Soulkeeper Page 11

  “Blessed be,” Rosa said, staring with wide open mouth. Her gaze turned Adria’s way, eyes alight with shock and wonder. Adria staggered to her feet, her back pressing against the wall. She pointed a shaking hand toward Rosa.

  “No one must know of this,” she said.

  “But what you just did, it’s…”

  “I said no one!”

  Adria’s mask suffocated her. She ripped it off and stared at Rosa’s knee as if it would suddenly change back. Reports of divine healing were thoroughly investigated by the Keeping Church. She’d known of several incidents since she moved to Londheim, and each and every one ended the same: with the Mindkeeper stripped of title and banished from the church in disgrace for their falsehoods. Adria clenched her hands into fists and finally met Rosa’s worshipful eyes.

  “I don’t know what any of this means,” she said. “Until I do, tell no one of what happened here.”

  Rosa slid off the bed, slowly shifting more and more of her weight onto the previously sick knee.

  “This miracle should be shouted from the rooftops, but if you want me to keep silent, then silent I’ll be.” She shook her head. “What a fool I am. Praise Lyra, praise Alma, praise all Three Sisters, it looks like Anwyn’s not ready for me yet!”

  Rosa flung her arms around Adria and squeezed with far more strength than her withered frame should possess. Adria returned the hug, her body still locked in shock. She bit down on her tongue as hard as she dared. Nothing changed. Not dreaming, then, or if she did, it was a waking dream.

  “I must go,” Adria said. “I must… pray on this matter.”

  She replaced her mask and retied the leather knot in the back. A little bit of comfort returned to her at its cool touch. Behind that mask, she was the calm, collected Mindkeeper of Low Dock. Only her eyes might give away her fear and worry.

  “Try not to wander about too much for the next few days,” she instructed. “If you go bouncing through the market, people are going to ask questions you won’t have answers for.”

  “Oh, I’ll have the answers, Adria,” Rosa said. She winked. “But I’ll keep them to myself.”

  Adria exited the one-room home onto one of Low Dock’s many winding stone roads. She was not fond of Londheim, but she’d learned to welcome the honest hardship of her little district. The dilapidated buildings around her were tall wood-and-stone structures with vaulted ceilings, seeming to almost curl overhead in an attempt to cocoon in the road from the sun, not that there was much need for it today. Shade from the overcast sky mixed with the deep gray of the stone to lend an almost blue atmosphere to Londheim. Adria hurried north, her eyes focused inward and her feet moving of their own accord.

  A rare miracle, never to be replicated, Adria told herself. If her superior, the Deakon of Londheim, declared an inquisition into the matter she would deny any divine nature tied to the recovery. So long as she didn’t seek to attract undue fame, the Keeping Church’s leadership should accept her explanation.

  Piss! My devotions!

  Her mind was too scrambled after the incident. She’d left her book of devotions on Rosa’s bed. She spun to return and immediately froze. Where… where was she? It wasn’t possible. Adria knew every dark corner of Low Dock, for the men and women living there often could not go to the apothecary in the nearby Tradeway District. Their professions were too seedy, the reason for their injuries often illegal. If you were stabbed in a robbery, whether you were the robber or the robbed, you came to her. If you couldn’t make the trip, she came to you. Low Dock was her flawed, violent home, so why did it feel so foreign to her?

  Adria studied the house to her left. The chipped 57 above the door meant Becca Langston lived there with her two sons. Why did it seem different? The stone bricks, Adria realized. Instead of clear, layered cracks in the sides they were perfectly smooth, as if the home were constructed of one single stone. Her insides shivered. Stone gargoyles with catlike faces smiled down at her from their rooftop perches. Those were usually confined to the mansions of Quiet District, for they’d fallen out of favor by the time much of Londheim was built.

  “Sir,” she said, stopping the first person she passed in the road. The older man turned and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Might you need something, Mindkeeper?” he asked with the slow drawl most native to southern Londheim carried.

