Minu, page 19
“Are the disappearances widely known? Do people know to be wary?” Taniel asked.
“Yes, Abbot Mardiros decided it best for the citizens to be informed of the evil to better guard themselves from it. Our Abbot is not one to be frightened by truth. Nor hide from it.” The monk’s eyes flicked down, and Taniel hid his left hand in the cloak’s sleeve.
“And the new High Mage, what’s his name?”
“Terzian.”
Taniel stopped. “Razban Terzian?”
“Yes, do you know him?” Brother Emet asked.
“We’re friends.” Taniel felt lighter than he had in days. The gods had finally taken pity on him, delivering him not only to a familiar face but one of the most talented mages in healing and curse-lifting in centuries. “Did he come here with Master Maqlu?”
“Yes, there was a third as well, a woman apprentice.”
“Dua,” Taniel said. She was a quiet girl who managed to pass through the world unnoticed despite being Master Maqlu’s hand-picked apprentice. Her demureness worked until she revealed the extent of her sorcery. Then she was unforgettable. “Are they here as well?”
“No, Master Maqlu and the woman didn’t stay long. Master Tahir fell ill the day before they arrived. Terzian wanted to stay, Maqlu said they could do nothing for him. They argued and parted ways, Master Terzian choosing to remain in Agr Rav. The young mage did his best, Tahir lasted longer than most, but he succumbed in the end, giving Terzian his blessing to take on the responsibility of High Mage.”
“He did?” Taniel asked. No one in their right mind would appoint Razban Terzian as High Mage. He was a genius in the medicinal arts, but he had no stomach for leadership and his abilities were narrow, not versatile. “Didn’t Tahir have an apprentice?”
“Yes, the Reaping claimed him as well.”
Taniel frowned. No doubt Master Tahir had been desperate to find a successor on his deathbed, yet it struck Taniel as out of character for Razban to accept—even in interim. Razban knew his limitations and had never held aspirations to power.
“Master Terzian has been unable to help us with the evil hunting our young men, but I believe he can help you with your troubles. He’s worked nothing short of miracles.”
Taniel nodded. “I’ve seen his talent.”
Even if Taniel’s condition was beyond Razban’s skill, it’d be welcome relief to see a friend. And perhaps, despite parting on poor terms, Razban remained in contact with Master Maqlu. Or at least knew to what town along the Grey Forest’s border the mage had traveled.
Taniel straightened. The crooked weight of twisted bones was easier to bear at the thought.
“I’ll have Master Terzian sent for,” Brother Emet said. “He’s probably in the lower tiers working with the physicians. He’ll return by sundown.”
“Thank you. In the meantime, are there written reports on the disappearances I might read? Witness statements and testimonies?” Taniel asked.
“I’ll see them delivered, though Abbott Mardiros will want to speak to you first.”
“Is your Abbott as accepting of Karvogi as you?”
“He’s much like you. He was a Purger before taking the holy cloth,” Brother Emet said. “I hope, unlike yours, his is not a disguise.”
Abbott Mardiros’ study was small and austere—two wooden chairs, an old desk, and walls absent of decoration. None of the religious icons or mosaic tilings adorning the monastery found welcome in the barren room. Taniel sat in one of the two chairs, gently kneading his legs to prevent stiffness from settling in. The chanting of the monks’ evening song echoed through the halls to find him where he waited for the Abbott. Shirin had been reluctant to leave Taniel on his own, and very grudgingly accepted his encouragement she allow Brother Emet to show her to guest quarters, receive a meal, and a warmed bath to wash off the road dust.
Rest and a good meal were the least of what she deserved. Taniel had no idea how to repay her for all she’d done. He wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother. His mother had left his father when Taniel was too young to remember more than a vague impression of a woman’s face and sweet singing voice. Tiran had often said Taniel looked like her, and the only time he saw his father strike a friend was when Aryeh claimed Taniel took after her in both appearance and lack of character.
