“What’s that?” Peer asked, pointing at a large black shape.
Peer leaned in close to examine the fastenings on the door, then produced a rough pocket knife from his trousers. Bray watched, holding her breath, as Peer twisted off the four screws holding the grate in place. They came away easily.
“You’d think they’d be rusted,” Bray said.
“They must’ve been fastened recently,” Peer said, as he twisted out the last screw with his fingers and removed the grate. Within, a dark space descended into the ground, too deep to jump without risking injury.
“Lower me down,” Bray said.
Adearre and Peer each held onto one of her arms and eased her over the edge. They held onto her as far as their hands could extend.
“Let me go, it’s not far,” Bray said. Peer’s grip was beginning to dig into her arm.
“I don’t know about this, Bray. It could still be a long drop,” Peer said.
“It isn’t. I can see the bottom. Just let go.”
Bray hit the stone floor and landed on her feet, sending a slight shock up her body. There was a strange, sweet smell in the air that tickled at her nose. The space was exceptionally dark—the only light came from the moon, stars, and the deep blue of the sky through the narrow gap overhead.
“It’s strange. There are no doors or windows down here. What could this place be for?” she shouted to the boys above her.
“Do you see the sword?” Roldon called.
“Yes,” she said.
She took hold of the weapon. It was lighter than she expected; it felt oddly comfortable in her hand. The hilt was engraved. She could not see properly in the darkness, but she thought it bore the five circles of the Chisanta.
“It’s amazing,” Bray said, as she whipped the sword around, slicing the air. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and she could make out her surroundings better. Across the room, there were stacks of old crates piled all the way to the ceiling, broken glass strewn across the ground.
“How’re we going to get you back up?” Peer asked. “Is there anything to stand on?”
Bray did not answer. Her eyes had moved back to the sword. Now she could see that its tip was covered in dark, dried blood. She let the weapon fall from her hand. It hit the stone floor with a clatter.
“Bray, what’s wrong?” Peer asked.
She could not find her voice to respond—the dark shape they had seen from above was now discernible to her adjusted eyes.
It had four limbs, splayed at odd angles. The leather jerkin and white shirt beneath were both stained black with blood. Its gray face and lifeless eyes pointed in Bray’s direction, as if seeing her.
She felt her mouth go dry and her legs turn leaden.
“Bray? Bray, what’s happened?” Peer pleaded.
She wondered if she should scream or faint—that was what women always did in sensation stories after all. Instead, she just felt weary and sick.
Finally she found her voice. “Peer?”
“Yes?”
“You need to go for help,” Bray said, her voice sounding calm in her own ears.
“Why, are you hurt?”
“No,” she answered, “but there’s a dead man down here.”
Yarrow sat at a large round table with several of his brothers and sisters of the Cosanta. Ko-Jin, on his right, tapped his foot rhythmically against the floor.
“You think she’s alright?” Ko-Jin whispered.
“Yes,” Yarrow replied. He recalled how Bray had wielded a pistol and threatened a highwayman without even a tremor in her voice. Yes, she would be alright.
Yarrow watched Ander Penton as he dipped his pen in ink and scrawled several short sentences on a sheaf of paper. The other faces around the table watched as well, having nothing more interesting to stare at. They were all familiar to Yarrow now, though he wouldn’t label any as ‘friend.’ It was no wonder; Britt, at the age of twenty, was the youngest of their party. Twenty-year-olds and fourteen-year-olds didn’t have a lot in common.
Yarrow heard the door open and shut behind him.
“What news?” Ander asked.
Britt swatted at a few fair hairs fallen loose from her braid as she strode into the room. “They estimate he’s been dead for twelve to fourteen days.”
“Who?” Ander asked. There was a collective holding of breath.
Britt collapsed into a chair and rubbed at her eyes. “He was Chiona—Ambrone Chassel.”
Ander’s eyes closed and he exhaled slowly. “You are certain?”
“Yes. His wife just identified him.”
Yarrow hadn’t known that a Chisanta could marry, but shelved that question for a later time.
