Caliper picked up a blanket. ‘What’s this city called?’
‘Morzenthal,’ Frinelia said.
Phos remembered the name falling from Dad’s lips and the hushed tones in his voice.
‘Our world swarms with guards and clerics, but it’s the one place they avoid,’ Frinelia said. ‘Decades ago it was a home for retired priests, and the elderly still arrive, but now Morzenthal is a home for different thoughts. Priests who can’t stomach the church’s thinking, commoners with extraordinary powers, misfits and adventurers of the mind, each outsider changes Morzenthal and shifts it further from orthodoxy. We’re out of the way and without power, so the church usually ignores us, though I’ve known priests to hammer on our gates with questions for our archivists. We play at being absent-minded librarians, which eases their prying. If you value curiosity over control you may enjoy the place.’
‘What questions do the priests have?’
‘Crop histories, plans for antique machines or ancient maps, questions that leave us cringing even though we smile outwardly. We bottle knowledge too dangerous to store elsewhere, and too useful to destroy.’
‘You said it’s a museum.’
‘An outer ring is crammed with exhibits and models and relics that move as if alive, and I’m sure the exhibits enjoy terrorising trespassers; the unwary die each year.’
Phos’s eyebrows rose. ‘The exhibits can think?’
‘Good question. You should decide for yourself, but the carousel’s exhibits learned survival by fighting each other, so that area is perilous.’
‘You’re sure Morzenthal’s safe?’ Mitch pulled on his backpack.
Frinelia slid a slim book from a stack. ‘It’s not safe, but it is the safest place.’
‘So, who lives in the rest of the city?’
‘On occasion, you’ll meet someone too old to work the fields and too frail to fight, but whose mind still seethes with skills. They’ve learned how people think. They give orders that sound nothing like orders, and they’ve united at Morzenthal.’
‘There’re more like you? You should have warned us.’
‘No one is quite like me; one pleasure of age is knowing you’re unique. I often waited there while my past faded, and many there see me as middle-aged.’
‘You’re not middle-aged: you never grew up with those wrinkles.’ Mitch grinned.
‘Aren’t you the charmer?’ Frinelia handed Caliper three books.
Dad had died at Torzene, but he’d lived in Morzenthal, and dust from his breath might still drift in its halls. They might scratch out new lives in this museum city, or cook meals together while poring over books, and she’d learn without teachers.
‘Let’s find my mum and bring her.’
Caliper gathered food and water bottles as Phos shivered, but a hunk of bread quelled her hunger, and she stared at him.
‘Yesterday you asked if Morzenthal stood on a hill. What made you ask?’
‘Christina won’t know our place names, but she wanted us to meet, and she noticed the light I ground out, and learned enough to whisper directions.’ Caliper looked past her. ‘“My city sits atop a hill,” she said.’ His eyes fixed her for a moment. ‘She told me to bring friends as well, though I don’t know if she meant you.’
Frinelia packed a small bag and glanced around before smiling. Her hand brushed the door’s sheet aside. ‘Head dawnward: if your mother found the Leester villagers she should be at the far fence.’
Phos blinked in the light and struggled to keep up as Caliper and Frinelia strode forward. Mud and sawdust everywhere; clay caked her tunic, and ahead two half-naked men wrestled beside a smoking cauldron as others cheered.
Caliper picked a yellow weed from the ground and stuffed it into his apron. ‘Why were your people raising that barn at Ferstus? Shoddy work, that was.’
‘Chaos, Caliper. Many churchmen fight for control, and each seeks to stamp his own desires onto the world. One group wanted a small Torzene in each village, though I understand some miller upset their plans.’
‘Chaos is fun.’
Stragglers hid as they threaded past huts, and the stringy grass grew longer here. People streamed through gaps knocked into the ramshackle fence, and ragged children eyed them before darting away. Caliper doled out reeper cloth to a young woman with a gashed arm, and three ten-year-old boys followed them for a few paces until Frinelia stared back.
