The Canticle of Whispers

by David Whitley

  Mark didn’t see Cherubina move. All he felt was a rush of skirts, and then Cherubina was on Miss Devine. It wasn’t in the least dainty—no scratching was involved. It was one solid punch to the nose. Mark found himself pausing, deliberately, before pulling Cherubina away. Miss Devine had plunged the whole city into war. She certainly deserved it.

  The glassmaker got up, still maintaining her dignity, despite the trickle of blood running down her face.

  “Well,” she said. “I’m going to leave now, and you’re not going to stop me.”

  “No,” Mark growled. “You will pay for your crimes.”

  “Pay?” Miss Devine replied, with cold exactness. “Who will I pay? The receivers? The Directory? You?” She raised her hand. Another long shard of glass was in it, wickedly sharp. Mark’s eyes flicked around the room. He could charge her, but he couldn’t be sure that Cherubina would be safe. Neither woman was thinking clearly at the moment. Nor, for that matter, was he. He had no idea what would happen if they fought again, and he didn’t want to take that risk.

  “You’ll pay the People,” Mark said, slowly. “We’ll tell everyone what you did to Crede and Theo. They’ll hunt you down.”

  “No you won’t, Mark,” Miss Devine replied. “Because you had the chance to do that to Ruthven, at the prison. That isn’t your way.” A tiny smile played on her face. “That’s why he’ll win, you see,” she said, looking down at Snutworth’s effigy. “That’s why he always wins. Your strength lies in chaos, in raw pain, a hundred different voices clamoring to be heard. But he isn’t confused. He’s the shadow, the nemesis, the one who’s always there. He’s the one who has no limits, nothing he won’t do. He’s brilliance, and ice, and the crystal edge of a diamond.” She lifted the glass shard, her own blood dripping on the floor. “His is the order of the new world. Soon, he’ll be everything, and everyone. And then you’ll all see him as I do.”

  And she flung the shard at them.

  It was only a few seconds, as they ducked, covering their eyes, protecting themselves from the fragments of glass that rained down. By the time they looked up again, Miss Devine was gone.

  * * *

  Later, much later, Mark was sitting in the temple with Ben and Verity. They had listened to him without much surprise when he told them about Miss Devine. Benedicta, particularly, had said that she would put very little past the emotion peddler.

  She had vanished, of course. Nick’s men were combing the streets, but, as Verity said, they weren’t likely to see her again.

  Mark thought she was probably right. There hadn’t been much reason left in Miss Devine’s head.

  He heard a cough from across the room. It wasn’t a diseased cough, not one of the patients. It was small, apologetic—a sound to attract attention.

  Mark turned his head. Ben smiled.

  In the doorway, Cherubina stood. Mark hadn’t seen her since earlier, after she had wept out her tears of fear and frustration. He had cried a couple of his own.

  But now, her jaw was set, her eyes were dry, and her ringlets were tied back in a businesslike fashion. In her arms, she clasped a small pile of leather-bound books.

  “I found these,” she said, softly, “in Miss Devine’s back room. I think they’re medical textbooks.” She brought them forward, putting them on the pew in front of Ben and Verity. “If we find the poison she used, could we make an antidote?”

  Verity opened them, carefully, and showed a page to Ben. The redheaded girl nodded.

  “My medical knowledge isn’t as good as Theo’s,” Ben admitted, “but we might be able to do something with this.”

  “If not, I can go up to the Aries District tomorrow,” Cherubina continued, “to the orphanage. Mother has some healer’s skills, and it’s time she helped…”

  “We’ll try this first,” Verity said, pointing to something on the page. “But this will need two of us to make it, Ben. Three would be better, but someone has to stay with Theo.”

  “I’ll stay,” Cherubina said, in a tone that would brook no argument. Verity brushed back her hair, and smiled.

  “Right. Ben, could you fetch the herbs? Mark, I think the mortar and pestle are over there.”

  Hastily, Mark got up, and picked his way through the makeshift beds to the altar, where the mortar and pestle were waiting. As he picked them up, he saw Ben and Verity, hurrying down the stairs, having whispered their thanks to Cherubina. The blond girl hadn’t moved. She stood by the pew, staring into space.

