Six Heirs (29 page)

“A Züu dagger?” she asked, disgusted.

“Indeed. As genuine as they come. But its old owner is no longer with us to verify that.”

“So much the better,” Léti noted in a dark tone.

She firmly gripped the weapon’s handle and observed it in the fire’s dancing light. It was just such a blade that had killed her friends. It was such a blade that these men were trying to plunge into her heart. Almost as thin as a needle.

“I would just as well that you put that down,” Grigán asked.

Léti acted like she didn’t hear anything, even daring to remove the piece of wood that covered the point. Ignoring the warrior’s repeated request, she took a salted apple from a basket and carefully stabbed the steel into it. The fruit’s peel withered and blackened, as if it had been burnt.

“Léti, put that horrible thing down,” Corenn ordered in a harsh tone Yan didn’t expect from her.

Rey held out his hand, and Léti put down the dagger and the fabric with resignation. The actor then passed on the object to Bowbaq, who just gave it a nauseated look, then to Yan, who set it down in front of himself to examine in detail.

Bowbaq said, “I wonder how they manage to avoid injuring themselves.”

“Oh, I’m sure it happens, just as with anyone. But the Züu have a big advantage over their victims. An antidote.”

Rey pulled a little box out of his pocket. Inside was a slightly damp, dark-colored paste, which he showed to his companions.

“Careful, I’m not sure about it. I also found a little vial, which apparently contains the poison, judging from the odor on the dagger. But it could very easily be the reverse; just as this paste could have nothing to do with the dagger.”

“I found the same things,” Bowbaq said. “I was stupid to not keep them. I beg your forgiveness—”

“Stop torturing yourself!” Grigán exclaimed. “You’re alive, your wife and your kids are safe, that’s all you can ask for.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

“It looks like there are some sort of notches on the handle,” Yan pointed out.

“I saw them as well. They’re some sort of eye-shaped carvings.”

“How many are there?” Grigán asked without batting an eye.

Yan leaned in again to get a close look.

“Seventeen.”

“Reyan, in killing this Zü, you have avenged the deaths of seventeen of his victims. At least. They only tally their ‘official’ murders. Their contracts, if you prefer.”

Revolted, Yan pushed away the dagger.

The dagger no longer fascinated him at all. It was simply repulsive.

“Aunt Corenn, are you all right?”

The Mother hadn’t said anything for a while, immersed as she was in reading the parchment.

“I’m all right,” she responded with a sigh. “I was lost in my thoughts. Apparently, this piece of paper is just a list. An appalling list: all the heirs living in or near Lorelia. A dozen or so people. And there is a cross next to each name, except for Rey’s.”

They all understood what that meant.

“It’s tragic, but at least we will know the fate of some of our friends,” declared Grigán. “Lady Corenn, would you mind reading them to us?”

She gathered up her courage and began, pronouncing each name with gravity, despite the fact that she desperately wanted to finish the reading.

“Jalandre, Rébastide, Mess, Humeline, Tomah, Braquin, Nécéandre, Tido, Rydell, Lonic, Salandra, Darie, and Effene...”

“Poor Humeline,” Bowbaq murmured after a long moment of silence. “Poor all of them.”

His pain was sincere, as was the pain of Corenn, Grigán, and Léti. But at the same time, they were freed from the painful uncertainty that had gnawed at them until now. They weren’t any less tortured than before; all had sensed the terrible news for some time.

“The parchment that you found must have been the same type of list,” Grigán remarked. “But you and your children are the only Arque heirs, right?”

“Yes. The family had another branch, but they died out with my grandfather’s brother.”

“How did the Züu make these lists?” Léti asked.

“Excellent question. That brings us back to one of the three we brought up earlier.Who started all of this?”

“Corenn, I’m sure you have an answer you want to suggest,” said Rey.

“Maybe. But I would like to hear your opinions first. If I tell you now, that might influence your judgment.”

“All right. I suggest we immediately eliminate the idea that the Züu are solely responsible. They never act on their own.”

