by Alia Luria
What did he mean by “trusted you”? Did Brother Cornelius tell the Dominus about Compendium? She couldn’t think about that just yet. She needed to assess the damage. Her head and body still aching, she looked down and surveyed herself. She had been stripped of her acolyte robes and sash, with only her gauzy tropics clothing remaining. At least they had left her boots. Even with them, her feet were blocks of ice. They had confiscated her bag, her tools, Compendium, and even her mother’s locket. She gingerly touched parts of her body and face, wincing here and there, feeling bruises and cuts as her hand explored. A bandage was wrapped around her forehead. As she patted her legs, she felt something small tucked into a pocket. She carefully pulled it free and looked at it. She had expected her hands to be dirty and sticky, but they’d been cleaned at some point.
I’ve been out a week? She recalled the wall of hot electric air hitting her in the chest and forcing her backward with great intensity. It was powerful indeed. In her palm sat the small stone Taryn had tossed at her as she had made her escape. She clenched it in her hand before dropping it to the floor of the cell with a clink. How did that get into my pocket?
She drew her knees up to her chest, hoping that curling up would help warm her frigid extremities. I don’t merit a bed, she thought. Despite her anger at Taryn and Cedar, Nikola was right. She had betrayed the Order. She had been betrayed, just as surely, by those she had considered friends—her best friends—but she also had been the betrayer. Instead of airing her grievances with the Dominus, she had set upon her own solution. She cradled her head in her knees as she contemplated this mess of her own design. The image of Taryn’s apologetic expression as she tossed her the stone and called for Rosewater was etched in her mind behind her closed eyes, doomed to be repeated over and over. Why was I such a fool? Such an obvious fool. Mia pictured the clerics’ faces in her mind, looking at her derisively. It was as if they all had SainClair’s face. Brother Cornelius, Dominus Nikola, the other acolytes, even Sister Valencia—they all surely hated her now. They had believed she was one of them, just as surely as Mia had believed Taryn was her friend. No apologetic look could calm her rage when she thought about Taryn’s betrayal, yet she knew the others must feel the same about her.
Cedar was a separate matter altogether. Mia didn’t know what to make of his actions. He had set her up to be discovered as—and proved—a traitor. Perhaps even the warm feelings he had displayed were just a farce. That thought made her angry. She had warmed to him as well, confided in him, and shared parts of herself that she reserved entirely from others. She didn’t understand. If the Order had known all along, why did they let them take it as far as they did? Why not just imprison them when the first treacherous words had been uttered from their mouths? Why help them instigate a theft? Mia should have asked Dominus Nikola these questions. She had frozen up when he had mentioned Cedar’s betrayal, but she should have demanded some answers.
Yet Taryn had still escaped with the Shillelagh. How had the Order allowed that to come to pass? Mia recalled hearing words right as the world exploded. And Dominus Nikola had said Brother SainClair was still in the hospital, so he must have been there to stop them. Perhaps the clerics hadn’t anticipated the Shillelagh’s powerful blast, just as she and Taryn hadn’t, or they hadn’t thought one of them would betray the other. Still, they were a moment too late, and now Taryn had the Shillelagh. What she intended to do with it, Mia didn’t know. Taryn had played her for a fool. Was she even a gypsy? Was everything about her a lie? Mia recalled her cloak and the fact that she had taken only a history of the Order with her when she had left. She pursed her lips.
Taryn clearly had a genuine interest in the history of the Order, although likely not for the reasons she’d previously expressed. Mia squeezed her knees closer to her body as she recalled all the times she had pointed Taryn to an ancient text on some topic or another and smiled when the other acolyte furiously scribbled notes into her ever-present notebook. Mia had aided her in every way possible as she gathered intelligence on this place and these people. She buried her head deeper into her knees and lay there, reliving every moment of her friendships with Taryn and Cedar until she couldn’t bear to think of them anymore.
Mia awoke again, this time to the sound of the door bolt being thrown back. The door creaked open, and she looked over to see a robed figure, one of the clerics, though she couldn’t tell who, place a tray on the ground near the door. The figure left without saying a word, and the bolt returned to its resting place. She had fallen asleep with her knees to her chest and now tried to stretch out her legs again. The persistent pain shot through her cold-numbed flesh, and she gritted her teeth with the exertion.
The dank, moldy smell of her cell was improved by a warm, spicy odor wafting from near the door. Suddenly she was ravenously hungry, as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. And perhaps she hadn’t. Pushing her protesting muscles and joints aside, she half crawled, half scrambled to the tray. It was visible in the dim light of the single gourd fixed outside the cell door. The tray contained a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. There was also a gourd of water. She drank a few gulps of the water first, quenching a thirst she barely recognized. In her haste, she swallowed some water into her lungs and coughed repeatedly to clear them, the exertion of the cough renewing the pain in her ribs. She wheezed, cradling her ribs for a moment until the lightheadedness passed.
