"Father, help this girl," he prayed. "Cleanse her soul of the evils she's invited. Bring her peace in this time of repentance and grief, that she might resist whatever new darkness will come."
She closed her eyes. His prayer was hot against her face, foul with his breath. She was desperate to believe in its power. But when his hand left her head, her pain only deepened, festering in her chest like an infection.
Her parents wouldn't come back. What kind of baby would ever believe they could?
"You are cleansed, child," he said. "Go and work the will of Akir from this day forth."
Absolution slipped away. The Abbot was grave, his eyes watchful, as if he knew she still suffered.
The illusion of restored innocence was all she had. Dreading that he might press her, she turned to escape.
Her vision snagged on the bookshelf. The symbol from her book was on one of the spines.
"Syntal?"
She glanced at him, then back to the shelf. Before the Father could speak she blurted, "Is that First Tongue?"
He followed her pointing finger, taken aback. "Which? The one at the end?"
"The first one."
The Abbot searched her face. "Yes, of course."
"What does it mean?"
His eyes narrowed; for a heartbeat, she feared he would ask why she wanted to know.
"That's the book of Gilleus, the very first book of the Chronicle," he finally said. "The word is salgo. It means 'begin,' or 'speak the truth.'" He gave her a small smile. "For Gilleus, it means both of these, hm?"
Salgo. It meant nothing. It did nothing to unravel the book's mysteries.
In her mind, her mother's smile faded. Syntal was stupid after all.
"Go on now," Father Forthin said. "I believe your mother's waiting outside."
This jerked her back to reality. What? She reeled. How...?
When she realized what he meant, her confused hope shattered. The familiar weight of her guilt fell on her, and she turned to find her aunt.
~ ~
When the sun set, Auntie Bella locked the doors and lit a single candle in each window, dousing all other lights as the Canon commanded. The family ate dinner in cold silence as flames flickered in the sills.
After, Auntie put her to bed in Beth's room. Beth was Helix's older sister. She hated having Syntal in her room. She was always giving her mean looks and kicking her out.
"Sleep well," Auntie said, tucking the blankets under Syntal's chin in the wan light of the window candle. She gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and left.
Her godparents murmured in the hallway. The door to their bedroom clicked closed, leaving only black silence.
Her sins started whispering.
If I had told the truth about the time I lost Mom's ring, would she still be alive?
If I had held that rock instead of throwing it at Baler, would the storm not have come? Maybe if I had agreed with Lyseira more quickly, and offered to help him sooner?
If I sin again, will I lose Helix, or Aunt and Uncle?
Sometimes, in the Night stories, people were so wretched that demons manifested in the flesh to claim them.
The door creaked open. As if summoned by her thoughts, a shadow leaked through.
Her heart froze. She jerked a finger toward her heart, clawing out a circle as if it had some power to protect her.
"Syn? Beth?" Helix's voice floated from the devil's shadow.
"Helix!" Beth hissed from her own bed. "Are you sure they're asleep?"
A lantern lit with a soft whoosh. Helix's grin swam out of the dark, draped in flickering shadows.
"I heard ‘em snorin'," he whispered. "They're out."
Beth chewed her lip.
"They don't care anyway, long as we're quiet."
"All right," Beth said. "Come on."
A sliver of dread pricked Syntal. They're gonna tell Night stories.
Her parents had told her Night stories once. Nightmares had tormented her until dawn; eventually she had fled to her parents' bed, shivering. Every year since, they'd promised not to do it again.
But her parents couldn't protect her now. In this house, their promises meant nothing.
"Can we skip stories this year?" Syntal said. She sounded like a baby. She hated how desperate she was.
Helix's face fell. "Skip Night stories?"
"We always tell Night stories," Beth said.
"I know, but I'm just... I'm really tired. I want to go to sleep."
"Then go to sleep," Beth retorted.
"Well..." Helix looked torn. "Just, maybe be quiet. For real, quiet."
