal said, her voice quavering.
"So it is," Seth snapped back. "And you made the decision for all of us."
Iggy jumped back in. "Yeah, and it was the right decision."
Seth shook his head. "What do you know about―"
"I know it soothed the Pulse. I know it made the trees sing."
Seth stared at Iggy as if his friend had lost his mind. Iggy blanched and looked away.
Into the silence, Syntal whispered, "So you can hear it."
The accusation brought Iggy back to himself. "Yes. But not like you. I don't use it. I don't twist it."
"I don't―!"
"What you do is horrific. You take all the joy out of it. It's like . . . it's like rape."
Syntal blinked, her mouth agape. "What?"
Angbar scoffed. "I thought you said it was a good thing!"
"Opening the book was. Making the second Storm was. Chanting . . . isn't."
"I can't open the books without chanting, Iggy!" Syntal said.
Iggy put up his hands. "I know. I know that. I didn't mean . . ." He shook his head. "This is why I was going to leave."
"What?" Helix said. "And go where?"
"I don't know. It doesn't matter. Look. You're asking me questions I can't answer. I don't know the answers, m'sai? I knew as soon as you lot found out about me, this is what you'd do. Akir, this. Chanting, that. I don't fit your molds. I'm not what you think I am. I don't even know what I am." He sighed. "In the morning, I'm going."
"Iggy . . ." Lyseira started, but Helix cut her off.
"Iggy, what in Hel are you on about? You think Seth's asking hard questions? This is the only place where you fit in."
Iggy scoffed. "Helix, you have no idea what I―"
"No, I don't! You're right! My cousin shoots light out of her fingers, Lyseira walks through fire, and now you can boss rivers around. I have no idea. Hel, with you lot, I'm the outsider. For me, the world just looks the same as it ever did. I don't hear magic pulses or . . . or singing trees, or whatever you're on about. I got sentenced to death and had to run for my life from the Tribunal, and I'm the normal one."
Iggy blinked, chastised.
"It's not safe out there for any of us. Any of us. You"—Helix pointed at Seth—"love throwing accusations at Syn, but you're just as guilty as she is. The Preservers would execute you for what you've done.
"So, please, can we end the self-righteousness, all the You-don't-understands and the What-I've-been-throughs? I don't care. We're all in equally deep.
"Sehk'akir, Iggy," Helix breathed, exasperated. "Sit down. You're not going anywhere."
Iggy, for once, was speechless. He glanced at his horse, and the animal whickered. If Helix hadn't known better, he would've said it had just laughed at him.
"M'sai," Iggy breathed. When he sat, his shoulders sagged as if all the fight had been drained out of them.
"But no more questions."
ii. Lyseira
They came to Tal'aden in the rain.
From a distance the city was a blotch on the open plain: a distant jumble of temple spires and low-lying buildings surrounded by a wall higher than Keldale's. But even through the constant grey drizzle, the crystal spires of Basica Sanctaria glinted and shone, reflecting the rare wash of lightning like a current of light that rocketed through the stones. The effect was ethereal. Awe-inspiring.
Divine, she thought—but the word had a bitter taste now, as if she had no right to it. She was not the person she had been when they left Southlight.
That girl had been a creature of unshakeable faith. She had known with certainty that Helix's trial had not been sanctioned by the Church, and been confident the Fatherlord would correct Bishop Marcus's transgressions, if only He knew of them.
Much had changed over the winter.
The girl she was now still believed in her God, but little else. In truth, she had come to Tal'aden for the worst reasons: not to redeem Helix, but to gather up the broken shards of her faith and, hopefully, piece them back together. She wanted nothing more than to prove her old self right. She missed that certainty, that simple, easy comprehension of the way the world worked. She wanted it back—
But only if it was real. Only if the world proved itself to her.
That was a terrible reason to drag her friends north, especially Helix. It was dangerous for all of them, and none of them shared her longing for the truth about the Church. She feared for them, so she had tried to dissuade them from coming. But Syntal's insistence on accompanying her had ruined it.
A mile from the gates, she and Syntal finally convinced Helix to at least wait outside the walls, and Iggy quickly agreed to stay with him. Seth would return tomorrow to let them know where everyone was staying, and they would figure out a way to
keep in contact. Once everyone agreed to this plan, the four of them—Lyseira, Seth, Syntal, and Angbar—turned for the gates.
