by Pam Brondos
“What? What brother? You don’t mean him?” Nat pointed to Benedict. The hermit took a long swig from his tankard. His head tipped forward. She wondered how long they’d been drinking.
“No, of course not. He’s the last person I’d send into Rustbrook.” Gennes gave her a funny look. “Soris, join us,” he said. The gray-suited man leaned his broom against the shed and took a seat next to Gennes. Two pairs of matching green eyes stared at her.
“You two are—”
“Brothers,” the men replied in unison.
“How many of you are there?” she asked in wonder.
“There were four. We thought we were the only two left until you brought the good news.” Soris extended his hand and Nat awkwardly grasped it. It felt rough. “Thank you,” he said, letting go of her hand. She had a sudden urge to grasp his hand again until she remembered he was Andris’ brother. “It’s been some time since we’ve had any good news.” His expression was soft and kind. “He’s well, then?” he asked. The others waited for a response.
Nat blushed when she realized she was staring. “You mean Andris?” She glanced at the tabletop. “He’s well. I mean, he’s argumentative and utterly unpleasant to be around, but he’s well.” Soris smiled, and he beamed with happiness. Nat wondered if the three men really were related. His smile reminded her of Marie Claire, and she closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of home.
“Soris here is your brother, recently bitten by a pory snake. The pory snake has exceptionally slow but deadly poison. Its bite marks are conveniently similar to those of a puncture by a porc-tree needle,” Benedict explained. “I’ll administer the punctures before you go.” Nat rubbed her palm, remembering the sting of the needles. “With the Healing Houses closed and their remedies unavailable to purge the pory snake’s nasty toxin, you’ll have no choice but to seek out the help of the Chemist.” He leaned over the table. Light reflected off the bald spot on top of his head. “Mudug wants riven. He should offer up the services of the Chemist in exchange for the riven—assuming you’re smart enough not to let him take it off you.”
“I’m sure the Sister can manage to avoid that,” Soris responded. She glanced at Soris, thankful to have someone defend her.
“I’ve confirmed the Chemist is using a map with orbs as locators, as I suspected. If he’s keeping to his ways, the map will be in his private chambers, well guarded and away from the rest of the castle.” Nat got a good look at Benedict now that he was sitting straight instead of hunched over his drink. Dark circles shaded his eyes, and a crust of dried blood covered his tonsure.
“Once you get to the Chemist, you have to find a way into the room with the map. The room will have a guard in front. He never likes his work disturbed.” Benedict pointed to the parchment that lay between Gennes’ broad hands. He slid it across the table. Soris’ hand brushed Nat’s as they reached for the parchment at the same time. She studied the sketch of a long outbuilding with three doors. “Here.” Benedict pointed to the second door. “That’s where his guard’s been spotted.”
“How are we supposed to get around the guard?” Nat asked. She was beginning to feel like she was trapped in a Ferris wheel, spinning faster and faster, with no way to get off.
Benedict withdrew a small packet wrapped in waxy paper. “Instant sleep. A favorite of Sister Ethet’s. Direct contact with the skin, and a grown man will pass out.” He chuckled. “Just make sure he falls quietly. You’ll sneak in, find the locator, and sprinkle the suix stone around the edges. After you collect your brother, go to the safe house in the city, remove your disguises, and leave.”
“What disguise?” Any more disguises and Nat wasn’t sure she would remember who she really was.
“Bastle herders!” Benedict beamed.
“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Spittle flew from Gennes’ mouth as he laughed. “You’ll be all trussed up and he’s beardless. No one will see or dare look at your arm. I grant that the Chemist will want you out of his laboratory quicker than a whip, so you’ll need to work fast.” Gennes wiped his eyes. “Sometimes, I am so clever. I wish I could see this plan play out.” He stood and his laughter died. “Unfortunately for me, I’ve got a little ambush in the works near Mudug’s mine. I have to ride tonight. I leave you to your preparation. Speed and luck go with you, Sister. Travel free.” Gennes clapped Soris on the shoulder. “Be careful, brother.”
