Most pressing of my questions, however, was why Famine hadn’t broken through to Telae, and when and how he would. For I had no doubt he would eventually. He had come many times before, if Eltris had spoken true. And Eltris had said after the trial that Vusu wouldn’t be able to hold him back for long. I had assumed Famine was returning as soon as I laid eyes on him in the Pyrthae. Now, I felt the trickle of sand counting down each moment until he did.
My headache pounded anew, and my body had grown sore. I wanted to curl up on the ground and sleep. But I kept walking. Even if I could have slept, even if I wouldn’t have been afraid of falling into the Pyrthae, I still had work to do, and no time to put it off.
I made for the Acadium exit, forgoing both Tomes and my brother. My head already felt crammed with what I’d learned from Eltris, and I knew I wouldn’t have the focus or attention to decipher the old texts. As for Linos… I could do nothing for him. Until I knew how to rid him of the daemon that claimed, it would do him little good for me to rouse it. Eltris might know how. But I knew my hopes were better entrusted to Talan.
One thing heartened me at least. Though I hadn’t channeled or even come close to it, I clutched fiercely to the hope the augur had instilled in me. I would channel, and I would learn to control it. I had no other choice. And from the buoyant elation that filled me, I knew I’d have it no other way.
Exiting the Acadium gates, any lingering excitement quickly dissipated. I was headed for Port, and had to cross Iris to get there. What might have been a nostalgic walk back to my decade-long home presently had me looking over my shoulder and checking every passing alley. But dangerous though my path might be, I knew I couldn’t put it off longer. It had been too long since I’d acted the proper Finch.
The day was overcast, and the close press of buildings left many back streets poorly illuminated. Even here in Iris, dirty, flat-eyed men watched my progress from shadowed alleys. My hand twitched, ready to seize my hidden dagger, for all the good it would do me. I kept to the main roads and hoped my luck would hold out.
For this journey at least, it did. The homey, wooden sign of Zipho’s emerged in front of her cafe as I turned a corner, and a smile found my lips. It had been too long since I’d seen the matronly cafe owner. I doubted even Nomusa had the time to make it out here. Hopefully, the troubles that had seen the rest of the city had left her store untouched.
But as I entered within, I found it was a vain hope. Less than half of her usual clientele were present, and those who were looked up suspiciously as I entered. I averted my gaze and approached the counter.
“Airene!” Zipho came bustling into view from the other side of the tree that grew through the middle of the shop. “Where have you been? And Nomusa — that fanla has not been by in half a span! Now is no time to take a break.” She gave me a reproachful look before coming around the counter and pulling me into a big hug.
I returned it with a startled grin. “Sorry, Zipho,” I said as I extricated myself. “We’ve been busy.”
“Sit. I will brew you a cup of coffee thick as mud, just the way you like it, and you will tell me what has happened.”
I did as she instructed, knowing there was no way around it. Besides, it felt good to sit, and even better when she brought me a steaming mug of coffee. I took the mug in hand and breathed it in. Scents of chocolate and licorice filled my nose. Almost from the first sip my incessant headache began to recede.
Zipho settled down in the chair opposite of me. “Now. What have you to say for your absence?”
I debated how much of the truth to reveal, then told her as much as I thought she’d believe. I told her of Vusu’s betrayal, of Myron’s abduction, of Asileia’s relative innocence. But of Famine, and my visit to the Pyrthae, I said nothing. Nothing, too, did I mention of the Preservists and the Valemish plotting with Avvad. I had little more evidence than suspicions, and couldn’t see how sowing discontent among Oedija’s population would help us now.
Zipho nodded along for much of it, clearly having heard some of these things as rumor. But at the mention of Vusu, she muttered, “If that man shows up here…” But she let the threat hang unfinished. We both knew how empty it was.
I drank down the last of my coffee and stood, slipping a coin from my purse and sliding it subtly under my mug. I knew she wouldn’t take my coin otherwise, and as no other customer had come in during our chaat, I suspected she’d soon need it.
