The Shadow of Theron, page 13
“I was here, High Priestess,” Sancio said in a soft voice.
She looked up at him, suddenly seeing him.
“I was here when it happened.”
“Did you see them?”
“No. But I heard…I heard Magistrate Marek.”
She snorted. “How can you be sure, if you didn’t see them?”
“I’m sure,” he insisted. “It is as the Shadow of Theron told us.”
“The Shadow of Theron,” Beatríz moaned, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb.
“We should trust him,” Sancio urged.
Beatríz ignored his comment and looked more closely at him. She furrowed her brow.
“You’re still wearing the sword.”
His gaze turned quickly over his shoulder, then back at her. “Oh. Yes. Couldn’t undo the strap.”
She raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“I was…I was looking for food. And, thinking on your offer,” he said.
“Where did you hide?”
“What?”
“They didn’t notice you. Where did you hide?” she asked, louder.
“I was in the prayer booth.”
“The prayer booth’s destroyed.”
“They kicked it in when there were setting fire to the place.”
Beatríz folded her arms across her chest. “They didn’t discover you then?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you cry out?”
“No, High Priestess.”
She took his hands in hers without warning and flipped them over to inspect his palms. She cocked her head, confused.
“You held the sword.”
“Yes. Well, sort of. I was thinking one of them might run themselves through with it if they weren’t expecting it. But I didn’t have enough room to unsheathe it.”
“You didn’t run.”
“I hid,” Sancio corrected.
“You hid yourself in the place where we have the most to hide.”
“I—what?”
Beatríz ignored the question. “You stayed.”
“I didn’t really think I could outrun them,” Sancio said shortly.
“So. You managed not to get yourself killed. And you’ve been here all night, and all morning. With that sword strapped to your back.”
Sancio paused. “Yes.” He felt awkward under her scrutiny for so long, and wished to evade it. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to, but I have thought about what you said. Your suggestion may be for the best. I’ll go to San Treya, if they’ll have me.”
Beatríz tongued the inside of her cheek as she considered him.
“For now,” she said, “I have something I need you to do.”
“Of course.”
“Something you can’t tell a soul about.”
“Anything.”
She stepped closer to him. “It must be done now, and no one must see you.”
Sancio nodded. Her grave tone made the hair on his arms stand on end.
Beatríz’s gaze drifted to the floor above which the confessional used to stand.
“Get the hammer from the swordsmith’s.”
10
Eugenie was alone and freezing. The wind above her head howled. Hidden in the snow beside her was a body.
She scrambled to uncover the grave, clawing at the snow with her hands, but it was futile. Then suddenly the air stilled, and the swirling wind died all around her. She heard the footsteps of someone approaching. But it wasn’t Asha. It was a man—the most beautiful man she had ever seen, with fair hair kissed by sunlight and eyes a fathomless gray, streaked with the blue of storm clouds. He towered over her. In his hand, he held a gleaming white sword of carved bone. She tried to read the runes carved into the groove of the blade, but they wouldn’t come together. Strapped across his back was the golden bow.
He was so brilliant she needed to shield her eyes, but she couldn’t. She dared to look up at him, this sun made man, and then he was gone, as if he had never been there. She saw him in the far distance, pacing back and forth on a ledge high atop the mountains. The wind whipped his fair hair across his face, but still he trapped her with his eyes.
He whispered to her, low and urgent. But the wind filled her ears and she couldn’t make out the words. The sound was too faint and far away. It was only enough to know it was there.
“I can’t understand you,” she pleaded. The current beneath the air became sharper, more insistent. But his words were battered by the winds, their edges worn away by time. The contours of his mouth as he gave shape to soundless words carved themselves into her memory. Her gaze lingered there, on the curve of his lips, as a cheerful knock at the door startled her awake. Her eyes snapped open. Behind her eyelids, he was still there—his urgent, pleading eyes and the voice she could not fathom. The knock came again, and snapped the tether that bound her to her dreams. Her chest fell as the image of him faded. But not completely.
