The Fall of Ventaris (20 page)

“A deathwatch beetle,” Jadis said before she could ask. He stooped, reached out thumb and forefinger, and came up with a small black insect, smaller than the joints of his fingers. Looking more closely, she saw spindly legs, long mandibles, and a white marking on its carapace that resembled a skull. He placed the insect upon his open palm, where it ambled about in a slow circle. “It’s seeking food,” Jadis told her, not taking his eyes from the creature. “They are ravenous eaters and always hungry, particularly when they hatch.”

Duchess had been leaning forward, but now she pulled away. “Not the type of thing I’d want in my hand,” she pointed out. Jadis smiled.

“They eat many things — wood, cloth, vegetable matter — but never flesh. They are the beloved of Mayu.” He regarded the creature fondly.

She gestured to the air. “And that sound?”

Jadis nodded. “Their mandibles are small but powerful, and when they feed the world hears it. They also sound their call when someone is about to die. Hence their name.” He returned the beetle gently to the soil. “Some believe the sound indicates Mayu is listening, and that their prayers are heard, and shall be answered.” He looked at her. “What do you think of that?”

She eyed him in return. “How does a beetle know what a god hears?”

He nodded. “My thoughts precisely. And even the greatest of men are as beetles before Mayu.”

“So how do you know if Mayu hears your prayers?”

“I don’t.” She blinked at this bluntness, and he smiled. “I do not come to the Dark Lady seeking certainty. Those who do are on a fool’s errand.”
 

Duchess laughed, thinking it a joke, but he did not smile. “You’re serious,” she said, hardly able to believe it herself. “I never heard of a priest preaching doubt. Rather undercuts your message, don’t you think?”

Jadis shrugged. “That depends upon the message. I cannot think of anything more frightening than utter certainty. Life is much more interesting when it is ambiguous.”

“I doubt the facets would agree. Knowledge and certainty are their stock in trade.”

“And yet they convey ambiguity with every word and gesture. Even their prophecies confuse.” He shook his head. “There is a difference between understanding ambiguity and merely cultivating it. Everyone in Rodaas has secrets, but
true
mystery would make the facets as uncomfortable as any.”

“And you, Keeper?” she said. “What do
you
think of mystery?”

He seemed to consider her question. “I believe,” he said at last, “that I am one of the few upon this hill who understands that faith —
true
faith — is the ability to sit comfortably in
not
knowing.”

She shook her head, baffled. “You’ve lost me.”

Jadis laughed suddenly jovial again. “Then there is hope for you.” He leaned close, placing his hands upon her shoulders, but there was nothing prurient in his touch. “Hold on to that doubt. Pause in that moment of knowing that you do not know, and that you may never know.
Will
never know. Until the day you die, and perhaps beyond.”

“You’re certain of nothing? How can you — how can
anyone
live like that?”

He stepped away, raising his hands. “How can one live otherwise?” He gestured to the statue.

She shrugged, confused. “The same as on the Godswalk, isn’t it? Although that one is bigger.”

“Look closer.”

She moved in for a better look. Mayu’s face was hidden within the folds of her hood, and one hand held her lantern while the other clutched at her belt. That belt held many implements: hooks and spades and sharp sticks and knives. Her breath caught. There, amongst them was a familiar shape: a carved blade, double-edged and sinuous. She’d not recognized it before, but it was a smaller, stone duplicate of the dagger she’d stolen from House Eusbius. She reached out a tentative finger, feeling faint. “Is that...?”

“Yes.” Jadis had come up behind her. “The very same. Of that, at least, I am certain.”

Her head spun. She’d always known in her heart the thing had been more than it seemed. “It...belongs to Mayu?”

Jadis nodded reverently. “So say the tales. My Lady has many Keys, as many as there are gates to her hells. This one is the first, and the greatest.” He searched her face. “But you feared it?”

She nodded, although in truth it was not the dagger she feared. She could still remember the touch of fog under the earth where no fog should ever be. Jadis wore many masks – philosopher, priest, lecher, fool — each of them dangerous, and he was no one for her to trust. She said nothing.

