The Thirteenth Scroll (41 page)

She looked at Lysandra with eyes that blazed her pain. But Lysandra
did
know. She knew all of it—Selia’s past, her pain, the feeling of abandonment and years of silent loneliness. But there was
another future waiting, and Lysandra
saw
that it was all there for Selia if only she could find the courage to walk the path ahead.

Lysandra understood because she had lived that other life. Now she had found her future; she had to help Selia find hers as
well. For Aghamore’s sake, yes… but most of all, for Selia’s own.

“I know,” Lysandra said again.

Selia shook her head. “You don’t know,” she said. “You can’t. What Father Peadar, you—all of you—call Wisdom, my parents didn’t.
They threw me away, abandoned me to die because what you call Wisdom, they called demons. And I would have died if Father
Peadar hadn’t found me. He saved me, body and spirit. He and the Church gave me the only true home I’ve ever known.”

And now you’re being asked to leave it
, Lysandra thought. Again, she knew what Selia felt. Lysandra’s parents had not abandoned her—but she had lost them to death,
lost all she had known and loved, and the pain was just as real.

But no birth comes without pain; no new life is born without labor.

“I know,” she said one more time.

Selia turned to Father Peadar, burying her face in his shoulder. Her own shoulders shook with her silent sobs.

But Lysandra followed her. She reached out and
touched Selia, gently turning her from Father Peadar’s shoulder into her own. She let Selia cry there for a moment, cradling
her maternally as her own mother had long ago held Lysandra through her tears.

“I don’t want this,” Selia’s words were muffled. “I don’t want to be what I am, know what I know. I just want—“

“Everything,” Lysandra said softly, remembering her own heart at seventeen. “Selia,” she said softly but firmly, “look at
me. See who I am—see who
you
are.”

Hesitantly, the younger woman brought her eyes up. Calling to use some of the new gifts in her possession, Lysandra now touched
Selia’s mind with a question the girl could not ignore.

Which of us is truly blind
, Lysandra’s thoughts asked.
The one who cannot see—or the one who will not?

I have seen too much
, Selia’s thoughts answered her.
Life is only pain and sorrow, suffering and loneliness. I don’t want to look… I don’t want to see anymore. At least if I take
the veil, my loneliness can stand for something
.

Lysandra’s thoughts reached out to touch and comfort Selia as her own mother had comforted her, remembering the fragility
of a seventeen-year-old’s heart.

Oh, Selia
, Lysandra’s thoughts told her,
there is more—much, much more. You have seen only one side of life. The fear and the pain it brought blinded you to everything
else. Don’t be afraid to look now. Don’t be afraid to truly see. You hold Wisdom within you, and it has given you the power
to walk in Truth. Look at it now and see that on the other side of the Darkness, the Light shines brightly
.

Lysandra opened her mind to Selia, then guided her to that place of prescience Lysandra now called her own.
This was the place from which Prophecy came, where hope was given birth, where the future danced to the music of possibility.

Lysandra held nothing back. She shared her past with Selia in all its doubts and darknesses, in all its joys and triumphs.
Then she showed the girl all she was now. Together, they saw the promise of the gifts it would take Lysandra a lifetime to
fully understand.

Then the Hand of Prophecy opened and Lysandra showed Selia the truth of who she was and all she could become—if she had the
courage. A kingdom waited for Selia; a kingdom and a people who needed her. The way would be fraught with difficulties, valleys
and mountain peaks, as all life was. But it was the journey that mattered. Her choice now would decide whether she made that
journey in the Darkness or in the Light.

Selia bowed her head. “I will come with you,” she said.

Through the silent tension of these last minutes, no one had noticed Cloud-Dancer. Now, suddenly, the wolf gave a long howl.
Lysandra closed her eyes and sent her
Sight
out into the town and beyond.

Then she looked at Renan. “Giraldus,” was all she said. It was enough.

“Where are they?”

“They’ve entered the town. Some are riding guard upon the roads—others are headed this way.”

“Aye, then,” Father Peadar spoke for the first time since he brought Selia out. “I’ve just the thing. Renan, and you—Talog,
is it?—give me a hand here. We must move the altar a bit.”