Her limbs were chilled and wooden, her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.
Asha spoke first; it was more of a grunt than a word.
“Good morning, Sisters,” Mirabel called out from the other side of the door. “I thought you might join me for an early walk, as we discussed.”
Asha groaned. “Give us a minute.”
Asha’s face was at the same time haggard and murderous. Eugenie imagined that she didn’t look any better herself. They’d spent the better part of the night riding through Lareina, crossing the entire town headfirst through the brunt of the storm only to realize that their mad search was in vain. The relics of the temple were not hidden in some unknown cabinet, but had been removed beyond Lareina’s borders. Though their task had just begun, the prospect of having already fallen behind dampened their spirits.
Asha threw the blankets off herself. They landed on Eugenie’s face.
“Hey!” she cried as she flailed her arms to free herself.
Asha groaned again in apology. She lumbered over to the fireplace where the flames she had stoked only scant hours before were reduced to embers.
“These aren’t dry yet,” Asha said, feeling the sodden fabric of their Examiner’s robes. She poked and prodded the fire back to life, then pulled the garment she’d worn to bed over her head and rummaged through her belongings for clean clothes.
Eugenie didn’t mean to stare, but the way the muscles of Asha’s shoulders rippled as she dressed was hypnotic. Her body was hardened and powerful. Her own soft, fair flesh felt insignificant by comparison. The scoring between Asha’s shoulder blades didn’t mar Eugenie’s perception of Asha’s perfect body; it was proof that it was capable of anything, that it could carry Asha through the six hells and come out the other side.
Eugenie got to her feet and threw her usual robe on over her thin nightgown.
“That’ll scare ‘em,” Asha said. She pointed to the frilly border of her sleeping dress poking out from beneath her robe.
“I didn’t bring a lot of extra clothes,” Eugenie snapped back.
“Couldn’t fit them in that giant bag of yours?”
“Hey listen!—”
“Yeah?” Asha stopped Eugenie’s advance with a raised index finger. “That’s the face you need to put on in front of the villagers today.” Asha gave her a wry smile. It caught on Eugenie’s mouth too.
Together, she and Asha followed the high priestess into the garden at the rear of the temple. It was the most extensive cultivated plot Eugenie had ever seen. Neat rows of vegetables and berries gave way to a riot of color blossoming in every shape and size. Mushrooms flourished on the shaded footpaths. They clustered near tree roots or, in some instances, grew out of the trunks themselves, like a stepladder for fairies or winged imps. Lush plants and spotted foliage forged a winding path throughout, connecting the different areas with a maze-like logic. The vegetation grew thicker as they progressed along the circuitous route. Eugenie turned around, expecting to see the windows lining the eastern temple wall. But the pink glow of the impending sunrise saturated what should have been the northern sky. She’d been turned around somehow, reoriented when she wasn’t expecting it. The labyrinth was not some collection of neatly trimmed hedges just around the next bend, Eugenie realized. Her eyes glimmered.
“It’s not quite what I expected,” she said, not caring to mask the wonder in her voice.
“That’s true for most,” Mirabel replied. A proud smile crept up the corners of her mouth. “But losing oneself in here often leads to finding that which you most seek. If you’ll look down, you’ll see—”
“Don’t stop.” Asha interrupted her in a low, brusque voice. “Just take us to the center.”
“Y-yes, of course,” Mirabel answered. Her footsteps faltered only a moment before she carried on, squeezing her thick frame through two intertwined olive trees seemingly caught in a lover’s embrace. She beckoned the Examiners to follow. Eugenie slipped through the gap with ease. Asha struggled, and pulled at her sword in its sheath. It appeared to have wedged itself into the small crack where the two trunks were woven together.
“Just a minute.” Asha grunted, putting her foot flat on the trunk to give herself more leverage to pull.
“I’m afraid not,” Mirabel said. “You won’t pass through no matter what you do.”
