"Lies," Marcus said. The word was quiet, almost casual. "I ask your leave to have her escorted outside. I can deal with her treachery after the trial."
The judge nodded.
"The tracks were there when I arrived!" Lyseira protested. "Marcus had them covered somehow, removed… I saw the wound on Matthew's head myself!" She started toward the front, but one of the soldiers caught up to her and grabbed her arm, yanked her around. "Helix was—" she screamed, but a gloved hand clapped across her mouth.
"Why can't she speak?" Helix cried. "Let her speak!" He was on his feet, pushing away from the table, but a soldier yanked him back, driving a spike of pain up his arm. He collapsed into his chair with a whimper.
"Peace!" The holy judge shouted, his face contorted in disgust. "There will be peace!"
No! Let her speak! Helix tried again to lurch to his feet, but there were now two men behind him, and they held him down easily. Somewhere near the front of the church, behind him, he heard a door slam. Lyseira was gone.
"I have never seen such disrespect for justice," Elmoor told Helix. "Your parents have clearly failed to instill in you a proper respect for the Church. Your actions reflect poorly on them and make you look a fool." He paused. "And a guilty fool at that.
"Bishop Marcus has every right to reject inconstant testimony. Clearly the witness cannot be trusted to speak truth plainly if her story keeps changing.
"Nonetheless, the girl's words are troubling. Bishop Marcus, do you have a response to these accusations?"
"Yes, Father." Marcus was still calm; in the heat of the crowded chapel, he wasn't even sweating. "Lyseira wishes to become an initiate, and has all her life, but lacks — for obvious reasons, I think — the divine boon of Akir. She came to me and said she had overheard the conversation I mentioned. Now that I think on it, she was likely trying to curry favor with me."
To Helix's horror, the judge nodded. How can he believe that? The question echoed in his skull, a numb dread seeping into him.
"But the marks on the body, the tracks…"
Marcus nodded. "The girl is no ranger. I don't believe you can take her word as to whether the tracks were on the ground or not. She arrived at the same time I did. We saw the same scene. In my years in the Tribunal I have found many murder sites; I know how to read tracks. There was no horse."
"But the wounds on the body?"
Marcus spread his hands. "The body has not been buried yet, Father. We have blessed it, that it might be preserved as best it can. You're welcome to look at it yourself."
Elmoor considered this, then shook his head. "No," he replied. "That won't be necessary. Please continue."
This is a farce, Helix thought wanly. Akir help me. Please God, I have no one else.
Marcus nodded to the judge. "Thank you, Father. I have but one thing more—a second witness, who repented to me and sought censure, in the hopes that his soul might be saved. A wiser boy than young Helix, I fear." Marcus pointed to the young man that Helix had seen coming in. The boy was of an age with Helix himself, dirty and unkempt, his hair wild. He stood up, glancing nervously at Marcus.
"This is Nash Dennen, Helix's accomplice in the murder."
Helix felt his guts turn to ice water. All hope slipped away. "This is... madness," he whispered, but Marcus's stronger voice trampled the words.
"Nash, tell Judge Elmoor what you told me."
The young man glanced around the room once, his eyes darting like rats, his hair swinging from his scalp like dirty rags. It summoned a memory Helix hadn't thought of in years, an impression of Rake's greasy, red hair as he hung from a branch in Pinewood forest.
"I don't know why he wanted us to do it, Father," Nash said to Elmoor.
"Who? Don't play games with me, boy. Do as Marcus instructed you."
Nash's head bobbed. "Sorry, sorry, the man who hired us. He gave me half in front. Tol' me to track this blind man and have done wit' him, you unnerstan." He licked his lips, his tongue flickering like a snake's. "Only I coun't find him, but Master Smith here, he done knew of him. He said he'd go along, even do the job but he wanted half."
"Who is this man who paid you?"
"He live in Newton, Father, not from ‘roun here. He never tol' me his name, he din't."
"Liar!" Helix screamed. "I don't even know who you are!" He sought the judge's eyes, desperate. "Father, I'm sorry, but I swear to you, I've never even seen this boy before! I swear!"
