Maybe it was like the threads, how Dallin had seen them as stars inside clouds, because his mind didn’t know how else to interpret them. What little religion he’d been taught since his riving from Lind had been that of planting plays and Turning nights—all of it the Mother, his country’s patron—so maybe he didn’t see the Father because he didn’t know what to look for. Had purposefully forgotten whatever teachings he’d had in his first twelve years.
You have forgotten your name.
For the first time, it made sense, so much that it brought a slight warmth to Dallin’s cheeks. From the valley. He hadn’t forgotten the words, but he’d forgotten what they meant. He’d forgotten what it meant to be a Linder.
He’d forgotten what it meant to believe.
Dallin hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. “I think you’re right.” He smiled when Wil snapped a surprised glance at him. “Next time….” Strange how Dallin just assumed there would be a next time. Strange how Wil let him. “Next time, I’ll try.” Dallin shifted and stretched his neck. “When is the last time you slept?”
“Too long ago,” Shaw blustered as he rammed into the little room, an air of efficient hurry up about him, as seemed to be his natural state. Calm and commanding, the air of a military officer rather than a man of religion. Dallin paused at that, but the thought flittered away from him, Shaw’s chivvying of Wil too distractingly amusing—especially since it seemed to work so well. “Come then, up with you,” Shaw told Wil, before he stopped, his gaze too obviously landing on the bruises that weren’t there anymore, and then moving to Wil’s hand. Dallin waited for Shaw to say something—a question about the miraculous healing, perhaps, or even an accusation of illegal magicking—and wondered what he’d say in answer. But Shaw pointedly looked away, mouth pursed in disapproval, and jerked his chin at Wil. “You can help me sit this one up, and then off you go.” As though he’d seen nothing at all, Shaw turned a pained look on Dallin. “Can’t you convince him he shouldn’t go about with bare feet?”
Relieved, Dallin only smirked and gave a slight shrug. “If you can figure out how to get him to do anything he doesn’t want to do, please—give me the secret.”
Wil rolled his eyes and stood to help. “Oh, har.” His hands were strong but gentle on Dallin’s shoulder. “Watch yourself, Constable.” He slid down beside the cot, angling Dallin’s arm across his shoulders. “I know where you sleep.”
WHEN DALLIN next came awake, it was Calder who sat beside him, only he hunkered in one of the rickety wooden chairs, not on the floor as Wil tended to do. Calder didn’t smile when he saw Dallin was awake, only lifted his eyebrows, reached to the side, and poured water into a mug. It was with something just shy of scorn that Calder eyed the bit of a tremor when Dallin accepted the cup.
There were all kinds of things Dallin could have said, all sorts of defenses—The raid, she sent me away, no one came looking for me, how was I supposed to know? He didn’t bother. Calder was just as fanatical and rigid in his beliefs as those men from the Brethren were, so any negation would be a waste of breath. And Dallin didn’t necessarily give a shit what Calder thought. The only person who had a right to condemn or pardon Dallin was Wil, and he’d proffered his acquittal before Dallin’s failures had even been made plain—done it when he’d slipped his shoulder beneath Dallin’s and tried to help him off his knees in a dim, stinking alley.
“He told me where he came by the name.” Calder’s gruff voice was flat.
For reasons he didn’t examine, Dallin took a sniff of the water before allowing himself a slow sip, and he didn’t try to hide it either. Warm and tinny, but if there was anything else in it, it had no taste or odor. Suspicious and overcautious, but at the moment, Dallin didn’t think there was any such thing. He didn’t trust the man.
“Did he?”
They’d never got around to how Wil had come upon those papers. So many other, more urgent matters had crowded out their importance.
“He was a good lad. A good man.” Calder’s gaze fell to his hands, hung there. “Seeker.”
It was said with a bit of awe that Dallin could easily share. A task at least as dangerous as what his own was to be, since the men and women who took it on did so without even knowing the dangers they faced, nor why they faced them, only that the Old Ones asked it, and so they complied.