The priestess jarred to a halt and urged them into an empty hut smelling of soap before holding up her arms for silence. Phos waited in the gloom as her boots crunched on the ruddy soil underfoot, and she glanced at Frinelia. Shadows flickered outside; a priest and two leather-clad guards strolled past, and Frinelia recoiled before letting a slow sigh escape her lips.
She stepped outside and Phos followed, but the three figures had waited for them. Rastersen’s bulk hovered a few feet away – his black cloak was smeared with grey – and two guards stood behind with folded arms and scowls, bookends to Rastersen’s jowly grin.
‘Here’s what used to be a priest, and my curious young lady from the windmill.’ He plucked a rope from his belt.
‘Show due respect, Rastersen; do not dare ignore my rank.’
‘A cloakless officer has no rank.’
‘I remember you begging to keep your cloak while we discussed your inability to follow the simplest order.’
Rastersen grinned. ‘You burned your cloak and treated commoners to church secrets.’ His gaze glided to Phos. ‘Maybe you should ask the priestess questions; ask what benefit she seeks from your presence, what risks she will have you endure. Remember those children you took charge of, Frinelia, back in Adastran? Were their bodies recovered, and what did you tell their parents?’
Rastersen’s eyes snapped back to Phos and held her like glue – shouldn’t her body obey orders? Frinelia’s hand gripped her shoulder.
‘Does Frinelia aim to test the terrors outside Torzene on your body?’
‘Always threatening children,’ Frinelia said. ‘Afraid adults will fight back?’
‘Success comes when you specialise: a craftsman always beats a dabbler, and my guards add richness to my promise. Let’s discuss your treason. After your imprisonment, Phos and I can discuss her future career; these changes will open doors for us both.’
Caliper swung his backpack to the ground and reached inside. ‘You’re ignoring Mitch and me.’
‘Keep walking, miller, and take your boy.’
Caliper gripped a candle and pinched the wick. ‘These work better at night, but you’ll not want the waiting.’
Phos couldn’t breathe.
Rastersen snorted. ‘Candles? Are you mocking me?’
‘Me? Mock? Never.’
‘What the…?’
Caliper pointed the candle at a guard. One heartbeat passed before fiery sparks ripped through air to splash against the man’s face. Screams rang out, and the guard crashed backwards. Caliper flicked the flaming spray towards Rastersen, and the priest tumbled sideways and hit the earth before curling up. The last guard stood open-mouthed for a heartbeat before darting into the forest of sheds.
Frinelia stared. ‘Caliper, what have you…?’
A few final sparks sputtered from the candle, and Caliper lobbed the stump at Rastersen’s slick hair. The priest’s cloak smoked as he sobbed. The fallen guard didn’t move, and Frinelia knelt beside him. ‘Still breathing; no idea if he’ll see again, but, Caliper, those talents keep coming.’ Phos glanced at Rastersen’s quaking body.
‘You knew his plans; you saw how he looked.’
‘I’ve no criticism: you’ve saved us. But we’ve decisions to make.’
‘Decisions?’
‘I can silence the priest.’ Frinelia touched her belt.
‘That’s your decision?’
‘Other priests called me the Cleaner, but not for any dusting talent.’
Rastersen rolled onto his back and groaned. His eyes stayed shut while his head lolled back, and breath
flooded into Phos’s lungs.
‘Leave him, Frinelia,’ she said. ‘He’s snot and vomit.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Phos and I are sure.’ Caliper squatted on Rastersen’s chest and tapped out a smouldering ember on the priest’s shoulder. ‘Listen, fat boy. Two weeks back I burned my hand on a special candle; they’re bastard painful, but I didn’t roll around shrieking like a baby.’ He shunted forward and gripped Rastersen’s throat, and the priest’s eyes stayed shut. ‘You people gave Phos nightmares, but she’s still standing, so without other people’s muscle, you’re…. What was it, Phos?’
‘Snot and vomit.’
‘There’re some pretty words. You’ve been thrashed by a girl, so don’t think stealing other people’s strength makes you strong. That guard who ran off is telling his mates how you cried, so if you see us coming, head the other way – I’ve plenty candles left.’ Caliper flicked Rastersen’s ear before standing. ‘There’s enough; we’ll find Phos’s mum.’
