The Sacred Hunt Duology (60 page)

“No, I'm no Mother's Priest, if you're wondering where I get my understanding of theology. To me—to
any
healer who has called the dying back—it is not theology, it is truth, and no simple truth at that.

“We, the healer-born, can talk to the spirit long after the flesh has refused to listen—but we speak with the upper limits of our skills, the limits of our power, and we can only make ourselves heard if we shout into the threshold of the afterlife with all that we are. Do you understand me, youngling?
All that we are.

“At that moment, our whole lives are focused and honed; our entire desire is aimed at the spirit that has wandered. And that spirit's body, still broken, is no home for it. No, if we are to catch the spirit,
we
are its body. We are its home. Do you understand?

“They return to us because we call them, because we can take them and hold them and comfort them against the pains that they feel and have felt. They return to us because they can see all that we are, and in that revelation of faults, of flaws, of aching and yearning and happiness, of weakness and strength, they see that we trust them, and in return, they give us trust that they have never given to anyone else—most of them, not even to themselves.

“And we need that trust to bring them from the darkness.”

Jewel was silent because she could think of nothing to say.
Would I do that?
she thought, as the import of his words sank in and became real.
Would I let someone see everything that I ever thought or felt?
She took a step away from him.

He smiled, but it was a heavy expression. “And we see everything that they are, little one, just as they see everything that we are. We
become
one for as long as it takes to make the body whole. We belong together, for that instant. But once we bring them, once we have used this trust to keep them from the lands of the dead, we must snap it, break it, and send them away. There is no desertion,” he added, although it wasn't necessary, “that will ever be worse.

“A part of me is Arann, and I know you, Jewel.” He put a hand into the waters below his fingers, cupped it, and drew the fountain's clarity toward his face. It didn't matter; it didn't hide his tears. “I know you, and I expected that you would come, demanding your answers, and plotting some vengeance if the harm I had done your friend was irreparable. It is not.

“I am not sorry that I called him,” he continued, and his face grew more serene. “But I cannot see young Arann, although I know it hurts him more than any wrong he has ever been done. For we are not yet separate, and there is a danger—although at my level of skill, it is a small one—that I could draw him out of his body once more, and hold him in mine. It has been done, but it is wrong, and in the turning, in the Hall of Mandaros, it will be judged so.” He swallowed. “The pain that he feels—it fades with time.”

It was then that she understood that the tears that Alowan had been crying when she'd first seen him were the same tears, measure for measure, that Arann cried. “Why—why do you do this? Why did you agree to serve the The Terafin if she demands that you—that you suffer this way?”

“Why?” He gazed out upon the surface of the water as he lowered his hand to its depths again. “Because she was the first person that I ever called back.”

• • •

Jewel couldn't stay with Alowan—and it seemed that he did not desire company—but she couldn't desert Arann, even though understanding his loss only
made it more difficult. Alowan was The Terafin's, and therefore The Terafin's business.

But Arann was hers.

She thought it would help if she explained what Alowan had told her, and she tried. But Arann turned to her, tears coursing down his cheeks, and said, “Never, never do this to me again. If I'm dying, let me die. Promise me, Jay. Never do this again.”

So she held him, because that's what she did as a den mother, and after a few minutes, he suffered it, clinging to her as if he could somehow make himself part of Jewel the way he'd been part of Alowan.

I can't he what he was
, she thought, thankful that she didn't have the choice,
but I won't leave you while you're like this. I'll stay until you don't need me anymore.

She was wrong.

Two hours later, a pale and twitchy Carver came running into the healerie's bed room, followed by Torvan and an agitated young healer's assistant.

Jewel unhooked herself from Arann's sleeping grip—only in sleep did it relax enough that she could get clear of it—and rose to greet Carver. He was bad; she hadn't seen him this bad since—since yesterday.

“What's up?” she said, curt and to the point.

“It's—it's—”

Torvan gave her a low bow, but his gaze was appraising, perhaps even distant. “What the young man is trying to say,” he told her in a slightly aloof voice, “is that we have good news for you.”

“Good news?” She raised a brow and gave a sidelong glance at her den-kin.

“It appears that your friend, Ararath Handernesse, is not, as you feared, dead.”

“W—what do you mean?”

“He's in Gabriel ATerafin's office, waiting for the opportunity to make an appointment to speak with The Terafin.”

“Kalliaris' Curse,” Jewel whispered. She caught Arann's hand in a tight grip and then leaned over and kissed his brow. When she stood, her expression was all business. She swallowed once, and then crossed her arms.

“That's impossible.”

“What's impossible?”

“Ararath Handernesse isn't in Gabriel ATerafin's office.” She forced her arms to relax, but her lips thinned. She knew she was doing it, but she couldn't quite help it. “It's not possible.”

Torvan raised a pale brow. “Oh, isn't it?”

She nodded.

“Jewel—Jay, if you prefer,” he added, as he saw her expression start to shift, “it can't be impossible. I led him there myself, at Gabriel's direct request.”

“That's—that's not Ararath,” she replied evenly.

“And how do you know this?”

“Because I—I know he's dead.”

“Interesting. You didn't mention this in your interview with The Terafin.”

She licked her lips. “No.”

“Jewel, if you're playing some kind of game, end it now. You weren't lying there—she would have known it—but I see now that you weren't telling the whole of the truth.”

Jewel was terrible at trusting people—especially adults. She'd learned that it wasn't smart on the streets of the twenty-fifth; they'd take you for what they could, or just send you running like the pack of thieves that you were. And she remembered all that Old Rath had told her about her “feelings.” Of course, it had taken her a little while before she'd decided to trust Old Rath, as well.

“Torvan,” she said, and her voice was shaking, “you have to believe me.”

