Wrayth (28 page)

They slipped over one of the fifty bridges that led from the islands that made up the better parts of Vermillion to the shore of the lagoon. Only a few of these bridges were reliable; the main ones were maintained by the Imperial City. The others were creaking things that had been put up by denizens of the Edge: smugglers, cutpurses and servants who worked deeper in Vermillion and wanted a way to get there more easily. The bridge Kolya chose was made of slippery, rotting wood that seemed in imminent danger of falling into the water and taking them with it.

Luckily it held long enough for two Deacons to cross. Deacons? Merrick clenched his fists as he followed Kolya into the blue gray mists of the Edge. Could they really still call themselves that, now that the runes were overthrown and every Strop and Gauntlet rendered useless? It was enough to make many turn back to the little gods in despair. He wondered if the news had filtered out to the citizens of Vermillion yet, and how long it would take the geists to make a return.

As if he was thinking the same thing, Kolya slipped Merrick his own Strop, hidden by the large sleeves of their cloaks. It felt good to have it back, but it felt like a lifetime ago that it had been taken from him in the Grand Duchess’ bedroom.

The younger Deacon ran his thumb over the runes, broken and stretched as they were. No power remained in there. Through a tight throat, Merrick managed, “Thank you for bringing it Deacon Petav. It is a very kind gesture.”

Kolya nodded grimly. “A bit of a pointless one though.” They walked on through the rain a little farther, the older
Deacon looking back over his shoulder every now and then. Then he grasped Merrick’s elbow. “Do you think if we recarved the runes, perhaps on the other side of the…” His voice trailed off as they shared a look. “No, I didn’t think so either.”

They were silent for a while after that, like rudderless ships adrift on the ocean. Merrick had never felt like this before, and it was something that he could not allow to stand. He finally tugged Kolya into the lee of a pair of huts. It was the kind of place a cutpurse would have waited for his prey, but luckily the rain had driven even thieves indoors.

“What was the book you took from the library? Will it help us?” he demanded.

In this light, the elder Deacon’s face was terribly gray. He shrugged. “It doesn’t really make sense.”

“Let me see,” Merrick demanded. The other Deacon held the book awkwardly between them so he could see the cover.

The title read,
Saints of the Order: Tales from the Darkness
. Merrick tilted his head. It looked rather like one of the books that all first-year initiates were given to read. Most such tales were of a dubious nature, since in the dark times after the Break there had been little time for record keeping. Still one was nearly universally accepted; the first Deacon was the progenitor of the line of Rossin Emperors, and a mythical boy who had risen from nothing and disappeared back into nothing.

Interpretations of other founding tales had led to the schism where different Orders split off. The Order of the Eye and the Fist had grown and flourished since that time, but many others had fallen by the wayside. The real mistake had been believing the Order of the Circle of Stars had been among them.

“And the dark-haired woman in your dreams said to get this from the library?” he asked doubtfully.

Kolya nodded while water ran down the hood of his
cloak but missed hitting the book. “She was most insistent.”

For a moment the rest of the world ceased to mean anything to Merrick. All he could think about was the woman. Nynnia.

“And this was hidden?”

“Indeed.” Kolya touched the book lightly on the cover. “In a secret compartment at the very bottom of the history section. I don’t know how long it has been there.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when he felt it. It was cold in this little spot just off the street, but something freezing touched his shoulders, as if an icy hand was pressing on his flesh. Both Sensitives looked at each other with horror. By Kolya’s wide eyes, Merrick knew he was experiencing the same.

“A shade,” the younger Deacon said, his breath coalescing before his eyes. Every inch of his skin was prickling and running, and his heart racing in his chest. “Yes, a shade for sure.”

“I can’t even see the damned thing”—Kolya flailed his arms around, as if that would help. “I hate being this blind!”

Merrick raised his hand. “Be quiet! Listen!”

For a moment, the sound he only faintly discerned was drowned out by the rattle of the rain on the nearby roofs, then he heard it; two words repeated. He thought of the spectyr that had brought Sorcha her vision of Raed’s peril and set them on the path to Chioma.

It was frustrating being without his Center, but he heard the words, though it sounded like a distant conversation muffled by walls.
“Ratimana…Vashill…”

Merrick frowned. The first was the same name he had heard in the Silence Room, the second was also familiar.

“What can it mean?” Kolya asked, head tilted.

Merrick took a long breath. He shouldn’t have imagined that Nynnia would give up on him. She and he still shared a connection that had nothing to do with the Bond or the
Order. She might be lost to him, but she was the one who had gone to a great deal of trouble to be born into the human world, just to help stave off the Murashev. She was still watching him.

“I don’t know who or what this Ratimana is, but the widow Vashill is someone Sorcha and I helped a few months back.” He pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around himself. “We need to head to Tinker’s Lane and ask the delightful lady a few questions.”

“Tinker’s Lane?” Kolya tucked the book away, and glanced up and down the alley. “That’s back toward the center of the city? There are probably Deacons and Imperial Guard out looking for us.”

“What other choice do we have? It’s night now and this is our best chance.” He clapped Kolya on the shoulder. “Let’s try and think of it like an adventure.”

Kolya shook his head and smiled. “Now you are sounding like Sorcha, and that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Merrick laughed. “I am sure she would appreciate that.”

