The Temple of Heart and Bone (29 page)

“What are you doing, child?” he
nearly shouted at her. “Get out of my way!”

“No,” she yelled stubbornly.
“Stop it! You’re hurting him!”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m hurting
him?’ What evil have you brought before me?”

“No evil,” she said pleadingly.
“That’s the man whose home you sent me to.
That’s
Drothspar, your
friend,” she cried, “and mine!”

“What?” the old man said, his
voice quavering. “What are you telling me?”

“That is your
friend
you
just blasted into the wall!”

“It was a horror,” he defended
himself, “a vacant-eyed skull!”

“That too,” she said, “but it’s
still Drothspar, and he is still my friend!”

“Oh sweet Maker! Child, what is
all of this?” He sat down heavily on his bed, his hands trembling and his face
uncertain.

Chance moved back to Drothspar’s
side and took his hand in hers. She thought for a moment to feel for a pulse but
quickly pushed the thought aside.

“Are you okay?” she whispered
urgently. “You have to be okay. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

Petreus looked down at Chance and
the hand she held in her own. He tried to calm himself just as he heard a knock
at his cell door.

“Petreus?” a voice called from
outside, “are you all right in there?”

“What?” he called back, nervously
approaching the door, “Of course I’m all right, and why shouldn’t I be?”

“I heard some shouting coming
from your cell, I just wondered—”

“I stubbed my toe on the bed,” he
said gruffly, cutting off the other man. “Hurt like the Fallen. Stupid design,
these beds, all of them ought to be changed. You watch yourself,” he urged the
man on the other side of the door, “yours can get you just as easily.”

“Um… of course,” the other man
agreed suspiciously.

“That’s the way the Fallen work,”
he said, opening the door to face a large-nosed priest outside. “They can’t
attack the righteous soul directly, so they nibble at us from hidden places
like bedposts.” His voice resounded with conviction.

“Who’s the food for?” the man in
the hallway asked, eager to change the subject and sniffing at the air.

“Brother Steadword,” Petreus
replied.

“Wonderful!” the other man said,
a broad smile creasing his face and pointing his nose toward his chin. “Well,
I’m glad you’re okay, Petreus.”

“Thank you, Brother, the Maker
bless you for your vigilance.” Petreus patted him on the shoulder and waved as
he walked down the hall.”

“Busybody,” he said, closing the
door behind him. “Can’t keep his nose out of anyone else’s business. No wonder,
I suppose, with a nose as big as his. Probably smelled the stew on the second
floor and couldn’t wait for an excuse to come and investigate.”

He closed the door behind him and
stared down at Chance. She looked up imploringly at him, tears welling in her
eyes.

“Can’t you do something to help
him?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Sasha,” he said, his voice
faltering, “I don’t—” He jumped back from her and gasped loudly.

“What?” she said urgently,
looking from his face to her fallen friend. Petreus pointed slowly behind her.
She watched as nothing happened. Suddenly, one of Drothspar’s legs twitched.
She rolled him over onto his back and slipped her leg under his head.

Drothspar’s body lurched, arching
his chest upward. Chance and Petreus both felt their hearts leap.

“Oh God,” they heard a hoarse
voice whisper. The sound was low and quiet. It sounded like air slithering out
from an opened tomb. Chance covered her mouth as she listened to Drothspar
speak for the first time.

Petreus
moved his hands about his head and chest, protecting himself with the ancient
Sign of the Maker.

“It speaks,” he whispered
falteringly. His eyes were wide and he worked his mind to accept the impossibility
before him.

“I guess he does now,” Chance
said, her eyes just as wide as the priest’s.

“You mean it didn’t speak
before?”

“
He
, Petreus, he,” she
said, looking up at the priest. “
This is Drothspar
. This is the man
whose cottage you sent me to.” A thought crossed her mind, calling her
attention back to Drothspar. “And no,” she said absently, “he didn’t speak
before.”

“Great Maker protect us all, in
folly and fortune, amen.”

“Amen,” Chance said, noticing the
grateful look on Petreus’ face as she acknowledged his prayer.

