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MOUNTAINS WILL SHAKE, belching their guts to the sky and sending shards of earth and fire to the corners of the land. The skies will swim with ships and beasts, and men shall claim the heavens as their domain.
—excerpt from Testament of the Augur
* * *
ONIN LOST TRACK OF the days as he slipped in and out of consciousness. The lack of sunlight in the underbelly would have made tracking the passage of time impossible, even if he remained awake. Whenever he awoke, the old woman cared for his hunger and thirst. She tended his wounds, changed his dressings, fed him broth or held a waterskin to his lips, all while talking to herself. In the time he spent with her, she never seemed to notice his presence or talk to him directly; her conversation was reserved for herself, and she talked about him in a most unusual fashion. Despite her seemingly unhinged mind, she proved an attentive nurse and competent healer, and Onin grew stronger day by day.
"How did I get here?" he asked one day after being fed a salty stew.
"He acts like he doesn’t know where he came from," said the old woman. "Doesn’t he know he had a mother, just like the rest of us?" The old woman giggled. Onin began to respond, but she continued to speak over him.
"That’s not what he means. Of course it isn’t, but the answer to his question would make no sense to him. Ignorance is better than confidence built on incomplete knowledge."
Onin wondered about that last statement. It reminded him of lessons from Teacher Doren at Scaleback Academy. However, his fatigue and lack of success with questioning the strange old woman kept him from pressing for more.
Unable to move due to his wounds and fever, Onin was unable to see to his most basic needs. He was helpless as an infant, but the old woman never fussed. Each day she removed his soiled bedding, and hand-bathed him with wet rags. He vaguely wondered where and how she cleaned the furs he slept upon.
Onin had the dream frequently while under the hag’s care. The details were more vivid than ever before, and they haunted his waking hours as well as his sleep. With each iteration, the same images were reinforced—the egg, the eyes, and the shield—but the meaning remained obscured from him. It always ended the same, with an infant floating downstream in a bed of reeds shaped like a shield, the same shield symbol that grew on the shell of the egg.
"The shield is the tool and the conveyance," said the crone. Onin started at the sound of her voice. She seemed to hear his thoughts and offered her own commentary on them. "It is the purpose of the shield to protect that which hides behind it, but that is not the only use it can be put to. The river guides but the shield floats."
"Where does the river guide me?" asked Onin. Her words were starting to make sense, which terrified him. He wondered if he would eventually forget his life under the open sky, his friends and family, and would live out the rest of his days here, trading nonsense with a babbling hag. He could not push aside the power the dreams had over him, however, and listened raptly to her for any snippet to help him make sense of it all.
"He knows it is him floating on the river. It is some progress," said the crone. "I don’t know about that. The gods do not require us to understand our purpose in order to fulfill it. To seek meaning can interfere with doing what comes naturally. To act in ignorance can lead us astray." Onin never knew what to make of her apparent contradictions. They seemed to make perfect sense to her.
"Where does the river guide me?"
"Wherever the river goes, of course! How else does a river work?" she replied. It was rare when she would respond to him at all, let alone directly answer a question. Still, he was aggravated that even her direct answers were of terribly little help.
The day finally came when Onin felt strong enough to stand on his own two feet. Unsteady at first, he held the walls for balance, but it felt good to have some control over his own movements. His wounds were sore and painful but restricted him less than he’d feared.
The old crone appeared in the doorway to the room. She held a bundle in her arms and thrust it into his hands without a word. He opened the dirty old satchel to find a round of cheese and some stale bread inside.
"What is this for?" he asked her.
She looked at him directly, meeting his gaze for the first time. "You leave today, protector," said the old woman. "Your time with us is over."
She squatted down with a groan of effort and rummaged through a pile of furs and clothing. She arose a moment later with Onin’s sheathed sword in her hand. The old woman looked at him with mischief in her eyes.
"If you remember nothing else from your stay here, heed this advice," she said solemnly. "Don’t get shot with arrows."
* * *
SENSI RUSHED ALONG the corridors, his mind juggling a long list of tasks to be accomplished. The short, pale, fat man sweated, waddling as fast as his feet would carry him. He dreadfully feared forgetting a task. He’d have made a list had all of them been legal.