Jadis smiled, as if her silence were answer enough. “I do not know if any of the tales are true, but I know only that for a moment, you touched the divine. All else is mystery. And that is enough.”

He gestured and they moved out of the hedge enclosure and back into the garden proper. Her chest felt tight, and she was glad to be in the open air. She steered the conversation back to her mission. “Faith and uncertainty are one thing, Keeper, but I
do
know what brings me to the Godswalk today.”
 

“You spoke of prophecy.” Jadis paused by a flowering bush, fingering a purple blossom. “The followers of Anassa do not gift their foretellings to just anyone. Nor without a price.”

Duchess smiled ruefully, remembering something Minette had said. “I’ve heard that the facets never confuse ‘prophecy’ with ‘charity.’”

Jadis laughed richly. “Just so, Duchess of the Shallows, and yet I think you may find them more forthcoming than you expect. For I believe you have already met one of their order.”

“I spoke truly when I told you I thought the woman at the party was a facet, but I don’t know any more than that. I never saw her face.”

“But she most assuredly saw yours.”

She considered that. The facets had suggested to Hector the idea of sending her to steal the baron’s dagger, and then helped her escape his manor house. Minette herself, wise in the ways of Rodaas, had remarked upon the cult’s evident willingness to aid Duchess’ cause. And now she knew that the dagger was a holy relic of Mayu...well, that made the attention of the facets even more significant. Perhaps there was something here she could turn to advantage. A thin hope, to be sure, but then it would hardly be the first time she’d acted on a hunch. She gave the keeper a polite nod. “Most go to the Sanctum of Anassa for wisdom, but I see it may also be found within the Gardens of Mayu as well. You have my thanks, First Keeper. I believe I owe you a favor.”
 

He tilted his head in a bow. “I’ll remember that. Still, you enter the house of Wisdom better armed than you might have been.” He grinned. “And perhaps that is payment enough.” He led her back towards the Godwalk, and as they approached the arch his coterie reappeared, although she had not seen him summon them.
 

“Be careful, child.” he said as she passed through the arch.
 

“Careful of what?” She smiled, trying to seem casual. “How dangerous can they be?”

“Only as dangerous as anyone in this city with wits and a tongue,” he replied, turning and guiding his flock back into his Lady’s green embrace. “Which is to say extremely.”

*
 
*
 
*

When she had first come to the Shallows, Noam used to take her and his family to street plays, sometimes even closing the bakery for an hour or so. Noam
never
closed the bakery, which had signaled just how fond he was of these outings. His wife used to grumble about lost business, and Lani and Jossalyn would complain loudly, but the old baker had paid them no mind. Duchess had loved to watch the plays as well, and those performances were the only time she’d ever felt close to Noam.
 

The actors were often the same but the stories varied: a brave hero might beard a dragon in its den, or a clever sorcerer outwit a demon from the deepest hell. In one tale, the main character had been murdered and returned as a vengeful ghost, dressed all in gray and white, and the other actors had all pretended he was invisible. They did not hear his words nor respond to his actions, and although the stage had been crowded it had been as if he stood alone. It had not been her favorite tale, but she had never forgotten it.

Leaving the Gardens and heading back to the crowded Godswalk, she felt like that actor, wandering in a world that lay parallel to the one in which all others lived. She spoke to no one and no one spoke to her, and she had eyes only for the pale marble steps which led to the Sanctum of Anassa.
 

She forced her way through the crowd of petitioners gathered before the steps. Those who sought the grace of the Lady’s wisdom might cry their need for hours, days or weeks. From time to time a facet might emerge from the sanctum to dispense advice to this or that petitioner, but none could predict if or when this would happen. Wisdom, it seemed, was a fickle mistress.

Bodies pressed in from all sides, but after years of navigating Market Square Duchess was an experienced shover. Her slenderness also served her well, and she slipped from gap to shifting gap, always moving towards the steps. The air was filled with the sounds of shouted pleas:

“My son is still missing for half a year now! I beg of you to tell me what happened to him!”

“The men who robbed me! They’ve ruined me! Taken everything! Tell me where the bastards are!”