The judge's lips curled at the interruption, but he nodded. "Marcus?" The other bishop lifted his hands in mock surrender.
"That's all I have, Father."
"Very well." Elmoor rose from behind his table, nodding. Helix tracked him like a castaway watching for sign of a passing ship. "You say you swear," the judge said. "We shall see."
Bishop Elmoor closed his eyes and began to pray in the First Tongue, but this time Helix didn't follow suit. As the prayer droned on he looked around, hunting for some way to escape. A soldier stood at every window; two more waited at the front door. And before he would even be able to reach them, Marcus's Preservers would have him.
The numb dread he had felt before blossomed into despair. As he turned his eyes back to the judge he caught Nash Dennen looking at him, a smile clinging to his face like a smear of grease.
As all heads rose and all eyes opened, the judge spoke again—this time in the dark, crawling words of an invocation. They dribbled from his mouth like menace. Helix had heard the words of a miracle before, growing up; for once, the sound gave him relief instead of fear.
So it's true. The judge did have the ability to recognize lies. If only he had used it on Marcus as well.
Finally, the invocation ended. Helix felt no different, but a guarded sense of hope spiked in his chest. "Speak, Helix Smith," Father Elmoor said. "But know that Akir has granted me the ears to divine truth from lies."
Helix rose shakily to his feet. He wasted no time on pleasantries. "It was him, Father, I swear it," he said, pointing at Galen Wick. The Justicar's eyes narrowed as a quiet murmur went through the crowd. "His helm, he was wearing his helm, and I saw the wings under the moon." In the dark, they looked like demon's horns. "Justicar's wings. There was only one Justicar here at the time, it was him, he did it. The horse—the horse was there, I saw it with my own eyes, please, can't you hear that I'm speaking truth? Please!"
Get yourself together Helix! Listen to yourself!
He pointed at Nash. "I have never seen this person before in my life. I swear. I don't know who he is. I don't know why he agreed to do this, but I suppose Marcus must have offered him a lot of money."
A sharp, scandalized murmur rippled through the crowd. "You will watch your tongue, Smith," Marcus snapped.
Helix whirled on him. "You wanted him dead, but you were scared to do it in public, scared to even arrest him where people would see. He'd been talking about you, and people believed him. I believe him. Just look at this trial! It proves everything he ever said! So instead of giving him a trial you had him murdered in the night, and did your best to find someone to blame it on."
"I said, watch your tongue."
"Marcus," the judge snapped, and Marcus fell silent. "Are you finished, Master Smith?"
I've said everything that matters, he thought dizzily. Terror, rage, and courage fought in his belly like starving wolves over a piece of meat. If he can really hear the truth, he's already heard it. He nodded, sinking back to his chair.
"Very good," the judge said at once. "Akir has revealed your words to me as you have spoken them. His justice is limitless. Know that when you speak to a holy judge, your words are truly heard." He looked once at Marcus, his gaze boring into the other priest's eyes before returning to Helix.
"You lie."
Helix's heart lurched. "No," he said.
The judge continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Marcus, Bind the boy and have him returned to his cell. He will be taken to Keldale on the morrow, where, in the name of Akir, he will be executed for the murder
of Matthew Rentiss."
At once, Marcus began his black chant. Behind him, Galen Wick smiled.
"No!" Helix screamed, jumping again to his feet. "I didn't do this! It was him! He killed him in cold blood! You should be Binding him!"
"Ayen get sil tar'r, vor kel rushtar'r." Marcus's words slithered through the air, crawling into Helix's ears. His muscles tightened as if in the grip of death. In the name of Akir, the words whispered to him, insidious and black, echoing Elmoor's pronouncement. No! he tried to scream, but his tongue betrayed him; it wouldn't move.
In the name of Akir, they hissed, and suddenly he remembered Matthew's voice, quiet and firm.
They do not speak for God.
Helix hurled the blackness away.
"He was right!" Helix cried. "We didn't want to believe him, but he was right! The Church is corrupt! You don't serve Akir! You feared what would happen if Matthew were to have a say in a trial—the word that would spread. People were already listening to him! They already know you're liars!" The words poured from him like a waterfall.
