by Sharon Shinn
The abbess shook her head. “All echoes. Throughout the kingdom. No matter if the noble is the gentlest woman in the province or the most bloodthirsty man in the realm. All echoes will return to the hands of the goddess if this war continues.”
I heard a tearing sob issue from the front of the temple, and then a small feminine shape flung herself at the abbess’s knees. “Please don’t take my echoes, please don’t take them,” Annery sobbed. “I’ll die without them, please don’t take them—”
The priestess laid a compassionate hand on the girl’s auburn hair. “I’m sure you will not die,” she said gently. “You will just miss them very much.”
Jordan and Cormac had hurried over to their sister’s side, and now they lifted her to her feet, though she would not raise her head. She wrapped her arms around Cormac’s waist and continued weeping into his jacket.
“She has suffered bitter losses recently,” Jordan explained to the abbess. “She might not recover from another tragedy.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” was her grave reply.
He waited a moment, as if hoping she would offer some reprieve, but she said nothing else. A few of the other nobles had already made their way to the back of the temple and opened the wide door; the sunlight flooding in felt as foreign and out of place as seawater. Jordan motioned to his siblings and headed in that direction, sparing a moment to glance at his own echoes where they dozed in their pew. Annery and Cormac came after him and then—as slow and dazed as a man who had just suffered a blow to the head—Harold fell in behind them. The other lords and ladies stumbled along in their wake.
As Jordan passed the row where I was sitting, he cast me one quick, worried, interrogative glance. I lifted my head just enough to meet his eyes and respond with a brief nod. I thought I saw relief cross his face, chased by another kind of worry. I was fairly certain I knew what he was thinking. Has Hope maintained her independent self in the face of this new development? Yes—there she is, I see her soul in her eyes. But then— Oh, goddess have mercy! Must she remain behind with all these comatose bodies, all these shells of living creatures?
I saw him halt and half turn in my direction, his hand lifted as if to draw attention to some flaw in the abbess’s argument. I quickly dropped my eyes and turned my head away. Right now, with all the other nobles in the kingdom focused on their own distress, it did not seem like the time for me to jump from my seat and demand special consideration.
And there was something else I was not sure of. How did the goddess regard me? Did she still perceive me as an echo, a gift she had bestowed on Elyssa, a gift she could revoke anytime she saw fit? If so—if the nobles could not stop their fighting and the goddess gathered all the echoes back into her close embrace—would I be harvested along with the others? If I ran from the temple right now, followed Jordan to the palace and begged for the king’s mercy, would I simply disappear in a week or two as all the other echoes vanished from the kingdom?
Or did the goddess recognize me for who I was? Did she know my name? Had she counted Elyssa’s echoes and decided there were only two?
I didn’t know. But I thought I was probably safer—less of an encumbrance, less of a conundrum—if I stayed in the temple with all my sleeping siblings.
But when that door closed and the light instantly dimmed—when the priestesses swept out of the room, talking softly amongst themselves; when I was left alone in that silent room, surrounded by lifeless bodies—oh, then I thought my heart might hammer its way out of my body from the sheer petrifying strangeness of that place.
It took the rest of the day for all of the nobles in Camarria to make their way to the temple and leave their echoes behind.
The ones who came before noon had no idea what was about to unfold. I could hear the priestesses directing them toward the round tower set aside for joy—because that was the room that held the fewest sleeping echoes—and then I could hear their astonishment, rage, and fear when they, too, realized their echoes had been lulled to sleep. Some of them wailed, some threatened, some promised to march directly to the palace and demand that the king intervene, but all of them ultimately left alone, full of anxiety and doubt.
Those who arrived later in the day clearly had already heard the news from their neighbors and friends. These visitors swirled through the doors in a state of belligerence or disbelief or alarm, depending on their own personalities. Some of them argued, some begged, some were sobbing before they even put a foot inside. But all of them came to the temple anyway, so afraid that they would lose their echoes altogether if they did not comply. As much as anything, that obedience made it clear to me how deep the connection was between most nobles and their echoes. They were terrified of the sentence that would be pronounced once they stepped through that temple door—but even more afraid of the consequences that would follow if they stayed home. They would submit to the temporary loss to stave off the permanent one.
I guessed it to be a couple of hours before midnight when the last noblewoman left, covering her face with her hands so no one could see her hysterical tears. I heard the priestesses gather to confer in the small space at the center of the three towers.
“That’s all of them, isn’t it?”
“Yes—every echo within the city limits.”
“I thought some of them might refuse.”
“I didn’t.” I couldn’t see their faces, but I was pretty sure this last speaker was the abbess. “For the sake of this war, they are ready to hazard their honor, their land, and their children. But the echoes define them in a way I don’t think the rest of us can ever understand.”
“We don’t need to understand,” said another priestess. “We just need to use that connection to our advantage.”
“But is it enough?” asked another woman in an urgent voice. “Or will they continue to fight—and lose everything?”
The abbess was silent a moment. “I think we will have to wait a few days to find out.”