  Mark returned, and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Thanks, Cherubina,” he said. “You didn’t need to go back into Miss Devine’s shop, not after—”

  “I did,” she said, quietly. “It’s my fault he’s like that. I have to help. No…” she turned to Mark, and put her hand on his. “That’s not it. I want to help.”

  Mark smiled. He understood.

  And Cherubina leaned forward, and hugged him, whispering something in his ear.

  “Thank you, Mark.”

  Mark shrugged.

  “What are friends for?” he said.

  Cherubina smiled. Then she turned, parted the sheets hanging around Theo’s bed, and went to sit with the stricken doctor.

  And Mark picked up the mortar and pestle, and went down to the cellar, happier than he had been in a long, long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Living

  LAUD WOKE UP, and wished he hadn’t. He screwed his eyes shut against the light.

  He had been prepared for the Nightmare when he’d entered the forest. Prepared for those little thoughts of doubt or fear that would attack him, sapping his will.

  He hadn’t prepared for a stout branch to the back of the head. Which, in the event, was quite an oversight.

  It hadn’t quite knocked him out. He remembered being seized, and tied up, before someone had forced something down his throat that smelled of sweet herbs and had brought instant sleep.

  His thoughts were interrupted as he heard someone approach. He felt cool hands touch his face, and a bowl pressed to his lips. He tried to push it away, but his head was aching fearfully, and his throat was parched, so he let the water flow down his throat. After a few seconds, the unseen hands pulled away, and Laud found his voice again, in a stream of half-intelligible abuse at his captor.

  To his amazement, he heard a very familiar laugh.

  “Well, it sounds like you’re fine after all!”

  Laud’s eyes sprung open.

  “Lily…?” he began, before his tired mind gave up, and he resigned himself to gaping. Lily frowned, and leaned forward to touch the back of his head.

  “Does it still hurt?” she asked.

  Laud stared at her. She looked freshly washed and well rested, and now that he was really looking, he could see that he was lying in a bed—wood-carved and comfortable, in a snugly constructed hut. Soup bubbled on the hearth, and little wooden toys were strewn across the floor. It was positively idyllic, and made no sense at all.

  “Just checking…” Laud ventured. “I’m not still dreaming, am I? This isn’t about to turn into some dreadful nightmare? It’s just … either you were the one who hit me, or…” Laud trailed off; he didn’t want to think about what that would mean.

  Lily raised an eyebrow.

  “Laud, do I really look like I’m being possessed by the Nightmare?” she asked, deadpan.

  Laud squinted.

  “No. You look happy, actually, which considering I’m recovering from a vicious attack isn’t entirely welcome.”

  Lily scratched the back of her head.

  “Ah yes … but you’ll be fine; he didn’t hit you very hard, and he really is sorry. The Order have sent several strangers to try to track them down recently, you see. They didn’t know you were my friend; you’re completely safe now…”

  “Who are they?” Laud asked, wearily. “I’ve got a terrible headache, Lily, please don’t be so mysterious.”

  He attempted a smile, and Lily laughed. Then she raised he
r head, and called.

  “Owain! Freya! He’s awake.”

  * * *

  Laud wanted to be angry. He felt he had every right to be. This young man, Owain, had struck him with a wooden staff, and considering that he had the size and build of an oak tree, it was a wonder that he hadn’t caused more damage. The young woman, Freya, had force-fed him something that had sent him to sleep, and both of them had kept him as a prisoner in their hut. He was very much the injured party, no matter how many times they apologized.

  But tied around Freya’s shoulders was a cloth sling, in which lay a sleeping baby. And no matter how much Laud felt like shouting at the young couple, he couldn’t bring himself to wake their son.

  Lily reached out, and gingerly stroked the little boy’s head.

  “Have I really been away so long?” Lily asked, amazed. “What’s his name?”

  “He’s called Owain,” Freya said, smiling. “After his father.”