The study door opened and Abbott Mardiros entered. He was tall, broad shouldered, his face was lined by decades of hard labor, and his steel-grey beard and hair were neatly trimmed. The imposing figure he presented diminished the brother escorting him to look a small, mousy creature with curling brown hair, upturned nose, and suspicious eyes. Abbott Mardiros’ eyes were milk-white. Cursed scarring mottled his skin from forehead to nose bridge, giving him the appearance of wearing a ghastly mask.
The mousy brother guided the Abbott to sit at the desk across from Taniel. The blinding scar across his eyes was undoubtedly what had ended his career as a Purger, yet the older monk moved well despite his age and injuries.
“Brother Emet told us of his meeting you,” Mardiros said. His gentle voice defied his formidable appearance. “He said you carry a curse and that your name is Taniel.”
“Yes,” Taniel said, belatedly remembering his nod went unseen.
“Brother Ashot, you may go,” Mardiros said.
“Are you sure there’s nothing more I can assist you with?” Brother Ashot’s upturned nose wrinkled in disapproval at Taniel. If the Karvogi attire offended the monk, Taniel’s appearance beneath the cloak and mask would no doubt upset him even more.
“You may go,” Mardiros repeated.
Sparing Taniel a look of unbridled mistrust, Brother Ashot retreated into the hall.
“I’m blind, boy, not deaf,” Mardiros said. “Close the door and see to higher works than eavesdropping.”
The door clicked shut and disgruntled feet stomped away.
“Taniel, am I right in assuming your family name is Sushan?” Mardiros asked.
“Yes.” A renewed pang of loss drove into Taniel’s chest at hearing the name he’d failed to live up to.
The Abbott nodded. “I knew your father.”
“Forgive me, Abbott, but I’d rather not talk on the past and the dead unless it pertains to the current problem. Brother Emet told me a little of the disappearances, I’d like to hear it in your words as well.”
Abbott Mardiros gave a tale much like Brother Emet’s, providing more detail on the vanishings and the investigation’s findings.
“People want to blame qutrubs,” Mardiros said. “They’ve been a source of endless trouble outside the city, digging up the graves of those who fell to the Reaping. But qutrubs feast on the dead. They don’t prey on the living.”
“And Razban hasn’t been able to find anything concerning the disappearances?”
“Only because there have been no bodies recovered. If we had a corpse, I’m sure he’d be able to track the culprit within an hour. Which leads me to think this evil belongs to a man, not a monster. It’s …”
“Intelligent?”
“Unsettlingly so. I believe we have a dark witch among us, a speculation I’m reluctant to voice in absence of evidence. The magic-touched already face too much blame for the Demon Witch’s Reaping. I’ll not fuel those fears. The woman you are traveling with, is she also a Purger?”
Taniel smiled at the thought of Shirin as a Purger. “No, she has a greater calling. I’d like to speak to Mage Terzian as soon as possible. Brother Emet said he’d be back from errands in the evening?”
“I’ll arrange a meeting,” Mardiros said. “I understand he may be as much aid to you, as you to us.”
“Thank you.” Taniel refrained from voicing his bitter comment that he doubted a ruined creature like him had any aid to offer. “I’d also like to visit the places the victims were last seen.”
“Of course.” Abbott Mardiros turned to the door. “Brother Ashot, why don’t you come in?”
There was a sheepish scuffling and the young monk poked his head in. “I was only—”
“Listening outside the door. I told you, boy, I’m blind, not deaf.” Mardiros beckoned the brother in. “And as you clearly failed to find higher purpose for your time, I’ll task you with showing Taniel to the places where the young men were last seen.”
The Abbott could not see Brother Ashot open his mouth to protest, but he surely heard the younger man grind his teeth. “Of course, Father Abbott.”
The men lighting the iron lanterns along Agr Rav’s streets watched Taniel walk by. Their gazes were curious and lacked Brother Ashot’s cold appraisal. Taniel felt his every step being scrutinized by the monk—the scrape of his feet, the clunk of his walking stick, the stiff, crooked posture the Karvogi costume was unable to disguise from an attentive eye.
“You’re not a real Karvogi, are you?” Brother Ashot asked.
“No, I don’t hold their faith,” Taniel said, seeing no advantage to deception.
“Then why do you dress as one?”
