Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 21
No response.
Tinet squirmed in his grip. She started to protest, but a gasp of pain cut her off. Milo gritted his teeth and carefully balanced on one leg to tap the door with his boot. “Someone’s injured! Please – we need help!”
The door flew open, revealing a woman with messily braided hair and stern eyes that took in Milo, Tinet, and Pig. Without a word, she snatched Tinet’s right hand, yanked back her sleeve, and scowled. “I only serve third-tiers and up,” she said. “Take her to Goswell in the Undercity. He’ll–”
“No,” Milo interrupted. He shoved past the healer and stepped inside, and gently set Tinet upon one of the empty cots in the clean, spacious room. “You’ll help her now.”
“You hulking lout,” the healer began.
Then Milo stood upright, revealing his white and black robe beneath his cloak, and her jaw snapped shut as her eyes rounded.
“A priest from the Circle,” the healer stammered.
“Yes. Now will you help this poor woman?”
Muttering apologies, the healer bustled over and began to tug at Tinet’s tunic and coat to assess the damage. Tinet met Milo’s eyes; hers were wet, but still gave him a soft smile and mouthed, thank you.
He smiled back. Something glowed in his heart: a little flame of rightness. Yes, he thought. This is the way it should be.
* * *
When Milo and Pig returned to the Temple of the One, Hadria met him on the steps, huffing. “There you are,” she gasped, ducking her head in a bow. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Serla Sarkiss wishes to see you in their quarters at once.” She glanced up at Milo and jerked backward. “By the One! You’re covered in blood!”
Milo looked down at his robes, where an ugly mix of blue and yellow powder and crimson blood stained the stark black and white.
“What happened?” Hadria asked, her earlier brusqueness apparently forgotten. “Are you injured?”
“I’m fine,” Milo assured her. “Just…well, it’s a long story.”
She nodded, though her gaze did not leave his bloody robes. “All right. But will you go to Serla Sarkiss now? They were adamant that you come at once.”
“I need a bath!”
But she was already shaking her head and pushing him toward the temple’s inner sanctum. “‘At once,’ Milo!”
The moment she touched Milo, Pig let out a squeaking growl, but Milo shushed the kit and slipped out of Hadria’s reach. “I’m going, I’m going!”
Within minutes, Milo reached Sarkiss’s apartments. The Pillars lived in separate parts of the Circle District, and by all accounts did not spend much time together outside of their duties. Sarkiss was the only Pillar who lived next to the temple itself, so thankfully their guards knew Milo by now. Other than a raised brow at his filthy robes, they let him inside Sarkiss’s rooms without a word.
The rooms consisted of a parlor, an office that overlooked the city, and another area that Milo took to be Sarkiss’s bedroom and latrine, though he’d never been through the solid oak door. It was slightly ajar today, though. Milo stood in the center of the parlor, on the plush carpet that cast his steps in silence.
He called, “Sarkiss?”
Silence.
Milo sighed. “Figures.”
Pig began to explore the nooks and crannies of the parlor, no doubt in hopes of finding a forgotten morsel. Milo should have scolded him, but the slightly open door called his name. He really shouldn’t go in there…
Well, maybe a quick peek. He wouldn’t touch anything.
Three strides brought him to the door, but he only peered through the opening to see a bed, some tables covered with books and scrolls, and a few rugs. As Milo leaned closer, his left arm brushed the doorknob. The wooden doorknob.
Memories of old glimmer stories came to his mind. The Fata couldn’t touch metal, as it was like poison to them. And Kali had said she thought the Pillars were Fata, but that couldn’t be true. Right?
Pig chittered and Milo caught the sound of approaching footsteps moments before the main door opened. When Sarkiss swept inside, Milo and Pig both waited at the center of the parlor.
“By the One,” Sarkiss said, staring at Milo’s filthy robe. “Are you injured?”
“I’m fine.” He related his tale. “The only reason the healer helped her was because I wore this.” He clenched at the robe as he spoke, not caring if his hands came away bloody.
