Soulkeeper Page 30

  “Have faith,” Adria said. “The Sisters have given us these gifts for a reason, and it was not to suffer or die at the hands of our own church.”

  “Perhaps you should read more into the history of our church.”

  Adria winced.

  “A forgotten time. The heretical purges died with the beliefs of hundreds of void-dragons walking among us.”

  “And a mountain has crawled to the gates of our city,” Sena said. “Who knows what old beliefs will come roaring back with it?”

  The door to their room opened before Adria could respond. The two quickly rose to their feet and bowed in reverence to the Vikar of the Day. Thaddeus arrived with a small escort of four. Three were young novices, and he quickly bid them to disperse. The fourth was a man dressed in matching brown trousers and shirt. His eyes were a milky white, and he walked while holding Thaddeus’s sleeve. Adria fought to remain calm as she greeted her Vikar. Sena stood beside her, her head bowed in respect to another sacred division’s Vikar.

  “I must admit you have piqued my curiosity,” Thaddeus said. He gestured to the blind man. “I’ve brought Titus with me as you asked. Now what is it you wish to show me, and how does this pertain to the madman killing our keepers?”

  “Not yet,” Adria said, taking the lead since it was her Vikar they addressed, and her idea to meet with him in the first place. “Hello, Titus, it’s been a few years since I last saw you. Have you gotten any better at the lute?”

  “My playing has much improved since I last performed at your church,” Titus said, and he smiled. “My singing voice, I must sadly say, is still the same croaking frog it’s always been.”

  Titus was one of Alma’s Beloved, whose organization Adria considered one of the finest the church had ever adopted. It traced all the way back to the first Ecclesiast, Cassandra Anklare, who established the Beloved as a rebuke to those calling for a merciful culling during a brutal four years of famine.

  “If you’d follow me, please,” Adria said, and she gently took his hand into hers. “I want you to lie down on this couch.”

  “If the lovely lady insists.”

  Vikar Thaddeus watched them intently, no doubt puzzled by what they were planning. Adria led Titus to the couch, and he settled down atop it as if for a nap. Adria and Sena exchanged a glance. They’d been unsure who should try first, but with Sena having been the one to encounter Janus, it felt better to let her start. If she succeeded, her testimony on what the murderer could do would carry that much greater authority.

  “Titus, I am Faithkeeper Sena,” her friend said as she knelt at his side. “I doubt you remember me, for you were just a boy, but I was there when we brought you in to the cathedral.”

  “Of course I remember you,” Titus said. “What might I do for you, Faithkeeper?”

  “Lie still, and repeat everything I say,” Sena said. “Can you do that?”

  “Sounds simple enough. Sure.”

  Adria shifted nervously from foot to foot. This was something neither had done before, particularly Sena. The woman held Adria’s copy of Lyra’s Devotions, and she flipped it to the page containing the 22nd Devotion. Sena had cautioned against trying a new prayer, but Adria had held fast.

  “Pain may fluctuate. Fevers come and go. We need something no one can doubt, proof that would remain strong even before a court of law.”

  Titus had been a member of Alma’s Beloved for nearly two decades. He’d interacted with hundreds of people within the church at all levels of status. No one could claim this a con or deception, not if this worked.

  Sena closed her eyes, placed her hands across Titus’s closed eyes, and began reciting an opening line Adria knew all too well.

  “Lyra of the beloved sun, hear my prayer.”

  The words flowed easily off her tongue. The last of the prayer ended and Sena withdrew her hand. Adria held her breath. Would he be cured? Had his sight been restored?

  “Is that it?” Titus asked. His eyelids crept open. They were the same milky white.

  “It appears so,” Thaddeus said, and he shot Adria a look.

  “Do not be discouraged,” she said, putting a hand on Sena’s shoulders. “The Sisters’ gifts may vary.”

  It was her turn. She knelt and closed her eyes, her hands gently folded over Titus’s face.

