Fey 02 - Changeling (48 page)

"I have already addressed your murder charge," Matthias said.
 
"I have done nothing."

"Try convincing the palace of that," Porciluna said.

Matthias crossed his arms over his chest.
 
"Do we run our religion according to what the palace thinks?"

"No," Porciluna said.
 
"But the 50th Rocaan was an old, sick man when he died.
 
His delusion about being the Roca proves that he was not thinking clearly.
 
He appointed you believing he would come back.
 
He did not.
 
I think it is time for the Elders to choose a new Rocaan."

"This has not been done in the history of the Tabernacle," Timothy said.

"But it has been tried," Linus said.
 
"The Rocaan who did not allow it nearly destroyed the church."

Matthias let a slow grin grow on his face.
 
"So, Porciluna, you believe you should be the next Rocaan.
 
Upset because the 50th Rocaan did not choose you and you could not go on plundering the church?"

"I have Rocaanism at heart.
 
I believe more than you do, Matthias.
 
I would never, ever murder to achieve my ends," Porciluna said.

Matthias let the lack of respect slide by.
 
For the moment, he had a greater concern.
 
"Well," he said.
 
"I'm sure that Nicholas would approve of all of you choosing a new Rocaan.
 
I suspect he is not pleased with me at the moment."

"It would help relations with the palace," Linus said, as if he were trying to convince Matthias.

"It would, wouldn't it?" Matthias smiled at Linus, then shrugged.
 
"I think it would be fine if you all chose a new Rocaan."

Porciluna's small lips pursed, making him look as if he were waiting for a kiss.
 
Linus grinned.
 
Ilim frowned, and Timothy peered at the panels as if they had changed in the last few moments.
 
Vaughn and Reece stared at Matthias as if he had lost his mind, and Eirman was shaking his head.

Then Matthias raised himself to his full height, almost a head taller than anyone else in the room.
 
"But if you do, realize that you break canonical law.
 
It takes ten Elders to choose a new Rocaan, after a ruling made by Officiates and Danites about the health of the current Rocaan.
 
You will have to assemble those needed, and it will take time.
 
Then when it comes to the choosing, you will have to do so with eight Elders, because I do not plan to appoint two more.
 
I believe that right there takes you outside canonical law, although I could bow to my friend Elder Eirman.
 
Am I correct, Eirman?"

Eirman glanced at his colleagues.
 
He was standing far behind them, so that they couldn't see the panic on his face.
 
"I — ah, would have to check the literature," he said.

"Even if we determine that eight Elders can choose a new Rocaan, this goes against the Words Written and Unwritten.
 
Before he died, the Roca chose his successor, and the Rocaans have seen that as an order by example to do the same.
 
I am too young to choose my successor.
 
In fact, I believe it would be a detriment to my position as Rocaan to do so."
 
Matthias gathered the skirts of his robe together.
 
"Besides, I don't believe any of you are qualified.
 
There are a few Danites that I have my sights set on.
 
It will take a few years before I know if they are Officiate material, let alone Elder material.
 
I hope I have a few years to make those determinations."

"If we choose the new Rocaan, it is your duty to follow us," Porciluna said.

"That's where you forget yourself," Matthias said.
 
"My duty is to lead the faithful in the best way I can.
 
I am doing so."

"We don't agree."

Matthias shrugged.
 
"Elder Andre did not believe in using holy water as a weapon, yet he did not try a split from the Rocaan."

"Elder Andre disappeared on the day of the Rocaan's death," Linus said.

"I think he died," Reece said softly.
 
Reece had been there.
 
His description of the confusion on that day still made Matthias shudder.

"My point is," Matthias said, unwilling to get distracted, "that I am Rocaan, no matter what Porciluna calls me.
 
I am Keeper of the Secrets, and I am the Roca's Spiritual Heir, designated by his previous Spiritual Heir.
 
You can designate one of your own to be Rocaan, but he will never be a real son of the Roca.
 
I will tell my successor the Secrets of the Office, but I will only tell the successor I choose."

He stared at them all.
 
"I will not choose someone because you force me to.
 
Throw me out if you like.
 
Kill me if you like.
 
But remember:
 
Until I choose a successor, the Secrets of the Office will leave with me."

He did not wait for an answer.
 
He whirled and walked out of the Audience room.
 
Let them think on that.
 
They needed him more than ever now.
 
For one of the secrets he held was the secret behind holy water.
 
Without it, the entire population of Blue Isle would be defenseless against the Fey.