“Thank you, Zipho. That’s just what I needed.”
The matronly woman rose from her seat. “You are welcome anytime. Just make sure you send Nomusa my way!” She continued in a lower voice. “Just because she’s a queen doesn’t mean she can ignore a lowly cafe owner.”
I smiled and turned out of the cafe. The smile grew wider when I heard Zipho’s astonished call as she discovered the silver coin I’d left for her. Even the thought that I’d have to report it to that abysmal clerk Galene didn’t dim my pleasure.
The gentle drizzle that had begun outside, however, did. I shivered and resolved to sort out clothes from a seamstress, or at the very least a cloak. The monsoons would be here all too soon.
I didn’t go far from the cafe, but turned into the alley next to it. Before, the alley had been empty of Oedija’s vagrants, as the ground here tended to grow muddy during the monsoons. But now, no fewer than five figures huddled down against the light rain, pulling ragged garments around themselves. I stood at the entrance to the alley, squinting at the faces of the vagrants to see if I recognized any of them.
“I wondered when you would come.”
I spun around to see a slight woman with her features hidden under a hood leaning against the wall next to me. How she’d managed to come up silently behind me with her limp, I didn’t know. “Wisp,” I greeted her.
Wisp didn’t respond, but turned away. It was no more than I’d come to expect from her. My primary informant for over a year now, she had quickly managed to gather a network of informants so extensive and reliable that the rumors she passed along were as good as fact. Yet that knowledge came with a price. A price, I hoped, that wouldn’t be inflated by the uncertain times.
“We shall go somewhere more private,” Wisp said over her shoulder as she began to walk away.
I followed as she led us to an alley so narrow I doubted I could enter without my shoulders brushing either wall. I eyed it skeptically, but Wisp, narrower of stature than me, easily slid in. Once again, I followed, though grudgingly. Like most of the backways around Oedija, the alley smelled of piss, and it was all the worse for the cramped quarters.
Wisp turned back halfway down. “You will watch my back and I yours,” she said flatly. “Now. What do you wish to know?”
I kept my eyes behind her. “All that you know. It’s been long since we last saw each other.”
“Yes. But I suspect there is much you could tell me that I don’t know.” She cocked her head. “Perhaps we can lower your price for a bit of information of your own.”
“Perhaps.” I wondered uneasily what knowledge she wished to know. My fingers were suddenly uncomfortably hot and itchy. I distracted myself by slipping out fifteen magnes and holding them out, palm down. “Why don’t you start?”
She accepted the coins and secreted them away. “What first?”
“The Manifest.”
Wisp flashed a rare smile, as if she’d been expecting the answer. “Of them, I hear rumors and shadows. But there are some few facts I can share.”
She told me of the Seekers’ activities, which were much the same as before — of building more permanent housing, and training the common folk for war, and the beginnings of cultivation, despite it being late in the season and with droughts in the fields all around Oedija.
Then she touched on more pertinent things, like how the Seeker wardens displayed themselves openly, with violet tatu inked along their exposed arms and around their eyes, similar to how Vusu himself appeared. They seemed to have taken leadership positions among the Seekers, comm
anding them in martial and domestic affairs. I wondered how such a structure would fare. Wardens were no better leaders than any other person. The inefficiency such a hierarchy would produce, as well as perhaps the resentment among the populace, might work to our advantage. Even so, I acknowledged it was a thin hope. There would have to be significant internal strife for it to be of use.
Making the Seeker compound even stranger were the demographics joining it. Even more than commonfolk, honors left their ancestral positions to become part of the movement. It was hardly surprising, considering how many were treated little better than slaves, and some a good deal worse. Yet I wondered why, after a thousand years, honors chose now to cast off their societal chains. Perhaps they sensed the weakening state of the realm. Or perhaps Ariston the Dishonored was the spark to set their desire for freedom ablaze. I tucked the information away for later consideration.