  “Do you know Miss Langston?” she asked. “Her husband died three winters back?”

  “I worked with her father,” the man said. “Is something amiss?”

  “I… I’m looking for her home. Is that it?”

  Adria tensed. Would he notice? A man who’d lived in Londheim all his life would immediately recognize such a change… wouldn’t he?

  “Aye, that’s her home,” he said. His eyes lingered on the building. Adria could sense his steadily growing apprehension. “I must say, I don’t remember it ever having them stone gargoyles before.”

  It wasn’t just her, then. She couldn’t decide if that should make her feel relieved or terrified.

  “Thank you,” she said. “May the Sisters watch over you.”

  She needed to think. That was all. A good moment to pray and meditate on what was transpiring. Adria hurried along, glancing at homes as she passed. Things looked so similar, with only the tiniest of changes to some. It was like coming home to find all her furniture rearranged. The changes weren’t restricted to gargoyles, either. She noticed several homes with large open windows on second floors where there’d been only solid walls. For what reason could those exist in the cold climate of Londheim? Or was she jumping at shadows, only now noticing things that otherwise would have been easily ignored?

  At least one clear identifying marker remained unchanged. The Sisters’ Tower, located near the passageway through the stone wall marking the borders of districts, stood a clear sixty feet higher than any other structure in Low Dock. Despite its size, it contained only a single square room on the bottom floor, with no stairs, ladder, or opening leading higher. Many Mindkeepers theorized the tower was hollow throughout. Three marble statues overlooked the city at the top, one of each holy Sister triumphantly addressing Londheim with their hands raised in joy and wind blowing through their pristine robes.

  Adria followed the road to the quiet corner containing the tower’s entrance. Two soulless city guards stood guard before the door to prevent vandalism or unlawful entry. Adria was never comfortable around the soulless, doubly so after her baffling experience, and she did her best to address them with a clear, firm voice.

  “I seek a moment of solitude to pray,” she said.

  Those born soulless had no desires, no wants, no imagination or creativity or sense of identity. They followed orders without hesitation or complaint unless those orders directly and obviously ended their lives. Because of this, they could be taught to have an owner whose orders must be followed above all others. With a bit of training they made perfect guards and laborers, and there were shops in the northeast filled with thousands of soulless workers. Their presence always unnerved Adria. The way they stared at her made her skin crawl.

  “As you wish, Mindkeeper,” they said in unison. No inflection in the slightest to their voices. They stepped aside, the one on the left gesturing for her to enter. Adria kept her head high and passed through them, suppressing a shiver.

  For as long as recorded history could tell, the Sisters’ Tower was a holy place of prayer for members of the Keeping Church. The room at its base was not much taller than her, and she could touch the ceiling with her fingers if she wished. Three enormous paintings covered the walls, one for each of the Goddesses. The first was of Alma, a woman in white with pale skin and golden hair, standing beside a creek at the break of dawn. She extended a dove toward the second painting, that of Lyra. Lyra cradled the dove in her arms, its white feathers a sharp contrast to her dark skin and even darker dress. Her long black hair spilled out across the grass at her feet. A stream flowed before her, its water sparkling in the high afternoon su
n.

  Last was the painting of Anwyn. The goddess reached out a gentle hand toward Lyra, seeking the dove. Her skin was so clear it was almost translucent. Unlike the other two, she stood naked for all to see. Her head was shaved and her face hidden behind a perfectly smooth porcelain mask. The sun set behind her, streaking the sky with red and orange rays. The masks of the Mindkeepers were homages to all three, Anwyn’s porcelain painted half in Alma’s white and the other half Lyra’s black.

  Adria bowed before the center painting of Lyra. As was expected of a Mindkeeper, she felt closest affinity to the goddess of the day, the holy symbol of her sacred division. Alma created souls and delivered them to the world, and Anwyn accepted them into her embrace once life was at its end, but it was Lyra who watched over them during their stay in the imperfect world. Lyra offered guidance. Lyra shed her tears for their sorrows and extended her grace to any who sought a better life and a better self. It was that knowledge that Mindkeepers attempted to harness for themselves and then spread throughout the populace.