TWENTY-SEVEN

His entire body ached.
 
Lord Stowe felt as if he were attached to the saddle.
 
He had been upright for three days, stopping only to allow his horse a rest.
 
He felt that getting back to Jahn was more important than anything else he could do.

But the unease he had felt since the King died stayed with him.
 
Jahn was not the same city it had been two weeks before.
 
As he rode in, he noted that homes were shuttered and children did not play on the streets.
 
He hadn't expected so much change.
 
He remembered when Alexander's father had died, and while the death had shaken up the city, it had not changed it.

Nor had Nicholas ordered the change.
 
Stowe had listened to three separate criers on his journey, and the boys said nothing about national days of mourning.
 
They had instead explained the haste of the coronation in a way that had not alarmed the populace.
 
But Stowe was alarmed.
 
His unsettled feeling increased the farther he got into Jahn.

The sunshine and spring warmth usually invited citizens to spend their afternoons outside.
 
The air smelled of mud and the Cardidas, but the breeze was fresh, carrying with it a bit of summer.
 
But no one seemed to be enjoying it.
 
Not even the old men who ran the shops were sitting outside.
 
The doors were shut, the signs inside.
 
It was as if everyone had gone away.

Even the gates to the Tabernacle were closed.
 
They had not been closed since the night of the Invasion, years before.

That had distressed him, but not as much as what he saw now.

He had taken the back route to the palace, unwilling to face his friends and neighbors on the streets of Jahn.
 
He had planned to go to his own home first to clean up and get a fresh horse, although this view changed his mind.

The road to his home took him past the Fey Settlement.
 
He often rode past it and reported on its progress --or lack thereof --to Nicholas.
 
The Settlement took up a large area of river bottom land.
 
Stowe had seen that land flood year after year, and had argued against giving it to the Fey, but Alexander had been adamant.
 
If they are committed to living in Jahn
, he had said,
they have the abilities to turn poor land into good land.
 
Let them use those abilities.

It appeared, in that at least, Alexander had overestimated the abilities of the Fey.
 
The land flooded on cue every year, and the Fey had rebuilt their homes just as Islanders would have.
 
Only one house in the middle of the Settlement had seemed unaffected, and Stowe didn't know if that was because of the land it was on, or because the Fey had done something to it.

Still, each time he had ridden by, he had seen Fey.
 
In fact, as the years progressed, and the wall was built as a protection around the Settlement, he had seen more and more Fey.
 

This afternoon, however, he saw none.

He reined his horse near the gate and peered inside.
 
The gate's door was open, as were the doors to several of the cottages.
 
The mud from the last rain was still thick here, and the stink of the river even stronger.
 

The place looked abandoned.

His heart pounded hard.
 
He clucked at his horse, and together they went inside the gate.
 
It took a moment for the horse to find the path that the Fey used.
 
It was a raised bit of dirt, mud covered as well, but the horse's hooves did not sink into it.

The cabins were poorly constructed, as if they were made by boys who had no sense of form.
 
Wood had been pounded on top of wood, mismatched pieces held together by thick wooden nails.
 
Some of the wood near the foundation of the cabins had already rotted away.

Stowe stopped his horse near the first open door, and dismounted.
 
He supposed that this could be a trap, but he doubted it.
 
The Fey were smarter than this.
 
Most Islanders would never come into this place, abandoned or not.
 
If the Fey wanted to get to the Islanders, they would have to do it in subtler ways --ways that they were capable of.

The mud was slick, but the ground was firm beneath his feet.
 
He followed the path to the steps leading into the cabin, calling hello in Fey as he did so.
 
His voice echoed.
 
The horse whinnied behind him, and shook its head as if the silence made it uncomfortable.

It made him uncomfortable too.
 
Not even birds sang here.

He peered inside.
 
The cabin was dark.
 
It had no windows.
 
The light through the door provided the only illumination.
 

A table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by makeshift benches.
 
On the table's surface were woodworking tools and the remains of a meal.
 
Whomever had lived here had planned to come back.

Stowe moved away from the door.
 
He walked through the deep mud, not caring that his boots got soaked, and went to the next cabin.
 
This door was closed.
 
He knocked on it, then opened it.
 

Everything was put away here, except for a robe lying over one of the chairs.
 
Again, it appeared as if the owners were going to come back.

Something had happened.
 
Something that made the Fey leave this place quickly.
 
Had they known about Alexander's murder?
 
Had something else happened in Jahn to cause this quick exodus?