They had two days of clear, beautiful autumn weather, where even the brambly trees seemed less intent on strangling them. Hodestis chattered like a chipmunk the whole time, telling stories of his life and his beloved Dalessa, who in his tales was a cross between an innocent maiden and a magician more talented even than he.
“I studied magic so I would become worthy of her,” he said as they sat around the fire the second night. “She understands so much more than I do, it’s no wonder she’s never even looked my way. Well, that’s not entirely true. She thanked me once.”
“What did you do?” Piercy asked.
“I discovered a way to use a command word that made one of her spells work better. I was so happy she noticed me I didn’t even care that she tested the spell on me and I thought I was a frog for about three hours. It was worth it.”
“You are in love with a woman who turned you into a frog,” Ayane said, covering her mouth to hide a smile.
“I only thought I was a frog. You can’t actually…” Hodestis trailed off and stared at the fire. “Actually, I suppose you could. But it would be messy, and you wouldn’t be able to turn them back. I suppose it would be wrong to try.”
“I feel a profound gratitude that you have some measure of good sense,” Piercy said, trying not to picture “messy.” “So you have no hope at all of winning your lady’s affections?”
“I only care that she lives. But I do hope—I try not to think about this, because I don’t want to get my hopes up—I hope she’ll appreciate my having done all this for her. The spells I’ve had to work to do it, I mean. No one’s built even a temporary place of power in over seven hundred years. That has to impress her.”
“Women do not always wish to be impressed,” Ayane said. “Sometimes they wish to be respected.”
“I respect her,” Hodestis said in an injured tone. “I’d never treat her poorly. She is an angel and deserving of the highest honor.”
“She is still a person,” Ayane said, “and not perfect. But I suppose neither of you understand it is an insult to compare a woman to such.”
“I don’t get it,” Hodestis said.
“Women may be beautiful, brilliant, independent, and in every way exceptional, but they are as human as anyone,” Piercy said. “To say a woman is perfect is to deny her the flaws that make her truly extraordinary.”
“I would not have thought someone like you would understand that,” Ayane said, but in a bemused tone, without rancor.
“Someone like me?”
“Someone whose interactions with women are so impermanent.”
“My courtships are short-lived, I’ll grant you, but sincere nonetheless. And it’s true I have had success in charming the fairer sex, but that experience is why I do understand.”
“You make it sound like it’s your job to make women love you,” Hodestis said.
“Hardly that. I simply enjoy the company of women and find pleasure in making them happy.”
“I wish I knew how to do that. I never know what to say.” Hodestis tossed a twig at the fire, then sat up straight, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “You could teach me!”
“Ah…” Piercy looked at Ayane for support, but she had her hand over her mouth again and her eyes were amused. “I don’t know that it’s teachable.”
“Come, does not the master wish to take a student?” Ayane said.
“Not really, no.”
“But it could be so helpful! Please. I’ll do anything if it would win Dalessa’s heart.”
Piercy’s mind went blank. It wasn’t as if he made a plan of attack before setting out to court a woman. “Every woman has her own kind of beauty,” he said. “Show her what you see. Listen to what she says. Discover what she cares about and develop an interest in those things, but a true interest, not pretense. You should understand who she is. Be confident, but not arrogant. Women—everyone, really—respond well to confidence.”
He was all too aware of Ayane’s laughing eyes on him. Was she comparing this list to the calculated seduction he’d tried on her the night of the ball? “And…never lie to a woman you want to see more than once.”
“I wish I could write this down,” Hodestis said with a sigh. “I’ve never even kissed a woman. How do I do that?”
Now Piercy was certain his face was flaming, and he could not bring himself to look in Ayane’s direction. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to elaborate on such a topic,” he said, and heard Ayane snort behind her hand. “But in my experience, when the moment is right, you will have nothing to fear.”
“Oh, I don’t dare to even think of that,” Hodestis said. “I would be content for Dalessa to smile at me.” He stood and stretched. “Thank you for the help, Mr. Faranter.”
“You’ve given a lot of thought to what you told him,” Ayane said in Santerran when Hodestis disappeared into his tent. “But then I suppose you’ve had plenty of time to develop your philosophy.”
Stung, Piercy said, “I have never been less than sincere with any woman. And while it is true I have had many courtships, I would like to think both I and the women involved were the better for them.”
“Sincere, except with me.”
