Oh… I didn’t realise.

“Three stags a head,” called a voice. Fionn looked up to see that he was now at the top of the queue. A young lad stood at the entrance, dressed in a plain white vest and black trousers. He looked barely ten years old.

Fionn pulled out his purse and counted out three silver coins. He handed them over and stepped aboard.

The ship was wide and flat, with a low-ceilinged cabin to house its passengers. The benches were arranged perpendicular to the ship’s hull, a gap running through the middle of each row like seats in a chapel. The benches were filled for the most part; Simians vastly outnumbered the Humans. Some passengers chatted quietly to one another, but most sat facing forward, eyes locked ahead. Fionn sat down beside a lone Simian.

It certainly wasn’t as exciting as the airship back in Penance, but this was Fionn’s first time travelling by sea. In fact, this was his first time travelling at all. He’d never had a reason to leave the Academy until now.

A sudden thought occurred.

Sir Bearach, he asked. Why are you travelling to Penance?

Cause I don’t have a fucking choice in the matter, you thick-skulled idiot!

Fionn swore under his breath. I’m sorry. I just—

You just, what, forgot that I was dead? Forgot that I’ve had my soul molested by two Necromancers under the same moon?

The mage went silent as the ship began to move. A crewman strode up along the pier, removing ropes from its bollards. The waterfront slowly slid from view, until there was nothing but blue seas in every direction.

My brother is sick, said Sir Bearach, eventually. He took ill almost a year back. The healers say there’s not much they can do, and his time is running out. I was supposed to visit him, while I still could.

You still can, replied Fionn. What if I brought you to him, and spoke to him using your words?

That’ll never happen, said the knight. They’ll never let you in.

Fionn had no reply to that. He considered telling the healers the truth, but that would probably land him in a prison cell for heresy. For how else could he be speaking a dead man’s words, other than through profane magic?

You’re right, they would arrest you on the spot, said Sir Bearach. His words caught Fionn off guard. It would take a while to get used to having the knight listen in on all his thoughts.

Couldn’t I claim to be a relative? I’m sure I could get in somehow. Where would I find him?

In the most secure building of Penance, said the knight. Under the care of the kingdom’s most talented healers and protected by the city’s best guards.

Fionn paused, wondering who this man could possibly be. Of course, Sir Bearach heard that too.

His name is Cathal Carríga. The Human representative of the Triad.

Chapter 9:

The Broken Triad

We are here because we have seen too much yet learned so little. Only by sharing the sights of our Seeings can we truly know the way of the Lord. Some of our brothers and sisters have gone mad from their revelations, but it is they who should feel sorry for us, for only they have seen the face of God.

Sermon of the Sons of Seletoth, from God’s Blood, 4:21.

***

“How long has he been like this?” asked Farris, taking a step closer to the patient’s bed.

“Eleven moons have come and gone since he first started showing signs,” said Ruairí, idly touching his pendant as he spoke. “But he didn’t seek medical attention until last spring. By then, it was too late.”

“Yet he still lives?”

Ruairí gestured towards the bed. “Would you consider this living?”

Farris shook his head. The bedside of Cathal Carríga was a morbid place. The Human had once been a strong youth, besting many of Alabach’s greatest knights at tourneys. Cathal was the youngest person—Simian or Human—to be elected to the Triad and was well loved by those he governed. Now, he was reduced to a life at the frontier of death, barely conscious, capable only of breathing.

“Can the healers do nothing for him now?” asked Farris, tilting his head as he considered the features of the dying lad. Cathal’s face was drained of colour, his skin like wet paper clinging to deflated cheekbones. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, as if they were threatening to sink back into his head. Every strand of hair from his head and face had long since gone, leaving a shadow of the man who had once shared rule over Penance.

“Coal tumours,” muttered Ruairí. “Quite common amongst those in the Steamworks. Treatable with surgery if caught early, but—”

“I’m familiar with the condition, Human,” spat Farris. For the past moon, Argyll had assigned Farris to be Ruairí’s shadow, apparently to learn about how things worked in Penance.

Fools, the pair of them. It’s as if they’ve forgotten I was born here.

Despite his protests, Farris was forced to accompany the Human on all his business throughout Penance. From overlooking the operations of Jacob’s re-established smuggling ring, to attending sermons of the Sons of Seletoth, Ruairí was never without his new shadow. The sermons had been the strangest, with their vague, riddled verses and rambling prayers. Farris had never seen men speak so much while saying so little.

At the very least, he had hoped to learn more about Seeings, but the Sons rarely spoke about them directly. Many alluded to serving some sort of higher purpose, and Farris had only caught brief mentions of the so-called “Truth” they had all learned about. Farris, of course, was intrigued from an investigational perspective; collecting information was a skill he prided himself on. But on another level, part of him needed to know what it is that can cause a Human, or even a Simian, to shift their perspective of the world so quickly.

I need to know… I need to know to make sure it doesn’t happen to me.

“Why are we here?” asked Farris, abruptly. He stepped aside as a white mage tended to Cathal, fussing over a long, twisting tube connected to the patient’s wrist.

“Cathal Carríga is an honourable man,” said Ruairí. Even as he spoke, his eyes never left the hands of the healer. “Do we need a reason to visit the sick?”

Farris had no answer to that. He watched in silence as the healer went to work. With a shock, Farris realised that the tube connected to Cathal’s wrist beneath the skin, though no blood was present at the site of the wound.

“Come,” said Ruairí. “There’s something else you should see.” He turned to go, and Farris followed, stealing a glance back at the patient.

No need to say goodbye. He probably didn’t even notice we were here.

The two exited Cathal’s quarters out into a long hallway, with a bright, red rug stretched straight down the middle. Portraits of old Triad representatives hung on the walls, Humans to the left and Simians to the right.

“Why is the Silverback concerned with his condition?” asked Farris, catching up with Ruairí. “Why have you been ordered to monitor him?”

“The white mages of the Church are obliged to help the sick no matter what,” said the Human. He led the way down the hall towards a curving marble staircase to the ground floor. “As long as a patient lives, they must do everything within their power to keep them alive.”

“They’re doing a fine job of that,” said Farris. “Too good a job, if you ask me.”

“True,” said Ruairí. “The Silverback has seen that Cathal receives the greatest care possible, using the most recent advances in medicine. His treatment combines Human alchemy with Simian chemistry. The Penance Guild of Chemists have invested all of their resources into treating Cathal’s condition.”

“The Silverback requires him to recover?” asked Farris. “Because Cathal is in favour of the movement?”

“No,” said Ruairí. He let the word hang in the silence, giving Farris time to consider its weight. The Human didn’t speak again until both he and Farris had left the building.

“The laws of Penance state that all members of the Triad must keep their position until death,” he continued, taking Farris down the stone steps of the House of the Triad. A cool breeze met them as they descended, its frigid kiss hinting towards a long, cold winter ahead of them. “Cathal Carríga will remain as the Human representative until the day he dies.”