“That’s not true,” objected Grigán. “History is full of exceptions. The Züu have always used their...influence to preserve and expand their territory.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of the Kurdalène story too. Don’t forget that I’m Lorelien. But the heirs never planned on annihilating
Zuïa’s cult, at least not that I know of. Nor invading their island!”

“That’s true. I didn’t even know that they existed two moons ago,” Bowbaq added.

“You, no,” Corenn said in a serious tone. “But another heir? Or several?”

“Do you think it could be one of our own?” Léti said, surprised.

“I don’t know. It’s possible. That would explain the precise lists, at least.”

“The Guild might have found the names and addresses,” Rey proposed. “Just a little bit of research, two or three ‘hands-on’ interrogations, and the Züu would have all the necessary information.”

“That’s a possible explanation. The other, more frightful one requires the culpability, or at least the complicity, of an heir.”

Léti observed seriously, “Unless it really is their goddess who is judging us.”

A silence spread over the group, no one wanting to react to the idea, too fantastic and horrifying.

“Well,” Corenn began again, “
think
. What could bring someone to unleash all this?”

“I want to say greed, because that’s often the right answer,” Rey said. “But I don’t see how that could be true in our case.”

“Vengeance,” Grigán said with confidence, “I know you don’t agree with me, Corenn, but I am almost sure I’m right. Only revenge could bring someone to carry out such horrors.”

“Who would want vengeance upon us?” Bowbaq asked.

“And why?” Léti asked, incredulous.

“Lots of people, maybe. The nobles who still grieve their emissaries, like in Goran or Jezeba. A descendant of Nol the Strange. An heir, unhappy with his lot in life.”

“None of these reasons seem to justify the assassinations of eighty or a hundred people,” Rey objected.

“You really think so? I will give you an example: your own, actually. We all know that Reyan the Elder carried the enviable title of Duke Kercyan. A title that should have been passed on to you, as well as the land, the castle, and the family’s wealth. On returning from the island, everything was taken from him. And you received nothing. Is it really inconceivable to think that you, or any one of the heirs whose ancestors were disgraced, could develop over the years an unrelenting blind hatred, tinged with madness?”

“That sounds so real coming out of your mouth, I’m starting to wonder how I haven’t considered it before,” Rey jested, wincing. “All right, fine, a point for you. Your explanation still has one flaw. Since I have nothing, how could I have hired and paid the Züu?”

“Someone as mad and determined as I described could very easily hide away his riches for years. And I wasn’t accusing you, either.”

“Oh, really? I was starting to doubt my own innocence.”

“Grigán, according to your theory, why wouldn’t this man, thirsty for vengeance, just wait until we were all reunited on the island? Why would the Züu instead do everything they could to prevent us from meeting up?”

“Precisely to prevent us from doing what we’re doing right now: finding the one responsible. I’m sure we must know him. We just have to search among those who are still alive.”

“The culprit could easily fake his own death,” objected Yan, who was forcing himself to forget his own worries to participate in the communal reflection.

“We will never find him,” Bowbaq said in despair. “We don’t know who it is, we don’t know what he wants—”

“We will find him,” Corenn declared firmly. “Our only chance of getting out of this mess is to have a conversation with him. A candid conversation.”

Rey threw in, “I’m pleased to see that everyone here realizes how futile fleeing would be. Beyond living on the summit of some inaccessible mountain, or in the middle of some desert, sooner or later we’d be flushed out one by one by the Züu and the Grand Guild.”

“Thanks, Rey, I really needed something to cheer me up,” Yan said.

“Aunt Corenn, we aren’t getting anywhere. Tell us what you think.”

Five attentive faces turned toward the Mother, who took her time collecting her thoughts.

“Well, I don’t think that the Züu started this either. That would mean they are acting solely out of religious fanaticism, and nothing, to our knowledge, has pushed them to do that. So they were hired.”

No one interrupted her, waiting impatiently for her to continue.

“Maybe it is a bit naive on my part, but I do not think that vengeance could make someone, even someone who had gone mad, assassinate children they did not know and never could know. Especially since the victims more or less share his misfortune, and certainly aren’t responsible for it.”

Grigán couldn’t help but add, “You know what I think about vengeance and madness.”

