“Many of our people no longer know how,” Gishna said. “So long have they lived off the struggles of others.”
“The blood of others,” Julissa said.
“Exactly!” Kandah said with a clap. He delighted when lesser minds made simple connections.
Gishna waved him on to continue.
“And so, your people learned little by little that everything they once did was so hard, often treacherously so. To touch the Dark is a dangerous business. All power is.”
At this, he stopped. His aura shimmered. How Gishna longed to discover his people's weakness.
“As the effects of the Fall rippled through the world,” he said, “your people settled for less and less. And with less and less, they became exactly that. They mingled with nomads and barbarians, further diluting the power. Like a crumbling mountain which once touched the stars, your people now huddle on low hills, barely better than the barbarians around them.”
“That is enough, Kandah,” Gishna said, scowling. “I'll not have you exaggerating.”
Kandah chuckled. “I was only following your example, matron. To wax eloquent over the demise of so great a people. But it is the way of nature. Some rise, some fall.”
“Some rise again,” Gishna said.
“Yes!” Kandah said. He fetched another canvas. “See?”
Julissa gripped the edge of the table to keep herself from collapsing. Gishna would comfort her later.
“These lines now live in Hosmyr,” he said, pointing to a lengthy list of house names. “It will take time, but eventually they will reform into a stronger branch and remove the taint.”
“You promised my grandmother it would be gone by now,” Gishna said.
“Nature is more fickle than we might want,” he said. “To weave the strands into the proper fabric takes time.”
Gishna cursed herself for starting with the metaphors. He toyed with her while her house died out.
“What taint?” Julissa asked, exasperated. She'd just caught up to the conversation.
“The taint brought on by a weakness long hidden,” he said. “For years, cycles even, it ate away at your bloodline, but there were protections in place.”
“What protections?” She was seething now. Despairing. All at once. Gishna sighed.
He always hesitated when asked. Did he know the true source? The ancient valmasin must have known. Surely. Why else stay here studying a broken people?
“The Fall, dearest,” Gishna said, weary of the topic. “Everything points to the Fall.”
“You will have one child if you are lucky,” Kandah said.
“It must be a girl, so you will wait as long as you can,” Gishna said. “Kandah has found you an adequate consort.”
“What?” Julissa asked. “I have already chosen Rodin.”
“No, my dear, we will choose one for you. Your father was selected for me, and together we made you. We can lessen the risk, but we must be sure. You will consort Gadon Lor'Mardaer. He is of a good line. You can see him there.”
Gishna motioned to another folio, which Kandah fetched. He opened it for Julissa to peruse. She may not be able to read the notes, but she could make out the names.
“I see,” Julissa said, suddenly pleased by the prospect. The man was a convergence of the best lines. Like Saugraen and her other sons, he was not born of his matron.
“With him, you may yet recover this house,” Gishna said. “Your brothers—yes, they are your brothers and your sister—you will make judicious pairings for them to continue to grow a new trunk for Hosmyr.”
“Out of the ashes…” Kandah intoned.
“We don't need poetry now,” Gishna said.
“Everything I do is poetry, gracious matron.”
Gishna would not yield to his banter. Treachery lurked in his eyes; she could never understand him. They saw past her, into her, to her very core. Being near him reminded her that there was something not right with him… or his power. It crawled over her skin, a sudden fear.
“Come, Julissa,” she said. “We will speak alone now, and I will explain the work that is done to bring Kandah the samples.”
“Yes, the work,” Kandah said wryly. “Come back soon, Julissa. I will show you wonders. Matron, if it is not too much trouble, I need more plants for my garden.”
Gishna nodded, but shoved Julissa toward the door, rapping on it with red, swollen knuckles. Sinnin unlocked it and they passed through. Behind her, Kandah chuckled softly.
The keys on Sinnin's belt jangled in the tunnel hall, flaying her nerves.
“Mother, I don't understand,” Julissa said, then hissed her anger.
“I know, dear. But understanding can come later when we have recovered. Now is a time of action. We may not understand the workings of it, but we, as matrons, must understand its import, and above all the solution. Let men like that one deal with the workings. A tedious business.”
They entered a side room to the left of the scriptorium entrance where two senior scribes were waiting.
“Here, high matron,” one said, leading them to a large canvas at least twelve feet tall and six feet wide.