“This is grave news, indeed,” Ander said. He continued softly, as if to himself, “Ambrone and I came here in the same carriage, all those years ago...”
Yarrow pitied the older man. If Arlow, Peer, or—he could not even think the last name—were found dead, he would be distraught. The Chiona and the Cosanta did not much like each other, but some bonds go deeper even than prejudice.
“He died by his own sword,” Britt plunged on. “Enton, you may want to lay low.”
Enton, a Chaskuan man in his early thirties, crossed his arms. “What does it have to do with me?”
“You know the Chiona—they think it was us. I wasn’t sure they were going to let me leave at one point. And everyone knows you’re a sword master.”
“Why would I kill some quack archeologist?” Enton asked. “Surely not even the Chiona can think—”
“They’re upset,” Ander cut in, “and suspicious of us perforce. We will have to step very carefully until this mystery is solved.”
“It had to be one of our kind,” Chessa, an Adourran woman to Ander’s left, said. “Who of the unmarked could possess the ability?”
“There are many unmarked who are gifted fighters, and Ambrone was not a young man,” Ander said.
“What possible motive could an unmarked have to kill him?” Chessa challenged.
“What possible motive could a marked have?” Britt asked, voice sharp. “And in our own Temple.” The Adourran seemed to have no answer for this.
“Ambrone Chassel was best known as a madman who chased after shadows and fairy tales,” Britt said. “I can’t imagine anyone having motive.”
“Wasn’t the body found in a room without doors?” Ko-Jin asked—then looked startled to hear himself speak.
“Yes.” Britt nodded. “Likely, without the snooping of those plebes, he’d not have been found at all.”
“Why is there a doorless room in the Temple?” Chessa asked.
Ander stroked his beard. “There are many such places in all three of the Temples. I imagine it was walled off during the restoration last century.”
Several yawns broke the silence and Ander checked his watch.
“I will have a telegram sent to the Cape to inform our brothers and sisters at home of this news. For now, I think it is best that we sleep. There is nothing more to be done tonight,” Ander said.
Gratefully, the congregation rose and departed for their respective beds.
Yarrow and Ko-Jin dallied until the room was emptier. “Britt?” Yarrow asked tentatively.
“Yes?” she snapped.
“How is Bray?”
Yarrow saw the lack of comprehension on Britt’s freckled face. “The girl who found the body,” he elaborated.
“Oh—fine. Why shouldn’t she be? Dead men don’t bite,” Britt said, and strode off without another word.
Ander still sat at the head of the table, writing a second letter in neat, careful script.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, looking up with tired eyes.
“I was just curious,” Yarrow said. “You said the Chiona are suspicious of us. Why?”
The dislike between the two sides was eminently evident, but its intensity did not make sense to Yarrow. Surely differing cultural practices alone could not elicit such ire.
/> Ander leaned back in his chair and scanned Yarrow appraisingly. “They are suspicious of us, and we are suspicious of them, because of a three-hundred-year-old foretelling, the Divisionary Prophecy, that promises the Chisanta will at some time go to war.”
“War?” Ko-Jin whispered.
Ander nodded. “It is unfortunate. The Chisanta were much stronger when we worked in unison.”
Yarrow frowned, a crease forming between his brows. “So, tensions are high because of this prophecy. And with tensions high, it is likely we will, at some point, come to conflict. It seems like the prophecy itself will be what sparks the war.”
Ko-Jin looked thoughtful and nodded agreement.
Ander smiled. “Very astute observation, and probably true.”
“So...” Yarrow said, “why can’t we just…stop? End the suspicion?”
“Such things are easier said than done, I’m afraid.” Ander took up his pen. “Now, I really must finish these correspondences.”
“Of course,” Yarrow said, and bobbed his head. “Good night, brother.”
Ko-Jin and Yarrow exited the dining hall and stepped into the cool night.
“I’m too preoccupied to sleep,” Ko-Jin said. “I think I’ll do the Ada Chae if you’d like to join me.”
