by Jeff Wheeler
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I’ve never seen its like before.”
“Well, it doesn’t feel like any ordinary medallion. I thought you’d want to see it.”
“Thank you.” The longer she held it, the more intrigued she became by it. There was something almost . . . familiar about it. She slid it into her pocket.
Rand folded his arms and gave her a piercing look. But still he didn’t ask.
Cettie glanced down. “You’re wondering about that man,” she said.
“Clearly.”
“This was not my first encounter with him. He came to my school, to Muirwood, and tried to take me.”
“Was that the time when Fitzroy’s daughter was abducted? I heard about that. It’s known as one of the incidents leading to the war.”
She nodded. “It was a difficult time. I never would have imagined he was waiting for us. I’m sorry I put you in danger.”
“Sorry? I volunteered, if you remember. And you stopped him from drowning me. I’m not unfamiliar with fighting, Cettie. And he twisted me into a Bhikhu hold I couldn’t get out of. Without your intervention, I would have been done for. I’m glad the villain is dead. But I can see . . .” He paused, giving her a probing look. “You’re unsettled by it.”
“Not in the way you are thinking, Mr. Patchett.”
“Mr. Patchett? I thought we were well past all that nonsense. I think you ought to be permitted to say a man’s name if you just saved his life.” He gave her an encouraging smile, so she could tell he was jesting with her. “Now what did you mean by that?”
It was a secret only a few of the Fitzroys knew about. While Father and Mother and Anna knew, she’d never told Phinia or Stephen.
She did not trust easily, but a strong urge to unburden herself gripped her. She’d held so many secrets for so long. Besides, Rand was different from the other people she’d met in society—almost another outcast. Her natural reticence attempted to silence her, but he had secrets of his own, ones that she knew about. Surely he would understand.
“He said he was a kishion,” she said softly, watching his eyes to see how he reacted. “They’re hired killers, Rand. I never knew about them until meeting him. He . . . he claimed to be my father.”
His lips pursed, and he nodded subtly. “I see. Well, that explains some things. You tried to kill your father today.” He rocked back on his heels. “That would trouble anyone. Well. I don’t know what to say. Other than . . . thank you. I can’t say I cared for the man much.”
His comment made her smile a little. “Neither did I, Rand.”
“I guess that amulet is yours, then. But this brings new questions to light. Why was he after you? Why did he free the Fear Liath to trick you into coming? And where is the Fear Liath now? It’s broken free of its cage. It must have gone somewhere.”
Talking about her father had reminded her of the past. A memory struck her, followed fast by an idea. “I think I know a way we can find it,” she said.
“I’m a soldier, not a hunter,” he said. “They have scouts in the Ministry of War that can follow trails, but they are all deployed in the war at present.”
“No, there’s something else. I know a teacher at Billerbeck Abbey.”
“That’s where I studied,” he said in surprise. “Who?”
“Caulton Forshee.”
Rand’s face revealed he knew the name. “I remember him well.” A look of chagrin quickly followed. “I think he’s disappointed that I never took his advice and switched to the Ministry of Thought. I always found his lectures fascinating. All my life I’ve struggled with the Myriad Ones.” His lips twitched. “How could he help?”
“He has something that can find what is lost. I think it requires permission from the privy council, but we can ask him.”
He folded his arms and gave her a serious look. “I’ll go with you, if you’d like. But I have bitter memories of that place.” He sighed. “Memories can be a torment. Best to let them lie.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BLACK FOREST
Night descended on the mines of Dolcoath. Through the window, Cettie watched the light strain against the shadows before yielding to them at last. With dusk came the droning chorus of insects. The street Leerings had begun to glow in the small village. Cettie leaned against the open window, arms folded, breathing in the cool night air that smelled of thick green vegetation. A night bird called, and she could picture it in her mind from the drawing she’d seen in Adam’s book. Intense feelings of loneliness and worry followed the remembrance, and she wondered where he was at this particular moment. Had the battle started? Was he safe?
Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of steps and voices coming toward her. She recognized them as Rand’s and Stephen’s, and since her door was already open, she turned in time to see them enter. Maxfield Strong had followed them, but he remained outside.
Stephen’s right arm was bandaged below his shoulder, cradled in a sling. He looked healthy—the pallor had left his cheeks and his gray eyes were bright with vigor. Rand’s expression was strained, but the two were in conversation.
“Is the night watch posted?” Rand asked.
“They are. The first shift will patrol until midnight, and the second will patrol until dawn. The sun set a short while ago, but there have been no howls like in previous days.”
Rand nodded solemnly. “The beast is no longer attached to its lair, so it could be leagues away by now. The night watch will give reassurance to the people living here.”
“I agree,” Stephen said. Then he turned to Cettie.
“You look much better,” she told him.
“Doctor Dunferm did his work well,” he said. “He gave me something for the pain, but the wound itself isn’t too severe. The ball grazed my chest before embedding in my arm. I didn’t even feel that part until the doctor saw it. It slowed the ball down enough that it didn’t shatter the bone.”
“I’m relieved,” Cettie said.
Rand put his hand on Stephen’s other shoulder. “I told him that the fellow might have shot me first if Stephen hadn’t been so quick to react.” He gave Cettie a nod. “And without your interference, Cettie, we both might have perished. Thank you. You did well today.”
She felt her cheeks warm with his praise. “It took courage to go into the grotto, Mr. Patchett.”
He arched his eyebrows at her accusingly.
“Hang propriety, Cettie,” Stephen said with a chuckle. “This man is a solid dragoon. As solid as they come. I thank you for volunteering for this duty, sir. I didn’t think very highly of you at first, but I do now.”
Rand nodded humbly and leaned against the doorjamb. “I took the liberty of seeing the villain put in a box. I don’t know what else we can learn from a corpse, and his body is starting to smell. The miners will bury it in the morning. Per Stephen’s orders.”
Stephen smiled and nodded vigorously. “I never realized a wound could make me this popular. I haven’t had this much respect since my first days here. The men look at me differently now.”
Rand clapped him on the back and made Stephen wince. “Don’t let it go to your head. But yes, a little courage and fortitude go a long way toward earning a man some respect. Cettie and I are off to Billerbeck next. We need to find out where that beast has gone.”
“What about the missing shipment of quicksilver?” Cettie asked Stephen. “Have there been any updates?”
“I sent word to Aunt Juliana to see if she’d help there,” he answered. “I also had a zephyr sent to the customer with a notice that the shipment was lost and that a new one would be forthcoming . . . at a discount.”
“Well done,” Rand said with a supporting grin.
The younger Fitzroy shrugged off the praise. In that moment, he looked very much like his father, and Cettie felt a throb of appreciation and respect for him in her heart. The feeling extended to Rand as well, for it was his influence that had contributed to the change.
“You’ll stay until morning, won’t you?” Stephen asked.
A look of dread came into Rand’s eyes. He shook his head. “No, I think we should leave by midnight, after the first watch is done. Just to be sure all went well. I truly believe the beast will seek a new lair. The sooner we find it, the better. Perhaps, Miss Cettie,” he added with a coy smile, “you could get some rest now so you could pilot us later? Unless Mr. Strong is a pilot?” He turned and looked back at the thin young man standing just outside.
Cettie’s escort from Fog Willows shook his head of blondish-red hair. “I’m afraid not, sir.”
Rand didn’t appear to be particularly afraid of the Fear Liath, so what had set him off? She didn’t understand it, but she’d noticed it.
“Midnight,” she agreed with a nod.
“I’ll be sure to see you off,” Stephen promised. “But I also wouldn’t mind if you stayed.” He gave her a look of acceptance, something she’d rarely—if ever—seen from him.