Asha stopped and looked up. “Is that right?” she asked with heaving breaths. Mirabel’s gaze didn’t waver. “There is no violence permitted past this gate. You may leave your weapons on the ground. They will remain untouched.”
Eugenie watched with interest as Asha pulled her weapon free from between the two trees, back in the direction from which she’d come, without any fuss. She turned the blade over curiously in her hand, and tried to push it through the gap, pointed edge first. It met hard resistance, like stabbing an impossibly clear window.
“Huh,” was Asha’s only reply. She laid down her blade in the grass, and added a set of throwing knives, a dagger, two drams of a viscous black fluid, and a vial of a fine colorless powder alongside it.
Eugenie crossed the threshold and rejoined Asha. She pored over the bark and peered under the leaves at the tree’s base.
Asha raised an eyebrow. “Lost something?”
“No,” Eugenie said, her smile going wide. “Found it.” She pulled back a thick patch of brambles and exposed one of the leftmost tree’s thick roots. Etched on the edge of the bark before it dipped into the soil was a pair of strangely curved symbols.
“A dear friend inscribed that many years ago,” Mirabel explained. “No one’s ever found those wards before,” Mirabel replied, nodding in approval at Eugenie.
“It wasn’t that well-hidden,” Asha said.
“It’s not just the brambles that cloak the wards,” Eugenie said. She let the leaves covering the markings fall into place and gestured to Asha. “Try it.”
Asha knelt and sifted through the growth in the same spot. “Wait—”
With two hands, she ruffled the leaves in a wide arc, looked under every crevice and shadow. She still couldn’t find them again. She stood, put her hands to her hips, and grunted.
“We’re almost to the center,” Mirabel said. “Come.” She led the Examiners around the edges of a small orchard of trees that reached no higher than Asha’s shoulder, then through a dense, thorny thicket before emerging into a clearing with a reflective pool in the center, surrounded by polished stones that glittered like crystals. Eugenie heard the faint twinkling of glass as lanterns swayed in the gentle breeze. She sat on the edge of the pool, but she could not spy the bottom of the clear water. It was more of a well than a pool, but without the expected darkness.
“I apologize if I offended you earlier,” Asha said to Mirabel. “I only wished not to draw any attention to our true destination.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“This labyrinth is quite overgrown in places.”
The high priestess bristled. “Everything in the labyrinth is as we intend it to be.”
“What I’m trying to say is, given the abundance of nature here, how sure are you that the ground was undisturbed? Is it possible that the digging took place not over the course of one night, but several?”
Eugenie didn’t hear Mirabel’s answer. Her mind was bent on something else. She pulled out a thick leather roll from inside her robe, bearing the same Morgassen symbol burnt into the leather as her bag of runes. She unfurled it along the crystalline edge of the well and extracted a vial of a fine white substance, a brown speckled feather of a greater horned owl, and a small stone drill with sigils carved into the side. She was about to retrieve the other necessary items from their places when she heard the high priestess and Asha coming closer. She quickly folded everything up before either of them could see.
“You ready Gin?” Asha asked. “Mirabel’s going to ring the bell.”
“Just a minute. I’ll find my own way.”
Asha’s eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher the intent behind her words. She leaned down to press her hand to Eugenie’s shoulder.
“Keep them out,” Eugenie murmured.
Asha nodded and headed back out of the labyrinth after Mirabel.
Eugenie was quick, but thorough. She tried to work in an orderly fashion, but the logic of the labyrinth thwarted her. More than once, she found herself following her own tracks, and at least twice she came upon entirely new areas that Mirabel hadn’t shown them. As much as she could, she raced against the tolling of the bell as it summoned all of Lareina to the temple. No one disturbed her; if anyone had tried to enter the garden, she was too far away to hear it. It was far more likely that Asha had scared them off with that look that was more like a snarl.
Drawing down the power of Morgasse drained her. By the time Eugenie finally emerged from the labyrinth, her knees threatened to give way beneath her. It was a relief to see Asha’s solid back come into view from behind one of the trees marking the entrance to the garden.