Yarrow suspected he would not sleep either. He nodded agreement and they strode together towards the lawn, illuminated only by moonlight.
He and Ko-Jin settled themselves slightly apart and began.
Yarrow’s arms lifted up from his sides and his feet sunk into the earth as he formed Warm Hands Over Fire. Immediately, much of the tension left his body. He moved instinctually into Brush the Dragonfly and Take Flight, letting his limbs take control as his mind wandered to the dead man. Graze Leg—and Bray, who despite what Britt said, might be having a difficult night. Hold the Veil transitioned into Evade Back—no, Bray was strong. She would be just fine. Turn the Sphere—what were his brothers and sisters doing back home? Gracious Offering—surely they were alright. Push Forward, Ease Back—they were not possibly going to war. A war between two groups of preternatural fighters and brilliant minds. The damage they could do each other would be devastating.
As Yarrow moved into Slow Lash, his mind began to slip—reality began to recede. His impulse was to grab for it, but he hesitated for a split second. Wafting Arms—why should he want to remain here, with such troublesome thoughts?—Second Slow Lash, High Hand.
The world fell away in an instant, and Yarrow no longer stood in the moonlit garden with Ko-Jin, but in an entirely different place. The sun shone high and bright in a cloudless sky. The air was dry, much drier than Yarrow had ever felt before. The grass beneath his feet was rough, stiff, and tinged with orange, as if thirsty. He stood in a valley, perfectly circular in shape, the ground unnaturally level. Aside from the grass, there was no vegetation or living thing, save for one massive, gnarled tree. It reminded him of the tree that he and Bray had raced to so many days ago.
The circle of grass ended in a sheer rocky ring that ascended to the sky, then leveled off in a sort of step, and ascended again over and over, like naturally occurring stairs. Against the glare of the sun, Yarrow counted the steps in the mountain. There were three. If he counted the grassy center at the bottom and whatever lay beyond the topmost ledge, there would be five layers in total.
“Aeght a Seve,” Yarrow whispered to himself.
It looked like a massive, natural amphitheater—large enough for a species of giants. And, if Yarrow could look down upon it as a bird overhead, it would form five concentric circles; the symbol of the Chisanta, save for the dividing vertical line.
Yarrow’s thoughts were at peace. As if he had come home—a place he had been missing without ever realizing it. As he took in his surroundings, a pleasurable chill ran up his body, and he knew he had received his first gift.
A strange series of small bursts, like firecrackers, occurred within his mind. He sank to his knees, tears appearing in his eyes. He could sense the feelings of those he loved—they resounded in his skull like an off-key orchestra. His father’s feelings twanged with frustration. His mother purred maternal affection. His brother Allon drummed, pleased with himself, while his sister Pedra tinkled with humiliation. His eldest brother, Rendal, emanated a strange combination of emotions Yarrow could not pick apart or interpret. The baby thrummed happiness, in a simple kind of way. Though these terms—frustrated, pleased, happy—were just the closest words Yarrow could assign to the emotions. In reality, they were so layered and complex that Yarrow couldn’t completely understand any of them. Still, they were all there in the back of his mind, like living, pulsing things.
Bray’s feelings boomed, a numb, sad beat. It didn’t surprise Yarrow that she was there, with his family. He should have found her absence stranger.
The buzz of all these emotions made his skull hum like a hive of bees. Just when Yarrow thought this gift was strange and overwhelming, he found that he could turn it off as well. And his mind was his own again.
Yarrow took several slow breaths. It was—in a way—what he had wanted. He would always know how his family fared, even if he was far away. Of course, if they were in danger he could hardly get there in time to help. But alas, the Aeght a Seve did not take returns or exchanges. Britt had told him that; anything he gained or lost in this place would be his to have or lack forever.
Yarrow was more than ready to leave. He felt his own body, still moving through the Ada Chae in the garden. He focused his mind back into the movements and stepped into Floating Down Stream just as his body in reality did as well. As he formed Divide the Air, the coolness of night kissed his cheek.