She wanted to wolf down the stew in a single huge bite, but she made herself take a small bite, chew thoroughly, swallow, sit and wait, then take another bite. She probably hadn’t had solid food in at least a week, and she loathed the thought of bringing any of the precious stew back up. After a few bites, her stomach grew queasy, and she paused for even longer, desperate not to lose the nourishment. When she could stand it no longer, her stomach loudly protesting her decision to discontinue eating, she took another couple of bites, balancing the stew with small pieces of bread. She went like that, slowly, until every last speck of food was consumed and every last drop of water imbibed. Her stomach churned, but it was worth the pain. She lay back against the wall near the door, her raw bones and muscles pushing up against the stone walls, and longed for her lumpy cot in the barracks, or better yet, her soft bed in Hackberry, with Hamish warming her feet and snoring loudly. She smiled to herself. Hamish reminded her of Father.
It was easier to think of her life with Father and Hamish in the abstract. Memories made everything too real, too palpable. They brought to the surface the unconditional love that she so desperately missed. Even if Father had betrayed her, she certainly knew Hamish’s love had been real. That ridiculous mutt with his stubby limbs and lolling tongue, always ready to pounce inelegantly after some small creature he could never quite catch.
That clumsy canine would die if left to catch food on his own—that or he would have to turn herbivorous. Mia laughed at the thought of Hamish nibbling on a root or leaf, a wary look on his face as he first took a bite, then a horrified expression when he realized that this leafy green thing was nothing like a hearty chunk of meat and that he likely never would taste meat again. The image made her laugh, but when she rubbed her face, she realized she was crying hot tears as well. She missed Hamish so badly. She wanted to rub her face in the thick fur coat that shot hairs up her nose and have him lick away her tears. If she could just look into his eyes one more time, she knew she would see love and forgiveness.
Mia fell asleep again, thinking of Hamish and Father and trying to quiet her thoughts and tears. Life continued on this way—for how long, she had no idea. She had no visitors, save a cleric who dropped trays at her door and came to pick them up while she was unconscious. She used the chamber pot when she had to, slept, wore herself out thinking hard about everything, slept some more, ate again, and eventually, once her mobility started to return, paced slowly around her cell, running her hands along the walls. The boredom was torturous. She decided at some point, after maybe six or seven more days, that she didn’t really like herself at all. Sh
e had no desire to talk to herself right now, but she was forced into company with her insecurities and vagaries and betrayals and humors. And she had nothing left to tell herself that she hadn’t already confided. There was no one to apologize for, no one to make amends to—just her—and she hated the very sound of her voice rattling away inside her head. When she was almost on the brink of madness, with only her own mind to pick at, multiple sets of footsteps echoed outside her cell.
27 Infirmary
Lumin Cycle 10152
The door swung open, and several figures entered. Mia’s heart caught in her throat. One of them was Cedar. He no longer was dressed in the robes of an acolyte. He had taken his cleric vows. Mia was seated in the far corner of the cell with her knees up. She quickly averted her eyes from the three clerics, not wanting to look at them just then.
Brother Valentine stepped forward. “Ms. Jayne, please rise. We need to secure you.”
There was a clink, and she looked up to see him holding a wicked pair of leg shackles. He can’t get his hands on Taryn, so he’s going to make an example of me.
“You can’t mean for me to wear those,” she said. She hadn’t intended her statement to sound rude, but that was how her words were received.
“You’ve been accused of stealing from the Order that took you in, betraying it, damaging the Crater Grove, and injuring others in the process. Do you deny these charges?”
Mortified, she shook her head. Those statements put the embarrassment of leg shackles in perspective. She climbed gingerly to her feet while the small group of clerics looked on. Cedar bent down to snap the shackles around her wasted ankles. She always had been on the scrawny side, but she had diminished further in this cell. The shackles looked comical, and she worried whether she would be able to walk without tripping.
“I guess they won’t be too tight,” Cedar said, standing to his full height and stepping back to retrieve the manacles that Brother Borus was carrying for her arms. Cedar had the good grace to avert his eyes. He hesitated briefly as he secured the manacles to her wrists, but he did his duty regardless, as he always did. It would be a mercy if the weight of the chains would drag her down through the floor and into the earth, never to return.
“You’ll be coming with us,” Brother Borus said in a perfunctory tone. A frown and cold voice replaced his usual friendly smile and playful banter.
“Where are we going?” Mia asked. She didn’t relish the thought of parading past the entire Order, grungy, injured, and disgraced.
“Save your questions for the Dominus,” came the curt reply from Brother Valentine.
Valentine and Borus each took one of her arms, and they proceeded forward, clinking slowly along. As Cedar fell in line behind them, his eyes seared a hole in the back of Mia’s grimy neck. Mercifully the clerics didn’t hasten her along, as she doubted she could have moved much faster. If the shackles hadn’t made walking difficult, her own deteriorated muscles would have. They plodded along through the corridors, turning here and there. Mia kept her eyes on her feet and moved as silently as possible without speaking a word. It was all in vain; the hefty chains clanked, and the sound echoed around the hallways with every step she took.
