Soulkeeper Page 45

  “Can you set up such an arrangement for myself?”

  “If you request it.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Though I doubt you will have visitors all the way from the eastern coast, Adria. I hope you do not resent losing your shining uniqueness, but even in Londheim you are no longer the only keeper capable of healing.”

  Adria did her best to keep her face passive. “Is that so?”

  “It is indeed.” Thaddeus eyed her carefully. “Faithkeeper Tommen Jorr discovered this quite accidentally in the middle of a sermon yesterday morning. He confided this to Vikar Caria, and she gave him the same instructions as I gave you: to serve the Sisters faithfully, and lead none astray.”

  Adria relaxed into her padded chair. First her, then Sena, the imprisoned Tamerlane, and now Tommen. To have so many discovering this power in Londheim surely meant others all across the Cradle were equally gifted by the Sisters.

  “Then we witness an awakening of sorts,” Adria said. “Perhaps in time all keepers will possess the same power?”

  “It’d certainly ease your burden, wouldn’t it?” Thaddeus said. “Not that I blame you for hoping so. I know a taste of the responsibility you have endured, given my position as Vikar. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone who didn’t desire it.”

  “It’s not a matter of desire,” she said, trying to articulate her thoughts. Memories of that morning after the attack on the market threatened to break her resolve. Goddesses, what she’d give for a good few hours of sleep right now. “I… want to help people. I want to heal them. That’s all I desire. I don’t want crowds whispering my name in reverence. I’ve had a taste of fame and it is not for me.”

  “Is that why you hide more and more behind the mask?”

  Adria touched the black-and-white porcelain covering her face as if on instinct. She’d forgotten she even wore it. The masks were not required to be worn once inside cathedral grounds, especially in areas like the archives where no civilians would be present.

  “I’m not hiding,” she said. The moment the words left her lips, she realized how defensive they sounded, and how reactionary. Were they even true? Thaddeus’s raised eyebrow showed he certainly didn’t believe so.

  “All right, perhaps I am,” she said. “I’m used to being the quiet servant who deals in whispers and sins, not as a healer whose name is spoken in reverence by the crowds. The only thing I want crowded around me are bookshelves. It’s good that Tommen is a Faithkeeper. He will be better suited to the attention.”

  “We all have our talents,” Thaddeus said. He pushed his spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose. “But sometimes we must learn skills that do not come easily. You have a brilliant mind and a heart of unending compassion. Londheim would be a better place if it heard more of your words, and not just those you compose for Sena’s sermons.”

  Another gentle correction. She’d given everything of herself to heal the people with her prayers, yet Thaddeus expected more of her. He always expected more. Even when he’d assigned her to the Low Dock church she’d felt his disappointment in her settling for such a quiet, unimportant district.

  “Can we talk of different matters?” she asked. “I’d love to focus my mind on anything other than myself right now.”

  “Such as the curse inflicted upon our Deakon?”

  Adria glanced at the book she held. Irrational panic seized her chest. The Book of Ravens was expressly forbidden throughout all of Orismund, and possession of it could lead to expulsion from the Keeping Church, or worse. Of course she had both permission to read it and an explanation for doing so, but that did not prevent her pulse from pounding within her veins.

  “If I can heal broken bones and torn limbs through the power of the Goddesses, then removing a blasphemous curse should also be within my capabilities,” she said. “The Deakon, he… he clearly suffers. I can help him, I know it, so I thought if I read the words, saw how it was summoned, then maybe I’d figure out a way.”

  “And has reading it helped you?”

  Adria chose her words carefully.

  “I am as fascinated as I am horrified by what I find written here,” she said. “While much is wrong, much is correct, only framed in a terribly slanted way by what I can only call the author’s angry bias. These curses themselves, though… the author claims the power is from the Goddesses.”

  “Clearly false,” Thaddeus said. “Such vile powers cannot have come from the Sisters, only the void.”

