Brother Modestus scowled, but Evren saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He pressed on, driving the point home.
“Hailen is studying under the Cambionari in the House of Need, right?” He took Modestus’ momentary hesitation as agreement. “You’re Cambionari, too, so you can teach him what he needs to know. And there have to be Beggar Priests in Shalandra you can turn him over to when we arrive.” Hailen protested behind him, but Evren overrode the complaints. “The best thing to do is to stick with the plan. I’ll keep an eye on Hailen, keep him out of your way. You have my word that he won’t slow down our mission.”
He didn’t care if the priest thought his word was worth anything, but people had a tendency to take such solemn oaths more seriously. Easier to convince them to do what he wanted. The only promise that mattered to him right now was the one he’d made to the Hunter.
Brother Modestus finally grunted, and Evren knew he’d won.
“The moment we arrive in Shalandra,” the priest rumbled, “we get him to the House of Need.”
Evren nodded. “That’s the best place for him.” Another lie, but one he could sell convincingly. “I just want him safe.”
This last statement was the full truth. He had no desire to bring Hailen to an unfamiliar city filled with danger, but right now, he had no other choice. He already faced a near-impossible task of stealing the Blade of Hallar, and every hour would count. The delay incurred by returning Hailen to Voramis could spell the difference in their attempt.
And, with Hailen by his side, he could keep an eye on the boy, maybe even learn some of the things the Cambionari were teaching him.
Evren spared a moment of pity for the Beggar Priests in Voramis once Kiara found out Hailen wasn’t there. He’d heard a few stories of her days as Celicia, Fourth of the Bloody Hand, and her ferocity, ruthlessness, and tenacity rivaled the Hunter’s.
Yes, out here, far away from that wrath, would likely be the safest place for him right now.
Brother Modestus grunted and returned to caring for the horses. Hailen leapt down from the cart and threw his arms around Evren’s waist. “Thank you!” Relief flooded his voice. “I couldn’t take another day of those lessons.”
“What kind of lessons?” Evren asked. “What were they teaching you?”
Hailen shook his head. “Father Reverentus said I’m not to tell anyone.”
Evren raised an eyebrow. “I can always convince Brother Modestus to take you back to Voramis, you know.”
“No, don’t do that!” Hailen begged. “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell anyone else!”
“I promise.” Evren smiled at the sight of Hailen’s solemn expression.
Hailen leaned forward, a secretive smile on his face. “They’re trying to teach me Serenii magic!”
Chapter Seven
For the fifth time since they rode out of Rosecliff that morning, Kodyn cast a worried glance at Aisha. The Ghandian girl looked tired, likely from lack of sleep. He’d tried to wait up until she returned from wherever she’d ridden off to, but he’d nodded off a few hours after midnight. He’d found her saddling the horses outside the inn at dawn but she hadn’t spoken more than a few words to him—never explaining where she’d gone. A shadow still hovered on her face, but something almost triumphant had shone in her eyes every time she glanced at the graveyard.
He wanted to ask her what was going on, but being around her made him feel tongue-tied, awkward.
Instead, he focused his attention on Briana.
“This may sound like a silly question,” he said, hesitant, “but if your father is a Secret Keeper, how does he, you know, talk to you?”
Briana chuckled. “Without a tongue, you mean?”
Kodyn nodded. “Yeah.”
Briana wiggled her fingers in a series of strange gestures, a broad grin on her face.
“What was that?” Kodyn asked.
“It’s called hand signing,” Briana explained. “You can use your fingers to spell letters and form words. Sometimes, a single gesture can be a whole word. Like this.” She placed her thumb on her right temple, two forefingers extended, then bent them once.
“What does that mean?”
Briana gestured to her mount. “It’s the sign for horse.”
“Let me try.” Kodyn repeated the gesture, which earned him a grin and nod from Briana.
“Very good!” She clapped her hands. “Try this one.”
She showed him another gesture: all four fingers held together and extended, with a movement of her arm that almost looked like someone painting a rainbow on a canvas. “This means sky.”