“To hide what I’ve become. You’d receive it with less grace than you do a Karvogi.”
“Children of Irakai welcome all to their table,” Brother Ashot said hotly. “We hold no hatred of cursed men or Karvogi.”
“Disgust is not the same as hatred.” Taniel held up his left hand to show the curled, fused fingers tipped by black claws. “This is the least of what has been done to me.”
The anger drained from the monk’s face and he looked away. Three streets passed where only the clack of Taniel’s walking stick disrupted the quiet. He hoped to find Razban at the monastery by the time he returned. He was eager to see a friend, and optimistic of Razban having greater success in untangling Minu’s curse than Gohar’s mages.
“What happened to you?” Brother Ashot asked, his tone emptied of antagonism.
“Some men are cursed more than most,” Taniel said. “And I’d rather have you go back to snarling at me than this pity.”
“I don’t deal in pity, but I am called to practice compassion.”
“Save that as well, Brother, for someone more deserving than I.”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
Taniel shrugged, his shoulder protesting the motion. “I’m not looking for anything exact. I’m simply getting a feel for the terrain.”
Putting patterns together was easier when he had physical pieces to work from. Tangible starting points brought clarity to the vague pictures of witnesses’ secondhand accounts that were inevitably colored by bias.
“We think it came from the churchyard.” Brother Ashot pointed to the temple’s domed tholobate rising over the rooftops. “There’ve always been reports of hauntings, and the Reaping woke far darker beings than restive ghosts.”
More to appease Brother Ashot than in expectation of finding useful insight, Taniel limped toward the temple. Graveyards were haunting grounds of ghouls and gelin, not creatures that stole the living and left no trace. But until he had a stronger lead, he made a habit of investigating what locals wanted looked at first, even when he knew their suspicions were wrong. There was little to gain and much to lose in arguing with those seeking a Purger’s help.
The temple’s remembrance yard was large, yet cramped by thin gravestone pillars filling the grass lawns divided by mossy walkways. Taniel’s skin prickled as he stepped beneath the iron gate. There was evidence of spiritual hauntings; ghosts of the improperly buried, or those who lingered from lives cut abruptly short. Those restless souls caught between this life and the After were not what threatened Agr Rav’s young men, and no ghost could have churned the earth to dig up the recent graves.
Taniel tapped his walking stick on the disturbed ground. “What happened here?”
“Qutrubs,” Brother Ashot said. “They’ve been climbing over the city walls. We haven’t found a ward that keeps them out.”
“There isn’t a good one,” Taniel said. “Get some dogs. Those work better than sorcery to chase them off. Did someone come to cleanse the grounds?”
“Yes. We reburied the disturbed, and Abbott Mardiros reconsecrated the yard.”
Taniel nodded in approval. He sat beneath a golden-leaved oak, pulling out the map of Agr Rav Mardiros had provided him. He closed one eye to better study the paper; the blurring in the corners of his vision promised a headache soon to come.
“Has anyone seen qutrubs in the churchyard?” he asked, tracing his finger over the paper to draw connecting lines between where the victims were last seen.
“Master Terzian did.” Brother Ashot pointed to black patches of scorched earth and stone further along the walkway. “He was overzealous in driving them off.”
Taniel frowned. Razban hardly got a candle to burn, forget summoning fire. He never had an aptitude for violent magic or flashy sorcery. If not for Brother Emet confirming Razban came to Agr Rav with Master Maqlu, Taniel was inclined to think they spoke of two different men sharing the same name. Apparently, Razban had also changed in the eighteen months since the Reaping.
“Has Razban said anything on the disappearances?” Taniel asked.
“He thinks it’s a demon. One deliberately summoned. He’s been searching the city for a bidding rune or—Ah, speaking the name summons! Master Terzian!”
The man wearing the blue robes of a master mage stopped on the street outside the remembrance yard. Unlike Taniel, Razban was not so changed to be unrecognizable, but he was changed. The young man with the round, boyish face, circular spectacles, and figure prone to plumpness had been replaced by a thinner, gaunter man.