They circled back through the Edge, and found a slightly better bridge to cross over. Since they were fugitives from the Order, they kept their hoods up. When they crossed back to the islands, the clouds cleared and the rain gave up making them miserable. Vermillion was drawing into evening and the stars were leaping to life in the sky.

Merrick much preferred looking up than taking any notice of the city. The moon and the stars had always been a mystery to him. However, he should have been able to understand everything about the people and things around him—yet he was blind.

Kolya also appeared depressed. After the excitement and rush of escape, the reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. As they passed the Street of Tailors, the older Deacon finally broke their silence. He stepped closer to Merrick so that they would not be overheard.

“What if the Order cannot be fixed?” He asked the question that had been burning its way inside the younger
man. “What will happen to Arkaym without us to deal with the geists? We’ll be thrown back to the dark times.” Kolya shook his head. “I joined the Order to make a difference.”

“The Pattern,” Merrick replied. “The librarian said something about the Pattern. If the Emperor did something to it, maybe it can be repaired or remade.”

“We don’t even know what it looks like,” Kolya said miserably. “The Presbyters and the Arch Abbot would know, but we can hardly go back and ask them.”

Merrick shot him a look, but the other Sensitive did not even pretend to notice. Widow Vashill had been an awkward client, and it was in her house that Sorcha had encountered the shade that eventually took them to Orinthal. However, when they returned to Vermillion, Merrick had been left with very little to do.

So he’d checked up on their only real geist case in the capital. Widow Vashill had been glad of the company, and so he hoped that their unexpected nighttime visit now wouldn’t come as a complete shock.

They kept their nondescript hoods up and stayed to the less populated streets, trying to keep out of anyone’s attention. However, when Merrick heard his name hissed from an alleyway he did turn reflexively. Another cloaked figure beckoned to him, and before Kolya could stop him, the younger Deacon went toward it.

The Imperial Guard would not have lured him, merely snatched him from the street, and the same went for the Arch Abbot. When he got closer, Merrick relaxed a little. He recognized instantly the rather distinctive nose of the person standing in the shadows. Leonteh Norin had been the last person in any of their shared novitiate classes to ever raise his hand. The gangly redhead lad from Vermillion was also the smartest in the class. He’d become an Active Deacon days before Merrick left with Sorcha for the east.

Now he was standing in the darkness of an alleyway, behind a pile of refuse from the nearest public house. He
was not wearing his blue cloak. He locked his right hand around Merrick’s offered one and grinned. “By the Bones, it’s good to find you Merrick!”

“You were looking for me?” It seemed strange that any of the Order would want anything to do with him after using his wild talent on them.

“Well, everyone is looking for you,” Leonteh replied, “but some of us for a different reason.” He stepped back and another half dozen Deacons revealed themselves in the shadows. Merrick recognized a couple of them from his class, but the others were older. Tighon Murn was even older than Sorcha.

“What’s going on?” Kolya, finally unable to contain his concern, joined them. “Are you going to drag Merrick back to the Abbey?” His hand actually went to his sword hilt.

Leonteh could not have looked more offended if he’d tried. “No! Some of us left just after you did. The Arch Abbot should never have considered handing you over to the Emperor.”

Tighon Murn shook his head, his dark eyes distant as he contemplated what they had come to. “We are an Order of brothers bound together by our work. Even Kaleva comes second to that.”

Merrick swallowed hard, remembering his history. The first Order and the first Deacon had not lasted long. Schism after schism fractured it, until there were more than twenty Orders. Every break was a peril for normal folk, and it had been generations since there had been one. Eventually, the Orders realized that they had a greater calling.

Had he inadvertently caused a new schism? The cold claimed his belly again.

“It’s not just us.” Leonteh took him by the arm, looking nothing like the prankster boy he’d been only a few years before. “About thirty Deacons took the chance to get out.” He revealed a plum-sized weirstone in his hand. “We set off to find you, before the Arch Abbot shut and barred the
gates. I’ll tell the others we found you and that the dark lady was right. She said—”

Merrick closed his classmate’s hand over the glow of the stone. “What do you mean?”

“The dark lady.” Leonteh looked back at his fellows. “We all heard her last night. She told us that whatever happened, we had to stay with you. She spoke to us in Ancient and showed us a dire path that would swallow up the Order forever unless we followed her instructions.”

Everywhere he went Nynnia had smoothed the way for him. However, whatever she was seeing from her vantage point on the Otherside, he was not.

“She said the gates would be locked in the Order,” Kolya interrupted, “and they were locked and barred as they never have been since we came here.” He turned to Merrick. “If she wants us together, then we should be together.”

He trusted her. Even people who had only seen her once in their dreams trusted her. Merrick sighed and realized he would have to believe in her too, because that was all he had at this moment. He smiled hesitantly at Leonteh. “Tell them to meet us at Widow Vashill’s establishment in Tinker’s Lane—but let them know to come in small groups. We don’t want to attract attention.”

While his classmate raised the weirstone and did just that, Merrick gave the others instructions. He and Kolya set off, knowing they would follow in dribs and drabs. He hoped the widow had plenty of food and water, because tonight she was going to get some very unexpected guests.

NINETEEN