Soffjian said, “That would surely be a short rehashing, over before it really began, and requiring half the distance we took.”
“So,” I said, “I assume you are discussing our immediate future after we cross back over. And how we intend to, uh, reclaim the Memoridons.”
“How very perceptive of you,” Braylar said. “Any other clever observations to regale us with, or did you actually intend to arrive at these pertinent and pressing questions?”
“Well, this whole time we’ve been thinking that we would have to replicate what Cynead did somehow, use a cabal of Memoridons—”
“Really, Arki?” Soffjian asked. “Cabal? You sound like Mulldoos now.”
“Fine,” I amended. “Circle, or group, or whatever other name you prefer. We assumed we would need several Memoridons to reverse what he’d done, steal the control back and transfer it to Thumaar, correct?”
“Yes,” Braylar said, clearly growing more impatient with each passing moment. “Another astute observation. And still no closer to anything resembling a question, much less one that demands my attention.”
I swallowed, my temples throbbing. “But what if there were another way?”
The captain gave me a peculiar look. “You haven’t resumed translating, so you couldn’t have uncovered anything to suggest there might be. So now I am beginning to wondering if that head injury is more serious than you are letting on.”
“No,” Soffjian said. “Let him finish. What other way are you talking about Arki?”
I said, “I don’t know, precisely. But it seems to be that we have someone in our midst now who might know.”
Braylar and Soffjian were both quiet for a moment, and I went on. “Nustenzia. She is a Focus, an augmenter, correct? That is what you said, Soffjian, wasn’t it?”
“It is indeed.” She began to smile.
“Well,” I continued. “If we can figure out the exact method of breaking Cynead’s control and reclaiming it for ourselves, then perhaps we wouldn’t need a cab—, that is, a group of Memoridons to help us after all, if Nustenzia amplifies what Soffjian does. She could serve. It might be enough.”
Soffjian’s smile growing marginally wider, and Braylar’s scowl minutely less fierce. She replied first, “That is an outstanding idea, Arki. Brilliant, even.”
I tried not to swell up at the unexpected praise, but she pricked it a bit by saying, “I should know—I was suggesting the very thing just before you arrived.”
Braylar seemed less impressed. “It is an idea. Possibly good, possibly impossible. While we consider its merits, it is imperative you continue your translation at every opportunity.”
When I didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowed. “Now qualifies as one such opportunity, archivist. We ride soon, but you will need to use what little time you are afforded wisely.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He looked off towards where the camp was situated. “In the meantime, we will have a bit more dialogue with our resident Focus to sound her out on the topic.”
Soffjian sensed he was on the move, as she fell in right beside him, which left me to follow, pleased I still had a purpose and had rediscovered it, but wondering how ably I would be able to perform it. Translating ancient texts was difficult enough without dealing with a crippling headache.
We rode hard southwest for the next two days, so there wasn’t a lot of downtime to translate new material, which was just as well, as my headaches continued to arrive fast, hard, and often. I saw Braylar and Soffjian pulling Nustenzia aside to interview her, though they didn’t invite anyone else to join them, so there was no way to tell what, if anything, they had learned. The one time I broached the subject with the captain, he snarled and snapped and that was that.
The scouts reported a large party half a day behind us. With the clouds white and sparse, there was no chance of any assistance from the sky. We rode harder, trying to maintain our small lead, resting only briefly enough not to blow all the horses, and riding on, exhausted.
But then the Godveil appeared before us on the third day out of Roxtiniak, stretching over the floor of a valley, shimmering in the distance as it had for a millennium, created by the giants who seemed intent on destroying or husking us.
I’d never imagined I’d be so happy to see the Godveil—or Demonveil, or just Veil, depending on what we started calling it now—in my life. A few of the Syldoon behind me whooped as they rode over the ridge and saw it as well.
Even as we rode down the gentle slope towards the Veil, though, everyone seemed tight, alert, heads on swivels, the scouts ahead of us riding back to the company unmolested to announce that the way was clear.