An unintelligible whisper came
from Drothspar.

“Droth, are you okay? What did
you just say?” Chance leaned down to hear more clearly. In a moment, she nodded
her head and smiled.

“What did
he
say?” Petreus
asked.

“‘Amen,’” Chance replied.

After some fast talking and
winsome smiles, Chance managed to convince Petreus to help Drothspar to the
bed. Petreus winced several times as he took hold of Drothspar’s body and
lifted. Surprise shone in his face as he felt the light weight in his hands.
Chance smiled at him repeatedly through to process. Every time Petreus looked
as if he might balk or question their behavior, she would smile at him warmly,
and he would lose his thought and smile back. Once Drothspar was safe in the
bed, they covered him and retreated to the desk.

“Is he going to be okay?” Petreus
asked his young niece.

“I really don’t know,” she
answered truthfully. “What exactly did you do to him?”

“It was a prayer to purify evil
spirits,” he explained, “I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, I’m not really sure, you
see. I’d only read about it in an old book.”

“What kind of book?” she asked
suspiciously.

“I found it in the library down
in the catacombs. I go down there fairly often, you know. It’s really quite a
fun place. Most of the other priests are deathly afraid of it.” He grinned
roguishly. “There are lots of fun places to explore,” he added, “including an
old and very large wine cellar.”

“You’re kidding?” she said,
disbelieving. Petreus pulled a very old and dusty wine bottle out from behind
his dresser. He passed it over to Chance. “How old is this?” she asked,
amazement filling her voice.

“Older than you or me,” he
replied, “and older than the two of us put together. Probably wiser, too. It
wasn’t traveling in the company of skeletons the last time I checked, and it
certainly didn’t have any dead men sleeping in its bed. Next door, maybe, on
the other side of the wall even, but not in its bed.”

“The book, Petreus?”

“Oh yes, the book. Well, you see,
in truth the catacombs are a little… exciting. Sounds and lights, you know,
happening in strange places. Old cracks in the stone work, most likely, wind
whistling, light leaking, you know. It has an odd feel to it, either way.

“One day when I was down there
exploring, I heard a sound that seemed to be heading my way. I looked out into
the hall, and it was empty. Well, I thought, of course it’s empty. No one ever
comes down here but me. I got back into my exploring and I heard the sounds
again. Sounded just like footsteps. Well, I didn’t want to be found out, you
know, didn’t want to give away my ‘private cellar,’ as I’d come to call it. I
ducked quickly into the old library and nosed around the books and scrolls. You
never know what you’ll find in there. Once I found a stash of sweet rolls Brother
Chelton was keeping for himself during his fast. They were really quite tasty.”
He smiled warmly at the memory.

“The book,” Chance prompted him
again.

“The book, yes, well, as I was saying,
I was nosing about the library, trying to look scholarly, when I started to
actually look at the books. Most of them were dull like lead, but here and
there were some little gems of interest. I stumbled on this book of ancient
prayers, old ones, really, even when the book was written, hundreds of years
before. I’ve always had a fondness for old things, and I’d swear to you this
was the oldest book down there. I brought it over to a table and started
flipping through it.”

“What did you find?” she asked.

“Prayers mostly, girl, weren’t
you listening?”

Chance rolled her eyes and shook
her head.

“And that’s where you found this
‘purifying’ prayer?”

“If you’d like to tell me how the
story went,” he said, “I can wait until you finish. At the end, we can compare
notes and see if your version comes at all close to mine. Or,” he said, “you
could just let me tell it and see if it’s to your liking.”

“Sorry,” she said and smiled.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said,
“you’re not stealing my chickens you’re just being annoying. That’s not a sin,
for the most part, though Brother Trethold, the creature with the long nose,
pushes it right to the edge.

“Anyway,” he continued, “where
was I? Oh yes, the book. So I took the book over to one of the study tables and
moved a couple of lanterns in close. Fantastic prayers in the book, really,
prayers I’ve never heard even in legend or story. Some were more than prayers
though, bordering on magic.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning close
to his niece.

