“I’m sorry,” he said with genuine sympathy. “I didn’t know.”
“He … he took good care of me, you know. He wasn’t like some of the others.”
The ones Ranalee gave you to, he thought coldly.
“Anyway,” she continued, “he’s been making provisions for me. His house in Horrod Lane goes to his eldest son, Timath, of course. I wouldn’t want it otherwise. But there are goods which are quite valuable, goods he bought with money he earned himself. Garnfal has left me these in his will.”
“The family doesn’t want you to have them?”
“Some of it they don’t mind. But there is some land in Ivecove; that’s a fishing village four miles north of the city. A cottage in a large patch of ground. Garnfal enjoyed the gardens; he said you could never have a proper garden in the city. We stayed there every summer. Then last autumn, a merchant approached him, offering to buy the land so he could build an inn there instead. He said it was to accommodate all the people coming to accept the guidance of the Skylords. Until now, Garnfal has refused.”
“And this is what Timath objects to?”
“Yes. Garnfal has given me his blessing to sell the cottage once he is dead, which will bring in an exceptional price. Timath has already engaged a lawyer to contest the will. He claims that the true price of the cottage is not reflected in Garnfal’s accounts, that I am defrauding the family. He calls himself and his siblings Garnfal’s true family.”
“I see.” Both your problem and Timath’s view of this. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I hoped you might talk to Timath, make him see that I am not some fastfox bitch who has bewitched his father, that I love Garnfal.”
Edeard puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled a long breath. “Salrana …”
“I’m not! Edeard, whatever you think of me, you must know that in this I have free will. I chose Garnfal for myself, by myself. Please, you must believe me. To be stripped of what is rightfully mine by a jealous, work-shy son cannot be the justice you seek for everyone.”
“Honious,” he said weakly. “You should have been a lawyer.”
“Timath has engaged Master Cherix.” She shrugged and gave him a timid smile. “If that makes any difference.”
Edeard let out a groan of defeat and tipped his head back to gaze at the high curving ceiling. “I will speak to the Grand Master of the Lawyers Guild, ask him if he can arbitrate a settlement between you and Timath.”
“Thank you, Waterwalker.”
“I think to you I am still Edeard.”
Salrana rose to her feet, giving him a sad look. “No, you are the Waterwalker. Edeard of Ashwell died on the day of Bise’s banishment.”
At midday Edeard took a gondola from the Orchard Palace to the Abad district. As the gondola slid along the Great Major Canal, he could see the crowds clustering around the base of Eyrie’s towers. Nobody was going up yet; that wasn’t allowed until the night before. Constables were assisting Mothers in keeping people away from the long winding stairs at the center of each tower. No arrests had been made yet, though Edeard was getting daily reports of incidents involving frustrated relatives. In truth, the ascent to the top of the towers had to be carefully managed. The platforms thrusting up into Querencia’s skies had a finite area, and there were no rails around the sides. Everyone who went up was elderly and infirm; they had to be cared for even in their last hours. The Mothers were now quite experienced in overseeing the whole event, a fact that went unappreciated among those who had traveled so far, with their hope building along every aching mile.
So far this week, Edeard knew, there had been fifteen deaths among those waiting in Eyrie. Their families had to be treated with a great deal of tact and understanding. Even so, tempers had flared and violence had swiftly followed. To have come so far and not achieve guidance was unbearable. Understandably so. With another seven days to go, there would be more deaths, each one more excruciating to the survivors than the last.
The gondola pulled up at a platform in the middle of Abad. Edeard climbed up the steps to Mayno Street and set off into the district. Boldar Avenue was a fifteen-minute walk from the canal, a zigzag pavement serving narrow four-and five-story cottages. Most of the lower floors had wide doorways and were used as shops or crafthouses. He saw several that were packed full of stopover travelers.
