They needed light. She searched the room, scanning it until she found a lantern. Using her manehlin, she poured energy into it until the lantern started to glow. A soft, orange light emanated from the lantern, pushing back the shadows.
The room they found themselves in was plainly decorated. Wood planks covered the floor. There was nothing in the room other than a table and two chairs propped against one wall. A doorway led to the back of the building, and she motioned to Selton to follow her.
In the next room, there was a massive hearth on one wall. As she checked it, there was no heat coming from it, and she doubted it had been lit any time recently.
A table stood near the hearth, and she stepped over to examine a stack of papers. The pages were blank. Roelle took them and tucked them into her pocket.
There had to be something else here. What reason would Scottan have to come here?
“Something’s wrong,” Roelle said.
“I agree. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something not quite right about this.”
She turned to walk back out into the other room and noticed another doorway with stairs leading down.
She held the lantern in front of her, her other hand gripping the hilt of her sword.
At the bottom of the stairs was another door. She rested her hand on it, feeling for warmth, and listening to it, concerned that there might be movement on the other side that she wasn’t prepared for. There was nothing.
She checked the handle and found it unlocked. Roelle pushed the door open.
Her heart was hammering. She shouldn’t be here. If this was a place of the Deshmahne, she needed to go to the High Desh and ask him what he might know. He had been honest with her so far, and she had no reason to believe that he would not continue to be forthright with her, but even he might not be able to provide her with all the answers she needed. Something had taken place here.
If not here, this had been a place of preparation, a place where Scottan had come… And for what?
She had no answer.
The room on the side of the door was more comfortable than those above. A thick carpet covered the floor. Shelves with books stuffed into them lined the walls. A long, comfortable-looking bench took up most of the space in the center of the room.
Heat was more present here.
Roelle stood, trying to determine why she would feel that heat more strongly here than she had above. There was no clear answer.
Was there any way for her to use her connection to the manehlin?
She pushed out with it, reaching across the room, stretching her connection through the energy present here. As she did, she felt a source of something push against her.
It was in a corner.
Roelle made her way to it and leaned down, holding the lantern in front of her.
Resting on the ground was what appeared to be a sharpened pen, the point inky black, but the entire pen was black.
It wasn’t a pen it all. What she had found was teralin.
Why would there be a pen-shaped piece of teralin here?
And not just teralin, but the dark teralin.
She motioned to Selton, and he crouched near her. “What do you think this is for?”
“We found paper. Do you think it’s for that?”
Roelle hesitated to pick up the pen. She wasn’t sure what impact the dark teralin would have on her, if any. It was possible that nothing would happen, though it was equally possible that by handling the dark teralin, she would be influenced by it. She had already been poisoned by negatively charged teralin and didn’t want to be exposed to it again, not if it meant that she would suffer in the same way.
She sighed and quickly picked it up.
It was warm, but that was the only sensation she had from it. The surface was slick, as if the pen had been oiled. She pulled the pages from her pocket and attempted to write on them, but there was nothing.
“Not a pen,” she said.
“What’s it for, then?” Selton asked.
Roelle stuffed the dark teralin pen into her pocket along with the pages. They were questions she would ask later and in another place. She could question the priest, and see what he might know—if he was willing to answer. She wasn’t entirely certain he would.
When she stood, she looked around the room, searching to see if there were any other places that people or other items might be hiding, but found nothing. She took a moment to push out with her manehlin once more and felt no other voids other than what she carried with her now.
“What now?” Selton asked.
Roelle shook her head and suppressed the frustrated sigh. Not only had they failed to find where Scottan had gone, they had failed to find out anything else that might have been helpful. Maybe there wasn’t anything for her to discover here, but it troubled her that there was so much secrecy around this place, and that this man Jakob had sent to her for help had disappeared from it.
“I guess it’s time for us to return.”
They made their way back up the stairs and out of the building. Roelle paused at the doorway, looking down the length of the street. For a moment, she thought she saw movement, but that faded.
They stepped back into the street and started along the road toward where they were staying. As they made their way, she had the sense that they were followed, but each time she paused and looked around, she saw no sign of anyone near them.
That sense never truly disappeared as they continued along the street, and didn’t leave her until she was back inside the building that had served as their lodging for the last few weeks.
“What will happen if you can’t find him?” Selton asked.
“I’m not too worried about Jakob’s reaction. I’m more worried about why Scottan would have gone off with the Deshmahne.”
“You were going to ask the High Desh to help when we leave.”
“I was, but this feels different.”
She didn’t know why. Perhaps the answer was that, for the first time since they had come to Paliis, seeing the Deshmahne made her nervous.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The railing was wet, the salty spray of the sea making it slick, and Brohmin gripped it tightly. They were close to Salvat, and he was not about to go overboard. He shifted his weight to match the rocking motion of the sea, the waves rolling beneath the sleek ship. Brohmin had finally developed his sea legs and managed to keep his footing.
