Blood of the Fold (35 page)

She patted his back. “I know, Warren. I’ve wanted to talk to you, too, but I’ve been so busy. There’s so much work to do.”

“
Maybe they’re giving you work to keep you occupied and out of their hair while they go about … business.”

Verna shook her head in the murk. “Maybe. I’m afraid, too, Warren. I don’t know how to be Prelate. I’m afraid I’ll bring the Palace of the Prophets to ruin if I don’t do the things that need to be done. I’m afraid to say no to Leoma, Philippa, Dulcinia, and Maren. They’re trying to advise me in how to be Prelate, and if they really are on our side, then their advice is true. If I don’t take it, I could be making a big mistake. If the Prelate makes a mistake everyone pays for it. If they aren’t on our side, well, the things they ask me to do don’t seem as if they could cause any harm. How much ruin can reading reports cause?”

“
Unless it’s to keep you distracted from something important.”

She stroked his back again before pushing away. “I know. I’ll try to go for more ‘walks’ with you. I think the fresh air is doing me good.”

Warren squeezed her hand. “I’m glad, Verna.” He stood and straightened his dark robes. “Let’s go see how Simona is faring.”

The infirmary was one of the smaller buildings on Halsband Island. The Sisters could heal many common injuries with the aid of their Han, and illnesses beyond the power of their gift usually ended all too quickly in death, so mostly the infirmary housed a few elderly and feeble of the staff who had spent their lives in their work at the Palace of the Prophets, and now had no one to care for them. It also was where the insane were confined. The gift was of limited use for sickness of the mind.

Near the door, Verna sent her Han into a lamp and carried it with her as they moved through the simple painted corridors toward where Warren said Simona was confined. Only a few of the rooms were occupied, their residents sending snores, wheezes, and coughs echoing through the dim halls.

When they reached the end of the corridor that housed the old and feeble, they had to pass through a series of three flimsy doors, each shielded with powerful webs of varied composition. Shields, however, might be broken by those with the gift, even the insane. The fourth door was iron, with a massive bolt protected by an intricate shield designed to deflect attempts to open it from the other side with the use of magic; the more force applied, the tighter the bolt held. It had been set in place by three Sisters, and so could not be broken by one on the other side.

Two guards came to attention when she and Warren rounded the corner. They bowed their heads, but didn’t move away from the door. Warren greeted them pleasantly and motioned with a flit of his hand for them to lift the bolt.

“
Sorry, son, but no one is allowed in.”

Her fiery eyes fixed on the guard, Verna pushed Warren aside. “Is that right, ‘son’?” He nodded confidently. “And who gave those orders?”

“
My commander, Sister. I don’t know who gave the orders to him, but it had to be a Sister of some authority.”

Scowling, she thrust the sunburst ring in front of his face. “More authority than this?”

His eyes widened. “No, Prelate. Of course not. Forgive me, I didn’t recognize you.”

“
How many are behind this door?”

The bolt sent a clang echoing down the hall. “Just the one Sister, Prelate.”

“
Are there any Sisters attending her?”

“
No. They’ve gone for the night.”

Once on the other side and out of earshot, Warren chuckled. “I guess you’ve found some use for that ring, at last.”

Verna slowed to a puzzled stop. “Warren, how do you suppose the ring came to be on that pedestal after the funeral?”

Warren’s grin held, but barely. “Well, let’s see …” The grin finally vanished. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

She shook her head. “It had a light shield around it. Not many can spin such a web. If, as you say, Prelate Annalina trusted no one but me, then who did she trust to put the ring there, and spin such a web around it?”

“
I can’t imagine.” Warren hiked his damp robes up on his shoulders. “Could she have spun the web herself?”

Verna lifted an eyebrow. “From her funeral pyre?”

“
No, I mean could she have spun it, and then had someone else just put it there. You know, like investing a stick with a spell, so that someone else can light a lamp with it. I’ve seen Sisters do that so the staff can light the lamps without having to carry around a candle dripping hot wax on their fingers, or the floor.”