At midnight, Stephen walked Cettie, Rand, and their chaperone to the tempest, which hovered at the landing yard. Stars gleamed in the skies above. There were no clouds to mar them. It was cold enough that a little mist came from Cettie’s mouth as they walked. The homes were dark and quiet, but there were watchmen patrolling the street. No disturbances had occurred, and for the first time in a while, the people rested peacefully. Stephen had a jacket hanging over his shoulders—the sling prevented him from wearing it—but he looked the part of a leader. Rand’s clothes had been washed and mended, just as hers had been, and he wore the more casual outfit he’d arrived in.
When they reached the tempest, Strong climbed up first while Stephen extended his left hand to Rand, and the men exchanged a firm handshake.
“Thank you for coming, Patchett,” Stephen said. “I shall call on you at Gimmerton Sough when the opportunity arises.”
“Hopefully that will be soon,” Rand replied. After they broke the clasp, Rand gave him a smart salute, looking very much like the officer he had been. Stephen nodded at him before Rand turned and ambled up the rope ladder.
“Good-bye, Sister,” Stephen said, touching Cettie’s arm with affection. He’d never before called her that.
Cettie felt like her heart might burst, and she hugged Stephen, her lashes wet with tears. Her throat was too tight to speak, but she turned and waved farewell before following Rand up the ladder.
Soon the tempest was rushing up past the trees and over the gorge, joining the night sky. Cettie was very comfortable at the helm and controlled the craft’s speed and bearing as it raced to the north. She knew the constellations to navigate by and set the Leerings to follow the correct course. Mr. Strong stood on the deck, off to the side, staring at the sky.
“You should get some sleep, Rand,” she said as he climbed up the rungs to the helmsman’s deck.
“Sleep and I are old enemies,” he said with a wary tone. After reaching the deck, he folded his arms and gazed up at the stars. “I’ll never tire of seeing such wonders.”
“Neither will I,” Cettie answered, smoothing her hand on the wooden railing.
“Can I see that amulet again?” he asked her.
She wasn’t sure why he asked, but she fished it from her pocket and held it out to him. The metal felt warm in her palm. She still sensed the strange magic coming from it, its connection to the Knowing.
He took it from her and held it close, gazing at the strange, whorled surface. “Such a strange thing,” he muttered. “Another Mystery, no doubt. I wonder what this means. It feels like something I’ve seen in nature, only I cannot make it out.” He gave it back to her. “You should put it on.”
A strange, uneasy feeling tightened in her stomach. She took it back from him, seeing the moonlight glimmer on the metallic edge. “This pattern is found in nature,” she answered. She stared at it, wondering how it would look as a medallion over her green and gray-striped dress. But that little tinge of doubt prevented her. She put it back in her pocket instead.
“You came from the Fells,” he said, gazing at her face. “Do you still remember it?”
“Very well, unfortunately,” she answered lightheartedly. “They are awful memories, really. I try not to dwell on them. I’m grateful to live in Fog Willows now.”
“I’d always wanted to live in a sky manor,” he said eagerly. “There is still a prejudice against people like us, alas. So many of the upper crust are vainglorious hypocrites. But not Fitzroy. You were given a rare gift.”
“I know,” she said. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she wanted to turn the conversation away from herself. “You’re from Pry-Ree, yet you studied at Billerbeck and not Tintern?”
He nodded vigorously. “It has a better reputation for the disciplines of War. Some of the best dragoons come from there and from Naess.”
“I’ve never been as far north as Naess,” Cettie said.
“I have,” he answered. “It’s always dark up there. Well, part of the year. And cold.” He turned away, his countenance darkening again. “I’d better start my duel with sleep. Sometimes my mind will not quiet down enough for me to rest. Especially after a day like today.”
“Are you haunted by the war?” she asked.
He twisted his neck to look back at her. “Life is sacred. You can’t spill a man’s blood without feeling it, though you do grow numb to it after a while. But that’s not it . . . not quite. I’m haunted by the thought that no matter what I do, I will never be half the man my father was. That’s something I can relate to Stephen about.” His lips curled with emotion. “That I will never be enough.”
Cettie felt a surge of sympathy for him. “I’m sorry your father died.”