“I didn’t want him to go, but how could I ask him not to? I?” Calder shook his head. “It was when I felt him pass that I sent for Shaw to cut my Marks, and when they were gone, I left the Bounds and began to seek.” He fixed Dallin with an even stare. “He said he had entrusted his tale to you. That if you chose to tell me, he would abide it.”
Dallin looked away.
“My son died within feet of him,” Calder went on, low and with just a slight wobble inside it. “From what he says, he was running away, says he didn’t know, didn’t see, that Wilfred must’ve stepped in front of whoever was chasing him. Says he didn’t know there’d been violence done until he doubled back to lose his pursuers and found….” Calder didn’t choke or sob, but the emotion in his expressionless face was like a spike through Dallin’s heart. “Says he didn’t know, says it wasn’t him, but….” Calder cleared his throat. “But Wilfred found him, y’see, found him when he didn’t want to be found, and I’ve looked straight at death in that man’s eyes. You can’t tell me he wouldn’t—”
“I can tell you exactly that.” Dallin kept his tone gentle. “I won’t tell you he isn’t capable—he’s more than that. I will tell you that if he said it wasn’t him, then it wasn’t him. He doesn’t lie.”
Slowly, Calder looked up, his stare trenchant but not quite wrathful. “Tell me.”
Dallin did. Everything.
CALDER SAT staring at his hands for quite a while, tanned brow twisted in thought. Or perhaps worry. He stood with a bit of a grunt and stretched his back. Still frowning, he turned to Dallin.
“He’s insane, you know.”
Dallin scowled. “You’ve only just met him.”
“I could tell you the same thing without ever having met him. No one could have lived through that and not gone insane.”
“Which only makes him unique.” Calder’s blind surety tweaked Dallin’s anger, making him indignant on Wil’s behalf. “You can’t judge him by your own standards. I’ve spent time with him. I’ve seen his mind work. He may not walk the same lines of sanity others do, but he does amazingly well, and better than some whose sanity would never even be questioned.” Dallin’s voice was rising, so he paused and took a breath. “Look,” he said more calmly, “we’re talking about a person who has escaped an unhinged life, dragged off his own path before he’d even had a chance to mark it, and managed to define his own standard of sanity, against every odd imaginable. It may not be the same as yours, but that doesn’t make it any less legitimate.”
Calder looked at him keenly. “Your defense seems a bit… strident.”
“Maybe so. But it’s past time someone defended him at all. If it seems strident to you—”
“He’s an addict. He still wants it. I saw him wanting it.”
“And likely will for the rest of his life. But he didn’t take it when you oh so kindly offered it, did he?”
“And how long d’you think that’ll last? If I offered it to him right now—”
“Then you’d best hope I haven’t a gun within reach.” Dallin shoved that one out through his teeth. His blood was pounding, throbbing hot behind his brow. “Have you ever seen someone coming down from leaf? Ever seen them twist with muscle spasms, stomach cramps, tremors, sweats? Ever watched the agony, heard the screams? Most don’t even live through it.” Dallin’s lip curled up in a snarl he couldn’t have helped if he’d tried. “If I respected the man for nothing else, the fact that he didn’t stumble out from Old Bridge and right into a leaf den would be enough. The further fact that he’s been on his own for three years, living in the sorriest state of poverty I’ve ever seen, and didn’t end up dead from an overdose
is more than enough.” He let his eyes narrow, allowing the threat inside them to flare out plainly. “I ever catch you making that offer—even talking about it to him—and his sanity isn’t the one you’ll need to worry about.”
Calder’s jaw was tight, his eyes hard. “Have you any idea what kind of power we’re dealing with here? D’you know what could happen if that man’s mind broke?” He held his hands out, palm up. “Your responsibility is not only to him.”
Dallin’s blood went from hot to cold all at once, dropping like lead to his belly. Calder had said it as though he was talking about putting down a dog that had gone rabid, that same righteous look in his eye as those men from the Brethren.
“You,” Dallin said slowly, “are not the Guardian. You’ve no call or right to even consider it.”