“In that instance I allowed my pride to interfere with my good sense. I apologize.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Piercy sighed. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, especially since they’d been getting along so well since the bandit attack. “When I realized you were trying to charm me, I became moderately offended at having my tactics turned on me and made a concerted effort to win your affections out of pique. I should never have done so and I am, frankly, ashamed of myself. Again, I hope you will accept my apology.”
“But I—”Ayane began, then poked the fire. “Of course, I was just trying to distract you so you wouldn’t suspect me. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Despite himself, he felt cold. “I understand,” he said. “Do you suppose we can manage a friendship despite both our…errors?”
“I suppose so.” She poked the fire harder. “The differences between our governments seem less important here in the past.”
“I do not believe those differences are as great as one might think. Dalanine wishes cordial relations with Santerre.”
“Now they do. Where were they seven years ago?”
“Holding me accountable for my government’s egregious failings is rather like blaming a child for its murderous parent. Seven years ago I was a rather junior member of Home Defense, doing little more than running errands and collating reports.”
“I didn’t blame you.”
“But you still see me as a representative of the government that failed your country so badly.”
She threw the stick into the fire. “I’m trying not to. But seven years ago I was at school with Jendaya when my father came for us all in the night, bringing the news that the king was dead and the Despot would come after us next. It’s not an easy thing to forget.”
“I wish I could say I understand, if it would ease your burden, but we both know that is untrue. Did your father teach you your myriad skills?”
“Most of them, yes. He never wanted me to be helpless. I don’t think he’s a typical father, what with sending me into mortal danger so often. I was with him at Dukwetha when we rescued two hundred and fourteen prisoners, and he left me behind to oversee the last of the escapees. I was almost killed. When I confronted him about abandoning me, his only child, he said, ‘I don’t count my life as any more valuable than theirs. I suggest you do the same.’ I’ve often wondered if his attitude would’ve been different if my mother had lived, but honestly, he probably would have pushed her into training too.”
“I’m sorry about your mother. What happened? Or is that too personal a question?”
“She died of illness when I was five. My father chose not to remarry. I have only a few memories of her, that and what my father tells me. He’s never been afraid to talk about her.”
“I am filled with stunned amazement that I am sitting here talking to Kinfe Sethemba’s daughter. Do people treat you differently for being his child?”
“Sometimes. I’m rather in his shadow, but in truth, I like it. It suits me to be underestimated.”
“I promise never to underestimate you. Again.”
Ayane grinned. “And I promise you the same. You’re definitely not the man you seem to be.” She stood and stretched much as Hodestis had done. “Good night, Piercy, and…” The laughter was back in her eyes. “Much as I didn’t like your attempts to charm me, I can certainly see why so many women do.”
She ducked into her tent before he could overcome his shock enough to reply. What in Cath’s five hells was that supposed to mean? He wasn’t even sure it was a compliment. Despite what he’d said to Hodestis, he didn’t think women were simple to understand, Ayane being a prime example. Just as well he wasn’t trying to charm her anymore.
He banked the fire and settled in for his watch. They’d been in the past only five days and already his old life seemed like something he’d dreamed once and then forgotten. Did time pass at the same rate in his own time, or would they return moments after they’d left? Something to ask Hodestis in the morning. He’d been going to take Marina Smittis to the opera that night; maybe he still could. She was beautiful, and had a lovely laugh, and she was…well, a little featherbrained, true, and liked to hold his arm as if staking a claim to it. He found himself hoping he’d missed their engagement after all.
The next morning started cloudy and gray, casting a gloom over all three of them even a hot breakfast couldn’t dispel. Even the horses were affected, nipping at the grass half-heartedly and taking several minutes to chew each mouthful. It took Piercy some effort to convince the bay to step out smartly, and the horse persisted in slacking its gait until it slowed to a point that Piercy had to snap the reins vigorously to change its mind. Coming out of the forest into a wide, barren moorland did nothing to improve anyone’s spirits.
Then it began to rain.
It started as a persistent drizzle that seeped into clothes and under hat brims and ruined one sack of oats before Hodestis realized what was happening. They tried to cover the supplies with the ground cloths, but that was only mostly successful. Piercy drove hunched over, unable to decide whether it made more sense to wear his hat pulled forward to shield his face, or tilted backward so the rain wouldn’t go down his coat collar. He cast his eye at the clouds and wished he knew enough to tell when the storm would be over. “Ayane,” he said, “will we be forced to endure this storm much longer?”
“I think it will become worse before it is better,” she said.
Piercy cursed. “I hold you entirely accountable for the weather,” he told Hodestis.
