Magisterium (11 page)

“You know,” he said. “I think you need to give me some credit here.”

“For what?”

“Well, for starters, for my being so magnanimous when I was right about everything. The Rift wasn’t some big boom that made this place into a wasteland. It made medieval villages and people with tails.

I won’t even mention how you called me an idiot the other day.”

“I never —”

“You suggested. You intimated.”

“Look, just because —”

“You’re not about to say that all of this proves nothing.”

“Well …”

“Oh. Come. On!”

Glenn hunted for the right words. The desire to not hand such an easy victory to Kevin and his Rifter friends was overwhelming.

“Obviously, there’s more to the Rift than we’ve been told.”

“Really? You think?”

“But we’ve only been here a day. Less than a day! I’m not ready to start believing in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.”

“How about a giant talking cat man? Who, by the way, looks an awful lot like —”

“Enough!”

“Ha! It’s true, isn’t it?” Kevin stabbed one finger at her nose. He was practically dancing beside her. “I knew it! Aamon is totally Hopkins! That is so
awesome
! It’s that white patch on his neck. It completely gives it away.” A sudden look of horror came into Kevin’s eyes. “Oh no, your mom and dad never …”

He made a little snip-snip gesture with two fingers.

“No,” Glenn said. “Dad wanted to take him to the vet, but Mom would never let him.”
And now I guess that makes sense….

“Well, that’s one lucky cat. He may have nine lives but only two

— Hey, look!”

Kevin pointed down the road to where Aamon had appeared from behind a set of buildings. He moved toward the far end of the village to a thick stand of trees enclosed by the outer wall. Aamon stopped at the edge of the woods, then turned around to scan the empty plaza. Glenn shoved Kevin behind a nearby building. After a pause, she peeked around the corner. Once Aamon had ensured he was alone, he slipped into the woods and disappeared. Glenn looked back at Kevin.

“We so have to find out what he’s up to,” he said.

Most of the villagers had gone through the gates by now, so the square behind them was quiet. Glenn peered into the woods ahead but couldn’t make anything out.

“Okay, but we have to be careful. A qui—”

But Kevin was already hobbling past her, his hand grasping at his injured side.

“Kevin!”

Glenn cursed Kevin in her head but had to admit she was also curious to see what Aamon was up to. They crossed the plaza, circling around to the far side of the stand of trees.

The woods were deeper and thicker than Glenn would have

guessed, enough so that it looked to be a grim sort of twilight within it.

There was no sign of Aamon. Glenn’s heart began to thrum in her chest.

Stupid
, she told herself. It was broad daylight. Nothing was going to happen. And she had no reason to be afraid of Aamon. Right?

Glenn stepped away from the edge of the plaza and into the forest.

Kevin zipped up his leather jacket as quietly as he could and stuffed his hands in the pockets. He was pale and sweaty despite the cold.
This was a terrible idea
, Glenn thought.
He needs rest. We can’t —Dry twigs and pine needles crunched out ahead of them. Glenn froze as a flash of gray passed from tree to tree and then vanished.

Aamon. They were close. Before she could say anything, Kevin took the lead and walked them right to the edge of what seemed to be the heart of the small woods: a thick circle of broad trees overgrown with vines, fallen leaves, and thick splashes of white and green moss. Glenn and Kevin knelt down behind two trees and peered inside.

In the center of the forest were the ruins of a large stone building.

Judging from the partial walls that remained, Glenn guessed it had been at least three or four times the size of the smaller village shacks. A meeting hall? A church? Large irregular stones and remnants of the plaster that once held them together lay in heaps, tossed with pine needles and vines. Underneath the growth of moss, many of the stones were cracked and blackened as if they had been in a fire. Whatever had been inside the building was blocked by one surviving wall that stood in the way of Glenn and Kevin’s view.

Aamon stood at the edge of the destruction, looking down at it all.

His great shoulders were slumped, his head low. Kevin shifted his gaze to Glenn, waiting for her cue. When Aamon stepped onto the blackened ground and behind the wall, she made her move.

They eased deeper into the woods, choosing their steps carefully to make as little sound as possible, drifting to their left so they could see around the remaining wall. All of the rubble seemed to radiate from one central point, what had been the center of the ruined building.

There sat a high stone table that was cracked in two and charred. It was surrounded by wooden pews set in a circle, some of which were little more than ash and black timbers.

Aamon kicked away pieces of the crumbled pews, making a path to the table. When a pile of debris got in his way, he reached into it with a growl and threw the charred wood over the wall and out into the forest. It echoed as it crashed through the woods. A flight of birds squalled and fled. Aamon dropped to his knees before the table. Glenn moved forward to get a better look, but Kevin held her back. She turned, uncertain, then held up one finger and he grudgingly let go. Glenn continued on and hid behind a closer tree.

On the base of the stone table, partially gouged away and

darkened, a perfect circle, divided across the middle by a thick line, had been carved into the stone. Aamon traced the circle with one clawed finger before laying his palm flat against the stone and closing his eyes.

“Forgive me.”

He sat for a moment longer, his head down, whispering unheard words beneath his breath in a quiet rhythmic chant.

Praying
, Glenn thought.

When he was done, Aamon turned his head to the side and

sniffed the air.

“I told you both to stay in the house,” he announced, his voice shockingly loud in the hush of the forest.

“It’s my fault,” Kevin said, striding out into the middle of the clearing. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to, uh …”

Aamon’s green eyes pierced the space between him and Kevin, immediately cutting off his halting babble. Glenn stepped out of the trees to stand by Kevin’s side.

“It was both of us.”

Aamon regarded them for a moment, then turned back to the

altar.