  “How do we know?” Adria dared ask. “Our free will also comes from the Goddesses, and it can be used for both good and evil. I wonder if the tremendous power of the Sisters can be used in the same manner. And if it does come from them, then that means surely the power to break the curse also comes from them.”

  “You insinuate that the Sisters would allow faith in them to be wielded for malice and harm.”

  “Is history not full of such examples?”

  Thaddeus bit back his initial retort so he might dwell further on a response. When he did speak, it was careful and deliberate.

  “The Book of Ravens, from its first word to its last, seeks to remold the Sisters into petty, flawed deities unworthy of love and devotion. I do not deny there is power in those words, for I have seen the horror it has unleashed upon our Deakon. What I vehemently refuse to entertain is any argument that denies the love and compassion I have felt, and the holy experiences of a lifetime spent in prayer and service to others. We have both felt the power in a prayerful gathering. We have both felt the faint touch of Lyra on our hearts, and we have seen the shimmering light of souls rising to the heavens to be cared for in Anwyn’s arms. The Book of Ravens sees only deception and hate. Never forget that.”

  Adria bowed her head, humbled.

  “I will not,” she said. A tired smile cracked her lips. “But this was hardly the relaxing banter I was hoping for when I suggested we speak of something else.”

  Thaddeus softly laughed.

  “Forgive this old man. You are precious to me, and I fear anything happening to you from my own inaction. Yes, let us talk on other things. In fact…” He showed her the book he carried, an untitled collection of scrolls rebound inside a leather frame. “This, and not the news about Faithkeeper Tommen, is why I sought you out. I believe I have made a discovery you will find most fascinating.”

  “And what is that?”

  Thaddeus’s silver eyes gleamed behind his spectacles.

  “The name of the mountain that crawled to our doorstep.”

  Now that was interesting. She gestured for him to continue, for he obviously had something to show her in the book he held.

  “I’ve been speaking with multiple scholars about the void-dragon as of late,” Thaddeus explained as he opened the book and began carefully turning the pages. “Before the Ninth Council of Oris settled the matter, there was a lot of debate over the concept of the void-dragon. Have you studied the Ninth Council’s various issued rulings?”

  “Not recently,” Adria said. She bit her lower lip and thought. The Ninth Council had been convened in Oris in 1150 U.O., some three hundred years ago, mostly with the intent to clarify the separation of powers between the Keeping Church and the Royal Crown. She’d studied it during her years in seminary but only remembered a vague mention of the void-dragon.

  “I don’t blame you for not remembering,” Thaddeus said. “It likely seemed obvious to you as a novice, but that council’s twelfth ruling declared that there were no lesser dragons, no servant creatures, no little whelps the size of your thumb to whisper sinful ideas into your ear, that sort of thing. There was the void, and the dragon that resides within. Nothing else.”

  Adria nodded, her memory finally jostled loose. The Second Council of Nicus had used that precedent some two centuries later in its dogma-shaking ruling that the void-dragon was not an actual living, sentient creature but instead the personification of the many concepts of the void itself. An entire industry had built up around protecting one’s soul
from the void-dragon, be it costly prayers, tear-soaked trinkets, or whatever else charlatans and greedy members of the church could devise to separate the faithful from their coin. This ruling had burned that industry to the ground, and in Adria’s mind, good riddance.

  “So what does that original ruling have to do with the crawling mountain?” she asked.

  “All councils allow dissenting voices to their rulings. It helps avoid embarrassment should a ruling be later changed or revoked entirely. Oris’s Ninth Council had a dissenting opinion to the twelfth ruling, and it referenced a certain collection of scrolls for its insistence that there was more than one dragon in the void.” He lifted the leather binding off his lap. “This collection.”

  The Vikar handed over the book to Adria’s eagerly awaiting hands. She saw that he’d opened to a scroll that was actually a short letter that had been retranscribed. While Thaddeus talked she read.