“You were in Aeght a Seve, weren’t you?” Ko-Jin asked, as they walked back to their rooms a short while later.
“Yes. How could you tell?”
“You moved better,” Ko-Jin said simply. “So what’s your gift?”
Yarrow bit his lip, his cheeks reddening.
“Go on, then,” Ko-Jin urged.
“I know how some people—my family—are feeling. They’re in my head,” he said.
“Just your family?” Ko-Jin asked.
“Yes,” Yarrow lied, as he allowed Bray’s emotions to pop into existence. Her feelings hummed calmly now. He thought she must be asleep.
“So, you can read their minds?” Ko-Jin asked.
“No—just how they feel. It’s sort of hard to explain. Without knowing what they’re thinking or what they’re reacting to, it’s difficult to interpret. But I know that they are all safe, at least.”
“That’s interesting,” Ko-Jin said. Yarrow looked to see if he was being mocked, but Ko-Jin’s face appeared merely thoughtful.
“I asked Ander earlier about the gifts,” Ko-Jin said. “He told me that we always receive that which we most need. I was given physical strength because it is what I lacked. His first gift was speech.”
“What—he couldn’t talk?” Yarrow asked.
“He had a stutter. But once he was gifted he could speak perfectly, not only in Dalish, but in Adourran and Chaskuan as well. He said that our greatest defect often becomes our greatest strength.”
“What does that say about me?” Yarrow wondered aloud.
“I think it means that you could never be at peace not knowing whether those you love are safe and happy.”
Yarrow sighed. So much for those fantastic abilities Mr. Paggle had spoken of. No floating wine glasses for Yarrow.
Bray stirred her uneaten breakfast around her plate. She and the other nine remaining plebes took their breakfast without conversation. It had been two weeks since she had found the body, though none of the Chisanta had condescended to tell her anything about the matter. She still saw his unseeing eyes in her mind when her thoughts wandered.
Her body was now a mass of bruises, her face constantly puffy and swollen. Every movement, every breath, hurt. The physical ills paled in comparison to her emotional wounds, her estrangement.
It had been elev
en days since she had spoken to Arlow, since he had passed the test and been named Cosanta. This had surprised Bray—in her time at the Temple she had seen clearly the difference in temperament between the two groups. The Chiona were more aggressive, more hot-headed. The Cosanta had a kind of serenity about them, and a certain aloofness. Arlow had never struck her as terribly serene, but there were no mistakes in the testing.
She could see how it worked now, the test. The Chiona and the Cosanta passed in starkly different manners. Yarrow, Arlow, Ko-Jin, and the many others who had been named Cosanta moved with a fluid grace, as if they were dancing. They tended to use Lendra’s force against her, knocking her off her balance. When a Chiona passed, they did so with a new-found strength, agility, and fierceness.
Bray stabbed at a bit of sausage and chewed it gingerly. The grease upset her stomach, so she spit it back into her napkin.
It had been eight days since she had spoken to Peer, and his loss had been a great blow. It saddened her to think that she and Peer would be forever separated when she was at last named Cosanta. Peer had passed the test by hitting Lendra hard and true in the face, giving her a bloody nose. He was pronounced Chiona. This, too, had surprised Bray. Peer was always so calm and thoughtful, she had been certain he would be Cosanta. Though, later, when she saw him with his newly shorn hair and leather jerkin, she thought he looked just as he ought.
She sipped her orange juice and winced as the acid hit the lacerations in her mouth.
It had been nearly a month since she had spoken to Yarrow. She saw him now and again, looking much older than he had before, in his long Cosanta robes. His dark hair had grown into a curling halo around his head, covering his ears, but still far too short to braid. He always sought her gaze from a distance, locking his eyes on her. She could not explain it, but it was as if he knew just how she felt, and was trying to pour comfort into her through those soft gray orbs. If he was attempting such a thing, he was failing. She felt utterly wretched.
“You look gloomy today,” a rich voice said, pulling her out of her reverie. Adearre was the last left of those with whom she had been friendly.
The Complete Marked Series Box Set Page 9