Grayshade, page 13
Caron nodded, their face thoughtful. “That’s a lot. And in the rest of the city?”
“Tens of thousands.”
The child looked away again and said nothing for several long moments. “I wonder what they’re like,” they said at last, and looked up again before I could respond. “Will we meet some of them?”
I shrugged. “Probably. But right now we need to get to a place where you’ll be safe.”
“Where?”
“Caoes—uh, my teacher’s home. It’s the safest place I know of in the city.”
Caron nodded again. They’d been surprisingly obedient when I had told them we needed to leave Varda’s Chapel; I had expected them to resist the idea at least a little. But they had said nothing, simply standing and waiting quietly for me to lead the way.
“Do you need to bring anything?” I had asked. “We won’t be able to return for a while.” Or possibly ever, I thought, though I kept this part to myself. The last thing I needed was for Caron to become upset at the prospect of a permanent departure from Varda’s Chapel, so I was thankful their sensate powers apparently had some limitations.
“No,” Caron had replied. “I have everything I need with me already.”
When we had exited the Chapel the way I had entered, back through the hallway behind the Sanctum, Caron had stepped through the door leading outside first. I had followed quickly, a little alarmed at the prospect of my former target trying to escape once back in the Cloud. But Caron had simply stopped once past the door, waiting for me to join them. I wondered how much they knew about things like alleyways, or any other architectural feature not found inside a church. But questions like that had to wait. We had to get to safety quickly; it was already late afternoon, and things were going to get considerably more difficult after nightfall.
I had decided to head for Caoesthenes’ home even before Caron had asked me about our destination. It was possible Jant had put a watch on the place after the events of the past couple of days, and I was a bit worried about bringing danger to Caoesthenes’ doorstep, but surveillance in Open-Heart Alley was exceedingly difficult, and I knew that area better than any other Acolyte save Caoesthenes himself. And under the circumstances, there were almost no safe havens in Cohrelle now, except for the home of my former Trainer. It would also give me the chance to warn him of the danger he would undoubtedly be in; we wouldn’t be able to stay there long, but at least I could leave Caron there for a couple of hours while I tried to get more information about Jant’s next move. So long as we weren’t seen on the way, it seemed like a reasonable course of action to take.
A knife of fire slashed through my brain as I craned my head to the right to get a better look at the path leading to the district exit, and I grimaced in pain as I straightened my gaze. That hit I took in the Chapel is going to be a problem, I thought, but maybe Maurend feels worse than I do, and maybe he’ll keel over before he gets halfway to Jant’s office. Or maybe I’m a fool. Under the circumstances, the last option seemed the most likely.
“How badly does it hurt?” Caron asked, and I looked at them in surprise. The child’s gaze held mine steadily until I finally blinked and shook my head, sending another searing wave of pain through my skull.
“I’ve had worse,” I replied shortly, ignoring the pain as I looked down the path to my left. Two women in simple brown robes were walking toward the other end of the district; no one else could be seen. “We’ve got to move in a minute. When I give the word, we head out of the alley, turn right and follow the path toward the front of the district. No running. We’ll be out of the district in less than a minute, but if anyone asks, you’re a new convert, just finished with your daily prayers.”
“What if they ask about you?” Caron asked.
“I’m your priest,” I answered without thinking, rubbing my sore arm. Caron looked at me curiously, but said nothing as I glanced back to the right, then stood. “Let’s go,” I said, striding out of the alley as Caron stood and hurried to catch up.
The late afternoon sun shot past us as we walked to the end of the path. As we reached it and turned left, our shadows fell into place next to us, my silhouette towering over Caron’s. I kept careful watch as we began to climb the stairs, but we encountered nothing, and as we reached the top I stopped and turned back to make a final check for anyone following us. The sun, low in the sky, was blinding, but in the distance I thought I could just make out the looming shape of Argoth’s Cathedral, its silhouetted spire looking jagged against the sun, for the first time a source of danger rather than a place of safety. For a brief moment I wondered whether I would ever again find a place I could call home. Then I turned away and led Caron out of the district, in pursuit of our shadows.