Sarkiss gave a grave nod. “Then I am grateful you were with that poor soul.”
“I shouldn’t have had to be. Why can’t healers help everyone? What does it matter what’s inked on someone’s skin?”
The Pillar went across the room to a small table set with a decanter and glasses and poured themselves what Milo assumed was water. But Sarkiss did not drink, only swirled the glass as they stared into the contents. “There are only so many healers, far fewer than those who call for their aid. Balance is the law of the One, and so the One has mandated who can be helped by whom, and when. We must put our faith in the One.”
“But–”
Sarkiss raised a free hand in a gesture Milo knew well: Not now. Milo’s jaw snapped shut. “Now, then,” the Pillar said. “Are you well? How is your arm?”
“It’s fine,” Milo said, confused. “But Hadria said you had to see me right away…”
Sarkiss chuckled. “Hadria is terrified of upsetting her betters, so I’ve no doubt she made my need sound urgent. But still,” almost-gold eyes flickered across Milo, “you are well? Those ruffians didn’t injure you?”
“I’m the same as I was this morning.”
“Come here.”
Heart suddenly hammering, Milo stepped within arm’s reach of the Pillar, who stared into his eyes. A soft touch at Milo’s leg made him start. Pig growled and Sarkiss’s gaze flicked from the kit to Milo. “I mean you no harm,” Sarkiss said quietly. “Tell him so.”
“Serla?”
“Just tell him.”
Frowning, Milo knelt by his furry companion. “Pig, it’s all right.”
Blue eyes, far too serious to belong to a raccoon, stared up at him, until Milo offered his left arm. This seemed to satisfy the little fellow, as Pig crawled up to sit on Milo’s shoulder and did not growl again.
Sarkiss chuckled. “Pig, eh? A fitting name for the little scamp.”
“I keep trying to think of something better, but this one stuck…”
He trailed off as Sarkiss touched his injured arm again. “Look at me,” the Pillar murmured.
The Pillar’s eyes were honey-brown, almost gold. Just like Stonewall’s. It was odd to see his former sergeant’s eyes in the face of one of the holiest folks in the country, especially when Sarkiss and Stonewall were as alike as the sun and a river.
Sarkiss’s eyes blazed like yellow stars and their voice was so soft, it may as well have existed only in Milo’s head. “Yes, Milo. Show me what you know of the one you call Stonewall.”
“Stonewall?” Milo whispered.
“Yes.”
Milo frowned. Why would Sarkiss care about Stonewall? How would they even know…? But his doubts faded as he stared into those golden-star eyes. Everything faded; his thoughts became hazy, like looking down a road drenched in sunlight. “He was my former sergeant at Whitewater. He was from Indigo-By-the-Sea.”
Tiny fingers gripped Milo’s left shoulder. Pig. Milo’s head cleared a little, though his mouth still moved of its own accord. He related what he knew of his former sergeant, even Stonewall’s love for Kali. And as much as he wanted not to speak of any of this, he couldn’t stop. Shame filled him, but like a moron, he kept blabbing.
At last, he fell silent. Sarkiss placed a hand against Milo’s cheek, keeping their gazes locked. “You came in this room to report your current condition,” the Pillar murmured. “Nothing more. Do you understand?”
It was like waking from a dream that he could only remember in bits and pieces, and even those faded the more he tried to think of them. Ea’s tits! It was so hard to think straight! Something about Sarkiss’s words sounded off, but all Milo could say was, “Yes.”
The Pillar smiled and patted his shoulder. “Good lad. I’ll send someone to the healer you mentioned, to compensate her, and ensure your friend is properly looked after.”
Milo could not form a response. Something cold and wet touched his neck. Pig’s nose. More of his brain fog lifted. But with that clarity came the realization that he must not let Sarkiss know of it.
So he bowed – low, but not too low. “Thank you. Is it all right if I wash up now? I’m supposed to be at the archives already.”