“Why me? I can’t control the weather. Or…no, that really is impossible.”
“Were it not for you, I would not currently be bathing in a rather cold shower that will no doubt cause me to catch some sort of virulent disease. And as our plan requires one of us to be ill, I can only conclude you wished to add verisimilitude to the ruse and spare yourself the trouble of a spell. Your evil cleverness in deceiving us knows no limit.”
“I’m not deceiving you! Wait…you’re joking, yes?”
“I would call it black humor with a soupçon of gentle hyperbole, but yes.”
“That’s a relief. I really don’t think I should be blamed for the weather.”
“We may need to camp soon,” Ayane said, tilting her head to look at the sky with her eyes shaded against the raindrops. “There is no shelter here. I worry for the horses.”
The rain fell harder as the day progressed. At just before noon, the road ended abruptly, leaving no sign that anyone had ever passed this direction before. Two hours later Ayane insisted they camp for the night, ignoring Hodestis’s frantic insistence that they didn’t have time to spare. “We will make no more progress today,” she said, “and we will lose time if the horses founder. We must care for them.”
They found a place on the moorland where a couple of spindly trees grew, and Ayane directed the men in setting up a shelter that would protect the horses and the wagon. It came, unfortunately, at the cost of giving up the ground cloths. They slept damp on the short, matted heather, gray and prickly, that covered most of the moor where it was not bare, pale clay. Piercy stood his watch chewing on a piece of hard dried meat that felt as if it were grinding his molars to powder, cursing Hodestis. Why couldn’t the man have fallen in love with someone accessible? Someone not so incredibly hard to impress?
The rain didn’t let up until noon the following day, at which point Hodestis was almost manic in his urgency to get them back on the road, not that there was one. “This is the seventh day,” he said, punctuating his exclamation by holding up seven fingers as he had the last hundred, or possibly the last thousand, times he’d said it. “If we’re not there by tomorrow, it will be too late!”
“Unless you are capable of changing the laws of nature—no, pray do not tell me whether or not that is possible—we will arrive at exactly the time dictated by the light and the terrain,” Piercy said. His temper was wearing thin around the edges. He had a feeling Ayane felt the same way, based on how her lips thinned in a scowl every time Hodestis went off on another rant.
“But—”
“Be silent or I will make you walk, even if it delays us,” Ayane said. Hodestis shut his mouth and climbed into the wagon. Piercy mounted the seat and flicked the reins. Despite his annoyance, he was somewhat worried himself. He didn’t care if Hodestis found his magic necklace—all right, he cared a little, it was hard not to feel some sympathy for the little man—but what would he do if the monastery were overrun before they could retrieve it? Insist on tracking down the marauding Welkennish warrior and stealing it from him? Almost certainly. And he would drag Piercy and Ayane along with him.
Piercy snapped the reins and the horse moved out more quickly. According to Hodestis’s map and Ayane’s excellent sense of direction, the monastery was several more miles up the road. It was too bad they didn’t have time to take advantage of the ascetics’ sanctuary; he really wanted a warm bed and some dry clothes, if only for a few hours.
Hours passed with no sign of anything but the bleak gray moors and the occasional scraggly tree. Even the birds had deserted this patch of Dalanine, though it was unlikely anyone living out here would care about country borders. The mountains reared up in the distance, great black blotches against the gray sky, Dalanine’s true border, and Piercy fixed his eyes on them for lack of anything better to look at.
The Welkennish Incursion had likely already begun, if the kinship band were to reach this monastery some twenty-four hours from now. He tried to picture it, the Welkennish spilling through a narrow gap in the mountains on their shaggy mountain ponies, so incongruous next to the hulking men in poorly tanned animal hides and irregular bits of leather armor. Welkennar was a hard land, and it bred a hard people, though they weren’t generally warlike; the Incursion truly had been a surprise to both countries.
“It’s almost sunset,” Hodestis said. He was sitting next to Piercy and had his solto spexa lens pressed almost against his right eye. “We’ll be too late. If we have to wait all night to steal the necklace, and the Welkennish come—”
“I would tell you to stop borrowing trouble, but in your case you would have to stop plundering, ransacking, looting, and making off with trouble in a large sack while it struggled for freedom,” Piercy said. “I think it is time for you to cast whatever spells will make you ill, and lie down in the back. You’re certain the ascetics won’t be able to simply cure you immediately?”