“I will,” Soris answered. “Expect to see me in a week, with nothing but stories of how we hoodwinked Mudug.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, but his mirthful expression melted away as his older brother looked him squarely in the eye.
“Nothing foolish. In and out, you hear? I’ve my mind on enough now to worry about you.”
Soris nodded. “Nothing foolish. And why would you worry when I have a Sister with me?” He bowed his head respectfully toward Nat. Her stomach clenched.
“She’ll keep you safe from the Nala, but not a legion of Mudug’s guards.” Gennes tapped his head. “This mission is more about brains than strength. Use yours and I’ll see you soon.” He embraced Soris in a bear hug. A trio of rebel soldiers fell into step behind his massive figure as he strode out of the tent.
“Gennes supplied enough suix stone for the ruse.” Benedict nodded at a square box on the table. “While I create some unpleasantness for Soris, go collect the riven,” he told Nat. “The guard is waiting to take you.” He lifted a shaky hand and pointed to Blanken, who stood near the tent’s entrance.
Nat scrunched up her face. “Me?” Did he seriously want her to go into that pit and dig out some substance she’d never seen, let alone heard of?
He looked at her as if she were a child who refused to do a chore. “Do you have a volunteer in mind? No? Hurry up, there’s no time to waste.” He extracted a long porc needle from the folds of his tunic. Soris held out his right hand. “He’s not complaining about his duty,” Benedict grumbled. He rummaged through a small box of vials.
Nat stepped over the bench. She placed a hand on Soris’ shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Don’t let him do anything but poke you with the needles.” His brow furrowed. She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “A friend of mine said not to trust him, and I’m beginning to believe her.”
“Sister.” Blanken stood at her side. “We should go.”
Nat widened her eyes and nodded toward Benedict, who was in the middle of mixing the contents of two vials. Soris shrugged. She hoped he took her warning seriously, but there was nothing else she could do.
“Give my regards to that old worm in the hole,” Benedict called out as she followed Blanken. “Hold your hand still,” he said to Soris. “Mine are a bit shaky.”
Nat heard Soris cry out as the tent flap closed behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The pit was a gaping mouth that grew wider in dimension as Nat and Blanken approached. It seemed to be sucking in the last of the twilight. Blanken led her around the edge and handed her a flaming torch. He pointed to a small wooden platform with ropes and a pulley hanging near the lip.
“Mind your head when you go down. I’ll do my best to keep you steady, but the platform sways a bit.” He grasped the edge to hold it still. She eyed the rusty pulley and ropes when she walked onto the middle of the platform. It dropped a foot, then descended rapidly. Blanken grasped the rope and slowed its descent. With nothing to hold on to, Nat sat on her heels, but the flames from her torch licked the rope. She scrambled to stand before the rope caught fire.
“You’ll meet a pit guard about halfway down. Pull on the rope when you’re ready to come up,” Blanken called out from above.
“How about now,” she said to herself.
“What?”
“Nothing, let me down.” The platform descended. The torch flame cast shadows against the rocky walls. Switchbacks were cut into the side of the pit. Flaming torches broke the darkness at every turn. A crude ser
ies of pulleys and platforms extended throughout the cavern, beginning and ending at different levels. Other than the flames, there was no movement or sign of life.
She inched closer to the edge of the platform, hoping to glimpse the bottom of the pit, but the platform began to sway. She didn’t dare move again for fear she would send it swinging into the wall. She calmed her nerves by looking at the bright crystals and milky-looking stratum in the rocks as she descended. When the platform landed on a wide rock ledge, she quickly stepped off and peeked over the precipice.
The sharp point of a dagger dug into Nat’s cheek, and an arm slithered tightly around her neck. Nat froze. The hand holding the dagger moved from her cheek to her arm. A thin hand yanked Nat’s sleeve up to her elbow.
“That’s pathetic,” a hoarse voice said. The arm released Nat and she fell to the ground, clutching her throat. “You have that on your arm, and you froze like a little rabbit before the eagle swoops in for lunch.” Nat watched in alarm as the emaciated woman in front of her gobbled an imaginary feast. The woman’s red dreadlocks swung wildly from side to side with each erratic bite.