“Why such suffering? Why such pain? What have we done to deserve this? Speak your wisdom, goddess! Tell us!”

She seemed to be the only one with nothing to ask, but of course that was not true. She would never dream of shouting her need, not in public. Even on the Godswalk, ears were everywhere.
 

When she reached the head of the throng she saw that the doors to the Sanctum were still attended by facets, dressed as always in blue and white, wearing ivory masks that revealed only one eye. They watched the crowd impassively, identical in form as if they were one person reflected in otherwise invisible mirrors. The petitioners stayed several paces away from the steps, as if to come closer would offend the Lady of Wisdom. Now that Duchess was in place she was uncertain how to proceed. Few were allowed inside — Lady Agalia had been one — and she did not know the protocol for seeking admission.

But Jadis was right. Like Agalia, she was known here. She stepped forward, into the gap between petitioners and stair. Voices raised in supplication trailed off until all she could hear was the sound of her own footsteps on marble. Behind her, the mob held its collective breath. The facets were ten steps ahead of her. Now eight. What would happen when she reached them? Here was mystery, then, just as Jadis had preached. The uncertainty between one step and another. Five steps more and she would have her answer, but for now both she and the crowd were united in not knowing what would happen next.

The facets strode silently forward with perfectly matched steps, so smoothly they seemed almost to glide over the marble. The crowd
aahed
and drew back, but Duchess went on: one step, then another. She stopped as the women flanked her, three on each side, and for a long moment all was silent. Duchess herself hardly dared to breathe. The smooth white masks, each left eye a solid oval, revealed nothing. Then, all at once, each lifted an arm and pointed towards the doors. She felt her left leg lift almost of its own volition, followed by the right, and then she was climbing the steps. The facets turned and followed wordlessly, and she told herself that if the facet she knew as Lady Anasssa had spoken to her at the baron’s party, she would want to speak to her again. She would hear her petition.

But how to find her?

The doors swung open noiselessly to admit her, and inside she found four more facets, more reflections of the ones behind her. They stepped forward, each lifting a gentle hand to her face. Remembering Agalia, Duchess closed her eyes and felt a touch, one on each eyelid, gentle as a kiss. When she opened her eyes these facets had formed around her to escort her deeper into the Sanctum. The first six remained outside, and as the doors closed behind her Duchess lost sight of them.
 

They followed a wide, white hallway, adorned with gauzy blue hangings and illuminated by torches that somehow burned white, set in sconces of beaten silver that further enhanced the pale light. The white floor was swirled with blue, as if some great hand had somehow stirred the color into the marble. The air was cooler than outside and smelled of salt. Five pairs of footsteps, four perfectly matched and one errant, raised echoes as Duchess and her escort passed arches and doorways here and there, opening on chambers in which Duchess glimpsed other facets, gliding about on whatever business was required of the followers of the Lady of Wisdom. None of them so much as glanced at her as she passed.

Finally they came to a wide, circular chamber, at least sixty feet across, beneath a great domed ceiling, supported by pillars that seemed too slight to support such weight. The wan afternoon light drifted in through portals cut into the ceiling, making the torches seem even paler. The room was composed of concentric circles of white stone like stairs, broken only by channels of clear water that trickled down to the center of the room, fully twenty feet below the level on which Duchess stood. She could see other entrances along the walls, where other facets occasionally passed, moving with serene grace. As they entered, Duchess saw movement from the far side of the room, and realized the walls were a mirror created from a single curve of glass, impossibly smooth. Here her escort stopped and pointed, all four of them, towards a lone figure seated below.

Duchess descended the stairs, hearing only her own footsteps and the gentle music of trickling water. Looking back, she saw her escort turn and leave the room through the door through which she’d entered. The landing at the bottom of the stairs was circular, perhaps twenty feet across, much of that space taken up by a shallow pool, fed by the water that trickled down from the upper levels. To either side of it were two strange chairs, each shaped like a double
U,
one facing upwards over one facing down, carved of white wood and attached at their bases. One was occupied by a facet, so Duchess perched awkwardly on the other, feeling as though she might fall over at any moment.