  “The letter was written by a Soulkeeper when humanity’s reach was yet to spread much farther west than Londheim. Wealthy investors were attempting to settle villages for trappers and miners all across Alma’s Crown, but they had significant difficulty in finding people willing to move. Read the reason why.”

  The letter opened with the Soulkeeper grumbling about performing duties for wealthy backers of the church (it was good to know some things never changed, Adria thought dryly). After that the Soulkeeper’s ire turned to the many villagers who worked the fields surrounding Londheim who refused to move west as instructed.

  These dunderhead yokels won’t pack their belongings for Dunwerth and Pathok. Aggressive prodding proves insufficient, for unless escorted all the way through the mountains they turn ’round and take up residence with relatives in the valley. I’ve tried reasoning with them, but they will not be persuaded. The superstitious lot insist it a curse to live in Viciss’s shadow, so you have two choices, Vikar. Either dig the dragon out of Alma’s Crown, or send me more soldiers. At this point, I’ll take whichever one returns me to Londheim the faster.

  S. K. RODWICK BAURNS

  “That letter dates back to 643 U.O.,” Thaddeus said when Adria lowered the book. “Viciss, a dragon buried all the way out in Alma’s Crown. The same area with the earliest appearance of the black water. Just this morning I spoke with the only surviving family from Pathok, and do you know what, Adria? They reported seeing the crawling mountain mere hours after the black water’s arrival, approaching their village from even farther to the west.”

  So ridiculous and yet at the same time so completely plausible. Sometimes the most absurd possibility was the correct one.

  “You think the people were right,” Adria said carefully. “That Viciss, an actual dragon, was buried in Alma’s Crown.”

  “I have more evidence supporting than against,” Thaddeus said. “And what else would you call the crawling mountain? I believe Viciss is its name, and that somehow our ancestors hundreds of years ago knew far more about it than we do.”

  “So Viciss is the void-dragon?” Adria wondered. She rubbed her forehead as she tried to work through the possibilities, as well as the many scriptures and prophecies foretelling the damage the end-times monster would unleash. “Wouldn’t that mean the world is coming to an end?”

  “Perhaps,” Thaddeus said. “Though I’d say our understanding of what this dragon is has been slowly warped over the centuries, starting with the assumption that it didn’t exist. By the time the Second Council of Nicus stripped the void-dragon of all names, the scholars recorded over two hundred monikers in use. Most names had sprung up over the past few decades hand-in-hand with the list of cures, protections, and charms to protect against them, but what of earlier? What if the prevalence of multiple names means the blatantly obvious… that there are more than one?”

  Adria could sense his subdued excitement.

  “You have other names you believe are true,” she said.

  “I do. I scoured all of our oldest letters and documents, particularly those not written by church officials, but they are few and far between. I’ve developed a growing suspicion that the heretical purge of 659 U.O. was not just for removing insulting dogma about the Sisters but also references to these dragons. Still, I discovered two other names of similar age that emerged unscathed. One was a dragon named Gloam, whom the writer, a Londheim chemist, blamed for his experiments in metallurgy failing. The other was ‘Chyron beneath the waves,’ whom a fisher in Wardhus gave as an explanation for what happened to his missing partner after a storm.”

  Wardhus was the trading town at the far end of the Septen River where it emptied out into the Gulf of Ianor. That they might invent their own dragon, this one in the ocean, wasn’t too farfetched, but at the same time if Thaddeus’s ideas were correct…

  “Have we received any message from Wardhus?” she asked. Thaddeus shook his head.

  “The Triona River is too strong for most boats. We’ll need someone there to make the trek on foot to Watne, which might take weeks.” He grinned at her. “Are you envisioning a mountain crawling from the ocean floor to carve across the sand, perhaps on its way to Nicus?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m pondering,” Adria said. “It’s human nature to think we’re the center of everything, but what if our situation in Londheim isn’t unique? The black water that came from the west stopped at Londheim… but what of South Orismund? East Orismund? What if this… Gloam… appears and threatens our Ecclesiast in Trivika?”