~
It didn’t take long for me to start realizing the less obvious drawbacks of being a renegade. Although daytime was a safer time to avoid trouble with Acolytes of Argoth, it was much less convenient in every other respect; the streets were much more crowded, and even the alleys were more perilous than usual. Guards marched by in more frequent shifts, and groups of traders and workers bustled past, probably headed to the Merchant District. No one seemed to have any particular interest in Caron or me, but I knew an assassin wouldn’t reveal their intentions before it was too late. More worrisome was the time factor; the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon now, and there was little time to reach our destination.
“Repent!” a voice screeched suddenly, almost directly in front of us, and we stopped short as my hand shot back to the hilt of my cucuri.
“Repent for what?” Caron asked, and I suddenly saw the source of the voice: an old woman dressed in rags standing in front of us, hands on hips, bushy white eyebrows flashing above wild eyes.
She looked in the child’s direction. “Repent,” she repeated a bit more quietly. “Repent for your sins, your crimes against the gods who sustain us.”
“Out of our way, crone,” I said sternly, but she neither moved nor looked at me.
“You traffic with evil, child,” she croaked at Caron, stabbing a dirty finger vaguely in my direction. “Darkness and shadow follow him. His children are sadness, loss, anguish. He will wait for the night to come, then eat your soul and leave your body for the devils to consume.” She leaned toward Caron, leering, and I stepped forward, but the child did not move.
“Do you think so?” they asked, as if the old woman had suggested it was going to rain. She tilted her head quizzically but said nothing, and after a moment Caron smiled. “You don’t really think that, do you?”
She straightened up and rubbed the wispy white hair on her head, frowning. “Darkness and shadow,” she repeated, perhaps a little half-heartedly. “He and all his kind. Darkness and shadow. Devils,” she added after a moment, with an air of satisfaction.
“Darkness, shadows, devils,” Caron said with the same quiet smile. “Those things frighten you. Do you think I should be frightened of them, too?” She said nothing, now gazing at them, swaying slightly as if buffeted by an invisible wind. “Well, I am,” they went on, as I looked at them in wonder. “But this isn’t a shadow or a devil.”
“He will eat your soul!” the ancient woman shrieked suddenly as she whipped her head back. “Devil!”
Caron shook their head. “No. He is my friend, and I don’t fear him.” They reached up and placed their hand on the old woman’s arm before I could stop them. She flinched but did not pull away, and after a minute Caron’s smile grew broader. “I’m not afraid of you either,” they said quietly. “May Varda clear your vision, and give you peace.”
A moment passed before she pulled back, eyes wide. She took several tottering steps backward, then turned and fled, stumbling left as she reached Redeemers’ Street and disappearing from their sight.
Caron looked up at me, face suddenly serious. “She is filled with sadness and fear,” they said quietly. “I hope she can find peace.”
“So do I,” I replied, not knowing why, or to whom I was referring. Then I drew myself straight. “Let’s go. We have little time left.”
Caron nodded, and with one final look around I led them away, turning right on Redeemers’ Street.
~
Despite the absolute imperative for haste, I had to take a criss-cross course through the alleys and streets of the Residential District. I could no longer be certain of the security of my normal routes, and going directly to Caoesthenes’ home would be foolish in the extreme. Normally I would have stayed off the streets entirely, but for the first time in many years, groups of people offered me greater safety; Jant would undoubtedly instruct his Acolytes to strike when the public disturbance would be minimized. Not that he would typically care about a few accidental deaths, I thought as we crossed over the Avenue of the Saints, the widest street in the Residential District, threading through passersby as we went. But now Jant would want to avoid attention as much as possible. Even the Order of Argoth might have a hard time explaining to Governor Jarrett why its Acolytes were in open warfare on the city streets, especially with news of the Ashenza situation spreading.