“Of their leader,” Wisp continued with a gleam to her shadowed eyes, “all I know is what he is not. He is not among the common followers of the Manifest. He is not seen by anyone but the Seeker wardens, Ariston the Dishonored, and his personal honor, Seda. By their movements, it is rumored he remains entrenched in a room deep in the Wyvern’s Claw.”
A grim smile forced its way onto my lips. I was not proud of the vindictive satisfaction I felt at the likelihood that Vusu lay suffering, but neither could I deny it. From Wisp’s sly look, I thought she knew, or at least suspected, my part in his current condition.
I changed the topic to ask of the Valemish next, but found the rumors were less satisfying. There were movements among the temples and between them, but nothing suspicious beyond that. What might be hidden on the people who traveled between the temples, Wisp couldn’t tell me. Only when she hesitated and glanced behind her did my interest pique.
“You’ve heard rumors,” I guessed.
Wisp nodded reluctantly. “I do not like telling anything but fact.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
I caught a dubious glance from beneath her hood before she lowered her eyes. “Those who sleep the streets speak of disappearances. Of phantoms in the night who come to claim victims. Of corpses left behind, stripped of their skin and souls.”
It sounded ridiculous, but I knew better than to laugh. I’d heard Talan speak of such things before. Ikoz, he’d called them in the ash-tongue — Silks, in the sea-tongue. Pyr bound to the will of the Avvadin Imperium, they were so named for the bands of shimmering cloth wrapped around their invisible, ethereal bodies that chained them to service.
As if Oedija needed another danger on her streets.
“Thank you, Wisp,” I said, glancing over my shoulder before pulling out my purse. “If you hear anything more, tell me first. I’ll make it worth your while.” I slipped out two scions and held them out.
With a gleam in her eye, she snatched the coins from my hand and turned to walk abruptly down the alley.
But as she limped away, a farfetched idea suddenly occurred to me. “Wisp. One other thing.”
She halted with a lurch and half-turned back, head cocked to one side.
I could scarcely believe what I was about to say. But I had to do my part for the Order, if only for Nomusa’s sake. “Wisp, I’m now First Verifier to the new Order of Verifiers. I’m sure you already know this.”
She gave a curt nod.
“As First Verifier, I’m obligated to recruit others to our cause, those whom I deem competent and dependable. We’re seeking how the Manifest came to form, and how former Tribune Vusumuzi was able to finance his movement—”
“No.” Wisp turned away and continued her dogged walk down the alley.
A reluctant smile pulled at my lips. It was no more brusque than I’d expected.
“I’ll take that as you’ll consider it!” I called after her before turning the other way.
As I walked back north, I mulled over Wisp’s news. But try as I might, I couldn’t put the pieces before me into a pattern. They seemed just a collection of whispers and facts, movements of people and spirits and countries all outside of my control. I could tell the Council what I’d heard, of Silks rumored to be on the streets, but with the Preservist faction’s stranglehold on the Demos Council, no good could come of it.
Even less could be done of the movement of honors into Thys. Or if action was taken, it wouldn’t be anything I’d want to be part of. I couldn’t condone locking up honors as if they were Avvadin slaves, or disciplining them with the whip as the imperials to the south were said to.
And of Seeker wardens openly displaying themselves, even that flagrant display of magic could bring no response. Several Shepherds had died during Asileia’s trial, while others had joined with Vusu. Only a handful were left in Tribunal control from how Nomusa told it. The Acadians training to fight were not officially condoned and were probably still fledging in their abilities. Even witnessing Isidora’s display when fighting the Shepherds, I found it hard to believe many Acadians capable of martial ability. I hoped I’d be proven wrong.
I sighed. Once again, all I learned led me nowhere. And yet I could do nothing but learn more.
Despite my promise to Nomusa, I didn’t call on patricians, but returned to the Acadium to seek out the library. There, three ancient texts awaited me. For all the good reading them would do me.
The same guards who had greeted me that morning eyed me skeptically as I re-entered, but I ignored them. They’d grow used to seeing me soon enough.