It's not too late to turn back. She glanced at Seth, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but he had set his eyes on the thin line of travelers—hooded and bedraggled—pushing through the rain to the gates. Lyseira squelched after him through the mud, and merged with the crowd.
The guards at the wall looked as bored and cold as she was, but what if they recognized one of them? Bahiri were rare here; what if they recognized Angbar's dark skin under his cloak?
She had told herself the risk was worth it. After working for the Church her whole life, if it was corrupt—if the Fatherlord was a liar and a murderer—her death would be a relief compared to the loss of everything she had ever believed. But now, with the risks staring her in the face . . .
She imagined the worst: imprisonment, torture, death. By the end of the day tomorrow she could find herself in a cell, looking back at this moment, this final chance, and screaming at her past self to take it.
Quailing, wracked with sudden doubt, she gripped her brother's arm.
Then they were through.
Filthy rainwater ran between the cobblestones of the street. Buildings bristled like weeds in an overgrown field, leaning into each other, their signs clamoring for the crowd's attention: pictures of steaming bowls, comfortable beds, lanterns and clothing and trinkets. Beggars dotted the street corners; shoppers dashed from door to door with their cloaks held over their heads; horse-drawn carriages clattered and splashed down the boulevard.
And there were more clerics on a given street corner than Lyseira had seen in her lifetime. Here a pack of initiates emerged from a confection shop, there a group of five deacons huddled beneath an awning in conversation. The drizzling rain leant the whole thing a dank air, like the must in an old wine cellar.
"What's that, you think?" Angbar pointed at a sign in one of the windows showing a book and the God's Star. "It's all over the place."
"At the inns." Syntal pointed at another one, down the street, which happened to include a written label: Pilgrims Welcome. "The inns are looking to make some money off of all the visitors."
It'll be tough to make it off us, Lyseira thought. All told, between the reward money she'd gotten in the Black Pass and the little they'd had before that, they had about three shells—less than half of a full crown. Of that they'd left one shell with Iggy and Helix. That left precious little to pay for an inn room.
All the same, they planned to stay in the city, if possible. A lot more pilgrims would likely arrive in the weeks before the book of Second Joshua arrived from Keldale, and it would be good to have a foothold before they came. So the group wordlessly migrated to one of the buildings boasting a sign. The innkeeper told them rooms were five crowns per night, an appallingly high rate. Seth offered to wash dishes or haul supplies to pay their way, and she laughed them back into the rain.
"Too close to the gates," Angbar said, leading them farther into the city. "They're just gouging people because they can."
But the next place was the same, and the place after that. When she'd been a little girl, Lyseira had often imagined Tal'aden as a gleaming, sun-burnished sanctuary, one step removed from a heaven itself. In these visions, the city always welcomed her as a devout believer and a lifelong servant of Akir. Of course, age and her experiences in Keldale had tempered such childishness, but all the same, it stung seeing door after door closed to them. More than it should have.
You are still a little girl today, she imagined Bishop Marcus telling her. This whole thing is a fool's errand.
"This is a fool's errand," Seth echoed after yet another inn turned them away. "No one will accept labor for payment."
"Mellerson did," Angbar said, but shook his head as soon as the words were out. Mellerson's inn was a world and a lifetime away.
"With no coin and no contacts," Seth went on, "I don't see how we stay within the walls."
"I could offer to perform." A look of mixed excitement and dread crossed Angbar's face. "The Epic of Beh'lal? I know the story better than anyone now. Even if the ending is full of sehk."
Lyseira touched his arm. "It's not a bad idea, Angbar, but we're already at risk enough just being here. No need to draw attention to ourselves."
"Sun's getting low," Seth said. "We should turn back if we―"
"No," Lyseira said. She had come too far. Her thoughts languished in a cesspit of doubt, but she was here. She wouldn't back out now. "I'm not leaving. I'll sleep in an alley if I need to. But all of you can go back. It would be safest if you did."
Please, she thought, but she didn't know if she wanted them to stay or leave.
Angbar looked at Syntal, who shook her head. Angbar sighed. "After that business in Shepherd's Hill, sleeping in a rainy alley doesn't sound so bad."