“No, I’m not sure,” Hodestis said, climbing over the seat, “but if they do, I’ll still be so weak we’ll be justified in asking for shelter for a day. So you’ll have time to do whatever you intend to do.”
“Yes, what do we intend to do? I don’t think we ever decided who was to distract and who to steal,” Piercy said to Ayane, who guided her horse closer to the wagon. Behind him, Hodestis was murmuring softly enough Piercy couldn’t make out the command words.
“I know the way the monastery is built, and you have the silver tongue, so I should steal and you should distract.”
“And I think you should once again be a princess traveling with your tutor and your bodyguard, as we do not wish to present you as an evil magician.”
“According to the map, there is a city about four miles north of here called Kemelen. We could be traveling there and have lost our way. I think that is believable.”
“Agreed. I sincerely hope the God will know we mean him no disrespect.” Piercy urged the horse faster. “I admit to a certain amount of trepidation about how rapidly nightfall is approaching.”
“We will just have to be especially convincing and cunning,” Ayane said.
“Or we could wait for sunrise and mitigate the risk.”
“Do you have no bravery in your soul?”
“Do you have no common sense in yours?”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Hodestis said, and leaned far over the side of the wagon, retching and gagging. The smell of vomit tinged the air and was then swept away by a chill breeze. Hodestis leaned back on one of the grain sacks and wiped his forehead, which had gone sweaty. His fair skin was tinged with green around his mouth and his hands were shaking.
“That is an extremely effective spell,” Piercy said.
“I know. It looks worse than it is.”
“It looks terrible,” said Ayane. “We should not allow him to suffer longer than he must,” she told Piercy.
“We will only have one chance at this. I am not averse to taking risks, but there is no reason to take unnecessary ones. Let us see where we stand when we enter the monastery, and plan further then.”
“Agreed,” Ayane said, though she was still scowling. Then she pointed at a dark blotch against the mountainous background, and said, “There it is.”
Another thirty minutes brought them to the door of the monastery, just as the sun dipped below the distant horizon. Ayane’s description had led Piercy to expect a low, flat-roofed building somewhat higher in the center. Instead, a collection of spires of varying, asymmetrical heights much like the ones on Cath’s temple in Belicath rose from the roof, stark black and reflecting not even the little light from the sunset. The walls were windowless and inclined slightly outward, giving the impression that the weight of the spires was pressing down so hard on the pentagon’s base it was bowing outward.
The spires, and the blackness, combined with the emptiness of the moors surrounding them, made Piercy think of some ancient prison, confining the worst criminals the world had ever seen. The front door was a pair of steel-barred blackwood doors that nearly reached the first roofs and looked to Piercy as if they hadn’t moved in a century, and then only to admit more vicious prisoners. It was fortunate it wasn’t a prison, because Piercy was having trouble coming up with ways to enter it that didn’t involve being asked in by the forbidding front door.
In the center of the monastery, a spire taller and fatter than the others rose high above the moorlands. Glass windows near its point winked at them in the last of the sunlight. “I did not realize that was what you meant by ‘second story,’” Piercy said to Ayane, who was staring up at it with the complete lack of expression Piercy now knew meant she was thinking hard.
“It is not,” she replied. “This is not how they build them in our day. And who knows how old this monastery is? But it does not change anything, except that we cannot guarantee the necklace is in that room. It is still the first place I will look.”
Hodestis groaned, then sat up quickly to vomit again. “I suggest we knock,” Piercy said, and climbed down from the wagon to do so. Rapping his knuckles against the hard, thick wood seemed pointless, and there was no knocker, so in the end he whacked the door a few times with the hawk head of his stick and stepped back to wait. The wind hooting across the moorlands as it flew toward the distant mountains and the sound of Hodestis retching again were all that broke the silence. Piercy looked at Ayane, who’d put the hood of the velvet cloak up against the persistent wind. She shrugged. Piercy knocked again. “I would almost believe this place is inhabited only by ghosts, were it not for Mr. Hodestis’s extensive research,” he said.
A sharp crack came from the door, startling both of them. A line Piercy had believed to be part of the door’s grain widened, revealing a much smaller door set into the forbidding black one. Piercy took a step back to avoid it and put on a winning smile which faltered when the woman opening the door didn’t look up at him. She blended in well with her surroundings, in her black gown with sleeves that fell over her hands and her black hood and cowl that concealed her face. “You have need?” she said in a surprisingly intelligible accent. She sounded unexpectedly young.
“Our companion is ill and we ask shelter for the night,” Piercy said.