"Marcus!" the judge snapped as he rose to his feet. "I said Bind him!" He began to pray; an instant later, Marcus took up the invocation again. Then, every cleric in the room spat darkness.
"I'll be as loud as he was! You think it's easy as killing one blind man?" Helix's hoarse shout barely carried over the sea of shadowed words. They were cresting, rising over him like a tidal wave. "Many heard him! Many heard—!"
Then the blackness crushed him, and he plunged headfirst into darkness.
Chapter 6
Before the Storm
i. Seth
It ended up being the most boring summer he could remember.
Helix and Syntal were grounded, forced to help in the smithy for weeks. Lyseira suddenly had to help The Abbot a lot more, and was never around. Angbar disappeared, his parents probably scared he'd get in extra trouble because he was a nog or something. Iggy was around, and Seth tried to play with him a couple times, but he was older and a little boring.
Seth's parents hadn't punished him, and as far as he was concerned, he hadn't done anything wrong. Baler and his friends had deserved everything they'd gotten. But by the time summer ended, he wished he could take that afternoon at the tree house back, just so everything wouldn't be so boring.
When the rain came, it was the most exciting thing he'd seen for weeks.
It pummeled the village for two days. Despite his best-mannered requests, Mom and Dad refused to let him outside to play in it. The wall near his bed had a little gap between the logs, and he spent hours with his face pasted against that crack, staring into the gloom like a fish in a jar. Now and then he'd leave to eat, or try to play with his toys, but when the boredom got the best of him he would always return to the view.
Finally, after days of peering, he noticed something. "Hey Mom, look," he said. "The river's almost touching the house."
Mom froze as if he'd said there was a parade of elephants outside. Then she bustled to the wall and pushed him aside so she could peer through. Her face paled.
"Beryc!" She steered Seth away from the wall.
He squirmed out of her grasp and stole another look at the rising river. His mom's anxiety had transformed it. Now, it looked like a massive, black snake undulating just beyond the wall.
His heartbeat quickened. Finally, something was actually happening.
Dad came down from the loft, and Mom nodded toward the wall. "The river's flooding."
"Sehk," he swore. "I thought for sure we were far enough up the bank this time." Seth wondered if he would tell the story again about how Mom and Dad's first house had flooded before they had Seth, and how careful he had been when deciding where to build this one. Dad told that story a lot.
Instead he just looked at them, his jaw clenching as he chewed through their options. Finally, he harrumphed. "Well, there's nothing for it. This place could slide into the river. We have to get out." He shook his head, glanced out the crack himself, and cursed again. "Good thing we never got that window you wanted, Mae. By this afternoon it'd be twenty shells down the river."
He grinned, and she swatted him. "We're building away from the river this time," she retorted, "and it'll be a whole new chance to get a window in."
"Seth, help your mother pack up, m'sai? I'll run to the Ardenfells' and see if Ike'll bring his wagon."
Mom sneaked him a kiss. "Be careful."
Dad threw on his coat and opened the front door. A roar of cold rain lashed into the house, biting into Seth's face like a swarm of wasps. Water sloshed over the threshold, running between the floorboards in tiny rivers.
"Look at that!" Seth laughed. He had never seen so much water in his life. He craned his head, trying to see past his father in the doorway.
"Hurry!" Mom called as Dad disappeared into the storm. Then she slammed the door against the wind and started barking orders. "Get your things and wrap them in your blanket, Seth. Bring them here by the stove."
"Is the house really gonna fall in the river?" The thought thrilled him. He just hoped they would let him stay long enough to watch.
"Now, Seth! This isn't a game! Go!"
He tried to hurry, but he had to peek outside a few times when his mom wasn't watching. And while wrapping his toys up in his blanket, he realized his red horse—the little wooden one Dad had given him for his birthday last year—was missing. After a brief but fervent search he found it crammed beneath his bed. All in all he'd managed the task pretty quickly, he thought. But when he returned to the kitchen with his bundle, Lyseira's mom was already there tossing pots and pans into a giant burlap sack, nodding as Dad gave instructions from the doorway. Both of them looked like they'd just swum down the Narrel river.