Salindra did not manage quite as well. She stood next to him at the railing, with her hair tied back in a blue silk ribbon, a heavy cloak over her shoulders, trying to keep warm, a far cry from the comfortable silks she’d worn while in Paliis. She stared out at the sea, her jaw clenched, and tension filling her shoulders as each wave slammed against the hull of the ship.
“You need to relax,” Brohmin said.
“That’s what you told me on the first crossing. It did no good.”
Brohmin chuckled. “You won’t get used to the passing if you don’t allow it to roll over you. The more you remain tense, the more you’ll feel each wave. It’s like much in life. You must allow it to wash over you. Attempting to fight it will only make it harder.”
She glared at him for the briefest of moments. “Now you would be philosophical?”
“I’ve lived long enough that I think a little philosophical diversion is appropriate. If you manage to make it as far as I have, I suspect you will become equally philosophical.”
She turned to face the sea once more, her jaw still clenched. For a moment, he thought he saw her muscles relax, but when the next wave crashed into them, her shoulders tensed again, and her grip became white knuckled as she held on to the railing.
Had he more ahmaean, he might have used that to soothe her. But he didn’t want to risk it. His connection to it was still there, and he was stronger than he had been in months, but there was a limit to how much he had remaining. The gift he had been given was not limitless.
It still surprised him that time spent in the temple wou
ld have restored him as it did. Why would the Deshmahne be the ones to have the ability to help him? Was there something to their connection to the teralin? Considering how much time and energy he’d spent creating the glamour of Deshmahne markings, it should not have made a difference, but it seemed as if that glamour had connected him somehow to the teralin. It made no sense to him, but Brohmin had experienced many things over his years that made no sense.
Another wave rolled toward them, this one powerful and nearly slamming him to the side. Storms had made the waves more dramatic than they would otherwise have been, but in this part of the sea, storms were common, particularly at this time of year. Even now, clouds were thick in the sky, threatening even more rain. With as drenched as they had been, Brohmin wanted no more rain.
The crossing from Polle Pal had been slower than he preferred. They had been at sea for weeks. It was time he didn’t think he had, but what choice was there? Had he the ability to travel the way Jakob did—or some way of summoning Jakob so that he could carry them where they needed to go—there would be no need to travel by this gods-forsaken ship.
“All I want is a dry bed,” Salindra said.
Brohmin touched her arm. She softened beneath his touch, so at least there was that much. Had he more time remaining, he would have wanted something more for them. Maybe there still could be, but that would have to happen after.
It was the same thing he had told himself for centuries.
But then, he was the Hunter. What choice did he have?
“Your cabin is dry enough. The captain even gave you his quarters.”
“Because you made him. I thought you wanted to travel anonymously.”
Brohmin smiled. When he was with Salindra, smiling was easier than it had been before. Did she know that about him? Did she know that he was not nearly as worried as he had been in the decades—and, if he were honest with himself, probably longer—before he’d met her? What was it about the Mage that put him at ease?
He knew the answer to that. She hadn’t given up.
Brohmin had noticed that from the first moment when he’d found her in the tavern. She might have been branded, and she might have lost her abilities, but she had a feistiness to her—a fight—that was unlike any Mage he had known. Over the years he’d lived, Brohmin had known many.
Perhaps that was a sign of things changing. Now there were many Magi who fought, and who had rediscovered their warrior roots, something he never had expected to see. Had Alyta known that would happen? She’d had a not-insignificant ability to peer forward along the fibers, but it was not as potent as others had. Brohmin wouldn’t put it past Alyta to have known what the Magi would once again become.
Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with Alyta. Roelle had been influenced by another of the Conclave. Endric had often been one of the greatest among them, and his ability to anticipate bordered on prophecy. Endric had some abilities, though prophecy was unlikely one of them. His abilities stemmed more from his connection to the Antrilii, which made him as much a Mage as Novan, though the historian would never make such a claim. For that matter, neither would Endric.
Still, there was something about Salindra that was unique even for the Magi who now had a willingness to fight. Maybe it had more to do with the fact that he was finally ready to move on from his past, though after hundreds of years, he should have been ready long before now.
Another massive swell hit the ship, sending spray washing over the deck. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a slow peal of thunder.
“Gods! Another storm?”
“It’s that time of year. The seas are unsettled.”
“Then why are we traveling now?”
“Because now is when we have to travel. You heard the same as I did.”
She glanced over at him, bracing for a swell that never came. “I might have heard it, but I’m not sure that I understood exactly why you’re so worried about what Roelle told you.”
Brohmin squeezed his eyes closed at the mention of her name. He had abandoned her, committing her to the Deshmahne priest, hoping that he would honor his commitment, though not certain whether he would. He had no other choice. Had Jakob managed to return to Paliis, maybe it wouldn’t have been necessary, but there was no way to summon one of the damahne.
“It means that there may be something more than what I ever understood.”
“And we’re headed to Salvat for that?”