Sarkiss’ eyes seemed to glitter. “Ah, the One is truly with me. As I have an old treasure that needs a new home in the restricted section.” The Pillar slipped into their room and emerged a few moments later with the most tattered book Milo had ever seen. They passed it to Milo, their smile too broad. “A relic from another life. See that this is safe, lad. I’ll see you later.”
EIGHTEEN
Tal wrinkled her nose at the musty scent of old books. By the One, there were so many here in the archives; more than she’d imagined could exist. The moment she and Kalinda had arrived at the great Temple of the One, the mage had used her new “authority” to gain special access to what the head archivist called “the restricted room.” The archivist had been rather put out about letting the strangers inside, but Kalinda had proven remarkably persuasive. Friendly chatter and a pretty smile would open even the most tightly bolted doors, it seemed. The fact that the mage wore the trappings of the death goddess didn’t hurt, either.
As Kalinda searched through stacks of dusty tomes and fragile scrolls, Tal meandered through the aisles, careful not to touch anything. She studied the writing on the sides of some of the volumes but could make little sense of the script. What else had she expected? Unless they found books written in the sentinel code, she was as useful in a library as a fishing line in a desert.
Out of her companion’s sight, she studied her trembling hands, searching for a trace of whatever she’d experienced in the stable. Her own slim, pale fingers should not have startled her. A part of her believed they should be broader and brown – Stonewall’s hands. Was this what going mad felt like?
Her throat ached and her blood chilled. It was time for another burn, though needing one so soon on the heels of her last boded ill. Tal dug into her pouch, pulled free one of the vials, and tipped half the contents down her throat. Warmth spread through her, and for a few precious seconds the entire world was set right.
“Do you see anything about the founding of Lasath?” Kalinda appeared at the aisle, frowning down at her current volume. “I found references to ‘those who built the city.’ I think it means the Pillars, but I want to make sure. Judging by the layout of this place, I think the maps or documents should be near where you’re skulking.”
Tal frowned at the books before her. “I’m not skulking.”
“Lurking, then.” The mage sighed. “Will you just help me look for it?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t…” Tal’s throat tightened and she turned away from the shelf, working to find her calm. “I can’t read any of this,” she said at last.
The mage’s boots scuffed against the floor as she came closer to scan the shelf by Tal. “I should have remembered.”
“My ignorance shouldn’t be your concern.”
Kalinda pulled a book out by the spine and flipped through it. “Didn’t Foley teach you? He loved reading.” Her mouth quirked in a smile. “A man after my own heart.”
“He offered – often. I always refused. It was…against protocol.”
Regret loomed over Tal’s heart, but she turned away, as she had so often done; avoidance was second nature.
She expected a scoff or a snide comment, but Kalinda only toyed with the book’s edges. “You never wanted to learn?”
“What I want has never mattered.” Gods above, she sounded so bitter, but she could not keep the emotion from her voice. Something hot seemed stuck in her windpipe.
Tal glanced up to see the mage’s dark eyes upon her, but there was no mockery in the younger woman’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Tal,” Kalinda whispered, blinking fast. “For…what happened to your father, for your loss, and for my part in it all. Foley was a good man who just wanted to keep us safe. He deserved better.”
Silence wrapped around them, close but not cloying. “Thank you,” Tal managed.
“Do you blame me? You must. I would.”
“For my father’s death?” Tal shook her head. “Only one person bears that burden.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
Kalinda frowned. “You said Argent wielded the sword.”
“Aye, but…” Tears slipped down Tal’s nose but she could not move to swipe them away. “That blade was meant for me.”
She closed her eyes but could not shut out the memories: the sound of steel upon bone; the thud of flesh upon the earth; the copper tang of blood and the choking smoke; the lingering heat from the mage-fire. Another coughing fit threatened to tear her lungs apart. “I failed him, and now he’s gone,” she whispered. “His last moment was pain.”
The final threads of her control snapped and she covered her mouth with her hand, fighting to keep her sobs silent. When she felt a soft touch, she started. Kalinda stood close, one hand resting on her shoulder.
