Good, let it sink in, he thought. Ren waited. When the man's chest rose gently, he moved on to the child.
He blew the powder into the child's face, covered by silver-white locks. The child did not stir but continued breathing evenly. His fingers moved deftly through his jerkin's pockets and took out a small gag. The child had a sweet face, beautiful. With a quick movement, he lowered the child's chin, and the gag slid in. The eyelids quivered, but the powder had taken hold.
His daggers felt heavy on his thighs. They always felt this way when he sensed danger was close. It was like they beckoned him. His fingers itched. He knew the man would wake, the child would scream, and then he'd have to end him. Or both.
He stopped and stretched his back. The shadow-weave sagged about him. He needed to hurry. It never lasted as long as he needed. He shook his fingers out. The ceiling was at least ten feet up, easier than the outer wall, but his power was waning.
He withdrew a canvas bag from the slim pack strapped around his back and side. He nudged the child to fold her legs and arms. Then he, with a quick, practiced movement, wrapped her in her blanket and slid the bag under her. The silver-white crown disappeared as he cinched the ties.
He placed a linen banner on the bed. Its letters looked like a Naukvyrae's rant, written in sheep's blood. The villagers would think it was human. He didn't much like the idea of using the Naukvyrae, but it served his purpose well. Their calls to return to the old ways didn't really work for him. He'd rather be alive with minor powers than burning on the pyre from trying for great ones. The villagers would be terrified and press their faces to the floor the next time the goddess passed. None wished to displease her, and the Naukvyrae were like her personal executioners. Or, in this case, reclaimers. What she gave, she could take away. None of these simple folk bothered to ask why. They would not raise the alarm or ask for an investigation.
He licked his lips. Then there was the man. He should cut him and let him bleed out while still drugged. It was the surest way to really terrify villagers. The fool with his hoe against the Naukvyrae. If he didn't at least hurt him, they might think the man was in league with them. He drew his blade and approached the man. He was older than Ren expected, his hands rough and calloused, his arms thick and strong. Bigger than Ren, for sure. But just a farmer.
He felt like a god at that moment. He loved these moments. The decision was all his to do as he pleased.
He pulled back the man's head and eyed the gray throat. The man had good qualities. His hair was a blend of brown and gray. Yes, the power to snuff out an entire line, a whole future bloodline, was in his hands.
He let the head fall back against the man's chest. Not tonight. That was Ren the god's decision. He sheathed the blade and held his head high. This night the god had decided otherwise, and that too had its delight. The power of mercy.
Ren looked up at the ceiling hole. He wasn't as tall as he'd like, just under six feet. Normal in the valleys, but a clear disadvantage in the crater. He took the bundle over his left shoulder and with his right hand wafted the shadow shell upward. Like a blanket, it unfurled toward the hole and stiffened. It crept up over the lip and took hold. He climbed up, and the shadow receded behind his feet, following him like his own shadow.
The girl was light and stayed balled up. He set the cover back on the skylight, setting it in place and rubbing away any splinters left behind by his knife. Then he moved to the tall side of the roof and looked over it.
The goddess loved him! There was an alley and, straight ahead, a field of tall barley. He dropped and dashed through the alley, his shadow fading with each step.
He snickered as he leapt into the waving stalks.
20
Gishna propelled her ancient frame through the servant's tunnel leading to the seer's workroom. She left Julissa in the hallway outside the scriptorium. This conversation would be too much for the girl. It was already too much for herself.
Sinnin was away and his apprentice, Barras, was overseeing the work today. He reached around and unlocked the door. Gishna steadied herself with a cane and lurched forward to the door, twisting her head right to make out the handle.
Barras said nothing. He knew her well enough after all these years. Sinnin had tricked him into believing the work they did was merely academic, but in time, wise as he was, he had seen the truth. He must have. If he knew, he said nothing, and if he didn't, then it was better to leave him in ignorance. There was so much liability in the scriptorium. One word spoken in the wrong ear would doom her project. Thensil and Sinnin kept a close watch on them as they lived on the premises, oathed to their work. Men who made oaths like this were a powerful but blunt tool. She had to own each of them, and their houses, unto the second and third cousins. She made sure of it.
But it was the man with the green eyes who was the tool with the finest point, the sharpest edge. She hobbled to the empty chair and crumpled onto it, leaning forward on the cane.
“Should I make a medicinal tea?” Kandah asked. “Or something stronger?”
She jerked her head left and right, searching for him. Her lip twitched uncontrollably at the knowing smile on his face. It was as if he could see her every nagging ache and stiffness. Within her failing frame, her mind hummed and resisted the inevitable. She longed to know the secret of sorcerer tablets so she may flee into one and be present forever.
“Tea,” she replied.
He pressed his hands together and made a small bow. Whatever he gave her, she knew it would be the perfect thing, but only a respite from the pain of a curving back and the strain to keep her head up off her chest.
He disappeared behind a false wall, and she rested, focusing her gaze on a stack of papers at her feet. She would like to know what he was currently writing. There must be so much in the room which he did not share with her. He must have an agenda of his own. His script was unknown to them, and her diviners had failed to decipher it. She suspected it was a magic of the seer's own making.
“I made myself one as well,” he said in an almost motherly tone. He presented her the cup on a small, tarnished silver tray and then took a seat across from her, holding the steaming tea to his nose. It was unheard of that a man should sit so casually with a high matron, but he meant no disrespect. He was of a different nature than everything around him, beyond the strictures of Mornae society.
She lifted the cup with both hands. How ridiculous she must appear to him. Yet, through the haze of white, she saw no disdain for her broken form. He only drank the tea in rhythm with her own sips. The tea's warmth spread through her and, as promised, her aches eased. She let out a deep sigh and straightened her back, the energy of so many tight, weak muscles released for a few minutes. She licked bits of leaves stuck to her lips. He accepted the cup back from her and set it aside.
There was something strangely handsome about him, inviting, almost appealing. When it was just the two of them, so very many secrets bound them like invisible chains. He truly saw her, the only man ever to do that. His other sight plunged into her depths. She no longer resisted it but welcomed it. Here was a man with whom she could share everything, confess everything. She could lay the weight of the world on him because he already knew it all. That was how she felt anyway, and though she must play the role of the high matron, she felt a girl again, free of the burdens she must bear. Not even her first consort had been so great an aid. And yet Kandah was a stranger, and she shouldn't trust him. He was not, could never be, one of them.
“I have something for you to study,” she said. She pulled out a fold of leather from a pouch at her waist. She reached out with it, her hand shaking. He took it, cradling her hand in his until the trembling ceased. What magic was that to calm the very energy of the body, to ease it back to its place?
“I will wait for you to study it,” she said and withdrew her hand, tucking it under the many folds of her dress.
He nodded and opened the leather.
The man never looked truly surprised, and he did not even feign it.
“Precious,” he said. She nodded. Goddess above, let it be her salvation.
Kandah took the hair from the leather fold and held it up to the light. He twisted it this way and that, and then ran his fingers over it repeatedly, eyes closed. Like that, with his eyes closed, so focused, he looked like a sleeping boy. His face softened when he was performing his ritual. She found it strangely appealing.
His eyes flickered open from the trance and then he looked at her more seriously.
“This could do it, matron,” he said.
He was wise enough not to ask exactly who the hair belonged to, though he must be able to guess.
“One of my servants found it on Saugraen's garb,” she said. “He's so careless.”
“Fortunate for us, high matron,” he said, smiling.
“What if Saugraen joined with her?” she asked.
Kandah looked up. “Perhaps… I would need to study the lines more carefully. It is the most promising thus far.”