At the far end of the street one of the largest cottages had a pair of tall apricot trees growing outside the front door, their fruit starting to swell amid the fluttering leaves. Edeard was immediately aware of the strange thoughts emanating from inside. There were over a dozen people in various rooms that his farsight could sense, yet all of them seemed to be similar somehow. All had the same emotional state. Even the rhythm of their thoughts was in harmony. The oddity was enough to make him hesitate as he faced the scarlet-painted door. Deep windows were set in the curving wall on either side, their dark curtains drawn, revealing nothing. Then he knocked.
A young woman opened it for him. She was wearing a simple black dress trimmed in white lace, with long auburn hair wound in elaborate curls before flowing halfway down her back. Her smile was generous and genuine enough.
“Waterwalker, please come in. My name is Hala. I wondered when you’d visit.”
“Why is that?” he asked as he walked in. The hall was long with an arched ceiling, splitting several times, like a smaller version of the tunnels beneath the city. He hadn’t realized the cottage was so large; it had to be connected with several others along the street. He eyed the continuous strip of light along the apex of the hall. It glowed a perfect white, and he’d never asked the city to alter it.
“I admire the path you’ve followed,” Hala said. “Given how alone you were, it’s admirable.”
“Uh huh,” Edeard said. He wondered if she was the one whose farsight had been following him over the years.
The ground floor of the cottage was divided into several large rooms, saloons typical of any private members’ club in Makkathran. It appeared deserted apart from a few ge-chimps cleaning up.
“We’re upstairs,” Hala said, and led him down the hall to a spiral stair. The steps had been adjusted for human legs.
Edeard’s curiosity grew. Someone obviously had a rapport with the city similar to his own.
There were children on the second floor. It was similar to a family floor in the ziggurat, with living rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and bedrooms all jumbled together. The children laughed and peeked out at him from doorways before shrieking and running away when he pointed at them. He counted nearly thirty.
“Are any of them yours?” he asked.
Hala smiled proudly. “Three so far.”
The lounge on the third floor was a large one, probably the width of the entire cottage. Its curving rear wall was made up of broad archways filled with glass doors that opened onto a balcony looking out over Roseway Canal a couple of streets away, with Nighthouse rising up beyond the water. The walls were embellished with a tight curvilinear pattern of claret and gold, not that much of it was visible behind long hangings of black lace; it was as if a giant spider had bound the lounge in an ebony web. For such a large room there wasn’t much furniture: some muroak dressers along the walls, a couple of long tables. Rugs with a fluffy amethyst weave covered the floor. Fat chairs were scattered around, looking like clusters of cushions rather than Querencia’s usual straight-backed style. The Apricot Cottage Fellowship was sitting in them, watching Edeard with interest. Fifteen of them, six women and nine men, all young; not one was over thirty. And all of them sharing the same confidence Tathal had worn so snugly at their last meeting. He could feel the strength in their minds, barely restrained. Each of them was a powerful psychic, probably equal to himself.
He looked around until he found Tathal and smiled wryly. Then he saw a couple of youngsters standing beside a door to the balcony, and his smile broadened with comprehension. They were the two he’d caught a glimpse of in the tunnel. “Ah,” he said. “The nest, I presume
.”
———
Jaralee had told him of the name when she and Golbon presented their report. They’d arrived in his office soon after Salrana had departed, radiating a giddy mixture of alarm and excitement that he found slightly unnerving. His investigators were normally unflappable.
“You were right,” Golbon said. “The fellowship has business interests everywhere. So many, I’m going to need a month just to compile them all.”
“How is that relevant?” Edeard asked. “They have a lot of members now.” Including Natran, he thought miserably.
“Ah,” Jaralee said with a superior smile. “To anyone on the outside it resembles a standard commercial association. But when I looked at it closely, there is a core that has joint ownership and part ownership of over a hundred ventures and businesses. The other members are just a seclusion haze of legitimacy wrapped around them.”
“Not quite,” Golbon interjected. “The core members have commercial ties to a lot of other members’ interests.”