  Adria placed her hands atop two circles in the intricately carved floor. Swirling lines connected each corner of the room, sometimes coming together to form elevated bumps of smooth stone. No records remained of the tower’s construction, leaving scholars and bored nobles to make guesses as to their symbolism or purpose. For reasons she could not identify, Adria was certain that the proper place to pray was on her knees in the heart of the three paintings with her hands on the two center half spheres that rose from the stone.

  “Praise be to the Goddesses of dawn and dusk, of life and death, and of the sacred days between.”

  The words steadied her heart. The tower was a holy place, a visible beacon throughout Londheim serving as a reminder of the ever-loving gazes of the Goddesses. No matter what happened, the Sisters would be there for her. They’d watch over her.

  “Praise be to the creator of our souls, the nurturer of our souls, and the caretaker of our souls upon this life’s ending. I pray to thee, Sisters. I ask that my words be heard. I ask that my heart be pure. Hear me, so I may hear you.”

  The stone circles warmed beneath her touch. The ground shook. There’d been minor quakes occurring for the past few days, and she initially thought it another. When the circles pulsed a pale blue underneath her fingers she thought otherwise.

  “Guards?” she asked, spinning around as she hurried to her feet. The two soulless were gone. The floor was rising, taking her with it through the hollow tower. A deep, metallic grating noise, reminiscent of levers and chains and pulleys, came from the four walls. Adria put her hands behind her back and waited. This was clearly beyond her control. She would not panic and make the situation worse.

  With a shudder, the platform came to a halt. Cold wind blew across her skin as Adria’s insides shivered. Whatever hidden mechanics she’d activated had taken her all the way to the top. The three enormous statues of the Sisters surrounded her, but they were not as they seemed from below. Their form split at the hip, becoming a second version of the Goddesses facing inside the tower. Alma drooped low, her arms struggling to lift a single feather. Lyra covered her face with her hands, clearly weeping. Anwyn had removed her mask only to reveal a face equally smooth and featureless beneath.

  Adria stood before the presence of the Goddesses, and while they showcased strength and exultation to the city, in private they wept and struggled with their burdens. Tears filled Adria’s eyes and she did not wipe them away. This tower, this place, this spot… it was indeed holy, but not for the reasons they’d always surmised. She put a loving hand on Lyra’s side and pressed forehead to forehead with the statue.

  “You do weep for us,” she whispered. “Please, whatever happens now, whatever miracle is passing over our world, know that I welcome it with open arms. I shall be ready to serve, even unto the end of days.”

  Adria pulled away from the statue and overlooked the city. She’d never seen Londheim from such a vantage point, and for the first time she fully grasped its sprawling size. Low Dock was such a meager part of it, and yet its trials often overwhelmed her. She could not imagine the strength of character the Deakon possessed to bear all of Londheim’s burdens.

  Alarm bells rang from the west. Adria turned, her gaze lifting to the roads beyond. A river of humanity approached, numbering in the thousands. They were not alone. Something was behind them, something she could barely see if she squinted her eyes. Something that should not be.

  Far from Alma’s Crown, in a sprawling field where should only be faded grass and gently sloping hills, came a cracked gray mountain.

  CHAPTER 12

  Descending the tower was as simple as returning her hands to the glowing blue spheres carved into the bottom of her platform. The two soulless guards gave way, either not knowing or not caring about what she had just experienced. Adria didn’t give them a second glance. From the tower she had seen a throng of what appeared to be refugees approaching the city, and she would be there to help in any way she could.

  Adria crossed through Tradeway, which was strangely quiet for midday. Cobblers, masons, carpenters, and barbers all gathered here, with seemingly every building in sight bearing a wooden sign of one guild or another. A few had customers, but most artisans stood at their doorways gossiping with their apprentices and neighbors. Adria hurried down the largest of the roads, a slowly curving half circle leading toward the western gate.