Kodyn copied the gesture, earning a smile. To his relief, the strange hand signing seemed to arrest Aisha’s attention and pull her out of whatever gloom she’d been in for the last few hours. When Briana caught her mimicking the movements, she turned in her saddle to correct Aisha’s form.
Over the following couple of hours of riding, Briana taught them nearly fifty different gestures—for words ranging from “sword” to “friend” to “man and woman” to “talk” to “happy”—and the individual signs for the letters of the Einari alphabet. When Kodyn forgot the gestures, Briana corrected his clumsy finger movements with a patient smile.
“Damn!” Kodyn shook his head when he confused the signs for “boy” and “kill” for the second time. “And I thought picking locks was hard!”
Aisha chuckled softly. “It all comes with practice.”
Kodyn’s eyes narrowed. “It looks like you’ve had a bit more practice than me, somehow. You’ve gotten every gesture right.”
A shadow passed in Aisha’s eyes and she drew in a deep breath. ““Back home, in Ghandia, the village elders use similar hand signs to communicate. My mother and father taught me before…”
Kodyn winced as he saw the pain flash across Aisha’s face. “Are the signs the same?” he asked quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from the painful memory of her captivity and enslavement by the Bloody Hand.
“Similar.” Aisha repeated Briana’s gesture for horse. “We have no horses in Ghandia, so this gesture is used to describe zabara, wild beasts of the plains much like horses but with strange green-and-brown striped coats.”
“I’ve heard of those.” Briana’s eyes went wide. “Or, read about them, more accurately, in one of the many books my father filled the house with. Marvelous creatures, said to be almost twice the size of a horse. Twice as fast, too!”
“Yes.” Aisha nodded. “Every child in Ghandia knows to steer clear of the zabara herd during the Uhamaji season when they migrate. Stampedes have destroyed villages and slain mighty warriors too slow to get out of the way.”
Kodyn smiled. It’s good to have her back, he thought. She’d been moody, brooding since their departure from Praamis, but it lifted his spirits to see her open up and talk about life before her captivity. He’d hesitated to broach the subject before, but he’d always wanted to know about her culture, customs, everything about the exotic people on the plains of Ghandia.
“My mother believed that the zabara housed the spirits of the greatest warriors and nassor—the chieftainesses—of our tribe,” Aisha continued. “For only such noble souls could inhabit such mighty beasts.”
“Fascinating.” Briana fixed Aisha with a curious gaze. “I’ve heard the people of Ghandia and Issai don’t worship the Thirteen like we do. Is that true?”
Kodyn didn’t miss the slight stiffening in Aisha’s spine.
“Not the same way you southerners do,” Aisha said finally. “You believe the gods of Einan to be all-powerful, wise beings that see everything from their halls in the heavens, yes?”
Briana nodded. “Every Einari kingdom has their own variations on the belief, according to my father, but they all share the reverence of the Thirteen.”
“In Ghandia, we, too, believe in the Thirteen, but we do not call on them directly,” Aisha explained. “They are too far away to hear us, but the spirits of our ancest
ors—the Kish’aa, as we call them—intercede with the gods on our behalf. They were once human, so they understand our human needs far better than any god could.”
“I’m sure my father will want to talk with you,” Briana said, her eyes sparkling. “His life’s work revolves around the study of the Serenii artifacts, culture, and writings, but he loves to discuss the theologies and philosophies that have sprung up around the continent.”
Aisha inclined her head. “I’m certain we will have the chance to speak on the matter. However, I doubt I’ll be of much use in the conversation unless I learn more of the hand signs.”
“Did it make talking with your father difficult?” The words slipped from Kodyn’s lips before he realized it. He mentally kicked himself for such an insensitive question.
“I learned to read hand signs before I learned to speak.” Briana’s face showed no sign of offense or insult. “I have never heard my father’s voice, but I have never doubted for a single moment that he loves me. His eyes and hands speak clearly enough.”
Kodyn could only nod. He had blundered into sensitive topics with both Aisha and Briana; best he hold his tongue for now.