These other activities had begun to leave Sensi feeling uneasy. He wanted to see the twins, Lornavus and Altavus. He hesitated, however, because he knew they didn’t like to be bothered too often; they considered it a sign of incompetence. Recent news provided sufficient reason to break the ban. A Guardsman missing in the underbelly for some weeks returned alive, against all odds.
Sensi entered the new office they occupied after being admitted by the Guardsman at the door. The twins must have risen quickly and substantially in the king’s service to warrant a personal Guardsman. Despite his current unease, Sensi took it as a sign that his instincts were accurate and attaching himself to the twins had been a good move on his part. With no family of prominence, at least not any who would recognize him, Sensi made what friends he could in the world. The twins ended up being worth the investment.
When he entered the room, Sensi saw only one of the twins sat at the desk, scribbling notes while going through a stack of papers. The twin, as ever, appeared thin, almost underfed. Sensi looked carefully into the man’s eyes and, for the first time since he had known them, wasn’t sure which one he talked to.
"Lornavus?" asked Sensi, his tone tentative.
"Yes," said the twin. Sensi detected a slight pause before the response. Was it a lie?
"I’ve news you want to hear," said Sensi. His tone was even, though he was still slightly out of breath. "The Guardsman who disappeared into the underbelly has returned."
The twin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "The small one? Rabbash?"
"No," said Sensi, shaking his head. "One named Onin. He was part of the search party from three weeks ago. They went into the underbelly seeking Rabbash. He was presumed dead, along with the watchman. Now he’s been found near the surface by the watch and sent to his home after thorough questioning."
"How did he survive? According to the accounts of the other two, the oaf was wounded in battle and they were forced to leave him behind." The twin obviously remembered the search party. Sensi was fairly certain he had talked to Lornavus at the time as well, but it meant nothing. One twin could have informed the other by now.
"By his own account, some old crazy woman nursed him back to health and then turned him loose to make his escape," said Sensi. "Some of the townsfolk are saying she must have been the Hag." Sensi openly scoffed at the notion, but Lornavus did not. "What, that old folktale? Parents scare their children into behaving with stories of the Hag."
"There is more to our myths than you would believe," said the twin. "And more yet to come." Sensi didn’t know how to respond to the notion. The twins were often enigmatic. Sensi decided it was an opportune time to broach the other topic on his mind.
"There was something I wanted to discuss—" he began but Lornavus interrupted.
"What did he tell the watch?" said Lornavus. "Does he have any knowledge as to why his group was attacked?"
"He seems to know nothing," said Sensi. He was a little testy at the rude treatment but tried to keep it from his tone. "He doesn’t even remember how he came to be at the old woman’s dwelling. My information comes from the watchmen who questioned him."
"Interesting. Keep me informed of further developments," said Lornavus. "What is it you want to discuss?"
Sensi hesitated to bring it up, but he swallowed hard and began, "It is the Order of Unknowns. I am becoming a little unsettled by recent changes to the organization."
Lornavus arched an eyebrow, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. "Tell me more," he replied smoothly. Sensi could always tell when he was being worked, whichever twin it was; the voice always became as smooth as the finest cream.
"It was rather loose and, frankly, a bit silly in the beginning," said Sensi. He smiled nervously. "Responsible adults sneaking around with masks and robes, gathering in secret to discuss radical social ideas. Usually good fun and harmless enough. Recently, though, it's been much more serious. Perhaps even a touch militant."
"This causes you concern?" said the twin. "I did not take you for a timid one at heart."
"I’m not, really," said Sensi. He spread his hands in supplication. "But I don’t know what’s going on, and that makes me nervous. The order was almost like a game when we joined. Now it is organizing into something with a serious message. A violent, revolutionary message. To what purpose?"
"The same purpose the order has always been dedicated to," said the twin with surprising conviction. "Saving our civilization from the rule of superstitious nonsense. The priests and the temples have lied to us for countless generations."
"So the order intends to bring down the temples of the gods?" said Sensi. "That’s a lofty ambition indeed. Might as well rearrange the heavens than oppose the gods."
"You are wrong, Sensi," said Lornavus. The twins almost never called him by name, and it made him snap to attention. "The ancient founders were not the gods the temples and Great Families claim them to be. They were simply men and women, flesh and blood, same as anyone else. There was nothing divine about them, nor is there anything divine about their descendants." Such openly defiant talk would earn serious responses from the Great Families. The many temples of the Heights and the lineage of kings and successors were founded on the one principle: the Great Families comprised the descendants of the gods who created the city thousands of years ago. To challenge that notion was to challenge the basis of the king’s dominion.