“No wonder Sisters are dropping like flies,” the woman said as she smoothed a handful of greasy locks behind her ear. Her ragged split sleeves fell away, revealing dull green markings of vines and swords on her arm. “This used to mean something!” she shouted, pointing to them. Nat scooted to the side, closer to her fallen torch. “Uh-uh.” The woman wagged a bony finger in warning. “Try and attack me,” she challenged and thrust her face in front of Nat’s. She smelled like a dead animal. Nat coughed. A flaming scar ran from the woman’s temple down the left side of her face.
“I’m not here to attack you,” Nat said, struggling to speak through her coughing. The woman reeked. “We’re both Sisters.”
The woman immediately sat back on her heels and folded her arms. “All my Sisters are dead,” she said flatly. She turned onto her knees and crawled slowly toward an opening in the cavern wall. Nat let out a long breath and stood up. She shook uncontrollably. The woman’s lingering rank smell was the last straw for her frayed nerves. Her stomach flipped and she retched off the side of the cliff. Wiping her mouth, she looked at the platform and shook her head, knowing if she went up now without the riven, Benedict would send her right back down. She turned and followed the woman.
Little pockets of light dotted the dark tunnel. Nat examined one of them and found a small orb about a quarter the size of hers.
“They shrink, you know. When a Sister dies, her orb shrinks.” The woman appeared at her side.
Nat’s shoulders tensed. “I didn’t know,” she said, trying not to let the woman see her shake. “Why is it still shining if its owner is dead?” Barba had taught her little about orbs.
“Good question, my little apprentice.” Her arm slid through Nat’s. The torn sleeve of her tunic caught on Nat’s belt. A spider sped up a tangled clump of the woman’s hair. She led Nat farther into the dim tunnel. “When you are with a Sister and she—well, when she is in the throes of death, she may bestow her orb upon you. It’s like giving a memory. And the memory is the light.” Her voice was calm as they paused before a crevice containing two more small orbs. “I have lots of memories.” The woman gave Nat a knowing smile, complete with missing teeth. Nat smiled in return, and the woman’s dark eyes bore into her. “What are you smiling for, you fool? They’re dead!” She gripped Nat’s arm like a vise and gestured to the orbs.
“S-sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Gennes sent me down here to collect some riven,” Nat said, stuttering with nerves.
“Gennes? Has Sisters doing all his dirty work now, does he?” The woman released Nat’s arm, and Nat took a defensive step back. The woman stared at the rough ceiling of the tunnel and rubbed her chin. “Been a while since I was above ground. Maybe you can switch with me? I’ll take Gennes the riven and you can guard the rubbish.” She winked at Nat and spun around. “Rubbish! Wake up, my sweet little murdering rubbish!” she bellowed as she stormed from the tunnel into a small room carved out of the rock. “We have a special visitor with a special job for you!” Nat scanned the cavern. No one else was in the dismal place. A heap of worn blankets surrounded by stacks of aging books lay across from the entrance. A beaten cup and shallow bowl teetered on the edge of a tiny table. The woman continued to yell. All at once, she stopped and faced the opposite wall. “Did you finally die?” She spat a black glob on the floor in front of a barred door set into the rock. A slight shuffling sound came from behind the door. Nat heard a coughing fit, then a male voice.
“Cassandra, you’ve been ingesting the mercury again, haven’t you?”
Cassandra jangled a set of keys in front of a wide lock and said in a reasonable voice, “Rusrel, I’m going to let you out. You are going to dig up a little riven for me.” She flung her head to the side to face Nat. “How much do you need?”
Not knowing what to say, Nat cupped her hands together.
“You will bring back that much.” Cassandra thrust her hand with the key toward Nat. “And then I’ll lock you up again. Any questions? No?” She jammed the key into the lock and bent toward the iron door. “Just remember, Rusrel, I am always looking for an opportunity to kill you,” she said cheerfully as she turned the key. The lock clicked and the door squeaked open.
Rusrel’s gangly legs unfolded like a crawling spider. Two arms crusted over with scabs and sores appeared next. Nat covered her nose as a foul stench rolled over her. She swallowed her vomit.