"I will be," Beth said. "But we're definitely telling stories, 'cause I heard one that really happened. In Coram."
That's a real town. Syntal had heard adults talk about it. And if the town was real...
The stories aren't true, kiddo, Dad used to say. It's just fun to scare each other sometimes. But he was dead now. His consolation was an echo from a ghost.
Beth told them about a family of four, and the screams that came from their house. The doors that rattled, and the red light shining through the walls. The family was never found.
She told about a boy and his father. The boy was murdered, but the father still heard him screaming in the hallways.
Then came the young mother. A demon came to her dreams, pretending to be God. It made her kill her baby.
Syntal huddled beneath her blanket, each new story like the lash of a whip. She asked Beth again to stop, but by then the girl smelled blood. She tried to get to sleep, but when she closed her eyes, there was nothing but Beth's voice.
When Beth started nodding off, Syntal begged Helix to leave the lantern.
"Sorry, Syn." He sounded like he meant it, but that only made it worse. "I'll get in trouble."
When he left, darkness swallowed her.
Demons clawed at the window. From beyond them came a distant, dying scream. Branches, she told herself. Wind. But these were only words. They were no defense against horror.
She was rigid and sweating, her eyes fixed to the low-burning candle in the window.
Then she was running, and something was chasing her.
Its breath was hot on the back of her neck. She was pounding up the road toward home, but home was gone, and all she could see was the Smith house. She shrieked for help, but no one came. They had left her to her fate. After all, she was the one who chose to be out in the Night.
She was the one who had killed her parents.
I didn't kill them! she screamed, but no one heard; no one believed her. She didn't even believe herself.
She reached the house, bounded up the stairs, but her first step onto the porch plunged through rotted wood. She pitched, flailing, into the dirt beneath.
She saw Helix's sword, but it was rusted and useless. Her book perched on its crate like a queen on her throne.
Above, her predator loomed: black smoke, with bleeding red eyes. It hissed an accusation at her, so true it made her sob. She scrambled to her feet, lunging for the book. A word burned in her mind, but it was too alien. It slipped through her thoughts and into the dirt.
As she fumbled, the beast poured itself through the hole, violating the sanctity of the place beneath the porch, filling it with darkness. She wanted to scream, but couldn't. She was staring at a black ceiling. Where did it go? Oh God, where is it?
She sat up, throwing wild glances everywhere. She saw a guttering candle in the sill and felt sheets soaked with sweat.
Sheets. A pillow. Somehow, she was back in bed. Where was the thing that was hunting her? Was it gone?
She wanted to wake Helix, to crawl into bed with Aunt and Uncle. Even call to Beth. But she deserved none of those things, and her clenched throat would not allow them. Instead she threw the blankets over her head. It was a mistake.
When she took her eyes from the window, it boiled over with terrors.
~ ~
Dawn crowded in gently, a whisper of grey at the window that slow
ly bloomed into a pale aura. When the sun's long caress touched her bed, she hurled the blankets away and sat up, her heart finally slowing.
Her nightdress clung to her like seaweed, heavy with sweat; her bed reeked of stale fear. She listened—for retreating devils, for God's judgment, for Beth or anyone else who might be awake—and heard nothing. She was alone.
Quietly, she set her feet on the floor. She might have stepped barefoot onto a frozen lake. The breath curled from her lips. Her sweat-soaked shift began to freeze, and she started shivering.
The violence in her muscles drove out the last of her terrors. She dug out her warmest clothes, relishing their dryness as she pulled them on. Geese flew by outside, honking, but the sound only enhanced the morning's repose. The world was frozen. Waiting for her.
With the sudden certainty of a prophet, she knew why.
The bedroom door slid open at her touch; the hallway beyond flowed past her like a dream. Outside, the wild morning air shimmered with mist. The surrounding houses were islands, floating in a sea of clouds.