He turned his eyes back to the terrain—more of the same wide-open, scrub-covered hill country broken occasionally by steep, craggy cliffs of stark stone.
“What about you?”
Briana’s question caught him off-guard. “W-What about me?” he stammered.
“I met both of your mothers in Praamis,” Briana said with a disarming smile. “I have told you of my father, so what of yours?”
Kodyn’s brow furrowed. A tense silence hung in the air for a long moment before he finally said, “I never met my father.”
“Oh.” Briana’s face fell, and her expression turned guilty. “I-I’m sorry for—”
“No, it’s fine.” Kodyn shook his head. “My mother doesn’t like to talk about him much.”
He hesitated when he felt Aisha’s gaze fixed on him, a burning curiosity in her eyes. She, like all in the Night Guild, had to have overheard the myriad rumors about his parentage, yet she’d never broached the subject with him.
After a long moment, he drew in a deep breath. “She told me he was an apprentice in House Scorpion. Ethen, she said his name was. The first friend she made, the one who made it possible for her to survive the brutal training.”
His own training hadn’t been without its share of challenges, perils, and even a few beatings by the crueler instructors charged with turning clumsy children into capable apprentices. Yet, from the stories he’d heard of the now-deceased Master Velvet, his mother, Master Serpent, and his father had undergone some truly horrible torments when they first joined the Night Guild.
“He sounds like a good man,” Briana said in a quiet voice.
Kodyn nodded. “The few times I’ve heard Mother talk about him, it was always with a sad fondness. She never said it but I think he died trying to protect her, though from what, she doesn’t say.”
A tense silence hung in the air as his words trailed off. Kodyn found himself retreating into himself as he always did when the topic came up. He tried to avoid it whenever possible. Mention of his father brought a strange emotion—instead of the pain of losing someone close to him, he felt an emptiness, a vacuum where something important should be. As if he’d been born blind, mute, or deaf. Where he ought to feel strongly for a father, he had …nothing.
When he’d tried to ask Master Serpent, her mother’s oldest friend, the assassin had refused to give him answers. “Not my place to tell,” Errik had said. “Your mother wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”
Yet, in many ways, Kodyn had enjoyed a far better childhood than most of his fellow Night Guild apprentices. His mother and Ria had done their best for him, and he’d never lacked for love and affection. Many of his mother’s friends—including Errik, the hulking Pathfinder Jarl, and even Darreth in his own awkward way—had served as paternal figures.
Aisha rode her horse closer for a moment; just enough to reach out and casually brush a hand across his arm. Her eyes locked with his and he saw quiet reassurance written there. Once again, he found himself at a loss for words, but he felt a surge of gratitude. No matter what happened, no matter what sorrows lay behind or challenges lay ahead, he could count on Aisha’s strength. Not only her martial skills—she was almost a match for Ria with the assegai spear, and most of the younger Journeymen and apprentice assassins of House Serpent avoided sparring with the young Ghandian woman—but her resoluteness and fortitude of spirit.
They rode in silence for a few minutes. Briana seemed embarrassed that she’d brought up the topic, and Aisha seemed content to keep her thoughts to herself. Kodyn couldn’t think of anything to revive the conversation, so he focused on the road. A few hundred paces ahead, the cliffs closed on in the road and huge boulders littered the land bordering the highway.
As they drew closer to the boulders, a sound reached Kodyn’s ears. He tensed, every sense on alert. It had been a tiny sound, so faint he almost thought he was imagining it. Yet, when he glanced over at Aisha, it seemed she’d heard it, too. Her eyes remained fixed on the road in front of her, but her hand moved slowly toward the wooden shaft of her assegai. Kodyn reached his arms up in a wide stretch and when he lowered them again, dropped his right hand onto the saddle horn, a hand’s breadth from the hilt of his long sword.
He pricked up his ears. Years traversing the Praamian sewer tunnels and racing across the Hawk’s Highway—a network of ropes, bridges, and planks that spanned the city rooftops—had sharpened his hearing. There!
