Duskfall (14 page)

And now Jane threatened to take it all away.

“It is always a pleasure to see another priestess enter this house,” a voice said behind her.

Cinzia turned, rising to her feet. The speaker was an old woman, much older than the priestess who had led the ceremony, dressed in faded robes. The Trinacrya shone on her chest, in cloth-of-gold and cloth-of-silver.

“And it’s even more of a pleasure to see Cinzia Oden enter this house, after so many years,” the woman said with a smile.

Up close, Cinzia recognized the woman. Joyca, the priestess who had served at the cathedral when Cinzia was a child. The woman had been old
then
. Now she seemed truly ancient: her skin wrinkled, greying hair cut in short curls. Even her eyes looked old, a faded blue.

“Priestess,” Cinzia whispered. How long had Joyca been watching her? How much did she know about Jane? Did she know about the Holy Crucible?

“I’m afraid they’ve made me a matron, now,” Joyca said, her voice tired.

Cinzia’s face flushed. She should have noticed the woman’s office sooner; the gold trimming along the edges of her dress was obvious.

“But please, Sister Cinzia, we’re of the same world now, you and I. Call me ‘Sister.’”

Cinzia nodded, but said nothing. She kept her eyes downcast, afraid to meet the matron’s gaze.

“You’re caught in a storm, dear. I was afraid you would come here, when I heard about your family.”

“You know?” Cinzia asked.

“Of course,” Joyca said. “A good mother always knows her children, even when they’re getting themselves into trouble.
Especially
then.”

Cinzia felt Joyca’s hand on her shoulder, and suddenly she wanted to cry very much. And yet she could not.

“I did not know it was this bad,” Cinzia said.

Joyca did not say anything. Instead she put her arms around Cinzia.

Cinzia’s eyes widened at the show of affection. She did not remember Joyca being this sentimental. And yet she returned the embrace tightly.

Joyca grunted. “Easy, Sister Cinzia,” she said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Cinzia asked.

Joyca lowered herself to the bench, bending slowly. Cinzia sat next to her, wondering how old the woman really was—she looked as if she had seen nearly eighty summers. Her hair, dark gray with an almost blue tinge, curled around her wrinkled face. The woman’s hands were stiff, the fingers bending at a strange angle, like claws.

“I’ve learned many things, living this long,” Joyca said. “The Cantic Denomination is a great thing. It’s flawed, as would be any organization run by imperfect people, but we accomplish much good.”

Cinzia nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Not the conduct of a proper priestess, but she did not care for protocol at the moment.

“I’ve learned that, although nations, kings, and parliaments pass away, there is one thing that will not, unless you let it. Family.”

“I had a sister, and we were close when we were young. But as we grew, we grew apart. I joined the Ministry; she married a wealthy merchant. I served in a chapel in a small city in the north, and she lived in the great city of Triah. She used to travel to see me often, and we would argue. We argued about our different lifestyles, about politics, about the Denomination. One day, the dispute was so dreadful that we vowed never to see each other again.

“But then, many years later, as I still held tightly to my grudge, my sister came to me in Navone. Her husband had died; she had no children, and was left with enough money to support herself but didn’t know what to do with it. So she came here and apologized. She said she was wrong, that she had been stubborn and prideful. The next thing I knew, I found myself apologizing as well. I had told myself for years that, if she ever came to my door, I would send her away. But I didn’t. She lived out the rest of her days here in Navone, and we spent a great deal of time together. I couldn’t imagine those years without her.

“The point I’m trying to make, my dear, is that you shouldn’t make a decision rashly. Not when family is involved.” Joyca cleared her throat. “Don’t do something you think you’ll regret, unless you know you’ll regret it more if you don’t.”

Joyca stood, slowly. Cinzia imagined she could almost hear the woman’s joints creaking.

“But—”

“No buts,” the matron said. “You have some things to think about, so I’ll leave you to them.” She smiled. “Submit to Canta’s will,” she said. “Don’t box our Goddess in with your meager expectations of the world, my dear. Take it from someone who has learned the hard way.”

Cinzia smiled as the woman walked off into the dark corridors. A door open and shut quietly, and then she was alone.