  Thaddeus slumped in his chair, his excitement suddenly tempered with frustration.

  “We’re blind out here in the west,” he said. “The boats from Stomme gave us some information, but nothing beyond the East Orismund border. Steeth could be demolished and the Kept Lands sunk into the ocean for all we’d know. What I’d give to be in Trivika right now, and have access to their ancient archives. Have they any other names from the distant past? If there are multiple void-dragons, and they walk the Cradle… what are the theological ramifications? Where did they come from? What is their goal? Are the stories correct, and do they seek to banish the stars and swallow the light of the First Soul?”

  Adria stood from a chair and clasped his hands in hers.

  “Do not wear down your heart asking questions you cannot possibly have answers for,” she said. “It’s only been a few weeks. Give it time. Londheim still stands, and I bet the other great cities do as well.”

  He smiled up at her.

  “Let us both pray you are correct.” The old man leaned on his cane and rose to his feet. “Oh, and before I forget, I have officially relieved you of your duty in Low Dock church. The work your prayers perform is much more important than researching and writing a few sermons and applying ointments to old men’s bones. I’ve also prepared you a room in the Soft Voice, just in case you cannot find peace and quiet in your old room at the church.”

  “Thank you, Vikar,” Adria said, uncertain of how to feel. The Soft Voice was a bell tower dedicated to the Mindkeepers in the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother, reserved for teachers, their students, and those who served directly under the Vikar himself. “Has Sena been informed of these planned changes?”

  “She has.”

  Adria bowed in appreciation.

  “I will think this over,” she said. She didn’t want to abandon Sena, and she had every intention of remaining in Low Dock to help those in need, but it was nice knowing she had a place to flee to when the work overwhelmed her and the prayers drained her strength down to nothing.

  Thaddeus said his good-byes and retreated from her private corner, leaving Adria standing before her chair feeling adrift and uncertain. Restlessness itched at her limbs despite her exhaustion. Her Vikar’s new discoveries had awakened her curiosity, and it drove her mad that there appeared no way for her to research into it further without exhaustive scouring through old documents and letters. If only so much of the earliest history of Unified Orismund had not been lost to the ages. What she’d give for five minutes with a historian of the time, or�
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  “Goddesses above, I’m an idiot,” she muttered. She did know someone who’d lived at the time, even if she’d not interacted with her much. Adria rushed out of the archive and to the streets, not bothering to retrieve gloves or a scarf for her trip despite the deep chill in the air.

  By the time she arrived at Devin’s house, the first light flakes of snow had begun to fall. She knocked impatiently at the door and was surprised when Tommy, not Devin, answered.

  “Oh, hey,” Tommy said. “Come on in. Devin’s still asleep, if that’s who you’re here for. So’s Jacaranda. Not together, of course, I didn’t mean to, you know. Imply stuff.”

  Adria shut the door behind her and, after a moment’s hesitation, removed the mask and pocketed it. She was among friends and family. If she couldn’t be herself here, then the mask might as well be a permanent tattoo.

  “I thought you’d moved into the Wise tower?” Adria asked, gently shifting the focus of the conversation so he’d stop blushing.

  “Yeah, well…” Tommy plopped down into the chair beside the fireplace and kicked his heels to get it rocking. “Malik and I, we had some issues regarding our research and I, uh, did not handle it well. I decided to come over here for a few hours while I cooled down.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked. “I can even put my mask on if it helps.”

  Tommy shook his head and laughed.

  “Nah. It’s fine, Addy, I promise. We’re dealing with some pretty powerful and ancient stuff, so we’re bound to disagree on its uses and interpretations. I just needed a relaxing environment and some good wine to put myself back together. Thankfully I’ve got plenty of both here!” He reached down to a metal goblet on the floor beside the chair, then glared at its lack of contents. “Well, plenty of the first, anyway. Be right back.”

  He hopped up and sauntered into the kitchen. Cabinet doors smacked open and closed, and she heard the rattle of silverware.