They wandered on, always away from the looming spire of Basica Sanctaria. Now they pushed past decrepit buildings studded with broken windows and doors that hung crooked in their frames. Beggars grew more common, too, though they didn't seem to beg as much; these people were sodden shadows, slumped inside the crumbling archways or huddled beneath the ragged awnings. Now and then one of them would glance up, but rarely for long. Lyseira had the sense many of them had simply given up.
And there was a stink in the air, a sour mix of urine and ale that was strongest by the sewer grates but permeated everything. The people here didn't use chamber pots; they used the streets.
Nearly a heaven. She lashed herself with the words. Why are all these people just lying here? They were frightening and weird—even in Keldale, she'd never seen anything like them.
Were they well? Were they choosing to be here?
"Look." Syntal pointed. "I think that one's abandoned." Lyseira could barely see where her friend was pointing; the sun had almost set, leaving the narrow side street awash in shadows.
A cold dread crept into Lyseira's belly as they left the main avenue and what remained of the dreary daylight. It had been easy enough to say she would sleep in the alley, but this was something from her nightmares. How can such a God-forsaken place even exist here? How can the Fatherlord stomach it?
They stepped carefully over a mass of reeking blankets and hides—a mound that may or may not have had a sleeping person beneath it—and reached the doorway Syntal had found: an empty arch that opened into a squat, stone room. A series of warped wooden boards had been tied to a line of pillars across from the entry, making a makeshift wall which rattled in the rainy wind. Rubble and trash littered a floor which was itself uneven, the old stone pitted and sloped with age.
The four of them stood in silence, the stench of stale ale heavy in the air, as their eyes adjusted to the dark.
"No," Angbar said. He scoffed and grinned, the whites of his teeth the brightest thing in the gloom. "We can do better than this . . . can't we?"
"Someone put those boards up," Seth said. "This is a perfect shelter from the rain, but no one's using it. There's something wrong—something they know and we don't."
"Maybe." Syntal sighed. "Probably. But it's dark. This may be the best we can get tonight."
Lyseira picked her way through the cluttered floor, one hand on the cold wall for support. They would need light if they were to stay here—the one miracle Akir had never granted her. She had spent countless hours in meditation and prayer as a young girl, begging Him for that simplest of miracles so she could demonstrate her ability and become an initiate.
Now, she told Him, I'm asking again. I've come here. I'm still not sure if it was the right thing to do, but You know my reasons. She cupped her hands, and a deep longing stole into her—a desire not just for answers, but for purpose. For meaning.
Please, she prayed. Please.
A soft light, gentle as a rising dawn, bloomed between her fingers. It spread like mist, seeping into the corners and around the debris, until it had filled the room.
"Wow," Angbar breathed. "Lyseira, that
. . . that was beautiful."
"Saves me the trouble of a chant," Syntal said, eying the floor. "Too bad it's illuminating such an atrocious room."
Lyseira barely heard them. He answered, she thought. And of course, He had answered before—none of them would be alive if He hadn't—but this was special. He had never given her light before.
She closed her eyes, fighting a storm of relief so powerful it threatened to leave her weeping.
They were on the right path.
Iggy had given them enough dried venison to see them through a few days. Lyseira made a quiet dinner of it with the others and then, damp and exhausted from weeks on foot, tried to get to sleep.
Two hours later, an unfamiliar voice woke her.
" . . . no idea who we are, do you?"
Seth answered levelly. "Doesn't matter."
Lyseira gained her feet to find Angbar and Syntal already awake. In the doorway stood a pair of wiry young men, their jaws set and their eyes glinting. Each had a hand on the knife in his belt. Seth stood in front of them, blocking the way.
"What is this?" Lyseira said. "Who are you?"
"Who in Hel are you?" the man on the left said, sparing her a desultory glance. He was her age or a few winters older, but his left temple was a sucking, red scar that had left half his head bald.
"Gial!" someone called from the alleyway behind him. "What's the problem?"
The one with the scar fixed his eyes on Seth and called back, "No problem."
"How many friends do you have back there?" Seth asked.
"Enough to make this real ugly for you," Gial said. "Now, last chance. Get. Out."
"This is your place?" Angbar stammered. "It's nice! We didn't . . . we thought it was too good to be vacant, didn't we?" He grabbed his things, hastily gathering them into a bedroll. "We can just―"
"Stop," Seth ordered him. "We're not going anywhere."
A Season of Rendings Page 12