“What is this place?” Kevin asked.

“An abomination,” Aamon rumbled. “It
was
a temple.”

Glenn drew closer to the pile of remains. Here and there, small saplings and shoots emerged from the black wreckage. Dry vines curled around the rocks and benches, strangling them. Glenn noticed other dark streaks in places along the ground. On closer inspection, she saw that they were black feathers with silver patches at the tip.

“I left before dawn,” Aamon said. “Went to Karaman and

Redfield. The temples are all gone. The monasteries too. The great monument to Kirzal in Karaman … it used to shine for miles in every direction, gold and marble. Now it’s a scorched pile of stone. The people bow and scrape and the Magistra’s soldiers are everywhere.

This is not the Magisterium I left.”

“What happened to it?” Glenn asked.

Aamon looked around the ruins.

“I did,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Kevin asked. “Aamon —”

“Come,” he said, turning his back on the altar. “I have supplies and fast horses for all of us. There’s no time to wait.”

“Uh, we don’t exactly do a lot of horseback riding at home,”

Kevin said.

“Then it’s time to learn.”

Aamon left them there, striding into the trees. Kevin turned to Glenn after he was gone.

“What do you think he did?”

“What?”

“He was asking forgiveness.”

Glenn thought of the dead agent lying in the snow, and Aamon’s massive body looming over him with blood on his hands.

“It’s not what I am,”
Aamon had said that night. Whether it was an explanation or another prayer, Glenn didn’t know.

The first thing Glenn and Kevin saw when they returned to the house was three horses tied up around back. There were two small black ones and an enormous beige one with a white mane, which must have been for Aamon. Each was saddled and loaded down with supplies and there was a large sword in a scabbard lashed to Aamon’s.

Kevin reached for it but Glenn pulled his hand away and led him around to the front of the house. Before they could get there, though, she heard a commotion out front.

Glenn waved Kevin back and flattened herself against the wall.

“What?” Kevin asked as he blundered into her.

“Shh!”

Glenn eased forward. Standing in the courtyard in front of the house was a small company of men dressed in leather overlaid with steel armor that was dented and streaked with dark scorches. They were all broad-shouldered, with faces that were a mix of crooked noses, scars, and thick beards. Some carried swords or spears while others toted longbows and had quivers full of arrows strapped to their backs. They moved farther into the courtyard, directed by a thing that stood at the center of the main path leading from the village gate.

He was, if anything, larger than Aamon. A towering creature, but more dog than cat, with a short brindle coat and pointed ears. His face was black and brown and heavily scarred. A sword hung from a scabbard around his waist. His eyes were small and shrewd, cast in a sulfurous yellow.

The men were moving closer to the house. If Glenn and Kevin didn’t find somewhere to hide, they’d be spotted in seconds. She grabbed Kevin’s arm and fled backward.

“Who was that?” Kevin whispered as they stumbled into a tight gap between the house and the one behind it.

“Garen Tom, I’m guessing,” Glenn said, pulling him down into the dirt and scraps of shadows. “I think he’s in charge here. He has some kind of history with Aamon.”

“Best friends?”

Glenn glared at him.
How is it possible that even in times like
these …?

Booted footsteps approached from the street. They were trapped.

Glenn turned, hunting for an escape. Just then a door opened into the alley and Aamon’s clawed hand reached out to them. As one of the soldiers was about to pass across the gap between the two houses, Glenn and Kevin ducked inside. Aamon slipped the door shut and stood at it, listening. Glenn held her breath. It was dark in the house, every shade drawn.

Aamon paused to let the soldier pass, then hurried toward the front room.

“Why don’t they just break in?” Glenn asked.

“They’re not here for us.”

“What?”

“Even if Calloway sent word last night, there’s no way he could have gotten back so soon.”

Glenn followed Aamon to the front room, with Kevin behind her.

“Then why are they —”

A bell started to ring above the town, loud and urgent. Aamon motioned for them to get down. Seconds later, shadow after shadow began passing in front of the curtained windows. Glenn peeked out and saw the villagers gathering in the courtyard.

“What are they doing?”

Aamon dropped to his knees in the corner and started stuffing supplies into a large leather pack. “We’ll have to leave the horses.

There’s a tunnel exit in back. You can count on Garen to always leave a good escape route. We’ll be gone before he knows we were ever here.”

The sounds of the crowd and the tolling bell grew louder. Glenn and Kevin moved to the nearest window just in time to see a soldier on a horse come tearing through the main gate behind Garen Tom, trailing a cloud of dust. When the dust cleared, Glenn saw that he was dragging another man behind him. The prisoner was facedown in the dirt, his hands bound and connected by a long leather line to the soldier’s saddle.

The soldier leapt off the horse and forced him to stand.

The prisoner was a boy, black haired and narrow shouldered, not much older than Glenn and Kevin. His shirt was in tatters and stained deeply with blood. His face was covered in red and black bruises and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. The soldier pushed him across the courtyard and in front of Garen Tom, where he collapsed in a heap.

Garen looked across the boy at the villagers who had gathered around. The soldiers had formed a perimeter behind the crowd, their spears and swords out, penning them in.

“Aamon?” Glenn said. “Look.”

Aamon dropped the pack and knelt by Glenn. The boy on the

ground cringed away when Garen leaned over him, but all it got him was a kick in the back from a nearby soldier. Garen thrust out one clawed hand and tore away what remained of the boy’s shirt, revealing something underneath attached to a chain around his neck. Garen snatched it off and held it up. It was a small dagger in a golden sheath.

“We have to go,” Aamon said. “Now.”

“Why? What is that?”

“We don’t have time to discuss it.”

“What’s going to happen?”