The sound came again, quiet but familiar, one he’d heard a thousand times crawling through the Praamian sewer tunnels with the Hounds and Foxes: the scuff of boots on stone.
His gut tightened as he prepared for—
“Hands high!” A loud voice split the silence of the morning. “Keep ‘em away from those weapons, unless you want us to turn you into a prickly pig right now!”
Kodyn’s heart sank as he caught sight of the speaker. The man stood between two huge boulders, wearing a cloak the same dull red as the rocks beside him. In his hand, he carried a loaded crossbow, its tip pointed right at Kodyn’s chest.
Chapter Eight
Nervous knots formed in Issa’s stomach as she marched up the broad stone steps toward the highest room in the Hall of the Beyond. The temple to the Long Keeper dominated the center of Shalandra’s uppermost tier. It was a huge building, nearly a mile long and four hundred paces wide, with seven spire-tipped towers that reached golden fingers into the darkening sky—one for each of the Long Keeper’s seven faces.
Enormous columns twice the width of Issa’s outstretched arms supported domed ceilings of golden sandstone, but few outside of the Necroseti ever saw what was beyond those columns. The populace was only permitted to enter the western side of the Hall of the Beyond, which was occupied by the enormous arena where the Crucible had been held that day. The center and eastern sections of the temple housed the Necroseti’s inner chambers and places of worship.
However, for the ceremony tonight, Issa and the other victors of the Crucible had been summoned to the most sacred chamber in the Hall of the Beyond: the rooftop sanctuary where the monument to the Long Keeper, god of death, stood.
The sanctuary rose above all of Shalandra, its height rivaled only by the Palace of Golden Eternity above it. Like the palace, the Hall of the Beyond was said to have been carved from the very stone of Alshuruq, the mountain known as Dawnbreaker, by Hallar himself. Issa risked a look back over her shoulder. The view from the staircase stole her breath. She could see all the way from the Keeper’s Tier, down across the four lower tiers with their broad avenues and narrower streets, to the vast expanse of farmlands that spread outward from the base of the mountain city.
But the sight of the frowning Necroseti behind her turned her attention back to their procession. The Keeper’s Priests wouldn’t allow anyone to delay their ceremony, which had to take place
just after sunset.
Issa studied the four figures beside her. The Mahjuri girl was speechless and wide-eyed, daunted by the grandeur of her surroundings. The arrogant Dhukari youth basked in his triumph, head held high, a swagger in his steps. The other winners, twin boys wearing the brown headband of the Intaji, seemed too young, too small in the company of the older victors. Their eyes darted around, as if afraid of every shadow.
Fire coursed through her calves as she climbed, but she forced herself onward. If the Necroseti priests could ascend the stairs, she could too.
The sun had just touched the western horizon by the time they reached the sanctuary room at the top of the stairs. An enormous statue carved from golden sandstone guarded the sanctuary’s entrance. The seven stern faces of the Long Keeper stared down at her—one each for mercy, justice, vengeance, sorrow, joy, eternity, and change. The stone eyes seemed to follow her as she passed it and strode into the templetop chamber. Her insides trembled beneath that solemn gaze and she swallowed a surge of anxiety.
I’m meant to be here, she told herself, steeling her courage. I won. I was chosen by the Long Keeper.
A thick wall of incense struck her like a blow to the face as she stepped into the sanctuary. Clouds of too-sweet smoke rose from braziers burning at the four corners of the chamber. Hooded figures filled the room, standing silent vigil. A shudder ran down Issa’s spine at the sight of their masks: smooth, featureless white ceramic that made them appear almost corpse-like. The light of dozens of oil lanterns splashed strange, flickering shadows dancing across the midnight black robes the Necroseti reserved for solemn ceremonies.
Within the sanctuary stood another seven-faced statue, the eyes of the Long Keeper fixed on the gold sandstone altar dominating the center of the room. Upon the altar, a horseshoe-shaped cradle of steel glimmered in the lamplight.
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