We halted thirty or forty yards out, as we had when we first crossed over, and while the proximity made the horses skittish, I felt the nearly irresistible urge to ride forward anyway, to approach the Veil, to feel the thrum vibrate through my body, to fill my nostrils with the stringent vinegar scent, to surrender myself to whatever happened.
Braylar turned and faced us. “As before, I will guide us through ten at a time. I regret to say, it will not take nearly as long as before.” He stood in the stirrups and looked up the hill towards the ridge, causing some of us to turn and look as well, but there was nothing there.
He reclaimed our attention when he called out, “Imperials attempted to destroy us. They failed. The Deserters imprisoned us, no doubt also intending to eradicate us as well. We escaped, and they failed. A lesser company would be nothing but bones now. But we have survived, and will continue to do so until we carry out this mission, and the next, and every other mission our Tower Commander sees fit to give us. We live and die at the behest of our Commander, and our true Emperor once we reinstate him on the throne.”
Braylar scanned the group, head slowly turning, mail aventail slithering. “But as you well know, a captain often has latitude in carrying out our missions. And this captain swears to you that one day, our dead will be avenged. We will make our enemies bleed for this. And bleed some more. But today,” he said, turning and pointing to the Godveil, “We cross over again. Form ranks, first line, advance with me.”
But as the soldiers started lining up, Nustenzia nearly fell off her horse as she shouted, “Captain! Captain Killcoin!”
The shrill noise and the rider’s nerves, as well as the proximity to the Veil, nearly sent Nustenzia’s horse bolting, but Vendurro managed to grab the reins.
Nustenzia quieted, if only a little. “Captain, a word! Please!”
Braylar didn’t seem overly disposed to tolerate interruptions or delays, but after hesitating, he rode closer. “Yes, Lady Focus. What, pray tell, is so pressing?”
She looked at the Godveil and then back to him, face fallen, wrinkles somehow seeming to be carved deeper, any pretense of haughtiness broken. “I can’t. I can’t go.”
Even with only his eyes visible, there was no question they registered ten kinds of irritation. “Oh, you can, in fact. It is quite simple. All you must do is stop startling your horse, hold hands, take a deep breath, and cross. I assure you, you can and you will.”
Nustenzia started shaking her head, so quickly in fact I was worried she was going to hurt herself. “Physically. Yes. I don’t doubt you. But I thought you were only keeping me as a hostage. You don’t need to take me beyond here. I am no use to you.”
Braylar laughed, a jagged, dangerous sound. “Oh, Lady Focus, you are very much wrong on that score. It could be said, is being said, in fact, that your worth has tripled almost overnight. We have great need of your services.”
She looked back in the direction of Roxtiniak. “I have . . . I have a family.”
Mulldoos said, “We all got a plaguing family. Most of them are horsecunts.”
“A son,” she said, still directing it to Braylar, hoping she might have better luck appealing to him than his gruff lieutenant. “I have a son. I can’t leave him. Please. Let me stay here. Please. I—”
Mulldoos said, “Let me guess. Thre
e tenyear if he’s a plaguing day, am I right? Look at those wrinkles. No way you got a little one to look after back there.”
Nustenzia did look at him then, and it was very good she didn’t possess Soffjian’s particular skills, or he would have been writhing in the dust, his mind carved out from the inside. “I had him late, if you must know. But no, he is no babe. Still, he is a lad. And he is . . . simple.” She turned back to Braylar. “And he does need me. Very much. Please. Don’t take me.”
She was as plaintive as anyone I’d ever heard, but she might as well have been appealing to one of the stones nearby. I dreaded his words even before Braylar spoke them. “You are lucky, in fact, that you are still valuable to me at all, or I would likely cut you down here and now and leave you to feed the skullbugs. Serve me well, do as you are told, and perform the single task you will be assigned, and perhaps I will look more favorably on letting you return to your simple son. Until then . . .” and he directed the next to the rest of the company as he spun his horse around. “Form up!”