Tal looked into her dark eyes. The love that Stonewall felt for this woman emerged in her mind like a memory of a song heard once, long ago. It was a love that Kalinda returned in kind. Though none of that was for her, the echo of it resonated within Tal’s spirit and gave her the strength to speak again. “Argent should have executed me. But he wanted me to live with my failure—and my regret—as long as possible.”
“Perhaps the One has a plan for you,” Kalinda ventured. “Though that’s probably not what you want to hear.”
Despite herself, Tal chuckled. “I can’t really say. I’m surprised you would.”
“Such talk never meant much to me when my father died, but now… I’m starting to wonder.”
“Stonewall’s influence?”
The mage selected another book but did no more than stare at the embossed tree on the cover. “In part.”
“Did I imagine all of that, back at the stables?” Tal shivered at the memory of another’s emotions boiling inside her own heart. Although sorrow, longing, and love weren’t foreign, their source was strange, like trying to wear a boot two sizes too large. “I rather hope I did.”
Kalinda closed her eyes in concentration. “It was real. I can…feel him again, although we still can’t speak as we used to.” Her eyes opened and she rolled them at the ceiling. “Every time I think I know anything, the world proves me wrong.”
“So Stonewall is alive,” Tal said slowly. “But…elsewhere? I know what you’ve told me, but it all still seems so…impossible. Like something from a bedtime story.”
“Welcome to my life,” Kalinda muttered. She shelved the book and scanned the shelves, although her gaze seemed distant again. “But…perhaps we can learn something here that will help him return.”
She limped down the row of shelves, occasionally pulling down books and scrolls to hand to Tal, who stacked them neatly on one of the desks. After, the mage poured over the volumes, sending up clouds of dust with each page turned, scribbling her own notes and occasionally muttering to herself. Tal paced.
“Strange,” Kalinda said after about an hour.
“I dare not ask.”
“It’s not…” The mage made a sound of irritation and set out the book she’d been staring at. Tal came over and studied the little drawing: a sketch of a tree whose branches curved down to meet the upward-curving roots, forming a rough circle.
“I’ve seen this before, in the journal of Artéa Arvad, the first recorded mage. She drew it in the margins.” Kalinda frowned at the tree, tilting her head as if to study it from another angle.
“What book is that?” Tal asked.
Kalinda flipped the cover around and read, “‘A Brief History of Lasath.’ Brief, my ass,” she added, hefting the massive tome. “There’s an entire chapter devoted to the springs and such around the city. This image appears throughout the text, but there’s no explanation other than a mention of it belonging to the One god’s great Temple.”
“I was born in Lasath, and I’ve never seen any tree like that,” Tal said. “How old is the book? Perhaps such trees were all cut down.”
Kalinda stared straight ahead, her eyes wide and distant. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
“Serla?” the archivist called. “Forgive me, serla, but there is a time limit for daily use of the restricted area. If you come back tomorrow…”
The mage plastered a pretty smile on her face as she limped to the door. Tal, meanwhile, began collecting the notes in the satchel they’d brought.
The door opened. “By the One, I’m such a silly goose!” Kali said, giggling. “I let the time get completely away. My guard was supposed to say something, but of course, she’s terrible with time, too.” She lowered her voice as if conspiring. “It’s so hard to find good help, isn’t it?”
This time, Tal rolled her eyes.
“Indeed,” the archivist replied in a dry voice. “Please don’t bother putting anything away, serla. Milo here will take care of it.”
Tal’s heart froze in her chest. Surely it couldn’t be…
But she heard the lad’s familiar voice, thick with shock. “Kali?”
* * *
Milo gaped at the dark-haired mage, who inexplicably wore the deep purple cloak of a Nox priestess. Kali was also slack-jawed but recovered first. “It’s good to see you again, my friend,” she said, pitching her voice to be lower, more solemn, like many of the clergy. “How are you?”
Her eyes screamed, play along, so he bowed low, as befitted one of Nox’s holy representatives. “I’m well, serla. It’s been a while since we saw one another.”