Rastersen’s eyes flicked open to peer at the vault, but his blubbery face stayed still. His stare had wrapped icy chains around her body, but her legs answered her now, and she stepped back; perhaps her second syllable would help her resist more. Rastersen heaved himself onto his side before staggering eveward.
‘Torzene’s a wounded beast, Phos, so you’ll stay sharp.’ He grinned and patted her shoulder, and her eyes closed as she felt herself imagining a rising sea and swirling black cloaks flooding the rolling hills. Morzenthal might stand as an island, a single peak of freedom.
Frinelia coughed. ‘You’ve met Rastersen before?’
Phos explained, and the priestess nodded while strolling onward.
‘Both Rastersen’s parents were full officers, like me. I remember him as a boy of wide-eyed questions and smiles. He loved reading, but that wasn’t what priests did; his parents scolded him into the seminary.’
‘Should have left him with his books,’ Mitch said.
‘Apprentice priests are quick to sort out their ranks: you torment others or you’re tormented, and Rastersen was bottom of the heap. They’d dangle him naked over the altar before services, or force wine down his throat when he was due to read, or slip ferrets into his bed at night. He was never priest material, and now he’s a left foot in a right-footed shoe, all ambition without talent. If he’d chosen his own path….’ Frinelia fell silent. ‘Perhaps he’s trying to remember those book-filled days from before his second syllable.’
‘When he owned his future,’ Phos said. ‘He’s been looking for people with talent; he wants more exploits, but does he expect me to grub them up?’
‘It’s possible; he wants others to work for him.’
Phos frowned. ‘I’ll ask my own questions.’
Two men kicked planks from a hut beside the fence and threw the wood onto a huge stack to prepare for the evening. A group of women in shawls knitted beside a cart but stopped to watch Frinelia as she glided forward.
‘There’re brewers from Leester.’ Phos pointed at a couple holding hands and sitting with bowed heads outside a hut. She touched the husband’s shoulder, and he winced before lifting his face. Red eyes blinked among his bruises.
‘Have you seen my mother, Shelaker? She was with two women.’
The brewer pointed dawnward at a hut with liramic petals lacing the doorway, and Phos dodged a handcart as she ran forward.
Silence inside, and two women knelt beside a figure laid on a stack of blankets, but Mum’s tunic and sash were unmissable.
‘Mum? It’s Phos.’ Her hand curled around to touch the tears on Mum’s cheek.
‘You came?’
‘I’ll not leave.’
‘Your father…I stayed, but my friends searched through the night and found his body.’
Phos held Mum’s hand as she inched through the story. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she’d chewed her fingernails to the quick. Their tears eased, and they dried each other’s faces as Caliper entered with hot water. Frinelia hesitated before producing a tiny cloth bag and making tea to spice their shack with a fragrance halfway between lemon and pine.
Shelaker fell silent and stared at her cup while tweaking her sash. ‘Is this frangista?’
‘Difficult to obtain, but people praise its soothing qualities, so let us rest before facing future challenges.’
They drank in silence, and Mum’s trembling faded as she eased out a smile.
Frinelia’s fingers tapped the hut’s wall. ‘I regret the need to press people, but time passes, and the church will seek to restore Torzene’s status as a prison.’
‘Best we return home, Phos: it’s the best place to remember your father.’
Phos imagined herself meandering home to remember Dad’s insane stories, sitting beside the fireplace, where she’d listened to them, reading his books and eating from plates he’d once grasped, but he’d not be there. A family was a cradle, even one without a father, but a cradle was both protection and prison, and avoiding change meant not growing. She’d seen hulking men cling to their parents long after their third syllable had arrived, wolfing down mother’s food and cowering inside their tiny world, afraid to learn – a plant stuffed in too small a pot. Phos never knew what happened once their parents died. Rastersen knew where she lived, so perhaps she should have asked Frinelia for cleaning.
‘There’s a safer place dawnward,’ Phos said. ‘Dad’s been there, and there won’t be any priests.’
Mum shook her head. ‘I need to give watch in our home: we shared laughter there. Give me a week, Phos; come with me, and we’ll wander the forest paths we took. Shouldn’t we say goodbye together?’