Outside of the encounter with the old woman, Caron had said little since leaving Varda’s Chapel, simply looking around quietly as I hurried us through the streets. It occurred to me that things had changed just as radically for Caron as they had for me, and they could well be as unsure about the new life into which they had been thrust as I was. I was no sensate, though, and the child’s feelings remained their own.
“Caron?” I finally ventured as we headed down Souls’ Street.
Caron looked up at me. “Yes?”
“I—” I hesitated, then changed my tack. “What will your teachers do when they discover you’ve left the Chapel? Will they try to find you?”
Caron smiled. “Find me?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “Will they send people to search for you?”
Caron giggled. “They don’t need to search for me, Grayshade.”
“Why not?” I asked, beginning to feel a little annoyed.
“Because they’re already here, of course,” the child replied.
I fought the urge to whirl around. “Here? Right now?”
“Yes,” Caron said simply. “They are bound to me, at least until I have learned all the lessons they have to teach. They are my guides.”
“Even in the Cloud?”
“Especially in the Cloud,” Caron replied, tracing their way around a man sitting in the middle of the street, waving an empty bottle and laughing at nothing in particular. “Reality is confused here, and people hide their feelings from everyone—sometimes even themselves. Without my teachers, I would have a hard time sensing anything at all.” They laughed. “They think this is a good challenge for me, actually.”
I nodded. “What do you think?”
Caron hesitated. “I don’t know,” they said after a moment. “I accept that this is the path Varda has set for me. I cannot see its end, but I trust that my teachers and Varda can. But in the meantime, there are such interesting things here . . . sounds, and smells, and tastes,” they went on, brightening. “A sensate must develop all of their senses, after all. I hope we’ll have time to eat and drink here, and to listen to music, and perhaps to dance. Can we do those things?”
I shook my head noncommittally, but stopped short of saying no outright. If anyone else had asked such questions under the circumstances, I would have rebuked them with words of caution and discipline. But for Caron, such an approach seemed . . . misplaced, or inadequate. I had been sent to deprive them of life; how could I now deny them what it was to live, at least in the Cloud?
We walked in silence for a few more seconds before they looked up at me. “What about you, Grayshade? What do you think of the path you’ve chosen?”
I smiled thinly. “Can’t you sense what I’m feeling?”
“Yes,” Caron replied. “But your words would help me understand your feelings.”
I was silent for a few long moments. “I cannot remember the last time I chose anything for myself,” I said at last. “At least, anything not related to a mission—avoiding notice, planning my route, escaping after I reached my target. For years I’ve done only what I was told, to fulfill Argoth’s will. And I was happy to do it.”
Caron looked down at the ground as they walked. “You were sent to kill me, then?”
I looked down sharply, but their expression had not changed. “Yes,” I finally said.
Caron was silent for a moment. “Why didn’t you do it?” they asked at last.
“It—” I started, then stopped. “It felt wrong to me,” I finally said. “I can’t say I understand why. But it felt wrong.”
Caron smiled. “I think I understand why,” they said. I glanced at them as I opened my mouth to respond, but suddenly I caught sight of something, and I held up a hand to stop them. They gave me a quizzical expression as I crossed in front of them and strode to an alley leading away from Souls’ Street. I walked several feet into the alley as Caron followed, then stopped and bent down, right where the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon began to obscure sight.
It was a body, turned face down.
As Caron came up behind me, I turned the body over. As the face came into view, the sunken, watery eyes staring up sightlessly into the faded orange sky, I saw the dirty stubble of a beard above an ugly, bloody gash, much deeper than anyone living could sustain.
I stared at the face for a moment, shaking my head slowly, my thoughts racing. “Rumor, you . . . ” I said, almost under my breath. After a moment I stood and turned to face Caron. “We need to hurry,” I said. “We have less time than I thought.”
I walked to the edge of the alley and looked out at Souls’ Street in both directions. Then I gestured to Caron, stepped out into the open, and strode away as the child practically ran to keep up with me.