“Sasha,” he said softly, “some of
those prayers were not simple petitions, they were invocations. They were calls
to the Maker to partake of His Own power. My eyes burned across the pages,
knowing that if I were caught with that book I’d probably be as slender as you
by the time I’d finished fasting. And a fine sight that would have been, a
priest that thin tied to a stake for a burning. Half the crowd would have
complained they’d seen nothing more than a greasy stick smolder. Mangy dogs
wouldn’t have found an ounce of charred gristle to argue over in the ashes.
Priest’s have been excommunicated for little,” he said eyeing the bed
meaningfully, “and killed for less.” He smiled an impish smile and winked
broadly. “That’s what made it the most fun.

“Anyway, that prayer for
purifying evil, well, it was really more of a petition than an invocation, a
request rather than a demand. It seemed like a handy thing to know, something
to impress the other priests with, anyway. The words are archaic; few of the
younger priests these days even speak the older languages. Never have time,
what with getting married and tending flock and children. So I scribbled the
prayer down on a scrap of old parchment and hid the book away.” He reached into
his desk and flipped through piles of parchment until he found an old and
yellowed scrap with fresh-looking writing. He smiled again and handed it to
Chance. “Don’t see calligraphy like that out of these snot-nosed vicars, I’ll
tell you that,” he said, pride resonating in his voice.

“No,” she agreed, “you certainly don’t.
This is beautiful!”

“Thank you,” the priest said,
beaming a broad smile. He looked at the parchment and frowned. He snatched the
piece out of her hands and turned it over as he handed it back.

“Oh,” she said, “that’s nice,
too.” She reversed the parchment again. “What was on this side?” The scrap
looked as if it had been torn from a very old parchment.

Petreus harrumphed and coughed,
muttering the words “scripture” and “ancient.”

Chance looked closely at the
words that Petreus had written. She thought she recognized the roots of common
words, but the meanings tantalizingly escaped her.

“So what was the prayer really
supposed to do?” she asked, holding the scrap of parchment up to the light.

“Like I said, Sasha, I’m not
really sure. It’s not like I have a handful of evil spirits to practice on, you
know. I could try it on Trethold, I suppose, maybe see if I could banish a foot
or two of his nose, but that’s a risky proposition at best.”

“Why’s that?” she asked smiling.

“Mainly because those extra
pounds of flesh keep the man tired, lugging them up and down stairs all the day
long. If he were suddenly free of the burden, he’d probably turn up in
someone’s pocket, or even that stew.”

Chance eyed the stew hungrily,
her mouth watering as she stared at it. Petreus took the parchment back from
her hands and fanned himself with the edge.

“If I had to guess,” he
continued, stirring the scent of the stew toward Chance, “I would say that the
prayer was meant to snap the spirit of the departed out of this mortal realm
and send them to the Maker for proper judgment.” Chance dragged her eyes from
the stew with tangible regret to stare at the priest.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked.

“‘Why didn’t it work?’” he
repeated. “You’d be better to ask that of
him
than me. It certainly did
something,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “In all my years in the
priesthood I have
never
seen such a brilliant display of the Maker’s
power.” He shook his head in wonder.

“I thought you’ve seen all kinds
of miracles,” she said, chiding him.

“I have, girl, I have, and don’t
you doubt it.” His voice was serious, almost stern. Seldom had she ever heard
him speak in such a tone. “I have seen our God work wonders that you could
never even imagine.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “It’s only that, in all
that time, through all those events, the Maker’s worked from behind the scenes,
as it were. This prayer, the power it unleashed, it was so…”

“Flashy?” she suggested. Petreus’
face flushed and his eyes hardened.

“No,” he said, more harshly than he’d
intended. “Well,” he added thoughtfully, “yes, that’s exactly what it was.”

“Petreus?” Chance asked, her
voice as serious as his had been.

“Yes Sasha?”

“Can I please have that stew? I
haven’t eaten a decent meal since I left here.” Her eyes shone with such
longing that Petreus looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.