The occasional whisper reached her ears; other acolytes darted from their path at the edge of her vision; and heat rose in her cheeks. She wanted to raise her head and stare back at them defiantly, but as she had been left to rot in the dark, the fire had died in her veins. Now she possessed just self-loathing, shame, and a good deal of fear regarding what would become of her. It wasn’t the way of the Order to execute people, but she probably had challenged a lot of their standard practices of late. They wouldn’t keep her here forever. They could banish her, but given the severity of her crimes, she expected they would turn her over to the authorities of Willowslip for criminal proceedings. She hadn’t thought through the possibility of being jailed when she had devised her plan to steal the Shillelagh.
Underneath all her stress and anxiety, she was just as egotistical as any common criminal, assuming she would never get caught. She had no one to blame but herself. Just as Taryn had warned, she had let herself believe Compendium made her invincible. It solved problems for her, including some very complex ones. It never talked back, never told her she was wrong, never called her names. It never turned its back on her or betrayed her. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t her family. And yet she herself was just a human and had betrayed others and been betrayed by them.
Compendium didn’t change her life. Its companionship was an illusion that she had allowed herself to see as the truth. She bit the inside of her lip as she walked, thinking about how she had used it as a crutch, a means to avoid truly finding a place here, a way to avoid being direct with Dominus Nikola about her feelings and concerns, a way to avoid confronting Brother SainClair about his actions. She took a tool that could have been used wisely to augment her time here or unwisely to dismantle it, and dismantle it she had. Her choices didn’t benefit her, her family, or those around her. And now she no longer belonged anywhere. She had no family; she had no friends; and she had no place here in the Order. Mia sighed, the sound lost amid the clang of her steps.
Just as she was working herself into a full frenzy of self-flagellation, they arrived at a nondescript door set into a stone corridor. She didn’t recognize either the corridor or the door. It was a terrible and currently inconvenient propensity of hers to tune out her movements through the hallways if someone else was leading her. Brother Borus rapped twice on the very old wooden door. It creaked open a little, and he pushed it open farther. Cedar tapped Mia on the shoulder, and when she turned, he grasped the manacles around her wrists and held them still while he applied the key.
“The leg shackles will have to stay on,” he whispered.
She nodded in acknowledgment of his words and turned back toward the open door. Mia pushed it farther open with her now much-lighter arms. The room was barely large enough to contain two beds and a couple of stools. Dominus Nikola sat on one of the stools, a cane clasped in his hand, as if he were going to use it to row himself across the floor. In the bed closest to the door lay Brother SainClair. He was even whiter than usual, which made his angular features look as if they had been carved from marble. Dark blotches stained the skin beneath his eyes. Two pillows that clearly didn’t have beans in them cradled his head. They’re bringing me here to show me the damage I wrought with my actions. Mia’s eyes wandered toward the far bed, where she expected to see another injured cleric.
When she saw who was in the far bed, it almost brought her to her knees. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream. She opted to scream.
“Father!” The leg shackles clanged loudly as she stumbled into the room.
“Mia,” a muffled voice called from the far bed, “is that you child?”
“It’s me,” she said.
As she rushed forward, everything else in the room faded away. She grasped Father’s hand. Even given her own decrepit state, she was appalled at how much he had wasted away.
“Dominus,” Father said, his voice thin and small, “can you and the others leave us?”
“She is a prisoner,” said Brother Valentine. “She is not to be left unattended.”
“I hardly think she’ll get far in those leg shackles,” the Dominus replied.
Mia’s eyes didn’t leave Father, but she heard the others retreat from the room, closing the door with a thunk. Father’s eyes were unfocused and meandered toward the ceiling. He wasn’t making eye contact with her.
“Mia,” he said. “I shall not survive long now. We must talk.”
“Don’t say that. You’re still hanging in here.”
Her words were downright lies. He was gaunt from head to toe. Every inch of his strong, dark frame was shriveled and ashen, with bones protruding like twigs from a bundle of sticks. His once-thick black hair had grown gray, lank, and thin, splayed across the hospice pillow as if making to crawl away from the horror of his scalp.
/>
“They told me you were dead,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Who told you that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. They remained staring upward.
“Brother SainClair.”
“Ah,” he said, as if those words explained it all. “Well, he exaggerated my departure. If I recall, he’s prone to hyperbole.”
“Really?” Mia asked. “You know Brother SainClair?”
“Yes, my dear. There’s much we need to discuss, and I haven’t much time left. Now, now,” he said, and patted her hand weakly. “There’s no need for tears.”
“Father,” Mia said, “if there was ever a time for tears, it’s now. I’ve made a complete muck of everything, and it was all for naught. My actions have changed nothing. You’re still ill, and I’m a prisoner here.”
He gently grasped her hand and gave it the barest squeeze. “Mia, I didn’t send you here in exchange for a cure. We both know the purple spores are fatal. In the letter I wrote Dominus Nikola, I instructed him to tell you that, but it was always the intention that you were to serve within the Order.”
“Are you delirious, Father?” she asked.
“I suppose it was irresponsible of me, knowing you were destined for this place from the start. My delay in sending you here was my one act of rebellion against the plan that I was to carry out, the plan your mother made. She wanted you here, but your grandparents would never have agreed.”