“They’ve created a very complicated financial web,” Jaralee said. “And from what I’ve seen, it extends a long way beyond the city. I’ve lodged inquiries with registry clerks in Iguru townships and provincial capitals. Only a few have answered so far, but the nest’s dealings certainly stretch to ventures outside Makkathran. Collectively, I’d say they’re a match for a Grand Family estate, certainly in financial size. Could be larger if they have an equal illegitimate side. I don’t really know.”
“Nest?” Edeard inquired.
“That’s what the fellowship’s founders are known as. They’re a tight-knit group. People who know them try to avoid saying anything about them. In fact, it’s quite spooky how they’ll try and slide off the subject. I have virtually nothing on any of them apart from hearsay.”
“So what’s the hearsay?”
“They really do act like brothers and sisters; they’re that close.”
“Are you sure they’re not?”
“As sure as I can be. The majority seem to have come from the provinces; three or four are cityborn. They started to band together seven or eight years ago. That’s when they registered a residency claim on Apricot Cottage. The fellowship itself began a year later.”
“Was Tathal one of the originals?” Edeard asked. The convoluted finances the nest had surrounded itself with sounded like something Bise would concoct. And he was sure Ranalee made an excellent tutor.
“Yes, his name’s on the residency application for the cottage.”
“All right, so what about Colfal?”
Jaralee smiled happily again. “His herbalist shop is on the way down. It’s getting so bad, he hasn’t even filed his tax statement this year, which is a big risk. The inspector is getting ready for compulsory submission proceedings. I checked around his usual suppliers. He’s made some bad decisions lately. Income is drying up. The finance houses are asking for payment.”
“So Colfal is in desperate need of a new partner, especially one who has a lot of cash,” Edeard observed.
“True,” she agreed. “But Colfal has been a herbalist for over seventy years. It’s only this last year he’s started to make bad decisions.”
“That’s what seventy years of smoking kestric does to a brain,” Golbon remarked.
“These are really bad decisions,” Jaralee countered. “He’s been changing his normal stock for stuff that hardly anyone buys.”
“Who did he get the new herbs from?” Edeard asked sharply.
She nodded agreement. “I’m looking into it. This can’t be done quickly.”
Standing in the Apricot Cottage’s lounge, facing the nest, Edeard finally knew that legal details such as who bought what from whom were of no consequence whatsoever. The nest was very different from Buate; they weren’t going to be blocked by any tax investigation.
“It’s not a term we favor,” Tathal said in amusement. “But it does seem to have caught hold.”
A multitude of fast thoughts flashed through the air around Edeard. The nest members were all communicating with one another; it was like the swift birdsong of a complex gifting, except Edeard couldn’t comprehend any of it. Real unease began to stir in his mind.
“I’m surprised,” he said, keeping the tone level, affable. “Nobody wants to say much about any of you.”
“We discourage attention,” one of the women said. She was sitting to Tathal’s left, covered in a shawl of thick, deep purple wool. It didn’t disguise her pregnancy.
The constant flow of mental twittering shifted for a moment, purifying. “Samilee,” Edeard said abruptly, as if he’d known her for years, even though she was only twenty-three. Her current favorite food was scrambled Qotox eggs with béarnaise sauce and a toasted muffin. The cravings were quite pronounced with only five weeks to go until her due date. Her son’s father was either Uphal or Johans.
Edeard shivered in reaction to the knowledge.
“Welcome, Waterwalker,” she replied formally.
Thoughts swirled again, as if the lacework shadows were in motion around the lounge.
“Can you blame us?” That was Halan, twenty-eight years old and so delighted to have found a home in the city after a decade and a half of unbearable loneliness in Hapturn province. His exemplary financial aptitude placed him in charge of the nest’s principal businesses.
“Look what the establishment tried to do to you when you showed them your ability,” Johans said. Twenty-nine and a very conscientious follower of city fashion, he designed many of his own clothes and those of the nest’s male members. Three of the most renowned outfitters in Lillylight district belonged to him, their original families eased out in that way in which the nest specialized.