  Focus, she told herself. Stop worrying for yourself. Think of the gift you are about to bestow. If this worked, she’d be giving sight to a man blind since birth. His entire life would be changed for the better, Shame on her for thinking about how this might make her appear a fool. Sisters have mercy, does my selfishness know no bounds?

  Adria reached into her pocket and pulled out her mask. When she slid it over her face her fears eased away. Mindkeepers were both purity and sin, perfection and imperfection coexisting in a dance set into motion since the blood of the void-dragon corrupted the First Soul. True Mindkeepers did not crumble under emotion. They gave no pause to the smallest blessing or the greatest sin. They did not elevate self above the world, for how else could they lend their aid to the suffering? The world craved the touch of the holy, and she would give it regardless of the cost.

  “Lyra of the beloved sun, hear my prayer. I kneel with heavy heart, and before a man pure of soul but impure of flesh. Shower your mercy upon us, I beg.”

  A tremendous power trembled within Adria’s breast, stronger and much more sudden than before. The gifts of the Sisters passed through her hands. Its song parted from her tongue. Thaddeus gasped behind her. Did he, too, sense it?

  “Let no suffering last eternal. Let no earthly form deny starborn perfection. That which was broken be made anew.”

  Adria lifted her hands, curled them before her heart, and waited. Titus stirred, his head tilting as her prayer gave way to silence. His eyes opened, clear and green as fresh cut grass.

  “Is that… that…”

  His mouth dropped open in shock. He looked around like an awestruck child and struggled to speak.

  “Thaddeus?” he said. “It’s… it’s you, isn’t it?”

  The Vikar had tears in his eyes.

  “That it is,” he said.

  Titus openly wept. He flung his arms around Adria’s shoulders and showered kisses upon her neck.

  “Thank you,” he whispered again and again. “Thank you so much.”

  Adria endured the outpouring with quiet dignity. This was how it was always meant to be. No matter the joy, no matter the sorrow, she’d be the pillar they could cling to amid a storm.

  “I—I need to go for a walk,” Titus said. “I need to see the market, the cathedrals, the river. Shit, the tree, I need to see that damn crossroad oak people won’t shut up about.”

  “In time,” Thaddeus said. “But first I ask you to show me a courtesy after all the kindness our church has shown you.”

  “And what is that?”

  The Vikar reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown purse. The interior rattled of silver.

  “Find an inn and pay for three nights,” he said. “Come morning, purchase a change of clothes at the market. Tell no one of what has happened here, nor that you were a member of Alma’s Beloved. At the end of those three days, return to the church. I shall be waiting for you.”

  Titus looked like a child who’d been gifted the world. He spun between the three of them, showering all with thanks and praise. When he left, Thaddeus shut the door to their room, locked it, and sat in a chair facing the both of them. The gentleness in his smile was long gone. Adria had seen him in this mood rarely when they studied in the archive, but she remembered it well. His sharp mind craved information like a mongrel craved fresh meat. Nothing would sate him.

  “It is time you both explained yourselves,” he said, pulling his spectacles from his face. “Are you the only one capable of doing this, or can Sena do so as well?”

  “I can,” Sena said. “But I have tried only a few, and the prayers that work for me are not always what work for Adria.”

  Her
Vikar nodded, absorbing the information.

  “So are we the first?” Adria asked. “No one else has shown the same powers we possess?”

  The Vikar’s face darkened.

  “Only one,” he said. “But his is a tale opposite yours. Do not worry for him. Tell me your story, each of you. When did this first start? Was it the same time for the both of you, or different?”

  “I first healed someone the day the crawling mountain arrived,” Adria said.

  “And you?”

  Sena braced herself.

  “I did so out of desperation. If not for the Goddesses, I’d have died at Janus’s hands.”

  “Janus?” the Vikar asked. “The Janus responsible for murdering our keepers in the dead of night?”

  “I believe so.”

  Thaddeus pulled his chair closer, and he pressed his thumb and forefingers together as he concentrated.

  “Tell me everything,” he said. “And I mean everything.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Tucked into a corner of the market district was an unmarked building with thick wood blinds covering its windows. Malik skipped the front entrance and led Tommy to the side alley where another large door awaited. He knocked three times and then stepped back.