  “Isn’t that rather confusing?” Lily asked, beaming. Laud couldn’t suppress his own smile. Not so much at the child, though he had to admit it was rather sweet, but at seeing Lily looking so joyous. Every day they had known each other had been besieged by worry and strain. He didn’t think he had ever seen her look so happy.

  The only shadow on all this bliss stood off to one side, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing. She was older than Freya and Owain, around forty summers, and wore green robes that made her look a little like one of the monks from the Cathedral. She had said that her name was Elespeth, and that she had guided Lily to Owain and Freya’s hut, but otherwise kept her lips firmly shut.

  She looked uncomfortable. Every time she caught Lily looking at her, her eyes flicked away. More than once, Laud turned to ask her something, and felt the pressure of Lily’s hand on his. She didn’t want to talk to her yet, either.

  Instead, they sat down on the grass, damp with early morning dew, to eat a breakfast of mashed lentil potage, while Lily made proper introductions. It was a long story. She told him how Owain and Freya had been her and Mark’s only true friends in Giseth, and how they had fled their home village to avoid punishment for loving each other. Now they lived in the forest, beneath the watchful eye of Elespeth and the rest of her people—the Brethren of the Shadows, a religious order that had learned how to live with the Nightmare. It was a fascinating tale, but it made Laud oddly uncomfortable, and not just because Mark had told him this tale once before, and he had mocked it as implausible. This was the part of Lily’s life that was closed off to him—the year and a half she had been traveling in Giseth, while he had remained in Agora, not knowing if she was alive or dead.

  It was not until Lily had finished her story that she turned to the silent woman.

  “Now, Elespeth, do you want to talk about how you betrayed me?” she said, quite casually.

  There was absolute silence. Strangely, the one person who did not seem shocked was Elespeth herself. She almost sounded relieved as she spoke.

  “So, you know about it?”

  Lily nodded. For once, Laud couldn’t tell what she was really thinking. She seemed oddly calm, considering what they were discussing.

  “Mark overheard you, just before you had him captured and sent back to Agora,” Lily said, quietly. “I’d expected more of you, Elespeth. I knew you didn’t like me, but I didn’t think you’d betray us to the Order. Especially not to Father Wolfram.”

  Laud had expected a speech, some kind of moral rebuke. The old Lily, before her recovery, would have been fuming by now. But this was something different, something altogether quieter. Elespeth, for her part, held her gaze.

  “In which case, why did you call to me through the Nightmare?” she asked. “Were you not worried that I would betray you again?”

  Lily shrugged.

  “You taught me to use the Nightmare—I used it. As far as I knew, it could be days to the nearest village, and I had no one else to ask. I hoped that you’d be feeling guilty.”

  Elespeth nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

  “More than you can possibly know,” she admitted. “When I agreed to Wolfram’s demand, I thought he was doing the work of the Librans. But since then, Wolfram’s obsession with finding you has grown … even his own people seem to be opposing him. His letters have become strange, full of talk of the Director of Agora seizing control of the Libran’s plans, and ‘the vessel being chosen on the Day of Judgment.’” Elespeth shook her head. “He has already corrupted some members of the Order of the Lost to his cause, and summoned them to Agora. Even a few of my own Brethren have joined him. He has continued to send me letters, but I have not replied. The Day of Judgment approaches, and I will not act against the Judges.”

  Laud shifted, irritably.

  “Don’t try any of that mystical nonsense. I’ll bet that this ‘Day of Judgment’ never comes.”

  Elespeth smiled.

  “The Day of Judgment is in nine days’ time, Mr. Laudate,” she said. “And even if you don’t believe in it, there are enough people who do to make sure it will be a memorable day.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause. Laud and Lily exchanged glances. They both knew what was happening in nine days’ time. Agora Day. The Grand Festival.

  And if everything went according to plan, they should get back to Agora in seven days. Just in time.

  “What do you know about the Day of Judgment, Sister Elespeth?” Lily asked. Elespeth shook her head.

  “Only that it will bring everything to an end. It is not the way of the Brethren to question the grand design.”