She stole across the porch and down the steps. Hoary morning grass crackled between her toes. At the old, bowed board she cast about, looking for someone who might see her—but this was her dream, her destiny, and it preserved her from intruders. Reassured, she entered the secret realm beneath the porch.
The sun's blurry light shivered between the shadows of the porch slats. The stillness amplified the sanctuary's beauty. It left her heart aching as if she had come to a temple, but there was no shame for her here. Instead, her breath burned with exhilaration.
The crate rested like an ark against the house's foundation, her book atop it. She drew it down, and its solemn weight triggered a final assault from her nightmares: a memory of a demon, pouring itself beneath the porch like blood. Even then, she'd known the book was her salvation. But in the dream she'd been a victim. The word she needed had escaped her, and everything she feared and hated had caught her as a result.
She was tired of being afraid.
She was no longer dreaming.
Salgo. It means 'begin,' or 'speak the truth.'
The book was on its spine, the ancient symbol facing her. She traced it wonderingly with her finger.
"Salgo," she said.
And the world obeyed.
Chapter 20
i. Syntal
Asleep in Veiling Green, she dreamt of shattering skies.
A flash of scarlet glimmered between the porch slats; a ripple of emerald bathed her face.
She emerged to find Thakhan Dar crowned with lightning: violet and azure, ivory and pitch. It leapt around the peak like a litter of puppies. A bolt tore loose, bounding overhead in a streak of green fire. Another followed, splashing her with silver. Their colors flickered in the mist.
Then silence fell like a shadow, and the sky exploded.
Lightning slashed the dawn to ribbons. Blue and red and gold crashed mutely into each other, birthing new hues. It was beautiful and primal. It was furious and limitless.
It was hers.
A savage joy ignited in her breast, burst from her in laughter. The sound sparkled in the silence.
"What then?" Angbar asked.
The dream shifted; she was in her room. Helix's friends were with her.
She'd had this dream before. It was comfortable, but bittersweet. The others were listening; they cared what she said. Their eyes were empty of judgment.
That was how she knew it was a dream.
"Then the book was open," she told them, still smiling. "Then I read what Lar'atul wrote, and learned to chant."
"Weren't you scared?" Seth asked.
No. She wasn't scared. The Storm had taught her how to stop being scared.
With the clarity of dreams, she told them.
"After my parents died, everyone called the flood 'the storm.' Do you remember that?"
They nodded. Of course, they all remembered.
"It was a legend. No one had to explain what storm they were talking about. They were talking about the one that drowned my parents.
"But the morning I opened the book, that changed. There was a new storm. It replaced the old one with something amazing and beautiful. Now when people say 'the Storm,' they're talking about what I did. Don't you see?
"I made 'the Storm' mean something wonderful."
They smiled at her. They all understood.
All but one.
"Wonderful?" Marlin accused. "You brought the end of the world."
"It's not," she tried to say. "The Church says—"
"People have starved to death. The sun rises in the south."
"I know." She hesitated, flustered. If anyone could understand, surely he could. "But it's not... I don't think..."
"You don't know." He glared, eyes flashing. "You're playing with fire." Smoke curled from his chest. He was smoldering.
"Fire."
~ ~
She woke shivering, staring at a butterwood tree, and waited. It was always like this after a nightmare, and she'd had many. She waited for her eyes to accept the reality of the sun, for her groaning limbs to report that yes, the ground was solid. She waited for the sounds of camp—for her cousin's earnest whispers or Angbar's nervous laugh—to draw her back to the world.
The sun soaked in. Her leg reported a rock lodged against her knee. But the camp was silent. She sat up to find the fire dead and everyone asleep—even Seth.
I'm the first one awake? she marveled. She was never the first one. Shouldn't someone be up all the time? Seth talked about watches every night, but she couldn't remember who was supposed to be on third last night.
She crunched through dead leaves and undergrowth to her cousin. "Helix," she said, touching his shoulder. "It's morning."