  “You sure this is a tavern?” Tommy asked. “It looks more like a shuttered home.”

  “They try to keep it hidden,” Malik explained. “Helps keep the beggars away.”

  “Seems a bit stuffy-minded. How do they attract customers?”

  “Through recommendations, of course. Trust me, Tommy, once you try their rosemary braised lamb shanks you’ll be wanting to tell the whole world.”

  The door opened and out stepped a clean-shaven servant in a finely tailored suit.

  “This way, please,” he said.

  Though the building had seemed to be two stories from the outside, inside was a single expansive room with a vaulted ceiling. Dozens of candles hung from chandeliers, casting a soft glow upon the hard oak tables. Shoulder-high barriers crisscrossed between the tables to form isolated sections. Tommy felt woefully out of place as the servant led them past tables of dining lords, traders, and high-ranking members of the Keeping Church. He even saw two Soulkeepers merrily chatting over thin, wide bowls of a pale-green both that smelled of minty perfection. Tommy made a mental note to ask if Devin was aware of this place.

  “I am, um, not sure I brought enough coin with me,” Tommy said as he sat. Malik waved off his concerns.

  “Calm yourself. Neither of us will be paying. I keep a tab in the name of the Wise Organization. Londheim’s budget will easily cover a few meals.”

  Well, that was a relief. Tommy tapped his hands on his legs, telling himself that no one was paying him any attention. By the Goddesses, though, he wished he had taken a bath before coming, or at least combed through the disheveled wild animal that was his hair. When Tommy had nearly fainted at his research table, Malik pressed him on his eating habits. Upon finding out it’d been nearly twelve hours since his last proper meal, Malik forced him to come along, leaving him no chance to clean himself up. Thankfully the tables to either side of them were empty, meaning no one should catch whiff of sweat and musty books. To their left, though, a trio of women whispered as if the survival of the kingdom were at stake. They sipped soup from fine crystal bowls with incredible calm, steady movements. Tommy could see why. Their outfits alone likely cost more than Devin’s house. Shit, just the spoon looked more expensive than his entire life’s earnings.

  One of them glanced his way. Tommy turned his attention to his own table with his heart hammering. He felt like a burglar being spotted climbing a fence.

  A different man returned to their table, his long black hair carefully tied in a loose ponytail. Tommy tried not to stare. It was as if the restaurant had gone out of its way to hire the most beautiful men in all of Londheim. Tommy ran a hand through his own hair in a failing attempt to unflatten the left side he’d slept on.

  “Greetings, esteemed gentlemen, my name is Tynek,” the servant said. He clasped his hands before his fitted vest. “Your choices are either the honeyed duck with cherries or carved rosemary lamb.”

  “Duck for me, lamb for my friend,” Malik said, ordering for them. “And a strawberry red from Nelme for each of us.”

  “Very good.”

  Tynek bowed low and whisked away. Within seconds he was back with two crystalline glasses filled with a sparkling crimson liquid.

  “Enjoy your meal,” Tynek said.

  “So,” Malik said when the man had left. “We have some time. Let me hear what you mean by ‘schools’ of magic. I believe you said something to that effect right before you almost fainted.”

  Tommy took a gulp of his wine, set the glass down, and immediately found himself distracted.

  “Holy shit, that’s sweet.”

  Malik grinned at him.

  “That wine is likely older than the both of us. Enjoy.”

  “Am I allowed more than one glass?”

  “You are.”

  “Then damn right I’m going to enjoy.”

  He drained the rest, thudded the glass down, and let out a satisfied grunt.

  “So, schools. I’m not sure if that’s the proper way to describe the distinction. Disciplines could also work, or classes. What I’m getting at is that all the spells I’ve managed to successfully cast share unique words in common. Not only that, but these individual words appear to have their own distinct concept or power associated with them.”

  “Interesting,” Malik said. “How many are there?”