“Yes, I know. But in my opinion, someone as deranged as you have described could not organize something that requires so much preparation. And it seems to me that his behavior would have given us reason to begin suspecting something years ago.”

“Maybe. But not all the heirs came to the gatherings.”

“Logically, those who did not come were either uninterested or completely ignorant about Ji and of their ancestor’s past. So they would not have much reason to hate us so vehemently.”

Grigán didn’t offer any more objections. He remained unconvinced, but had no more arguments left.

“I think, in spite of everything, and as horrible as it sounds, it is one of our own. The Züu are too well-informed about our history and our traditions. How many people in the world know about the Day of the Bear? One hundred? One hundred fifty? Not much more. And how many have been to the island?”

“You think it has something to do with the island?” Bowbaq asked.

“I am sure of it. There’s only one interesting thing about the heirs—what’s on that island.”

“I don’t see how that would make us targets. We don’t even know what it is,” Grigán disagreed.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” Rey said, “but could someone tell me what there is on the island?”

Corenn and Grigán exchanged a look, but their decision had already been made.

“I am sorry, but we cannot speak of it,” Corenn declared. “We have already gone too far...”

“Wait, wait—I am, myself, an heir. I would appreciate it if you kept that in mind, so I can get something out of it for once.”

“I’ve never been to Ji either, you know,” Bowbaq said to the actor. “It’s not so important, it’s not an obligation.”

“We made a solemn oath,” grumbled Grigán, “as did our ancestors before us. No one has ever broken it. We aren’t going to start for you.”

“That’s a shame, I thought I’d found some open-minded people—”

Corenn cut him off. “Your curiosity will soon be satisfied anyway. We are going to the island on the Day of the Owl. As we have always done.”

Yan, Bowbaq, and Léti froze. This statement was heavy with meaning.

“That’s only a few days away. A little earlier, a little later, what’s the difference?”

Grigán responded clearly. “We aren’t allowed to talk about it, except when we’re on Ji. That’s all there is to it.”

Rey gave up on trying to change their minds, and signaled to Corenn to continue.

“Right. As I was saying, in my opinion the only thing that could interest anyone in the heirs is the secret on the island.”

“Well, now I’m going to have trouble following!” the actor complained.

“That’s why,” Corenn continued, “I am almost sure that it must be one of the heirs. Only the heirs know about it.”

“And so?” Rey interrupted.

“Corenn, I’m curious to hear how you’re going to explain the connection between the assassins and Ji,” said Grigán.

“Only two things can be the cause. Only two things, since we have already dismissed vengeance as a motive, can drive a man to such acts. Ideology and self-interest.”

“Now I’m the one who’s completely lost,” Léti said. “What’s ideology?”

“The convictions and beliefs, moral, political, philosophical, religious, or otherwise, that an individual or a group hold to be true. Simply put, their opinions on a subject.”

“I don’t see how the heirs’ gatherings could go against someone’s beliefs,” Grigán said. “Or we’d be talking about madness again.”

“I do not think it is about ideology either. I am more inclined toward self-interest.”

“I should have stuck with my answer from earlier,” Rey joked. “Is there treasure there?”

“I wish. At least that would make everything clear,” Grigán answered. “What kind of self-interest? Wanting to keep anyone from finding out about the secret?”

“Something like that. I think the man behind all of this knows a lot more than us about the island’s mysteries.”

Corenn let some time pass, enough for her words to sink in.

“Maybe he has always known about it, or maybe he recently discovered it. But it’s obvious that there is something fabulous on that island. Riches, limitless power, supreme knowledge. You know, it could be any number of things like that.”

Grigán nodded. Corenn’s theory was very reasonable.

“Whatever it is, he doesn’t want us to discover it. Something very peculiar has happened, or will happen, on Ji. That’s why our enemy did everything he could to keep us from getting there. And that’s why we need to go.”

They stayed silent, impressed by Corenn’s ability to reason, and more than that, by her conclusions, so weighted with implications.

“Who do you think it is?” Bowbaq finally asked.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have any names to propose. Given the evidence, it must be someone who has considerable wealth...”