She sat back against the hard wooden bench. She looked up at the carved wood above her. Red pine, an homage to the countless red pine forests surrounding Navone.

Had Joyca, who had worked in the Ministry for most of her long life, really just told her to think twice about following Cantic protocol? Had the priestess of Cinzia’s youth—a matron, now—just told her that Cantic doctrine did not matter when it came to family?

Cinzia rubbed her eyes. Joyca’s presence was comforting, but she was more confused now than ever. She believed in the Cantic Denomination. But she also loved her family and, before today, would have done anything for them.

Perhaps she could still help.

Maybe that was what Canta wanted. It was a test, of sorts. Priestesses and matrons often spoke of Canta sending them difficult trials. Perhaps this was Cinzia’s.

She had to save her family. She did not have to abandon them to their heretical beliefs; she could show them the correct path. She could pass Canta’s test.

“O
NE ROOM, FOR ME
and my daughter,” Knot told the innkeeper.

He and Astrid stood in the common room of The New Parliament, the first inn they’d come across in Brynne.

“Seven coppers,” the man grunted. He was a middle-aged man, with a day’s growth of dark stubble and a lazy eye. “Meals?”

Knot looked at Astrid. She nodded.

“Aye. We’ll come down and eat them here,” Knot said, sliding the coppers across the counter.

“As you say,” the innkeeper said, handing a key to Knot. “Second room on the left.”

“What do you want to eat down there for?” Astrid asked as they made their way up the stairs.

Knot opened the door to their room. “Feels right.”

A bed in an inn was more comfortable than a sleeping-mat under the stars, but the places felt tedious to Knot. All the rooms were alike, providing just enough for guests to feel like they had something to pay for. This room was no exception. A bed, a small table and chair. A window opposite the door, wooden shutter closed. No more, no less.

“‘Feels right,’ huh?” Astrid threw her pack on the bed. “What a privilege to follow someone so inspired.”

“You’d think a monster like you would know a thing or two about instincts,” Knot said. Maybe Astrid’s repeated attempts at banter were rubbing off on him.

“That one burns,” the girl said flatly. “And, just to be clear, a killer instinct, I’ve got.”

Knot shook his head, tossing his pack on the chair. “You take the bed. I’ll set up on the floor.”

“You don’t want to share?” Astrid asked innocently. Her eyes widened. “What if I have nightmares?”

When Knot didn’t respond, she rolled her eyes. “So much for banter. Do take the bed. I don’t sleep; thought you’d noticed.”

Knot sighed. He had, of course.

“You still lie down sometimes,” he pointed out, but felt like an idiot the moment he said it.

“I’m immortal. I’ll get my share of comfort, I’m sure. Take the damn bed.”

“We’ll figure it out later,” Knot muttered. “Let’s get something to eat.”

They walked downstairs. The common room wasn’t particularly large, but it was warm and inviting. The New Parliament was old. Of course, if it had been around when the Parliament actually was new, it would have to be. One hundred and seventy years wasn’t a bad run for an inn.

The outer walls were made of stone, which was telling. Not many buildings, let alone inns, could afford stone these days. A fire burned in a large cobbled hearth against one wall. Large round tables dotted the wooden floor, which creaked under Knot’s feet.

They sat down at an empty table in the corner where Knot could observe the room. One of the servers approached.

“What can I get you?” he asked. He was young. Knot estimated the lad hadn’t seen more than eighteen summers, but he had strong, handsome features, and an air of kindness about him, too. He smiled at Knot, and then Astrid.

“Got hot lamb stew, made fresh. Or there’s leftover turkey from lunch, we can bring that out with bread and cheese.”

“The stew,” Knot said. He hadn’t eaten a hot meal since he’d left Pranna.

“And for you, little one?” the server asked, smiling down at Astrid.

“Turkey, please.” She was grinning at the server as if she’d just been given a candied cherry.

“Of course. Can I bring you some beer, or perhaps mulled wine?”

“Just water,” Knot said. Since he’d awoken in Pranna, he’d felt no liking for drink. He already had memory issues, and he needed muffled senses like he needed a hole in the head.

“I’ll bring it right out.” The server strode away.