“And you are the Guardian?” Calder shook his head with a derisive curl of his lip. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“And I imagine you’re sure you do.” Dallin allowed every bit of scorn that was needling his nerves into his tone. “People like you….” He shook his head, hands clenching into fists. He wondered suddenly where his guns were, wondered where Wil was, and hoped he was still clinging to that rifle. “I’ve seen your sort a little too often. You’re no better than any of those men he’s been dealing with all his life. And I’ll tell you this—the fact that he runs from people like you is the best marker of sanity I’ve seen in him yet. So bloody sure you know, so bloody sure there’s only one right answer and you’re the one who’s got it.”
Calder’s color was up now, eyes blazing. “Not the only one. Generations of—”
“Generations of pious certainty, right, yes, I know. Generations of secrecy and silence that contributed directly to Síofra’s ability to do what he did.” Dallin set his jaw. “You and your Old Ones—when you discovered your Aisling was gone, stolen, what did you do? Did you send your seekers to the corners, check with the sheriffs and constabularies? Hire bounty hunters or even an independent canvasser?” He snorted derision. “No, you didn’t—you sent men who had no idea what they were even looking for out to their deaths. Useless deaths.
“I lived in Putnam for almost thirty bleeding years—I wasn’t hiding, I didn’t change my name—and no one once came along asking why an obvious Linder was so far from Lind. If your search for Wil was as half-arsed, and from what I’ve seen I’m pretty sure it was, then you people are the last ones who have any right to question a damned thing about him, let alone presume to judge his sanity against your own insane standards.”
“You people. Is that what we are, then? And what does that make you?”
You have forgotten your name.
Dallin shook his head.
Yeah? Well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
He thought about Calder’s question… decided Wil’s words suited best for an answer: “I am what I’ve made myself. And Wil is what he’s made himself. We are neither of us your creatures, and you don’t get to decide to execute him because you don’t like his version of sanity.”
“Sometimes our responsibilities are unpleasant. That doesn’t make us any less responsible.” Calder looked like he wanted to hit something. “If you knew the power—”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” It wasn’t a lie—Dallin had his suspicions, had seen and felt the edges of that power in its near physical manifestation in that cell in Dudley and again inside his own dreams. “And the fact that he’s not used it to burn the world, despite having every reason to despise it and everyone in it, should be enough proof—”
“Because he doesn’t know his power yet! And if nothing else, I can give Síofra credit for that much—he kept it buried, and likely for exactly that reason!”
Dallin boggled. “Are you really going to stand there and tell me that anything that man did was right?” The very idea filled him with crawling disgust. “You know, I must say that I’ve wondered why the Mother hadn’t just gone to one of the Old Ones, told you where I was, told you where Wil was, made everyone’s lives a little easier. Now I think I see why She came to me instead.”
That stopped Calder dead. “She…?” His eyes widened. He might have even paled beneath his leathery tan. “You’ve seen Her?”
It wasn’t just surprise—it was shock. And without even really thinking about it, Dallin knew what it meant.
Calder hadn’t seen Her, at least not when it came to this. Calder was working even more blind than Dallin was.
Dallin rubbed at his brow, edging this close to real abhorrence.
Calder spouted these things as though She’d whispered them into his own ear, and yet he had less of an idea what She really wanted than Dallin did. And Calder likely wouldn’t listen if She told him.
He was no bloody better than the rest of them.
“I’ve my orders from Her.” Dallin made it perhaps a bit more snide than necessary. “And you’ll understand if I choose to take Her word for what She wants rather than yours. And what She wants is for me to take care of Her Gift. Which, I must assume, means I shouldn’t allow fanatical zealots who think they know better to put him down because he scares them and they don’t know what to do with him.” He kept the glare as he sat back. “If you’ve a problem, I suggest you take it up with Her.”
Even though they both knew Calder couldn’t.
Calder was silent for several long moments of confused fuming. Dallin waited it out, mildly surprised when Calder finally uncurled hands that had gone fisted and nodded slowly. He bowed his stiff neck and placed a hand over his heart.