“Wait here,” the woman said and disappeared, leaving the door open. Piercy took a few furtive steps forward, but couldn’t see past the threshold however he craned his head. A minute later, the woman reappeared with a man and another woman, identically clothed down to the concealing cowl. “Welcome,” the first woman said. “Enter and be sheltered by the God’s all-encompassing hand.”
Piercy and Ayane helped Hodestis out of the wagon and into the hands of the man, who was taller even than Piercy and lifted Hodestis into his arms with ease. The women took the reins of the horses and led them away. “We will care for them,” the first woman said when Piercy began to protest. “Go in and rest. There is nothing to fear in Cath’s place.”
Piercy stepped back to allow Ayane to enter first, then had to duck his head to pass through the small door. Beyond that was a short passage, no more than fifteen feet long, built of black palm-sized bricks that gleamed as if they were damp. It opened on a corridor with walls of the same unsettling bricks that extended out of sight in both directions, its roof supported by arches like a series of open mouths . It was wide enough they could comfortably drive the wagon down the middle of it, assuming it could fit through the door. The walls weren’t the matte black of the foreboding spires, but the lack of windows and the scant light coming from the tiny torches along the walls made it feel cave-like, damp and chill and smelling of fungus.
Piercy removed his hat and waited a few seconds. Once his eyes had fully adjusted to the dimness, he scrambled to catch up to Ayane and the giant ascetic cradling Hodestis in his arms like a limp long-limbed baby. He passed a closed door, then another, then the giant put Hodestis over his shoulder as if he were an actual baby and opened a door on the left.
“Here,” he said, his tenor voice flattened by the stones of the wall. Piercy and Ayane followed him into the room, which had a pair of ordinary beds—Piercy had been half-expecting mats on the floor and no pillows—and a cupboard and no other furnishings. The rug, surprisingly, was quite colorful and looked entirely out of place against the plainness of the furniture.
The man laid Hodestis gently on the bed and straightened his limbs. His hands were large and hairy, but he felt behind Hodestis’s ears and peered at his eyes and down his throat with unexpected delicacy. “How long has he been ill?” he asked. He, too, spoke clearly enough that it was easy for Piercy to understand him.
“He took ill about four hours ago,” Piercy said. “We were headed to Kemelen, but I think we’ve lost our way.”
“You are not so far off,” the man said. “Wait here, please.”
Once he was gone, and the door was shut behind him, Ayane said, “That is one step taken successfully.”
“Will you be able to find the necklace?” Hodestis whispered. He looked greener than before in the dim light of the torch on the back wall.
“Of course,” Piercy said. “We will just wait until sunrise—”
“If we wait until sunrise, and they have cured Mr. Hodestis, they will expect us to leave,” Ayane said. “We must act now.”
“There is a much greater risk with the monastery awake. We can invent a reason not to leave immediately. Mr. Hodestis might cast another spell on himself.”
“I don’t want to be sick again,” Hodestis said. “I didn’t realize it would be this miserable.”
“Do you trust in my abilities or not?” Ayane demanded.
Piercy sighed. “Very well. I shall express a desire to worship with the ascetics and keep them preoccupied answering my questions. Return here with the necklace and we will simply walk out of this monastery in the morning. Unless you are spotted, in which case we will flee into the night and pray we are not struck down by the God.”
“I will not be spotted,” said Ayane. At that moment the large man entered the room bearing a tarnished silver cup.
“Help him sit, please,” he said. Piercy knelt beside the bed and helped Hodestis into a sitting position. The man guided the cup to his lips, said, “You must drink it all,” and Hodestis swallowed, gagged, and managed to down the contents without spilling more than a few drops down his chin. The ascetic mopped Hodestis’s face with his sleeve, not showing any disgust at doing so, not that Piercy could see beyond his hood.
“He will sleep now,” he said, once Piercy had helped Hodestis lie down again. “You may stay with him, and we will find the lady a room.”
“Our thanks,” Piercy said, “but if you don’t mind, I would like to join in worship tonight. We have been far—”
The big man gasped and stumbled backward, pointing. Piercy turned to see Ayane had lowered her hood and was looking at the man in some puzzlement. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
The light from the torch illuminated the man’s face. He was heavily bearded and his eyes were wide with shock. “You!” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You have come!”
“I do not understand,” Ayane said. “Who do you think I am?”
The man’s hand was shaking. “The one foretold,” he said. “You are Cath’s prophet. You are our doom.”