“A whole regiment deployed with the sole intent of killing you in cold blood,” Uphal remarked. Their chief persuader, the one who whispered strongly to the weak, the inferior who swarmed the city like vermin.
“History,” Edeard told them. “A history I evolved so that we could all live together no matter our talents and abilities.”
“That they can live together.” Kiary and Manel sneered in unison. The young lovers who had such a fun, wild time in the tunnels and elsewhere in the city: the Mayor’s oval sanctum, the altar of the Lady’s church, Edeard and Kristabel’s big bed on the tenth floor of …
Tathal snapped his fingers in irritation as Edeard turned to glower at them.
“Enough,” he chided. Tathal, the first to realize his dawning power, the gatherer of lost frightened kindred, the nurturer, the teacher, the nest father. Father to seventeen of their impressive second generation.
“Oh, Ladycrapit,” Edeard muttered under his breath. He hadn’t been this scared for a long long time. Decades. And even then he’d had youthful certainty on his side.
“So you see, Waterwalker,” Tathal said, “like you, we are Querencia’s future.”
“I don’t see that at all.”
“You said that you thought stronger psychics were emerging as a sign of human maturity in the Void,” Halan said.
“What?”
“I talked to Kanseen once,” Hala said with a dreamy smile. “She has such fond thoughts of you, a little thread of longing never extinguished. I believe that’s why she recalls your time in the Jeavons squad together so clearly even after all this time. Back then, after your triumphant day of banishment, you told her that was your reason for enlisting Marcol as a constable: to tame him, to bind him to your vision. You saw the strong emerging from the masses; that’s very prophetic. We respect that.”
“And you’ve been keeping an eye out for others of strength ever since,” Uphal said. “Bringing them into the establishment. The establishment whose throne you’ve claimed. Indoctrinating them with your ideals.”
“But that was then,” Tathal said. “When the strong were few, and afraid. Now our numbers are growing. Soon there will be enough of us that we can emerge from the shadows without fear. One day, all humans will be as us. As you.”
; “Really?”
“You doubt your own beliefs? Or do you dare not put a voice to them? You know we are right. For we are here, are we not?”
“What exactly do you see yourselves becoming?” Edeard asked.
The nest’s thoughts swirled around him again, faster than ever. This time he knew their amusement: tinged with derision, perhaps even a scent of disappointment. The great Waterwalker: not so impressive, after all.
“We are the children of today’s people,” Tathal said. “And as with all children, one day we will inherit the world from our parents.”
“Okay.” Edeard cleared his throat. “But I don’t think you’re the type to wait patiently.”
“We are simply readying ourselves for every eventuality,” Tathal said. “I do not delude myself that the transition will be smooth and peaceful, for it is never a pleasant realization that your evolution has ended and a new order is replacing you.”
“Unbelievable.” Edeard shook his head wearily. “A revolution. You’re going to replace the Grand Council with your own followers. Is that the best you can do?”
“We have no intention of replacing the Grand Council. Can you not understand what we are? We don’t need to make the kind of empty political promises Rah made to the masses, his ludicrous democracy. He knew the right of it when he established the families of the district masters. That was where he expected our true strength to emerge. The Grand Families tried; for centuries they have chosen their bloodstock on the basis of psychic strength. But we have supplanted them as the true heirs of Rah. Evolution is inevitable, yet it is also random. Isn’t that utterly wonderful?”
“So the weak don’t get a say in the world you control.”
“They can join with us,” Uphal said. “If their thoughts are bright enough, they will belong. That’s what we are: a union of pure thought, faster and more resolute than any debating chamber full of the greedy and corrupt that rules every town and city. It is democracy on a level beyond the reach of the weak. Your children will be a part of it, especially the twins. Marilee and Analee are already open and honest with each other; that is a big part of what we are, what we offer. It’s a wondrous life: nobody alone, nobody frightened. And there are more of us out there, more than you know, Waterwalker.”
The Void Trilogy 3-Book Bundle Page 174