Cassandra rocked back and forth on her toes with eyes locked on the opening. “It’s been ages since I let him out,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper to Nat.
When Rusrel emerged from his cell, all Nat could think of were pictures she’d seen of concentration-camp victims. The filthy sleeveless tunic swallowed his sunken chest. The remaining bits of stringy hair matted to his head were interspersed with weeping sores. He shuffled on stick-like legs toward the tunnel entrance. Nat pressed against the wall as he moved past her and gave her a black smile.
“Your orbs are getting smaller, Cassandra.” His voice was weak but spiteful. He turned his head and grinned again.
Cassandra halted and fidgeted with the hem of her tattered tunic. She then quickly kicked Rusrel, who crumpled to the ground. She jumped on top of him.
“Stop!” Nat yelled. “We need the riven.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say to keep Cassandra from pummeling his face into the ground. “We need him to get the riven,” she repeated.
“Yes, we do.” The fire vanished from Cassandra’s eyes. She pulled Rusrel to his feet and pushed him toward the opening. Nat leaned against the tunnel wall, catching her breath. “Coming?” Cassandra called from the entrance.
Nat swallowed again and forced her legs to move. She emerged from the mouth of the tunnel just as Rusrel disappeared over the ledge on a long knotted rope. Cassandra crouched near the ground where the rope was staked. It shifted from side to side, pressing against the stone.
“Who is he?” Nat asked as she sat down next to her.
“Him?” Cassandra pointed at the rope, then leveled her eyes on Nat. “Rusrel,” she said slowly, “is the killer of the queen.” She leaned precariously close to the edge. “A little farther, you murdering scum!” she screamed. Her voice echoed through the pit. Nat listened to the stream of curses as she yelled at Rusrel. This woman is insane, she thought. She couldn’t believe Benedict had sent her down here without warning. Cassandra’s voice died away, and the only sound was the rope rubbing against the ledge. The rope grew slack and she loosened her grip.
“Where are you from?” Cassandra asked as her eyes darted to Nat, then back over the ledge.
“Far away,” Nat replied cautiously.
“Do you remember what your House was like?” Cassandra asked.
“Yes. Do you remember where you’re from?” She regretted the question the moment it slipp
ed from her lips. Cassandra shuddered but remained silent.
After a few minutes a weak voice called out from the depths. Cassandra stuck her hand under the rope. “Help me pull him. The offal’s too weak to climb up on his own.” She heaved a meter of rope up and Nat grabbed the slack. The two women pulled hand over hand until Rusrel’s head and shoulders appeared. Cassandra hooked her arm under his armpit and yanked him up. A little silver bucket rolled onto the ledge, spilling purple-tinted crystals.
“Don’t tell me we’ve wasted our time here, Rusrel!” Cassandra pushed the crystals with her bare toe.
“It’s in the bottom of the bucket, Cassandra.” Rusrel lay on his back, chest heaving. “Would you look at the sky,” he said to himself while she examined the contents of the bucket. She twisted around and glared at him.
Nat grasped the bucket’s handle. “I’ll go now,” she said. Cassandra took no notice. Nat stepped onto the platform and pulled on the rope to signal Blanken.
“So dark, so thick and dark,” Rusrel said, still looking at the night sky. He closed his eyes. “Just like her hair.”
Cassandra’s left eye twitched slightly. The platform rose slowly above the ledge. Nat clutched the bucket with one hand and the rope with the other.
“She was so beautiful.” Rusrel’s voice grew stronger. Cassandra loomed over him. The top of her head disappeared from view as Nat rose higher and higher. For a moment, the only sound was the creak of the pulley. Nat shut her eyes and clung to the rope as a piercing wail erupted from below.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It wasn’t Soris’ fault, but that didn’t matter. He asked another question from astride his horse, and Nat ignored him, again. She didn’t want to talk to him, not with Rusrel’s scream and Benedict’s bitter laugh still echoing in her head.
Soris lifted his wet glove and brushed drops of rain from his cheek. He winced slightly, and Nat wondered how badly Benedict had hurt him with the porc needles.