He didn't stir, but Seth's eyes snapped open.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"What?" Syntal said. "What do you mean?"
Seth ground his teeth. "It was my watch. I couldn't have fallen asleep."
Well, apparently you did. She bit back the comment, but it gave her a guilty flush of pleasure to see Seth fail at something. Seems you're not as perfect as you think.
"Where are the horses?" he said.
Horses? Syntal started to nod at the tree, where Iggy had tethered the animals the night before, and froze. The tethers were empty.
"Where's Marlin?" Seth growled. Syntal followed his eyes.
The magician was gone.
No.
Oh, no.
"Up!" Seth barked, shoving Iggy with his foot and moving on to Lyseira. "Quick!"
Helix roused, blinking. "What? What is it?"
"Marlin," Syntal told him. "He took the horses."
Helix boggled. "What?"
"I was on second watch," Seth said. "He chanted me. He must have."
Everyone was awake now, climbing to their feet, checking their things.
My book, Syntal realized with dread. Oh, God, my book. She darted to her bedroll. Her sack was a twisted mess, tangled with her blankets just as she'd left it last night, and the book was still in it. He must not have been able to get it without waking her.
She sagged, her heart thundering. The book was everything.
"The money." Helix's voice was grey. He held a pair of cut leather strings in his hand. "He got the money."
Harth stalked across the clearing and grabbed Helix's hand, staring at the strings as if reading the stars. Then his eyes darkened. "Where is he?"
"Gone," Seth said. "It was second watch. He's got hours on us."
"Do you know how much money that was for them? Twenty crowns?"
"Maybe," Lyseira stammered, "Helix—maybe you dropped it? Or animals chewed it off?"
"It's cut," Harth retorted. "Not chewed. And Marlin's gone. Don't be a fool."
Lyseira glared, but the barb struck her. She said nothing.
"I'm going after him," Harth said. Seth nodded.
"You can't," Syntal said.
"Iggy," Harth continue
d as if she hadn't said anything, "can you tell which way he went? You're a tracker, right?"
"You can't," Syntal said again. "The spell will take you."
Harth whirled on her, his jaw quivering. She met his eyes. There was anger there, but there was even more confused fear—an emotion she knew well. She waited, staring him down.
"Wait," Angbar said. "Wait, wait, wait. Can't we just stay here? Won't the curse just force him in circles, like yesterday?"
Everyone looked at her.
How should I know? They had never trusted her—not even Helix—and now, they expected her to know everything? She was an expert?
I've read one book, she wanted to snap, written in a dead language, by a man with terrible handwriting. Seth was glaring a challenge at her. You were ready to burn it when we left.
But Seth hadn't asked her the question. Angbar had. His eyes were the only ones without an accusation.
She drew a deep breath. The frozen air burned her throat; gave her the strength to shove her old pain aside. "I don't know. You lot look at me like I know everything." Like I cursed the wood myself. "I don't. I'm guessing. M'sai?"
Angbar nodded, his face soft with empathy. Most of the rest of them glanced away, chastised. Seth's glare remained.
"But my guess is no. He won't come back here." Before Angbar could voice his question, she went on. "We were following Iggy yesterday. We went in circles because that's what the spell did to him. I don't think... I don't think it would affect everyone the same way."
That was probably true. When she chanted slumber, some people slept longer than others; others somehow resisted the Pulse's command altogether, and didn't sleep at all.
But the truth was, she didn't want to wait. She wanted to hike to that beacon. The only other thing that had ever been so enticing was the book itself.
"She's just guessing," Seth said. "If we went in circles yesterday, there's no reason to think—"
"Yes," Angbar interrupted. "She just said that. She still knows better than you."
"I'm going after him," Harth repeated.
"Didn't you hear her?" Iggy said. "You'll get lost."
"She just admitted she doesn't know that for certain."
No one was looking at her now. She was just an oracle to them: a curiosity to be prodded for answers and then argued over.
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