Verna raised the lamp higher to look into his eyes. “Warren, that’s brilliant.”

He smiled. The smile faded. “The question remains: who?”

She lowered the lamp. “Maybe one of the staff she trusted. Someone without the gift so she wouldn’t have to worry about them being …” She glanced back up the dark, empty hall. “You know what I mean.” He nodded that he did as she started out. “I’ll have to look into it.”

Flashes of light were coming from under the door to Sister Simona’s room: silent little flickers of lightning licking out through the gap under the door. The shield sparkled when the crackles of light managed to reach it, dissipating the power with counterforces, grounding the magic with an opposite. Sister Simona was trying to break the shield.

Since Sister Simona was deranged, that was to be expected. The question was, why wasn’t it working? Verna recognized the shield around the door as simple one used to keep young wizards confined when they were being mulish.

Verna opened herself to her Han and stepped through the shield. Warren followed as she knocked. The flickers of light coming from under the door cut off.

“
Simona? It’s Verna Sauventreen. You remember me, don’t you, dear? May I come in?”

No answer came, so Verna turned the knob and eased the door open. She held the lamp out before herself, sending its yellowy glimmers ahead to break the darkness within. The room was empty but for a tray with a pitcher, bread, and fruit, a pallet, a chamber pot, and a filthy little woman cowering in the corner.

“
Leave me be, demon!” she shrieked.

“
Simona, It’s all right. It’s only me, Verna, and my friend, Warren. Don’t be afraid.”

Simona blinked in the light, as if it were the sun just risen. Verna set the lamp behind, so as not to blind the woman.

Simona peered up. “Verna?”

“
That’s right.”

Simona kissed her ring finger a dozen times, gushing thanks and blessings on the Creator. She scurried across the floor on her hands and knees to snatch up the hem of Verna’s dress, kissing it, too, over and over.

“
Oh, thank you for coming.” She scrambled to her feet. “Hurry! We must escape!”

Verna grasped the small woman’s shoulders and sat her down on her sleeping pallet. With a gentle hand she smoothed back the shock of gray hair.

Her hand froze.

Simona had a collar around her neck. That was why she wasn’t able to break the shield. Verna had never seen a Sister wearing a Rada’Han. She had seen hundreds of boys and young men wearing one, but never a Sister. The sight of it turned her stomach. She had been taught that in the dim past, Rada’Han had been put around the necks of Sisters who had lost their minds. Having one with the gift afflicted with insanity was like loosing lightning in a crowded market square. They had to be controlled. But still …

“
Simona, you are safe. You’re in the palace, under the watchful eye of the Creator. No harm will come to you.”

Simona broke into tears. “I must flee. Please, let me go. I must flee.”

“
Why must you flee, my dear?”

The woman wiped tears from the dirt on her face. “He comes.”

“
Who?”

“
The one from my dreams. The dream walker.”

“
Who is this dream walker?”

Simona shrank back. “The Keeper.”

Verna paused. “This dream walker is the Keeper?”

She nodded so hard Verna thought her neck might come unhinged. “Sometimes. Sometimes, he’s the Creator.”

Warren leaned in. “What?”

Simona flinched. “Is it you? Are you the one?”

“
I’m Warren, Sister. A student, that’s all.”

Simona touched a finger to her cracked lips. “You should run, too, then. He comes. He wants those with the gift.”

“
The one in your dreams?” Verna asked. Simona nodded furiously. “What does he do in your dreams?”

“
Torments me. Hurts me. He …” She kissed her ring finger frantically, beseeching the Creator’s protection. “He tells me I must forsake my oath. He tells me to do things. He’s a demon. Sometimes he pretends to be the Creator, to trick me, but I know it’s him. I know. He’s a demon.”

Verna hugged the frightened woman. “It’s just a nightmare, Simona. It’s not real. Try to see that.”