“Brother Ashot,” Razban said in greeting. His gaze fixed on Taniel. The spectacles were gone, as was his tendency to smile. “Karvogi, you are welcome.”
Taniel offered no return greeting. There was a wrongness to Razban that went beyond his change from a genial young man to a skeletal stranger.
“Master Terzian, this is Taniel Sushan,” Brother Ashot said. “He’s a Purger come to investigate the disappearances.”
“The Sushans didn’t practice the Karvogi faith,” Razban said. His fingers curled and a faint thrum of hostile magic thickened the air.
“And your practice never strayed beyond the living arts of sorcery,” Taniel said. “Yet the scorch marks in the remembrance yard say you’ve changed as well.”
Razban stared at Taniel too long, eyes narrowing in a face that had thinned too quickly. This was far from the reunion Taniel anticipated. The uneasiness of seeing a friend’s face turned into a stranger’s raised his skin.
“The tattoo on the center of your chest,” Razban said. “What is it?”
“The ram’s head and Wind Daughter’s anemone. You and I are friends of Sahak Sandar and we went to The Poor Man’s Theatre tavern more often than proper. Your fellow apprentices nicknamed you ‘Ghoul’ for all your time spent studying cadavers. Two winters ago, you got recklessly drunk on the last day of the Festival of Lights and tried to kiss Suri. She blacked your eye.”
“Yes.” Razban touched his left eye. “She did.”
Taniel thanked the gods his mask hid his discomfort. Suri had been left-handed and bruised the right side of Razban’s face. It was not simply his misremembering that upset Taniel; the way he moved was unnaturally wrong, as if invisible strings guided his limbs.
“Forgive my suspicion, Taniel, I’ve learned the hard way the cost of blind trust.” Razban’s smile was painfully forced. “Come, all there is to catch up on is better done over a cup of the monastery’s wine beside a fire, not over the graves of the dead.”
The monastery room Brother Ashot showed Taniel and Razban to was far more comfortable than Abbot Mardiros’ ascetic study. The light of the fire warming the hearth flickered merrily off the polished table, and Taniel’s joints groaned in relief to sit in a cushioned chair. A novice set out a wine decanter, a platter of flat bread, minced meat, pomegranate molasses, and promised a real dinner was in preparation.
“You’ll have to forgive me.” Razban sat at the table in his eerie, fitful way of moving. “I’m not the man you remember.”
“That’s something we have in common,” Taniel said. He had never been as close to Razban as he was Sahak, but they had been good friends. The man sitting across the table from him was completely at odds with the Razban he knew. “What happened to you?”
“I was about to ask you the same. I think my story is shorter so I’ll tell first.” He held up his hand to bend each finger, the flexion mechanically stiff. “In trying to save Master Tahir from the Reaping, I overstretched myself. There were consequences of body and mind. I’ve been working ever since to lessen them and progress proves slow.”
He poured a cup of wine and passed it to Taniel.
“Thank you, but I don’t drink anymore,” Taniel lied. He smelled a peculiar sorcery clinging to his friend. Mages who practiced medicinal spellwork often had odd odors hanging about them; formaldehyde from the laboratory, the sour stench of bodies both living and preserved, or the metallic aroma that was a shared trait of their magic. Razban smelled sickly, like wet rot.
“Nor do I,” Razban admitted. “It no longer agrees with me, and I have difficulty enough keeping my memories straight while sober.”
“When Master Maqlu headed east, did he say where he intended to go?” Taniel asked.
Razban paused as if searching for a distant memory, then shook his head. “I only know he continued toward the Grey Forest, determined to chase fables. I chose to stay where I might accomplish some true good. Unrest burns in the south, and once they run out of men to kill along the river banks, it will spread north. A mage’s duty is to protect his people. Not run from responsibility.”
“Master Maqlu didn’t mention the town or village he intended to travel to?”
“No, and your questions do little to speak confidence in my abilities to aid you.”
“The mages at the Arcanum could do nothing. I’m better off doing as your former master did, consigning myself to chasing fables.” Taniel would have permitted the Razban he knew to try and rescue him from his curse. The man across from him—he held back a shudder at the thought of this changed Razban touching him.