As the others rushed to help the old priest, Lysandra took Selia’s hand into her own. She felt the girl trembling, yet little
of the fear came from who was now approaching.

“It’s all right, Selia,” she told her. “It’s all right to be afraid—and it’s all right to trust in spite of the fear. Trust
the Wisdom that is within you and it will show you what is worthy and honorable.”

“This way,” Renan called to Lysandra. “Hurry.”

Hand in hand, the two women hurried to where the altar had been pushed aside to reveal a long staircase descending into the
darkness. Father Peadar retrieved one of the oil lanterns from a wall niche and handed it to Renan.

“This was built to hold the bones of the first priests of this parish,” he said. “But it was later enlarged with a tunnel
that leads out past the town, to where a cloister was once planned. It was never built, and most people have forgotten the
tunnel exists. Go quickly now, and with God’s help.”

“How will you be able to move the altar back?” Renan asked.

“There’s a lever at the foot of the stairs. Pull it and the lock of the altar will be released. It will swing back on its
own. Hurry now.”

Selia stopped and knelt before Father Peadar to receive the old man’s blessing. Lysandra waited while the priest laid a hand
on the young woman’s head and softly spoke a prayer, then raised her up and kissed her cheek.

“Go with God, my child,” he said, “and do not forget to trust Him. It is He who made ye—and He always knows what he’s doin’.”

“Thank you,” Selia said, “for everything.” She threw her arms around the old man’s neck and embraced him. Then she turned
and hurried toward Renan.

Lysandra softly kissed the old priest’s weathered cheek. “We would have failed without your help,” she said. “We
were looking for a child and would never have found Selia.”

“We’re all children,” he replied, giving her one of his merry grins.

Calling Cloud-Dancer to her side, she followed Selia down the stairs.

Talog waited below, lantern in hand. As Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer descended the stone stairwell, she heard Renan and Father
Peadar saying their farewells.

“One thing,” she heard Renan say. “How did you quote the scroll so exactly? I know I didn’t read it to you.”

But Father Peadar made no answer that Lysandra could hear, and a few seconds later Renan was on the steps behind her.

“God go with ye,” she heard Father Peadar call softly after them. “Trust Him and He shall be the lamp unto yer feet. Remember,
when ye walk in that Light, the path becomes clear.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Renan found the lever. He pulled; it would not move.

“They’re getting closer,” Lysandra said tensely, and no one needed to ask whom she meant. “But they’re confused. It’s slowing
them down. Most of the houses in the village are dark, and they don’t know where to search.”

Talog added his strength to Renan’s. It took several more seconds but, finally, together they were able to shift the lever.
Overhead, there was the groan of stone upon stone as the lock was released and the altar swung back into place.

“I will lead,” Talog said. He handed the lantern back to Renan, disdaining its use.

As they all followed him, Lysandra
saw
the symmetry of their union. All of their gifts had been necessary to find Selia and get her away.

She also
saw
that the danger was far from over and that all of their gifts would be still necessary before this flight was finished.

A
urya and Giraldus rode down the silent streets of Caerryck, with Sergeant Maelik and two of his men. The other soldiers had
been set as guards on all the roads that led from town. Each of them carried a torch and had been ordered to keep careful
watch. Aurya had made it plain that it was
her
anger they would face if they let anyone slip past.

The silence of the sleeping village was broken only by the sounds of their horses’ hooves and the constant crashing of the
sea. It was eerie, this darkness and this silence. Aurya knew that neither Giraldus nor his men were happy about being ordered
from their beds to ride into this town in the dark. But she did not care. Her hair flowing loose, her eyes wide and her senses
of body and of magic extended, she rode like a mad goddess out of some half-forgotten myth.

You cannot hide
, her thoughts sent along their magic current, searching for the one she was here to claim.
I will find you—you
shall
be mine
. Yet, as certain as she
was that Caerryck was the town of the scroll and that the child was here, she received no impression from those searching
tendrils of magic to tell her where in this town to go.