The soldiers obeyed, and Nustenzia leveled Braylar with the same sharp gaze she’d fixed on Mulldoos moments ago. It might not have been unwittingly, but he had clearly made himself another enemy.
I could cross the Veil a hundred times and never get used to the sensation, and it did nothing to lessen the ache in my temples, but walking out the other side was worth both the disorientation and the pain. The terrain was identical, of course, but it was the feeling that possibly, maybe, we could ride a single day without looking over our shoulders or facing a new foe who sought to impede or destroy us.
Closing my eyes, I tried to block everything out to see if I smelled a whiff of Skeelana’s cloying perfume.
Nothing.
Of course, even if the way ahead was clear, that didn’t mean we were remotely safe. What was to say the Deserters couldn’t simply follow us? They’d created the Veil, after all, or their ancestors had. Even if they hadn’t made an appearance on our side for a thousand years, it seemed overly optimistic to assume that was due to a lack of ability. If they hadn’t needed something like Bloodsounder to create it in the first place, they surely didn’t need an artifact like that to cross over. Perhaps they could part the Veil as easily as a silk curtain, with no repercussions at all.
I moved ahead a bit until I was alongside Nustenzia. I wondered if I had looked that wholly inept the first few times I was forced to ride with the Syldoon. It seemed like an awfully long time ago. I probably had, though at least I had seen a horse before. All things considered, she was doing far better than I could have in her position.
“Hello,” I said, rather lamely, unsure how to begin, and falling back to basic greetings.
She glanced at me, and then back to the riders ahead of us, as if she might lose total control of the beast if she looked away for more than a moment. “Yes?”
Cold, but not entirely as hostile as I expected. “The captain, he does keep his word,” I offered as some balm, consoling myself that it wasn’t entirely untrue . . . he did keep his word—to his Tower Commander and Jackals. The rest of the world could burn and rot.
Nustenzia didn’t glance my way again, or say anything, but I thought I detected a slight softening of her features, if only briefly. Then the composed and stoic mask was firmly back in place. “I expect you did not ride next to me simply to assuage me for being kidnapped, taken from my child, and transported into another world.”
I nearly objected that it was the same world, but obviously that was a terrible lie. “No,” I admitted. “I just had a few questions.”
“Questions,” she sighed. “Yes, you, the oathkeeping captain of yours, his relentless and insistent sibling, you all do so love to pose questions. I have answered theirs. I could answer ten thousand of them and not earn my way back to the other side, though. Isn’t that right, Arkamondos?”
If she used my full name to make me feel more guilty or accountable, it worked. Extraordinarily well. “I can’t speak for the captain, nor his sister, but he did promise your chances of returning weren’t hopeless, provided you are compliant. I’m not sure this qualifies though. In fact, it seems downright uncooperative. I really would have to report that.”
Rudgi was on the other side of Nustenzia and listening to our conversation, and she leaned forward to look past the Focus, shaking her head with a small smile that seemed a mix of surprise and appreciation. Four tenday ago, I never would have dreamed of shooting or even hurting anyone, tried to be forthright and ingenuous, and considered myself a better person for both. And now, I’d killed several foes, and here I was, manipulating and bullying a captive into answering my questions. I really was becoming more Syldoonian by the day.
I felt Nustenzia giving me the glare and ignored it, staring ahead, waiting her out. Finally she said, “Ask, then, disciple of devils. Ask as you must.”
“I believe insults also fall into the category of failure to be pliant, but let’s ignore that.” I heard Rudgi chuckle and ignored her as well. “Your masters— who, by the way, are the only real devils, if you ask me, enslaving and husking and destroying countless humans for a thousand years—do they—”
“And do not your overlords enslave as well for half that time?” she countered.
Rudgi said, “She’s got herself a fair point there, Arki.”
Irritated, I pressed on, not wanting to argue semantics or degrees of deviltry. “As I said, your masters, the Deserters, what prevents them from passing through the Veil after us?”