“Forgive me, Guardian.” It was steady and respectful. “I do not question the Mother’s purpose, and I should not have questioned yours.” Calder’s head dipped lower in sincere-seeming deference. “I am at your service.”
Dallin stared. He didn’t know what to say yet, so he stayed silent.
“I have assumed and presumed.” Calder looked at Dallin straight. “If you cannot pardon me, allow me to offer atonement—allow me to help you prepare for what you must face. It is the best recompense I can offer.”
Suspicion still knocked lightly at Dallin’s nerves, but it was residual and fading. Calder really seemed to mean what he was saying.
“There is much we need to know.”
Calder dipped his head on a measured nod. “There is much I can tell you.”
Dallin didn’t even feel it necessary to think about it. “After supper.” That should give him enough time to catch Wil up on all of… this.
Calder’s nod this time was low enough to pass for a bow. “As you wish.” He turned with slow dignity… stopped.
Dallin was just as surprised to see Wil leaning against the doorframe as Calder seemed to be. There was no rifle hanging by its strap over Wil’s shoulder; he looked strangely small and naked without it. His posture appeared relaxed—arms crossed over his chest, one bare foot propped atop the other, head tilted to the side—but his eyes were alive with sage fire, cagey and distrustful, and burning into Calder. Dallin had seen the look before. He swallowed down the rush of apprehension.
“Wil,” Dallin said quietly, but Calder held up his hand.
“Aisling.” This time Calder did bow. “Your servant.”
Wil merely shot a dark glance at Dallin. It was fascinating to watch the brilliance in Wil’s chaotic gaze dulling, calming.
“Don’t call me that.” Wil straightened, then moved into the room and brushed deliberately past Calder. “We’ll see you after supper.” Clear dismissal.
Dallin only watched as Calder nodded respectfully then quietly left the room.
The change in Calder was astounding—gone from haughty near-contempt to almost reverence with the mere mention of the Mother. It was convenient, surely, but still unsettling. Calder had accepted it, after all, with no proof, only Dallin’s assertion. What might happen if someone else made a claim, just as lacking in evidence, that Wil needed to die? Dallin was telling the truth, certainly, but Calder had no way of knowing that. Would Calder
believe another just as easily?
Wil stood by the bed for a moment, grimacing as he brushed a glance over the chair Calder had just vacated. Dallin recalled how Wil hadn’t wanted the gate guard to touch him, and wondered if this was more of the same. It was unimportant in the scheme of things, so Dallin dismissed it as Wil peered down at him, considering. With a bit of effort, Dallin shifted his legs, then waved toward the now-open space on the small cot. Wil sank down with no hesitation, but the silence was somewhat uncomfortable.
Dallin attempted to break it with a bit of levity. “Where’s your friend?”
Wil tilted a questioning frown, so Dallin smirked and gestured at Wil’s shoulder where the rifle undeniably wasn’t.
Wil’s brow untwisted. “It makes Shaw nervous. He’s been kind to me, so I thought….” He shrugged.
Dallin suspected “kind to me” likely translated into “fed me,” but refrained from making the comment. And it certainly spoke to Shaw’s character that Wil would part with the gun to soothe his unease. Dallin wished he’d had time to get Wil’s thoughts on Calder before the last hour or so had happened.
“Where is Shaw?”
Wil waved a hand. “He’s got patients. A mum and her little one’ve got… I forget what he called it. Nothing serious, but they’re sick, and he didn’t want them to see me, so he shooed me off.”
“Shooed you off from where?”
That got a twitch of a smile. “He’s got his own rooms, with a stove and everything. Calder’s staying up there with him.” The smile faded. “Shaw smuggled me up when I asked him if he had any books for you—you should see this place, all the back stairs and passageways. It’s even more of a maze than the city is. And then he showed me how to make these brilliant little… well, he called them skillet cakes, but they were more like biscuits.”
Funny, how Wil remembered what Shaw had called the treats but not the name of whatever sickness the two patients had. Dallin would have chuckled, except for the statement buried within.
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