“We’re headed to Salvat because that is where we will find the rest of the Conclave.”
“I thought the Conclave consisted of you, the historian, Endric, and the goddess.”
Brohmin nodded. “All of them sit upon the Conclave. But there are others. That’s who we’re going to see.”
“And you won’t tell me why?”
He sighed. “I’m not entirely certain what to make of what I’ve heard. The Lashiin priests made a comment about another text, one that referenced a dissatisfaction among the damahne. It’s that dissatisfaction that I fear.”
It was difficult to believe that what the Lashiin priest had told Roelle was true, but considering the difficulty they’d had over the years trying to capture Raime, he had to wonder whether he might have been given help. Raime had once been a member of the Conclave and knew everything those initial members had known.
“Even if there was some fracturing between the gods, what does that have to do with anything that’s happening now?”
“It might be nothing,” Brohmin said.
She clenched her jaw again as another wave hit, but she seemed to relax her shoulders rather than bracing against the power of the wave. Even if they sailed another month, Brohmin doubted she would ever become comfortable onboard the ship. The captain claimed that some never became comfortable on the sea, while others seemed to be born to it. Brohmin was likely in the middle. He managed to tolerate the swelling seas, but it wasn’t anything he particularly enjoyed. It required focus, and a hint of ahmaean to strengthen him.
That was what made this journey more difficult. He hadn’t allowed himself to draw upon the ahmaean to strengthen him. With as little as he suspected he had remaining, he didn’t dare risk pulling off too much, not when he knew how much more had to be done.
“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t have made this journey.”
“I would not,” Brohmin agreed.
They fell into silence. Thunder rumbled again, though there was no sign of additional lightning. The wind whipped around them, carrying the salt spray. At least it was a warmer wind, but as drenched as they were, it still felt a bit chilly. Though he’d mastered the balancing act needed on deck, his body ached from the effort—or it might be as much because of his age. He had grown increasingly aware of aches over the last few months that never would have bothered him before. The gift of his ahmaean had given him longevity and had granted him strength, which meant that he did not suffer as most men did from the ailments of time.
Brohmin contemplated how much time he had remaining. He had been granted an extended life, but all beings were mortal. Even the damahne—and they lived incredible lives. Would he complete his task before his time was up? He’d been assigned to hunt Raime, the same task that other hunters before him had been assigned, but he was different. He had been chosen as Uniter first, confirmed by the daneamiin, and then gifted by the dying damahne with abilities that were intended to augment his capacity to complete his task. And now, it seemed that he would run out of time before he managed to succeed.
It would be up to him to find the successor. Someone would take up the mantle of Hunter, something he had not given any thought to over the years. He should have been better prepared. The Conclave should have been better prepared. Then again, the Conclave had often thought they had more time remaining than they did.
Thunder rumbled again, and he stared out into the distance. A particularly bright burst of lightning streaked from the sky, lightening the day, and revealing land in the distance.
His heart
hammered. He felt relief at finally nearing shore, mixed with anxiety. How would he be received when he appeared at Salvat and the home of the Conclave? Those who remained there had retreated, much like the Magi had retreated. They relied upon Novan’s or Endric’s reports and had often treated Brohmin differently. That was the nature of his position.
Now, he needed information from them. Would they give it? Would they have heard what happened to Alyta? Would they have heard about Jakob’s appearance?
That would be even more important for him to determine. Jakob changed things by his mere existence. He was the one person Raime had not counted on. He was the reason they might finally stop him and might finally bring peace.
But this text the Lashiin priests referred to might be something that Raime had known about that the Conclave had not.
That troubled him.
There shouldn’t be secrets like that. The damahne were able to walk back along the fibers to watch their ancestors. Secrets that significant should not be able to be hidden—unless the damahne of the past had some way of shielding themselves from those who walked back.
When—and if—Jakob came into full control of his abilities, it was a question that Brohmin could ask him. In the meantime, he would need to rely upon what he could discover from the Conclave. Their archives were far more extensive than any others.
Salindra tapped his arm, and Brohmin nodded. “I see it,” he said.
“Is that Salvat?”
“It should be. There aren’t too many places that have that distinctive of a coastline.”
Salvat was difficult to reach, at least this part of the island. The island itself was massive, spreading for hundreds of leagues, nearly the distance between Gomald and Thealon, but much of it was unpopulated. There were a few cities, and some great cities, but most of it was barren rock that scholars believed had been spewed from the sea by the gods. The heart of the island where the Conclave called home was particularly barren, and they had chosen that location intentionally. It was meant to make their home difficult to reach and meant to be isolated, a place that others were not able to access. It protected the Conclave and protected those who served on it. More than that, it protected the knowledge stored there from those who were not meant to obtain it. Somehow, they had managed to prevent Raime from discovering its location over the years. The Salvat location of the Conclave headquarters was far removed from its original home within the Great Forest.
The Gift of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 7) Page 21