Frinelia sighed. ‘The church will expect people to head home.’
Mum paused before speaking. ‘What’s this place called?’
‘Morzenthal. Dad had books.’
‘The museum city?’
‘Frinelia’s an exhibit,’ Mitch said.
‘Many thanks, Mitch. The church tries to avoid the place, and it won’t expect us to travel there. You’d be welcome; they have space for several villages, even if their food defies description.’
‘I’ll return to Leester, Phos, and say the words of passing. We built our home ourselves, and you were born there. Doesn’t that count?’
‘Mum, it’s not safe!’
‘I can’t grieve in a museum. Come with me, and we’ll hide in the forest until the priests forget.’
‘They won’t forget; they’ll track you with dogs,’ Frinelia said.
‘I’ll bring pepper,’ Mum said. ‘They searched our house when they seized us, and they’ll not expect anyone to go where they’ve searched.’
Phos had stopped arguing with Mum years ago: like night followed day, each argument had its counter. Phos’s fingers twitched. She’d remember Dad by hunting the words he’d jotted in Morzenthal’s books; her fingers might trace over his writing, or the city’s dust could hold a trace of his skin. She’d breach the carousel, experience enough, and her second syllable might write itself without a priest’s words.
Caliper and Frinelia whispered together for a moment. The miller sat beside Mum and touched her shoulder. ‘There’s a path between the world wall and Leester’s forest that’s too stony for horses, so you’ll not see churchmen. Stick to the woods when you travel; they’ll have combed my windmill’s wreckage, so it might mean safety, and it’s near your house, isn’t it, Phos?’
‘Don’t delay, Mum, and bring your friends.’ They clasped hands before switching into a tense hug. Mum’s oakmoss scent lingered in the chaos, and Phos buried her nose in her neck. Even the plants poisoned people now so she’d spend a few heartbeats here in safety. Morzenthal might be safer than Torzene, but the museum city reeked of danger, and what if the men there knew Rastersen?
No point in worrying - Phos only had one destination, and leaving this shack started her journey. The miller and the priestess would help, but she’d need to pack years of experience into the next few days.
One last squeeze. For an instant, their heartbeats matched, but they pulled apart to face each other.
‘Find the way, Phos. I’ll meet you at Morzenthal.’
Chapter 12: what do you mean by horse?
Phos stomped past Caliper and her feet punched the springy turf as if trying to stamp through the soil. She slapped her hand against a wooden stump and heaved through a narrow gap in Torzene’s fence. Caliper slouched behind, and a few villagers tore planks away while others straggled outside and milled over the moor’s edge.
The dawnward lands stretched ahead, and grassland clung to the landscape like a velvet cloth; steep valleys crinkled across distant rolling hills. Hints of lavender bathed the air, and the green carpet shaded to blue as the grass stalks rippled under wind. A distant forest lined the southern horizon with shadow.
Frinelia pointed south and dawnward. ‘Morzenthal’s in that direction, and there’s a shallow valley we can’t yet see, but once we cross we’ll reach forest before evening. We’ll stick together and keep an easy pace.’
This group’s talent might impress Christina, and he’d try to hold them together. Caliper strolled towards Mitch: priests and their guards meant danger on this exposed moor, and Torzene’s destruction meant they’d be in arresting mood, so he’d need everyone’s skills until they reached the forest’s cover.
‘You’re not wanting to find your dad? He should be in Torzene.’
‘I saw him three huts away from Phos’s mum, but he didn’t see me.’
‘You didn’t say hello?’
Mitch’s head stayed lowered. ‘I wasn’t the son he wanted. He always had me fetch and carry, and I can do better. I’m not sure parents are safe now.’ He glanced up at Caliper. Mud streaked his face. ‘Besides, I want to see Phos’s face when she learns there’s no world seed.’
Caliper frowned. ‘World seed?’
‘Phos thinks everything sprouted from an acorn. Plants, animals, hills, rivers, all spewed from a nut. Don’t you, Phos?’
The girl paused before stamping forward again to jog down a slope.
‘She’s too silly for me,’ Mitch said.
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