As before, the pupil Platon eagerly accompanied me down into Tomes. With my wits fully about me this visit, I firmly issued him away to read in peace. Only after he’d repeated the Master Librarian’s rules three times did I convince him to retreat to the other end of the shelves, where he paced and talked to himself. After a time, I was able to shut out his murmurs and muddle through the ancient words in the first book I’d selected, The Seeds of Famine.
What I learned both fascinated and perplexed me. According to the old book, Famine had first come from ‘the Lower Realm,’ some part of what I assumed was the Pyrthae, then tricked the Eidolan god Tyurn Sky-Sea into giving it power. Only when Clepsammia, Goddess of Fate and Tyurn’s daughter, showed her father the truth did Tyurn free himself of Famine’s influence, then die giving birth to the First Wardens. Only once he was free did Famine come to know himself. And once he did, he set out to poison Tyurn’s Gift.
I leaned back and rubbed at my sore neck. How much of it was truth, and how much fancy? On the one hand, the original composition was soon after the Lighted Passage. But that didn’t mean it was soon after the event inscribed. Famine I’d seen with my own eyes, and knew him to be real. But the Eidolan gods — were they supposed to be real as well? Of them, only Tyurn was said to have died in the Famine War. So if they existed, where had they hid for over a thousand years?
But some of them had to still exist. After all, wardens were supposedly attuned to the Pyrthae by the gods. And unless my own attunement was a strange accident, a god had done so for me. So perhaps the Eidola were not completely myth, as I always supposed.
As I pored over the words, Platon came over begging to return upstairs. I was happy to oblige, particularly as, from the way he danced, I suspected he needed to relieve himself. Besides, my headache had returned, and my eyes felt gritty from staring at the foreign words for what felt like a long time.
“How long has it been?” I asked as I returned the book to its cubby.
“It must have been three turns at least! You stared at that book for forever! Begging your pardon, First Verifier.”
Consulting the sandglass mounted next to the library entrance, I found the pupil had overestimated; only two turns had passed. Still, I’d read enough. Evening was quickly approaching, and I had to return to the Aviary before night fell. Besides, if I was being honest, part of me was eager to practice Eltris’ exercises and make another attempt at channeling. Despite what she’d cautioned, I figured it’d come sooner or later. Better to channel when
I intended to than when I didn’t, I told myself.
I waved goodbye to Platon as he bolted for a chamberpot. On the library steps, I briefly considered visiting Ward before turning toward the Acadium gates. I’d be returning here everyday, most likely. There’d be other opportunities to visit Linos. But I couldn’t completely fool myself as I walked quickly toward the exit.
It was shorter to take the back ways to the Laurel Palace so I could cross the bridge back over to Conclave grounds, and for a moment, I was tempted. But remembering my robbery, any desire for a shortcut immediately dissipated. I strode along the main road, looking to either side. The few people still on the streets looked as suspicious of me as I was of them.
It wasn’t long before I heard them.
They swept onto the street behind me like a flood, thrusting torches and clubs into the air and screaming like daemon-masked, drunken revelers at the Carnival of Veils. So suddenly they filled the street with noise that I couldn’t believe they were truly there for a moment. As they passed, they overturned the few carts and stands left on the stones, tore down hangings and signs before shops, and banged against the boarded-up windows.
I didn’t have to see much to know I’d stumbled in the way of the dusk mobs.
Anywhere seemed safer than before that angry mass of humanity, so despite my earlier reservations, I fled into the closest alley. I shared it with nearly a dozen others, all of whom seemed set to squat there for the night.
“Never seen a dusk mob?” one bent woman mocked me from the base of the alley wall. She spat at my feet.
Heart hammering against my ribs, I ignored her and watched the passing crowd. They looked dirty and poor for the most part, and predominantly male. But what unified them was the rage painted on their faces. I cringed back from it. Their fury seemed almost palpable to me, a noxious air suffocating me as they passed. The only other time I had felt such a depth of hate had been before Famine himself.
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