  What had been strangely quiet became a madhouse within moments of leaving Tradeway onto the east-west through road. The mayor’s city guards lined the streets, barking at gawkers and onlookers to clear a path. The first of many travelers had already passed through the gate, herded toward some destination deeper into the city. Dozens walked before her, heads hung low, their faces ashen. They looked as if they fled a war zone, but what war could have struck them in the west? Bandit groups were small and disorganized, they were far from any coastal raiders, and even the Three-Year Secession decades ago had left the west relatively unscathed.

  Another thought danced in her head, but she was too frightened to give it voice. It didn’t matter that the city had changed overnight. It didn’t matter that strange mechanics and pulsing lights had lifted her to the rooftop of a tower that had been dormant for centuries. Just because her hands bore healing magic did not mean the rest of the world had also changed…

  Rows of guards marched beside the apparent refugees, their steel cuirasses and sallet helmets easily distinguishing them from the lightly clad villagers. They pushed and shoved away those who tried to speak with the newcomers, all while shouting for people to return to their homes. A trio passed by Adria, and one reached for her shoulder while telling her to disperse. He quickly stopped when he saw her mask.

  “Forgive me, Mindkeeper,” he said. “We’re under orders to keep these people from speaking with the populace so they don’t spread a panic.”

  “And I am no ordinary member of the populace,” Adria said. “The mayor will not stop me from helping those in need.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” the guard said. “This order came directly from Royal Overseer Downing. If you disagree, take it up with him.”

  Adria quietly fumed. During what was known as the Three-Year Secession, South Orismund had attempted to secede from Unified Orismund, claiming that the Keeping Church had usurped too much power from the crown. Concessions by both the Queen and the church’s ruling Ecclesiast had brought South Orismund back into the fold, but the result had been a drastic increase in autonomy for West and South Orismund. In addition to that was the election of the Royal Overseer every ten years by landowners to rule West Orismund in the Queen’s stead. No one bore greater authority, not even Deakon Sevold, which meant there was no way for Adria to bypass the orders.

  “Might I at least know where you take them?” she asked.

  “Go ask your church,” said another of the guards. “We have work to do.”

  The ground rumbled beneath their feet, as good a signal as any for the
m to continue on with their work. Adria took a step back and chewed on her lower lip, thankful for the mask to hide the unseemly habit. Several men gathered to her left, talking among themselves in the shade of a storefront’s awning. They looked agitated.

  “What’s with the mountain?” one shouted to the passing crowd. “Where’d it come from?”

  Guards reacted as if he’d set fire to a building. Two rushed him, one shoving the man’s friends away, the other cracking him in the mouth with the butt of a spear. The man blurted out a garbled protest as he staggered away. The guard spun his spear, using a blunted hook at the base of the head to trip the man by the ankle.

  “We said disperse, you cock-eating goat, so disperse before we take a few more teeth in tribute to Londheim.”

  He fled the moment his feet touched ground, his friends hurrying with him. Adria watched with her mouth open in shock.

  “Such punishment for asking a question?” she demanded of the guard.

  He gave his answer in the form of a rude, upward jab of two fingers. Adria shook her head and debated her next course of action. She could follow the trail of people to whatever destination they were being led to, or she could return to her church in Low Dock and await orders from either Deakon Sevold or, more likely, Vikar Thaddeus Prymm. But doing nothing would drive her crazy, so she slipped through the scattered onlookers in pursuit. She’d managed only a block before she froze. Traveling amid the refugees was a man in a long gray coat with a familiar folded tricorn hat.

  “Devin!” she shouted, lifting her hand above her head. “Devin, over here!”

  He looked up, eyes darting about the crowd. Adria waved higher, and the moment he saw her, a tired smile lit up his face. Her brother pushed through the crowd as she removed her Mindkeeper mask. He swept her into his arms with surprising desperation.

  “It’s so good to see you alive and well,” he said. “I feared… no, forget what I feared. It doesn’t matter. We’re finally home.”