"Just whatever you can grab, Corla," Dad shouted, the door banging and shuddering in the wind behind him. "Only the important things!"
Ike Ardenfell's wagon was outside, standing away from the house to keep it from getting mired in the thickening mud; Mom had just dropped a glob of dripping clothes into it and was turning back to the house, stretching a sodden blanket over her head.
No reason I can't go out there too. Seth braced himself for the cry of outrage, then ducked past Dad and into the deluge.
He could have plunged into a lake. The water pummeled him, drenching his blanket and melting his hair into a sodden mess. He'd never felt anything like it. Is it possible to drown in the rain?
Suddenly, Mom drew up short and pointed across the river.
"Beryc!" she called through the downpour. Dad cocked his head, squinting.
"Someone's by the bridge!" she yelled, waving toward the river. Seth shielded his eyes and peered into the storm. He could just make out a wagon drawn by two horses, halted at the bridge's far side. A vague silhouette held the reins in one hand, hunched forward against the driving rain; it cupped its mouth and yelled something indiscernible through the storm's roar.
"Akir!" Dad swore as he finally made out the wagon. He shouted, trying to be heard over the screaming wind. "Is that Runith?"
Syntal's parents? In the middle of the storm? Seth marveled. They wouldn't be that dumb.
Mom turned to the river. "Stay off the bridge!" she called. "It won't hold!" But the driver either missed her warning or ignored it; he grabbed up the reins and started the horses toward the bridge.
Lyseira's mom emerged from the house, the bag of pans slung over her shoulder. "The house isn't safe!" she shouted to Dad. "Just get to higher ground! These are only things—Akir can provide anything you leave!"
Dad nodded, but his eyes were still on the wagon. "What is he doing?" He ran past Seth toward the shoreline, waving.
The wagon continued out onto the riverbank. The water came to the knobs of the horses' knees as they stepped onto the far side of the arching bridge, which trembled under the new weight.
Seth boggled, grinning. I didn't even know it could move like that! He couldn't wait to tell Helix about this.
"They'll nev
er make it! Are they blind?" Dad glanced up and down the river, then ran to the wagon, where Ike was arranging their things to make room. Ike gave a tight nod and crawled into the wagon, out of sight.
Seth started after his dad, wanting to help, but Lyseira's mom held him back with a hand on the shoulder. "Stay here, sweetheart," she said. "Your parents will handle this."
Ike emerged with a long coil of rope, one end tied in a lasso. He and Dad started toward the bank, Mom following.
"Watch yourselves!" Lyseira's mom called, her hand still tight on Seth's shoulder. He protested, squirming, but she dropped her sack and grabbed him with both hands to keep him still. A frying pan slipped into the mud and filled with rain.
The men reached the sloping bank, where the river frothed at their knees. The wagon had reached the middle of the arched bridge. Even there, at the apex, the water lashed like a beast, whipped into a frenzy by the wind. Ike uncoiled the rope and began casting about for something to tie it to.
"Mae, get back to the wagon!" Dad roared. Seth could barely hear him over the shrieking wind. Mom shouted some kind of protest, trying to get him away from the river's shore, but he wouldn't have it.
With a splintering groan, the bridge tore away from the near side of the riverbank. The horses plunged headfirst into the churning darkness of the river, yanking the wagon's driver after them.
Mom screamed. Her horror resonated in Seth's chest. It punctured some secret barrier there and his excitement leaked away, leaving a hollow dread.
The wagon lurched forward and sideways, shearing off two thin, wooden wheels as it snapped around, and then caught, squealing, against the sodden wood of the remaining half of the bridge. Its cover tore from its moorings and billowed into the air, snagging against the knot of wagon axles and bridge rails. Over the roaring wind, an ominous snapping came from the bridge's remaining anchors.
Seth gaped as he saw someone else—Syn's mom? —inside what was left of the wagon. She looked behind her as if to return the way she had come, but the bridge's far end was buried in seething water. She shied away from it, curling into herself.
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