Simona almost shook her head right out of its skin. “No! It’s a dream, but real. He comes! We must run!”

Verna smiled sympathetically. “What makes you think that?”

“
Told me, he did. He comes.”

“
Don’t you see, dear? That was just in the dream, not when you’re awake. It’s not real.”

“
The dreams are real. When I’m awake, I know, too.”

“
You’re awake now. Do you know now, dear?” Simona nodded. “How do you know, when you’re awake, if he isn’t there in your head to tell you, like when you dream?”

“
I can hear his alert.” She looked from Verna’s face to Warren’s, and back again. “I’m not crazy. I’m not. Can’t you hear the drums?”

“
Yes, Sister, we hear the drums.” Warren smiled. “But that’s not your dream. It’s just the drums announcing the impending arrival of the emperor.”

Simona touched a finger to her lip again. “Emperor?”

“
Yes,” Warren comforted, “the emperor of the Old World. He’s coming for a visit, that’s all. That’s what the drums are.”

Her brow creased in worry. “Emperor?”

“
Yes,” Warren said. “Emperor Jagang.”

With a wild shriek Simona leapt into a corner. She screamed as if she were being stabbed. Her hands flailed. Verna rushed to her, trying to catch her arms and calm her.

“
Simona, you’re safe with us. What is it?”

“
That’s him!” she screamed. “Jagang! That’s the dream walker’s name! Let me go! Please let me go before he comes!”

Simona tore away, careering around the room, sending flashes of lightning flicking everywhere. It raked the paint off the walls like glowing claws. Verna and Warren tried to calm her, tried to catch her, tried to stop her. When Simona could find no way from the room, she began bashing her head against the wall. Simona was a small woman, but she seemed to have the strength of ten men.

In the end, and with great reluctance, Verna was forced to use the Rada’Han to gain control.

Warren healed Simona’s bleeding forehead after they had quieted her. Verna remembered a spell she had been taught to use on boys newly come to the palace, when they were having nightmares from being taken from their parents, a spell to calm fears and let the frightened child sleep a dreamless sleep. Verna clasped the Rada’Han between her hands and sent a flow of her Han into Simona. At last, her breathing slowed, she went limp, and she slept. Verna hoped it was a dreamless sleep.

Shaken, Verna leaned against the door after she closed it on the dark room. “Did you find out what you wanted to know?”

Warren swallowed. “I’m afraid so.”

That wasn’t the answer Verna had expected. He didn’t offer anything more. “Well?”

“
Well, I’m not so sure Sister Simona is insane. Not in the conventional sense, anyway.” He picked at the braiding on the sleeve of his robe. “I’ll need to do more reading. It could be nothing. The books are complex. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Verna kissed her finger, but felt the still unfamiliar touch of the Prelate’s ring under her lips. “Dear Creator,” she prayed aloud, “keep this foolish young man safe, for I may snatch his head bald and then strangle him with my bare hands.”

Warren rolled his eyes. “Look, Verna—”

“
Prelate,” she corrected.

Warren sighed and at last nodded. “I guess I should tell you, but understand that this is a very old and obscure fork. The prophecies are clogged with false forks. This is doubly tainted, because of its age, and its rarity. That makes it suspect even if it weren’t for the rest of it. There are crossovers and backfalls galore in tomes this old, and I can’t verify them without months of work. Some of the links are occluded by triple forks. Back-tracing a triple fork squares false forks on the branches, and if any of them are tripled, well then, the enigma created by the geometric progressions you encounter because of the—”

Verna put a hand to his forearm to silence him. “Warren, I know all that. I understand the degrees of progression and regression as they relate to random variables in bifurcations of a triple fork.”

Warren flicked his hand. “Yes of course. I forget what a good student you were. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just rambling.”

“
Out with it, Warren. What did Simona say that makes you think she may not be insane, ‘in the conventional sense’?”