  “The Brethren have helped us, you know,” Owain added, clearly trying to move the conversation away from this uncomfortable turn. “After Wulfric left, Elespeth looked after us. She even delivered our son. They’ve kept us safe from people from our old village, who were trying to find us. We owe her so much…”

  “It’s all right, Owain,” Elespeth said, raising a hand. “Once, I helped capture one of her friends, but now I have reunited her with another, by bringing her here. In Agora, I believe that would be a fair trade.”

  Lily raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” she said. “I think you owe a little more than that.”

  Elespeth merely turned away.

  The conversation continued, but Laud wasn’t really listening. Occasionally, he nodded in confirmation, as Lily told parts of their story, but mostly, he thought about Elespeth. Yes, she had betrayed Lily, and he couldn’t forgive her for that. But if she hadn’t sent Mark back to Agora, would he have ever found Lily again?

  “Laud,” Lily said, softly, “I know that you thought we shouldn’t involve anyone else in our plans, but we might need some local knowledge…”

  Laud frowned, looking at the young couple. He wanted to be suspicious, especially as his head still ached from the blow.

  But these were the only friendly faces he had seen for days. And Lily was right. They did need help. He nodded, cautiously. Lily turned to her old friends.

  “Owain, Freya, we need to ask your advice. It’s about how we’re planning to get home…”

  And so, Lily told them what Honorius had revealed, back at the sanatorium. She told them the reason why he had been banished from Agora. About what he had discovered—and how they were going to use this secret to return to Agora.

  After she finished, there was a long pause.

  “That’s … amazing.” Freya breathed at last. “Completely crazy, but amazing. I don’t know how you’ll manage it on your own.”

  “We’ll find a way,” Laud insisted, although privately, he was wondering the same thing. “If we split up, the receivers probably won’t recognize me…”

  “I think they will,” Owain said, thoughtfully. “If all you’ve told us of Agora is true, you won’t be able to do this. Not on your own.” A smile spread across his face. “So it’s a good thing that you paid us a visit.”

  Lily’s eyes widened in alarm.

  “Don’t think of it
, Owain,” she insisted. “It isn’t your city; we can’t let you risk it.”

  “One thing that you taught me, Lily, is never to take orders from anyone,” he said, with a grin. But Lily was not so easily dissuaded.

  “What about Freya, and your son? It could be weeks before you could return, even if everything goes according to plan. You can’t just leave them.”

  “Lily,” Freya interrupted, steel in her voice, “if it wasn’t for you and Mark, we would never have escaped Aecer. Our son would never have been born. If Owain can help you in any way, then I’ll cheer him on.” She looked down at her baby, and held him close. “If I didn’t need to nurse our son, I’d go myself. But I agree with one thing—Owain shouldn’t go alone. You need someone more experienced in lying.”

  All eyes turned to Elespeth. The older woman bowed her head.

  “This will not succeed,” she said, softly.

  “But you’ll do it,” Lily said, firmly. “Not for our sake, of course. But you wouldn’t let Owain walk into danger alone, would you? Not when protecting this family is the only way you’ve redeemed yourself.”

  Freya and Owain fixed Elespeth with looks of absolute assurance, as did Lily. Laud watched Elespeth’s expression. It looked from one to the other, searching for a way out. And then, defeated, her eyes sunk to the ground.

  “If it is the will of you all,” she muttered.

  “Yes, it is,” Freya said, triumphantly. “And this time, it really is. Except…” a flicker of doubt showed in her eyes. “Are you sure this is the best way to return to Agora? You’ll be letting your enemies know where you are, taking the fight right to them.”

  “This isn’t just about going home,” Lily said, a trace of the old fire in her eyes. “This is about showing people the truth. I’ve been wrapped up in ancient conspiracies since before I was born. I’ve caused terrible harm, because I didn’t really know what was going on. Well, I’m not going to force anyone to change, but I’m going to show them that they have a choice. That the world’s bigger than anything they’ve ever imagined.”

  Up until that moment, Laud had worried that her time in the marshes and the sanatorium had dulled Lily’s spark, made her cautious and fearful. But now, he saw her blaze to life again, discussing a plan that was dangerous, and foolish, and quite possibly brilliant. And he felt more confident than ever.