His eyebrow arched in surprise. Then he surprised her by asking, “Are you sorry yours did?”
Cettie swallowed and met his gaze without flinching. “He wasn’t my true father. I’ll always have Lord Fitzroy.”
She felt a strong, sudden gush of emotion, one almost like jealousy tinged with rage. It hit her strongly, powerfully. It made her grip the helm more tightly. What could be the source of the powerful feelings? She swallowed, anxious to regain control of herself.
“Good night, Cettie,” Rand told her. “If I do manage to fall asleep tonight and don’t awaken before we reach Billerbeck, do let me know.”
She nodded and watched him disappear belowdecks. After he was gone, Mr. Strong gave her a curt nod and returned to his quarters. The feelings roiled her, despite her efforts to banish them. It felt almost like a Myriad One was on deck with her, infecting her with its evil thoughts. She’d always been able to sense—and even see—the Myriad Ones, but this was different, unfamiliar. There were some dark feelings brooding beneath the surface of her mind and heart. Something had let them loose, but what?
Whatever was causing her feelings of foreboding, she wanted them gone.
Although Cettie had never been to Billerbeck Abbey before, the tempest she flew knew the way. Like the other abbeys of the realm, it was secreted away from the prying eyes of the populace, surrounded by a huge forest of towering black pine that showed only a single road leading to the village encircling the abbey. The forest went on for leagues with no major rivers running through it. She saw the abbey coming up, a beacon of silver in the midst of the black, and ordered the tempest to slow its approach and angle toward the landing yard.
She climbed down the steps and went to Rand’s room and knocked on the door. She was still attuned to the sky ship’s Control Leering, however, and watched as they approached the tips of the trees. It was a stunning sight. The abbey was smaller than Muirwood but just as ancient. It had three square towers, two jutting from the longest end and one in the middle. The morning light had finally reached it above the vast wall of trees, coloring the shaded side of the walls a deep purple.
She knocked again and heard nothing. The door of Mr. Strong’s quarters opened, and he emerged, giving her an inquisitive look.
A little pit of worry sta
rted in her stomach. Was he sleeping? He’d asked her to wake him. Her indecision lasted only a moment before she connected to the Heat Leering in the cabin so she could see through its eyes. Rand was sprawled on the bed, still in his clothes, the blankets rumpled, the curtain over the port window shut. He was fast asleep.
“I think he’s still asleep,” she told her escort.
Cettie opened the door and slowly entered the room, smelling the scent of him, one that she found a little heady.
“Rand?” she called. “We’re almost there.”
Still no response. She bit her lip, wondering what to do. Finding the dregs of her courage, she walked up to him.
As soon as her hand touched his arm, he jerked awake with startled surprise, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours. She recoiled, seeing the look of bewilderment in his eyes. His hand was suddenly poised in a fist, cocked back as if to strike at her. Cettie retreated farther.
Then he blinked, and his fist lowered. “Oh, it’s you,” he moaned. His neck and face were slick with sweat. He swung his legs to the floor, leaning forward on his knees and panting.
“I’m-I’m sorry for startling you,” Cettie apologized.
“No, it’s all right. Did you knock?”
“Twice.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s my fault. We are almost there, then?”
“Yes, we’ll be landing soon.” Cettie’s heart was still hammering in her chest.
He looked miserable, his nostrils flaring and a look of disgust on his mouth. “I’ll be up soon. Forgive me for frightening you. I thought . . . never mind.”
Cettie hastily retreated from his cabin and went back to the helm. The tempest had lowered to the landing yard, adjacent to two other tempests, one of which she recognized immediately as the Serpentine, Aunt Juliana’s. A thrill of excitement shot through her. She hadn’t expected to see her aunt at the abbey. Several zephyrs were also moored in the yard.
Cettie smoothed her skirts, wondering why she suddenly felt so skittish, and waited a few moments before Rand appeared. He gazed at the abbey in wonderment, shaking his head slightly.