"So this is the truth behind the order, a revolution against the temples?" said Sensi. "That's madness and would end with blood in the streets. It's the only way it can all end."
"Of course," said Lornavus. "But we do not mean now. The time for action is coming, but there is much to be done before the time is ripe. You want to be on the right side of things when it happens, I promise you." The twin’s gaze turned cold.
"Yes," said Sensi. He swallowed, nervous. "I do."
* * *
ONIN CROSSED THE THRESHOLD of Manespike Manor, greeted by Howle. He had never been so glad to see the steward and gratefully accepted the goblet of wine offered. The entire household buzzed with news of his return; apparently word had reached here before he could.
"Welcome home, m’lord," intoned Howle. His attitude was casual, as though Onin had been gone an afternoon, not several weeks. The man seemed capable of maintaining his composure no matter what the circumstances might be.
"Thank you, Howle," said Onin with genuine warmth in his voice. One of the serving girls approached and offered a washing bowl. Onin washed his hands and splashed his face. The water became murky as the grime washed away.
"Her ladyship has been informed of your return," said the steward. "Will you be going to her straight away?"
Onin looked down at his dirty, ragged clothes. "No, not like this," said Onin. "I will bathe first. Have some fresh clothes brought to me, and burn these rags afterward. Also, send a messenger to my fellow Guardsmen Hangric and Fargin."
Howle bowed slightly and departed. Onin, in turn, went straight to the bathing chamber. One of the extravagances of life in the Heights that Onin appreciated was the hot baths. Whether from a naturally heated spring or some clever arrangement of furnaces and pipes, most manors of the Great Families boasted a bath that was always heated. The wealthiest families even had separate bathing chambers for the servants.
Onin welcomed the cloud of steam. Warmth seeped deep inside his bones, and he settled down into the hot water with a contented sigh. He scrubbed vigorously, trying to rid himself of the clinging filth and rude stench of the underbelly. Onin sincerely hoped he would never have to return to the horrid depths.
Drowsiness must have claimed Onin, for he awoke with a mild start a short time later. In a dreamlike state, his mind had wandered to his wife, and he wondered why she hadn’t come to him yet. Had she even missed him, to be so casual about his return? He felt taken for granted and considered retiring to his own chambers straight away but then thought better of it. With reluctance, he rose from the scented waters and toweled himself dry before seeking her out.
Onin found her in her own chambers, attended by her usual gaggle of servants, including the muscular fan-bearer who invariably fanned Yolan while she lounged. Onin felt a stab of jealousy; this servant seemed to spend far more time in his wife’s company than he did. He pushed the thought away as unreasonable; after all, Onin was not always home, and the servant had no choice in the matter. At times, Onin wondered if he would even want to spend that much time in the same place as Yolan. She was difficult on the best of days and a terror on the worst.
"Husband!" exclaimed Yolan. She sounded sincerely happy to see him but made no effort to rise from her divan. "I was afraid you had run back to the Midlands." Her serving girls giggled at her comment. Onin thought he even detected a smirk on the face of the normally stoic fan-bearer.
"Your humor in the face of my absence is a testament to your concern," said Onin. He mustered all the sarcasm at his command. "You do realize I’ve been missing for some weeks?"
Yolan looked cross with him. "No doubt in the bed of some whore!" she spit in reply. "I’m sure you were off doing whatever it is you Guardsmen do with your time. Drinking, womanizing, and whatnot. It’s a surprise you made it home at all."
Onin felt his face flush with anger. She could be nonchalant about his return, but to accuse him of disappearing to indulge his basest instincts crossed the line.
"I was wounded while looking for Rabbash," he said hotly. "You know it to be true!"
"But I don’t!" she screamed. "I know what you tell me, but how do I know it’s true? For all I know, when you leave here, it is to leap into the arms of another woman. I notice you don’t visit my chambers very often."
"Because I’m unwelcome!" screamed Onin. The situation quickly escalated into something quite different from the happy reunion he envisioned. "I don’t like to come to you. I feel like a beggar asking for scraps, and you act so generous for gifting me with your favors. Well, you can keep your attitude and your favors!"
Onin stormed from her bedchamber, slamming the door behind himself. Yolan’s shrill voice chased after him, but he ignored her words.