~
It took us another ten minutes and a few more twists and turns to reach our destination, though now I was moving even faster than before—probably faster than was entirely safe, in fact, but I could not dismiss the image of Rumor’s face from my mind. Yes, he moved in dangerous circles, but his knack for survival had always gotten him out of trouble in the past . . . and those people who might have wanted to target him for some indiscretion were always too reliant on his information to follow through on the order. That meant whoever had decided to eliminate him now either didn’t know the way things usually worked in Cohrelle—or thought he was too dangerous to leave alive, no matter how valuable he might be. A foreigner, or a powerful political player with nothing to lose. Not a pleasant prospect to deal with either way.
But of course, Rumor had to know the risks he was taking, and given the number of people who had died as a result of his information, I thought the balance was probably satisfactory overall. My real worry was not for him.
Keep your eyes open and your door locked, old man. I’m coming.
I heard the slightest stumble behind me and took a quick glance over my shoulder to see Caron trying to keep up with my pace. Their normally smiling face was clouded, and I wondered briefly if the sight of Rumor was as much on their mind as on mine, if for different reasons. Surely they had seen a dead body before . . . but not as a result of violence, unless I had badly misjudged the nature of Varda’s people. And they were in the Cloud for the first time in years. Perhaps I could—
No. Keep your focus where it belongs, and keep going.
I looked away and kept going.
In truth we didn’t have much further to go; another minute found us approaching Open-Heart Alley, and I slowed to a stop before we reached the entrance, scanning the area intently. All seemed quiet, and the Doubt Aura around the area would hamper a planned ambush—but I wasn’t by myself, and protecting Caron in a fight with quarters this close would be difficult at best. Fortunately, the roofs were relatively low and easy to see here, and the area seemed deserted, so I motioned to Caron to follow as I stepped forward.
I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrating on being certain of my location as I felt the Doubt Aura wash over me and quickly pass. I turned to Caron and saw their eyes closed, lips moving ever so slightly. After a moment, they opened their eyes and looked at me.
“That was interesting,” they said with a smile. “Is that designed to keep people from entering this street?”
I nodded. “I thought I might have to explain it to you, but it obviously wasn’t necessary. Did your teachers help?”
“Yes,” Caron said. “So, this is where your teacher lives?”
“Yes, this is Open-Heart Alley,” I replied, frowning as I looked around. “But something’s wrong. I expected to see some sign of the other Acolytes, or some indication that the street had been sealed off. But it’s as quiet as . . . ” I trailed off as I caught sight of something on the street, and I kneeled down and brushed the cobblestones experimentally. A slight piece of fabric came loose from between two stones, and as I held it up into the torchlight my eyes widened.
It was a piece of cloth from an Acolyte’s cloak.
Damn.
“Follow me and stay close,” I said quietly. Rising, I started down the small street as Caron followed. In less than a minute we were at its other end, and I stopped short at the sight of Caoesthenes’ home. There was a wide, twisted hole in the front wall, looking as if the entire door had been ripped away. A faintly bitter smell floated past our nostrils.
“How did—” Caron asked from behind me.
“It was blown off its hinges with explosives,” I said, drawing my cucuri. “Stay quiet.” I padded silently to the edge of the opening, then turned and put my back against the wall next to the hole, gesturing to Caron to stand next to me. They complied, and for several long seconds neither of us moved. Then I peered around the edge of the hole and stared into the blackness beyond. I waited one more moment, then hissed, “Wait here,” and ducked inside.
My mind had already prepared me for what I might see, but the reality was still a shock to my senses. The kitchen was a complete mess, with fragments of glass and shards of wood and metal, mugs and plates scattered over the floor. Caoesthenes’ beloved tea kettle lay overturned in the fireplace, the ashes from which seemed to have been blown about the room and were settled in black specks on the floor. The kitchen table was a broken ruin, shattered pieces of wood lying everywhere. But it wasn’t that which most interested me. Stepping carefully over the smashed remnants of the table, I knelt down by the body of a young man, dressed in a cloak like mine, slumped backward like a rag doll tossed to the ground by a heartless child. Rumor’s sightless eyes flashed again in my mind, and I winced.