Someone yawned, and someone else laughed. “What a day!” a priestess exclaimed. “I for one am eager to seek my bed. Do you think anyone needs to stay behind and watch over the echoes? I could sleep downstairs if you want someone in the building all night.”
“I think the echoes are under the goddess’s care for now, and thus immune from harm,” the abbess said. “I believe we can all return to our quarters.”
Still murmuring amongst themselves, the priestesses turned for one of the doors and filed out of the building. The door shut with an ominous clang of finality and the sounds of their voices grew too faint for me to hear.
And I was alone in a silent, shadowed, haunted room, the only moving creature in a field of inanimate bodies. If this place had been a mausoleum, filled with the whitened bones of the dead, I could hardly have felt more isolated and unreal.
I bit down a sense of rising panic. Nothing here was unfamiliar; nothing here would offer me harm. There was no reason to fear.
But certainly my situation was very strange.
I waited another ten minutes, in case one of the priestesses suddenly returned, then cautiously pushed myself to my feet. Votives still glittered at the feet of the goddess, so I still had enough light to see. I gazed around. All the echoes were slumped on their pews, some resting against each other, some toppled over to lie full-length on the benches. I crept along my row and peered at some of the faces. They all looked peaceful, untroubled, passive. I placed my fingers against one echo’s parted lips, but if she breathed, the exhalations were so faint I could not feel the air. I touched her cheek, which was cool as a rose petal. It was the same with the other three I investigated, including one of my own.
If these echoes lived, it was at the very farthest edge of existence.
Stepping over motionless feet, I exited from the pew and then wasn’t sure what to do. I wandered up to the front of the sanctuary and stared for a moment at the smooth face of the goddess for justice. The uneven candlelight made her briefly appear to smile, then frown.
I suppose I should pray for your intercession, I thought, but I don’t know if your notions of justice would match mine. I turned away without making a plea.
Jordan was watching me from the front row.
I gasped and started back, cramming my hand against my pounding heart. No—not Jordan, of course. I had caught sight of one of his echoes, who always appeared so much more defined and present than most. All three of his were sitting straight up in their row, eyes open and heads tilted to one side, as if listening. The effect was far spookier than the simulation of sleep that had taken hold of the more ordinary creatures. I glanced at the figures closest to his. Cormac’s and Harold’s echoes also appeared to be more alert than the others, but Annery’s slumbered at Cormac’s side as if worn out from weeping.
I didn’t have the nerve to lay my hands on one of their bodies, checking for a pulse, but I thought I could see the lace tremble at the throats of Cormac’s echoes as if they were breathing. I decided that was all the information I needed.
I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to investigate the rest of the temple, but I felt an intense curiosity about what I might find in the other two towers. Picking up a candle to guide me through the dark connecting passage at the center of the sanctuary, I tiptoed first to the room for mercy and then to the one for joy. But each scene was the same. Low, flickering light—wooden benches filled with elegantly dressed bodies in sprawling poses—a single statue gazing out over her insensible congregants. There was no sound except what little noise my feet made as I circled the pews.
The more I explored, the more my confidence grew, and the less uneasy I felt. I stopped expecting one of the echoes to gasp and jerk upright, gazing around in horror as it panted for air. If that did happen, I was pretty sure I would shriek in terror and go running into the night. But there was something about the quality of silence in the whole building. Nothing and no one in the temple seemed sentient except for me.
I had been delighted to find, tucked like a closet between two of the towers, a tiny room that held a chamber pot and was clearly designed for the comfort of petitioners who spent all day at the temple. But I hadn’t come across anything that resembled a pantry. And I was starving.
Once I had completed my circuit of the three towers, I made my way back to the one marked for justice. Settling down beside my echoes, I began rummaging in the pockets of my cloak. Ever since Elyssa had stopped feeding us when we were still in Alberta, the echoes and I had continued our habit of hiding bits of food at every meal. I had an apple and a handful of nuts in one of my pockets, and I devoured those in a few bites. Then I checked to see what the echoes might have secreted away. One of them had two hard dinner rolls, the other a rather shriveled orange. I ate one of the rolls but reluctantly left the other items untouched. I didn’t know how long I would be in this place; I didn’t know when I could expect another meal. If it really took two weeks for the high nobles to lay down their arms …
I remembered something one of the priestesses had said. I could sleep downstairs if you want someone in the building tonight. In my tour of the towers, I had noticed no stairwell, but was there an underground level to the temple? If it had amenities like beds, might it also have food and water? How could I find this bounty?
I stood up again and began searching. Except for the ones leading to the outside, there were no doors on the curved perimeter of the three towers. But at the very center of the sanctuary was a carved wooden pillar so thick at least three people would need to hold hands to get their arms around it. Maybe it held a hidden stairwell? I set my candle down so I could begin pulling on various protrusions, looking for a latch or lever. It wasn’t particularly well-disguised, and in about five minutes I had located and opened the door.
I picked up my votive again and peered into pooled darkness. A metal staircase spiraled down farther than my candlelight would reach; the air that drifted up carried a cool dampness and the faintest scent of mold. From where I stood, it was impossible to tell how big this underground structure was and how far it reached. My heart quailed at the idea of descending into a place so completely unknown. If I dropped my candle or the flame went out, I would never be able to find my way to the surface.