Riding beside her, Giraldus still had said nothing. But his silence was a function of her Spell of Obedience and she could
feel his fury pounding as relentlessly as the sea. Aurya tried to ignore it.
He’ll understand soon
, she promised herself, throwing a glance at him over her shoulder.
The child is the key to the future—our future. He’ll see that as soon as we discover where it is hiding
.

Only the moon gave illumination to the darkened streets. The riders slowed their horses to a walk. The stone-cobbled streets
were hard on the horses’ hooves and could be treacherous at a gallop. Nor were the streets straight enough to be traveled
easily in the dark. Following the line of the shore, they meandered and curved, dipped and twisted. Aurya muttered a half-silent
curse that she had ordered no additional torches made.

Still they followed Aurya’s lead, though she knew no better than they where they were heading. Then, suddenly, something stirred,
touched her magic, and was gone again. It was faint, like a whiff of fragrance carried on a breeze, but to Aurya it was as
unmistakable as the scent of a rose.

She pulled her horse up short and looked around. The stirring came again. It sent a shiver down to her core;
power
was close. She closed her eyes to better focus, trying to capture the feeling and follow it through the labyrinth of this
unknowing darkness.

But even as her magic tried to hold it, it disappeared again. It was like wrapping her fingers around smoke—the more she tried
to tighten around it, the more it slipped away. It had told her, however, what she needed to know. She turned her horse east,
away from the shore and the
village’s main road, down an alley and into the back part of town.

They walked their horses even more slowly here, where not even the light of the moon reached between the houses. A baby cried
in the distance, breaking the silence with its sudden wail. The sound made Aurya start. She had to rein in, close her eyes
again to find that fragile, elusive sensation that was her only guide.

Her senses were extended to their fullest. She could feel the energy draining from her and wished there were time to tap Rhys
or one of the others as a source of strength. But time was what they did not have. Her body would make her pay for this night,
she knew and accepted—but later, after the prize was won.

There
—she had it once again; she could
feel
the place they needed to be. Aurya touched her heels to her gelding’s side. A minute passed… two… three; finally, through
the darkness shone the softly colored light of lamps through stained glass and Aurya knew the church ahead was their destination.

They rode into the little churchyard. Aurya dismounted quickly and rushed toward the door, the others a step or two behind.
From within the church, all was quiet. If not for the light from the windows, the church would have seemed as shut down as
the rest of Caerryck.

Aurya
knew
it was not. The elusive scent of power wrapped around Aurya’s extended senses like the billowing smoke from a thurible at
High Mass. Magic upon magic, it touched and surrounded her until at last she understood. The child, the Font of Wisdom, was
a catalyst to power such as she had only dreamed of possessing.

She put her hand to the latches of the double doors and pulled. Nothing. Neither door would budge. She stood
aside and let Giraldus try, but his strength, too, could not open them.

“The child is in there,” she said aloud, her voice sounding odd in the pervasive silence.

With a curt nod, Giraldus withdrew his sword and banged with the hilt upon one door. The sharp crack of each strike echoed
dully down the silent streets.

At the same time, Aurya sent her magic to the locks. She wrapped her awareness around them, hoping to find a way to shift
the parts open. But the locks were not what held the door; she could feel the solid beam barring the entrance, and no magic
of hers would shift such a thing.

“You”—she pointed at one of the soldiers—“go try the back way. You and you”—she pointed at Maelik and the remaining escort—“go
around and try the windows. We’ll break them, if there’s no other way to get inside. I’ll not be stopped now.”

The soldiers all moved to obey. Giraldus began to force his sword through the crack between the doors.

“Don’t bother,” she told him. “The bar’s too heavy for one sword to lift.”

Just as Giraldus was about to pound again upon the wood, a scraping sound came through the door. The bar was being slowly
slid out of its place. Aurya felt as if something had slowed time and motion as the sound continued, prolonging the moment
of entrance. Finally, the doors began a tiny outward motion. Aurya had no more patience. She grabbed a handle and pulled,
yanking the door from the hold of the old priest who stood outlined in the light streaming from within.