“Make me believe you,” he replied, and the distance gave way to a little bit of anger. “Tell me the
truth
.”

“All right! But—but you've got to get help, and you've got to get it now. Call all your guards, get them together, have them ready,
please
.”

“Why?”

“Because I
know
Old Rath is dead! No, I didn't see the body—and I couldn't tell you where it is—but that creature that looks like Rath and calls himself Rath is what killed him.” And that, that was true. It hit her, hard. She saw his expression stiffen, and she raced onward. “Old Rath—that's what we called him—he made me promise never to tell.” She swallowed, knowing that she was about to break a promise to the dead, and praying that the dead wouldn't become restless about it, because it was the living that mattered now. “But I get these—these
feelings.
And whenever I get them, they're always right. They're always true. They've always been like that.” She saw his stony expression and started to speak more quickly. She knew she sounded desperate, and she hated it, but she couldn't keep the fear out of her voice.

“I don't know how,” she said, swallowing. “But Old Rath is dead. And if we don't stop whatever it is that's pretending to be Rath, The Terafin—and the rest of us—will die as well.”

“Feelings? What do you mean? Instinct? Hunch?”

“No—stronger than that. I
know
when something's true, but I can't control the knowledge. I can't listen to you and tell you when you're lying or telling the truth—it's not some sort of market trick. It's just—just feeling.” She realized how stupid she sounded, how very, very lame. And then a thought occurred to her; she paled. “Did you—did you tell him we were here?”

Torvan looked down at her for a very long time before answering. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “No.”

Relief made her knees weak; fear shored her up again. “No? Why not?”

“Instinct.” And for the first time, the crust of distance broke, and he gave her a very small half-smile.

“Can I say something?” Carver broke in.

“What?” They both turned to face him, speaking in unison.

Carver addressed only his leader. “You might want to point out that
this
Old Rath jumped off a three-story building and left a hole in the cobblestones, and then chased us down the streets and kept pace with a set of two horses at a gallop.”

“You might want to say that indeed,” Torvan replied, turning to Carver, anger replaced by a quiet fierceness that made him look, for the first time, dangerous. “What else can you tell me? Be quick about it—we don't have much time.”

“No,” Jewel said softly, with a faraway look in her eyes. “We don't.”

• • •

They told him everything they knew, which wasn't much; Jewel kept it as brief and to the point as possible. Her early fear had guttered; she knew that Torvan believed her, although she didn't know why. She'd question it—or him—later.

“Why is he here?” Torvan said softly. “What does he want?”

Carver shrugged.

“To kill The Terafin if she knows too much,” Jewel said. No one was as surprised as she was.

“Too much about what?” Torvan caught both of her arms; she shook her head frantically as Carver reached for his dagger. She'd forgotten, as he had, that he'd left it at the door, some guarantee of his behavior in the peace of an old man's rooms.

“I don't know—but I think it has to do with the papers that we took from Rath's.”

“Mother's blood,” he said, releasing her. “Come. Quickly.” He left the healerie, turning at the door to make sure that Carver and Jewel were at his back. “Jewel, I want your opinion on something. I want you to clear your mind, and listen to what I tell you. Give me the first answer that comes to you.”

She nodded. Swallowed. “Go ahead.”

“If I gather the guards and we enter The Terafin's chambers, will she survive?”

“I don't know.”

He closed his eyes a moment, and then nodded. “If we come in through the windows, or if we have archers prepared, can we save her?”

“I—I don't know.”

“Will the imposter be using magic?”

“Yes.”

“Is he using it now?”

“Yes.”

Carver stared, openmouthed, at his den leader. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his eyes—both of them—to stare at her more clearly.

“If we can get a mage here, will she survive it?”

“I—I don't know.” She opened her eyes. “You don't have time to run someone to the Order of Knowledge and back!”

“Stop thinking!”

She swallowed. “Are we—are we finished?”

“Not yet,” he said, lowering his voice. “I apologize for being harsh, Jewel. But The Terafin's life may hang in the balance. Please. Close your eyes.

“Is The Terafin in danger at this moment?”

“I don't know.”

“Is the imposter still within Gabriel's quarters?”

“I don't know.”

“Is the imposter a mage?”

“I don't know.”

“Is the imposter human?”

“No.”

“Jay?”

Jewel's eyes snapped open as Carver called her. She felt queasy. “What?”

“How do you know he's not human?”

“How do I know what?”

Torvan looked down at them both. “It's as I thought,” he said softly. He did not ask for her trust; he had it, and knew it by the answers she had given him, even if she did not. “But we've no time for it now. Come, both of you. If we're to save The Terafin, we have to enter the chambers of the Chosen.”

• • •

The chambers of the Chosen were a series of three rooms that looked well-used, under-cleaned, and over-weaponed. There were swords on the walls, unstrung bows, quarrels and arrows and shields; there were helms and gauntlets and boots as well as metal-jointed leather armor. There was a great tapestry that depicted the Chosen at war, and three paintings, each lit by a source Jewel couldn't identify, that were larger than life on the otherwise empty wall they adorned.

“Later,” Torvan told her, as she paused in front of a stern-faced young woman. “Follow me now.”

Carver had his dagger readied, and Torvan did not demur. He did stop to ask if either of them knew how to wield a proper weapon, but didn't seem disappointed at the answer. They passed from the outer room to the inner room, and there they found six guards; two women and four men.

“Torvan?”

Torvan snapped a salute.

“What is it? What brings you here?”

“We have a hostile mage on the grounds. In Gabriel ATerafin's office.”

Jewel looked up; she felt very, very cold as he spoke. “Torvan?” she said, and her voice was quavery.

“What?”

“He's—he's with her.”