They sat in silence. Knot thought about Darrin and Eranda and their children. About Gord and Lian. And, of course, Winter. She’d surely buried her father by now, although Knot doubted she would’ve had it done under Cantic authority.

“What
do
you remember?” Astrid asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Knot looked up, breathing deeply. He contemplated brushing her off, but then thought better of it. No use hiding what he knew; if it made no sense to him, it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. And, if he was honest, he
wanted
to say something. He regretted never sharing with Winter exactly what was going on in his head. If he had, perhaps things would be different.

“Not much in the way of specifics,” Knot said. “I see faces, sometimes, in my dreams… people who seem to know me, though they never say my name. Sometimes the dreams are just a blur, like I’m wandering in a dark space. Every so often there’s a light and I see things that resonate, but it goes dark again before I can remember why or how. Always bits and pieces.”

He stopped, realizing he was rambling. He frowned. The only other person he could remember rambling in front of had been Winter.

“I know a bit of what you’re talking about,” Astrid said, nodding slowly. “On the road today you said that your body remembers things your mind doesn’t.”

Knot winced. “It’s… difficult to explain. Not sure I understand it. First realized it on the fishing boat I worked on. Cap’n tried to teach me how to tie knots, how to use the equipment, how to navigate. But whatever he taught me, I already knew. It came naturally, like I’d done those things my whole life. They started calling me Knot, because I was so good at tying them. Couldn’t remember my name, and they had to call me something.

“At first, I thought I must’ve been a fisherman, before they found me. Would’ve kept thinking that too, if I hadn’t made some… other discoveries.”

“Such as?”

Knot hesitated. “A group of tiellans saved me,” he said. He glanced at Astrid to see whether she would react to the news.

Astrid snorted, rolling her eyes. “Human, tiellan, I don’t care. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

Knot nodded. “The humans and tiellans in the town had problems, getting worse by the day, it seemed. Tiellans found me, and I enjoyed being around them, so I stayed.”

“So the humans didn’t like you very much.”

Knot waved a hand. “I didn’t care about that. Ignored them. But then, walking home from a late night at the dock, I came across a group of men. They were drunk, and they recognized me. I tried to walk away, ignore them, but they didn’t let me leave. One took a swing.”

Knot paused again, taking a deep breath.

“What happened when he hit you?”

“He didn’t,” Knot said quietly. “One moment, I was scared for my life. Next thing I remember, it was only me left standing. The others, four of them, were all on the ground, some unconscious. I hadn’t even broken a sweat.”

“What had happened to them?”

Knot took a deep breath. “Didn’t fully remember until later, but when I did… I beat them. Brutally. Broke arms, jaws, ribs. The humans in the town looked at me different after that.”

“So what were you, before?” Astrid asked.

“Don’t know. Still don’t. I can hazard a guess, especially if my dreams mean anything.” Knot’s mouth tasted bitter. Remembering some of his dreams, he could hazard a fairly accurate guess, indeed. In all his dreams, someone ended up dead. Sometimes it was himself. Most of the time, it was someone else by his hand.

He looked down at the table, staring intently at the grain of the wood. “Don’t ask me what I dream about,” he said. “That ain’t something I’m ready for.”

They were silent. Knot heard other guests laughing, the crackling of the large fire. The server brought them their food and water. Knot didn’t touch his.

“So… you remember how to fight?” Astrid asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Again, Knot was surprised at how childlike she sounded. He thought once more of the girl in his dream from a few nights before. The girl he’d killed.

“I remember how to fight,” he said. “And a lot more. Things I can’t even begin to explain.”

He nodded to a group of men around a table in the opposite corner of the room. “Those men work for the Town Watch, though they’re all off duty.” He nodded towards the bar. “The innkeeper has seen his share of violence, probably as a soldier, and keeps an old weapon hidden somewhere in this room, under the bar or near the door to the kitchen. Our server has been flirting with the woman by the fire, hoping she’ll spend the night with him. She’s married, though she’s been trying to hide it, and can’t decide what to do.”

Astrid shrugged, glancing around at each person he referred to. “So you’re good at observing people. Big deal.”

Knot’s eyes burned.