I stepped back and shut the door. Well. I would see what tomorrow brought. Maybe some desperate noblewoman would bring an offering of bread or cake to the abbess, hoping to win the freedom of her echoes; maybe the king would insist on transferring us all back to the palace. If nothing had changed by tomorrow night—except that I was even hungrier—I would chance the perilous journey into the underground cavern.
But tonight I would stay in a realm that was just as fantastical, but marginally more familiar. I made my way back to the tower for justice. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I shifted the bodies of strangers’ echoes to the very end of the back pew, then slid the bodies of my own echoes over next to theirs. That left me just enough room to stretch out full length on the bench beside them. I covered myself with my cloak, shut my eyes, and tried not to think about where, exactly, I was.
You are in the goddess’s hands, I reminded myself. I wasn’t certain I believed it, but I repeated the reassurance over and over until I finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A burst of sound—a door clicking open, a group of women laughing—and I started awake so violently I hit my head against the wall. No, not a wall; something wooden. A chair? The light was strange, strained, as if it had had to sneak in past narrow casements. And my bed was so hard I might have been lying on the floor. Where was I?
I was about to push myself to a seated position when memory came flooding back, and I froze in place with one hand pressed against the back of the pew. There were more voices, snatches of conversation, the sounds of footsteps coming nearer. The priestesses were returning to carry out their duties for the day. Had any of them noticed me moving? I held my breath.
“You see?” someone said. “Nothing amiss. It seems all the echoes passed a peaceful night.”
“I wonder if the king and his friends slept so well.”
“I hope not! I hope they sighed and fretted all night long, and that they spend the day fretting some more! Maybe if they think hard enough, they can end this stupid war.”
“When do you expect to hear from them?”
A new voice answered—the abbess, I was certain. “I would expect the king or one of his sons to come by sometime today.”
“So soon?”
“Not with news of a treaty. But testing our resolve. Hoping to convince us to release the echoes.”
“You won’t do that, will you?”
There was a smile in the abbess’s voice. “I could not even if I would. I have no power over the echoes. Only the goddess does.”
The voices moved on, dispersed; I thought some might have come floating up from the hidden stairwell as a few of the priestesses headed down to the underground level. I was annoyed to find myself in a supine pose for what would probably be the whole day, as I could not risk sitting up if anyone happened to be watching. Well, at least it was not an uncomfortable position, even if it was one that prevented me from seeing anything going on around me.
This day was almost as odd as the one that had preceded it, and full of nearly as much anguish on the part of strangers. Several times each hour, nobles stepped through the doors, singly or in small groups, to visit with their echoes. I heard their feet tap across the stone floor, heard soft murmurs of affection and reassurance—caught the sound of tears more than once—then listened as the visitors reluctantly departed. A few of them did pause to plead with the priestesses, but in a weary, hopeless way, as if they knew before they even spoke that they would lose their arguments.
I was so unfortunately positioned that I couldn’t see who came to the temple on behalf their echoes, and I couldn’t recognize most of them by their voices. But shortly after midday I heard two figures enter and make their way to the very front of my tower. There was a small cry i
n a young woman’s voice, and I was fairly certain Annery had arrived and flung herself down beside her echoes. I tensed on my bench, wondering if Jordan was with her, but when her escort spoke, I knew it was Cormac.
“We can’t stay very long,” he said, but his tone was kind. “Try to stay calm. I’m sure everything will be all right.”
By her answering sobs, I could tell she did not believe him. I spared a moment to admire the brother who had taken time out of what had to be a catastrophically busy day to try to ease his sister’s frantic heart. And a second moment to wish it had been her other brother here with her instead.
Indeed, they did not stay long, but Annery seemed slightly comforted when they left. “Can we come back tomorrow?” I heard her ask as they pushed open the heavy door and sunlight briefly flooded in. “And every day?”
“If I can’t bring you, someone else will,” Cormac promised, and then they were gone.
No one else who visited for the rest of the afternoon was someone I recognized. The priestesses moved constantly in and out of the room, replacing candles, sweeping up debris, and performing other tasks I couldn’t always decipher. After last night’s vigil among the corpselike echoes, it was comforting to sense their warm human presence. Of course, it was inconvenient as well, since I could only make minute adjustments to my position when any of them were nearby.
But as the day wore on and the light filtering in through the slatted windows grew fainter and more hazy, I began to dread the coming night. No more soft footfalls on smooth stone floors; no more low-voiced conversations and muffled laughter. Just me. And dozens of still, silent, sightless companions.
If the king didn’t resolve this war soon, I would probably go mad before I starved to death. It was hard to know which outcome to prefer.
As they had the night before, the priestesses all left together in a group, leaving behind a few lit candles and a cavernous silence. I waited a few moments before sitting up and stretching out my cramped limbs. My whole body ached, I was so thirsty my tongue seemed swollen, and I was starting to feel faint from hunger. I was less frightened than I had been last night, but my anxiety was starting to rise. I truly did not know how long I could endure this.