Just one more, she told herself, and knelt at the roots for one final surge of sorcery.
Hairo approached from the temple just as Eugenie braced herself against the heavy trunk and stood up.
“All the village is assembled,” he said.
“Great,” Eugenie sighed.
Startled, Asha turned around. Eugenie waved off the concern in Asha’s wide eyes.
“Hairo, I think I left something at the center, but I’ll never find my way back again in time. Fetch it for me, will you?”
“With pleasure.”
He moved past Asha, but he stopped almost dead in his tracks as he neared the trees that marked the beginning of the labyrinth. He started backward, then forward again like a spooked horse. His brows furrowed and he lifted his face, seeming to sniff the air. His wild eyes settled back on Eugenie.
“You know, uh, maybe it’ll be better if I get it after. So you’re not late.”
Eugenie managed a smirk. “Fine.”
Hairo spun around and scurried back to the temple.
“What did you do?” Asha asked, turning an incredulous face to Eugenie.
“The kissing tree gave me the idea.”
“You set wards on the entire labyrinth?”
“What I could find of it. I’m not sure if I caught all the loose ends. He can’t pass through here again, at any rate.”
“That’s good work. Eugenie, listen…”
Eugenie looked up, suddenly attentive.
“We didn’t come here to make friends. They should be afraid. Afraid that you can see right into their souls.”
“I can,” Eugenie retorted. “With a little effort.”
Asha nodded. “But they must believe it. When you look at someone, really look at them. Make them think their lies have nowhere to hide.”
“They don’t.”
“Alright.” Asha pulled her hood up. Eugenie did the same, grateful for the excuse to hide the exhaustion in her eyes.
The curious murmur of the townsfolk ceased when the Examiners entered the temple. Asha pulled the heavy doors closed behind them with a resounding echo. Eugenie saw more than one set of shoulders jump at the thunderous noise. The gaping faces turned as Mirabel addressed the crowd from behind the altar.
“Brothers and sisters, today I bear grave news. A few weeks ago, a relic from the Age of Theron, and other sacred objects, were stolen from our temple.”
The news revived the people’s humming. Eugenie found it curious that Mirabel had waited until now to reveal even this much. What she said next surprised the congregation even more.
“Such dark days have come not only to us, but to villages across Andras. As you well know, it is the sacred duty of the priestesses of Faelia, Morgasse, and Arun to hold and protect these proofs of the Goddess’s powers. The theft of them is a severe infraction against the temple, against Andras, and against the Goddess herself. To answer these crimes, the Council of Three has sent us Examiners from the Orders of Morgasse and Arun. Their duty is to examine your conscience, to recover what has been stolen, and to punish those who have offended the Goddess with their selfishness and greed.”
As Mirabel spoke, Eugenie slowly paced around the temple. She set out a path for herself in her mind to give her steps the air of determination. As she passed, children clutched their mothers, as they in turn clung to their husbands. Most only peered at her out of the corners of their eyes. Some turned their heads sharply away—in fear, Eugenie supposed, not outrage. Some stared straight ahead, pretending that Eugenie simply wasn’t there. At one point, she stopped at the end of an aisle, purely for dramatic emphasis. The reaction was dramatic indeed as the air in the temple stood still. Only when she began walking again did the worshippers release their collective breath. A frail-looking woman in her middle years dropped to her seat in a dead faint and had to be carried out.
“It has been decided,” the high priestess continued, “that the priestesses of Faelia, myself included, will play no part in the role these esteemed Examiners must now play, except to open our arms to them and offer whatever aid they may require. I ask you to do the same. Open your homes to them. Welcome them to your table. Provide them with all the comfort, generosity, and kindness that mark us as the children of Faelia. And above all—you will share with them what you know, to help them in a speedy recovery of the treasures of the Three Temples, and to expunge the sinners from our midst.”