Nustenzia gave me a long look, deep wrinkles across her forehead, a “V” between her eyebrows so pronounced it might as well have been another scar on her face. But otherwise the look was impenetrable, and I wasn’t sure what she was weighing. Then she said, “I cannot say for certain.”
“Cannot or will not?”
Nustenzia paused and replied, “Both.”
Rudgi laughed. “You’re quite the interrogator, Arki. Got some real talent for this sort of thing.”
I forced myself not to respond to her and spoke to Nustenzia instead. “They created the Veil. Certainly the Matriarchs at least must be able to pass through. Maybe more.”
Nustenzia stared straight ahead. “As I said. I cannot say. I suspect you are right. But I have never seen it done. And there is an edict that forbids any from trying.”
“What? A punishable-by-death sort of thing?”
“Yes. Exactly that sort of thing. That is the way most edicts work, is it not?”
Rudgi laughed again.
I pressed on. “So it must be possible, if a hard mandate forbids it.”
“Or was possible at one time,” Rudgi said. “Some edicts are older than stone.”
“Yes,” I said. “So which is it? Do they still possess the ability? Do we need to worry about them following us to this side?”
Nustenzia did her best to maintain the rigid demeanor, but I had her horse on my side—it is nearly impossible to show disdain when bouncing around and fearing for your life. Still, she was moderately successful. “Never having seen it done, I cannot say whether it is lack of ability or ancient edict that prevents them from doing so.”
Rudgi said, “Every rule ever made’s been broken by somebody somewhere. If they could have done it, somebody would have, sure as spit. You ever hear any records of it happening, Arki?”
“No,” I said slowly, drawing it out, wondering if I might remember something to refute myself. “But that doesn’t—”
“No is the answer,” Rudgi said. “That’s why they’re called the Deserters, after all—they left us high and dry. Never showed their horny faces again, am I right?”
I said, “True, no one claims to have seen them return or recorded it. But the Deserters are the memory masters, are they not, even dwarfing Memoridon skill. Perhaps they did, or can return, and simply eliminated any witnesses, or their memories of the event anyway.”
Rudgi thought about that. “Possible, I guess. Just as possible that even if they could do it
at one time, they lost the art of it at some point, and that edict is just to keep anybody from killing themselves trying.”
Nustenzia had listened to our conversation long enough and snapped, “You do not know or understand them. Or us. I do not pretend to know what kind of deviants and lawbreakers you have on this side of the Veil, but humans do not disobey our masters. And the masters are the most deliberate race ever created. Whether they have the ability or not, an edict is the law, and the law was created by their ancestors to be followed.”
“Or,” Rudgi countered, “maybe they just drop dead if they try, same as us. But that would throw a huge old hole through your master worship, wouldn’t it, like a stone through a pretty window.”
Nustenzia bobbled and tried to right herself. “I. Cannot. Say. If you recall, that was and is my position.”
“Fine,” I said. “Let us try another tack, then. Why did they erect the Veil the first place? I mean, Vrulinka showed us that our memories are offensive, even poisonous to them. But how did they fail to recognize that? And if they were powerful enough to create the Veil and murder and enslave half the world on the other side, why not simply take out the bulk of the human race everywhere?”
Nustenzia glared at me, lips tight, wrinkles deepening. “Do you imagine I was there?”
“I imagine,” I said, biting off the words, “that you are a Focus, and serve the Wielders, so you must be familiar with the history.”
Nustenzia didn’t respond right away, and I was about to ask again when she finally said, “My masters were in remote holdfasts on this part of the world. They did not live among humans, and preferred their own company. So while they understood there were differences between us, and that we were certainly inferior in many respects, they also knew our memories were potent. But they assumed this was simply another difference, and the volatility of our memories was simply another weakness.”
“So,” Rudgi said, “they didn’t know they were poisonous?”
“I expect not,” Nustenzia replied. “Or they might have wiped you out when they were still numerous enough to do so.” She said this with bitter regret, seeming to forget if that had happened she never would have been born.
Chains of the Heretic Page 34