  “As of what I can figure there are five: Aethos, Viciss, Gloam, Nihil, and Chyron. There might be more, but I’ve yet to discover them.”

  The older Wise slowly rubbed his forefinger over the top of his glass as he thought.

  “I’ve seen you cast many Aethos spells. I wager it has something to do with fire and frost?”

  “In a sense,” Tommy said. “Involving elemental energies is a better way to say it. Fire, frost, explosions, lightning; all the fun stuff, really. Viciss is something like change, or mutation. If it involves turning one thing to another, it always appears to be a Viciss spell. Chyron is the one I’m most certain of, and that’s time, either speeding it up, slowing it down, or potentially becoming ‘unstuck,’ whatever the bloody madness that means.”

  “You’ve not given it a try?”

  “Goddesses, no,” Tommy said. “I don’t want to see the future, the past, or anything in between. I can barely handle the present as it hits me.”

  Malik laughed. His brown eyes sparkled in the dim light.

  “Fair enough, Tommy, fair enough. All of these do sound familiar to me except for Gloam. Is it a recent discovery?”

  Tommy drummed his fingers atop the table, thinking. He caught one of the pretty ladies glaring at him from the corner of his eye and quickly stopped.

  “I think I tried the first… yesterday? Two days ago? I need to get on a regular sleep schedule again, I really do, all these days and nights are just merging together into one long book study. Chronicling the history of our discoveries is going to be a massive headache, I can already tell. Maybe we should keep a journal of some sort for posterity’s sake or…”

  Malik reached across the table and settled his fingers atop Tommy’s wrist. Tommy’s attention immediately snapped into an eagle’s focus on that light pressure. There was nothing to it, just a polite, patient way to interrupt his rambling, but that did not stop the shivers rolling up his arm and down to his stomach.

  “Tommy,” Malik said. “Focus, please.”

  “Sorry,” Tommy coughed. He reached for his drink, remembered he’d emptied it, and then cocked an eyebrow in surprise. With the stealth of a phantom the servant had scooped away his empty glass and returned it completely full. He drank another half of it, thankful for the delay. The cool wine burned upon reaching his stomach.

  Hoo-boy. Watch the liquor, Tommy, or you’ll be dancing atop this table before long.


  “What was I saying?” Tommy asked as he set his glass down. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Right, Gloam. It took me a few hours to really nail down my hypothesis, but my belief is that this school of magic involves understanding and manipulating thought, perception, and emotion. So far it’s been the most difficult for me to cast, but with how often I’ve come across that key word, I’m convinced of its importance.”

  “I assume that’s why you’ve not demonstrated to me one of its spells?”

  “Correct,” he said.

  Malik leaned back into his chair. Though his eyes were upon him, Tommy knew the man’s thoughts were far elsewhere. He had a way of sinking into his own mind, his features freezing calmly in place to hide the intense concentration. In those times he looked less like a living human and more of a doll. An attractive doll, mind you, but still a doll.

  “And what of the last one?” Malik asked, snapping back into motion as if nothing had happened in the past five seconds. “Nihil, was it?”

  “That’s the only one I can’t quite pin down,” Tommy said. “I’ve managed just two of its spells, and neither shared any obvious theme. I’d normally posit that Nihil was a lesser part of the casting, but these two spells also lacked any of the other four words, nor did they share any other verbal component.”

  The servant might have been a phantom with the wine, but Tommy noticed his approach with their food from halfway across the room. He leaned back in his chair to give Tynek space to set the two steaming plates. His mouth began to water at the sight. His lamb chop was practically swimming in a dark sauce that smelled of rosemary and heaven.

  “Please enjoy,” Tynek said, bowing low.

  Tommy sliced off a piece. The meat melted in his mouth. The sauce rolled across his tongue like a food-borne massage. Tommy’s hunger less awakened and more exploded into spontaneous existence. He devoured his meal, and when finished he took another sip of his wine, slumped back in his chair, and sighed long and loud.

  “Damn.”

  Malik grinned at him. His duck was half-finished on his plate before him.