Compendium (23 page)

Mia squeezed his frail hand tightly and buried her face in his chest.

“When the spores came, it was a reminder to me that I had forsaken my promise. It was time that I had fulfilled my vow to your mother.”

Mia shook her head against his chest. She still held Father’s hand, but her fingers were stiff and cold, as if the blood had drained from them and pooled in her chest to keep her lungs pumping and heart beating. Father coughed, a hacking noise that grated her spine raw, and his body shook with the force. She brought the gourd of water back to his lips and helped him sip from it.

Through all this, she still was in shock from all he had told her. Her father wasn’t her father. Her family wasn’t her family. Who was she then? When Father’s coughing finally subsided, his breathing had grown even shallower. She continued to hold his hand but was very confused. This man she had clung to never was her father. The idea of family had driven her every action as long as she could remember, and it was a farce. At the same time, it wasn’t a farce. With every labored breath from him, she was reminded of the times Father had smiled at her, hugged her when she was upset, or had been strict with her when she misbehaved. He was a father to her more than any family she may have out there.

“Father,” she said. His eyes were closed, sweat glistening on his forehead from his exertion. She feared his telling the story had taken all his remaining energy. His breathing was growing even slower and more ragged. “Father,” she repeated, “I don’t care if you aren’t my birth father. You’re the only father I know. You’re the only family I care about.” She lowered her cheek back to his chest as tears welled up once again in her eyes. The rattling sound in his chest made them fall faster. His hand moved weakly to rest against her head, his thumb rubbing her jaw.

“My dear, dear child,” he said, his voice but a hoarse whisper. “I have to leave you now, but you still have your uncle. He’s still here at the Order. They’re your family now. You’ve made some terrible mistakes but nothing that cannot be forgiven. You must work to be forgiven, my dear girl.”

A small sobbing noise escaped Mia’s throat. She hiccupped, and the caressing thumb fell away from her face.

“Who is my uncle?” she asked softly. Father no longer was conscious, and his chest barely moved under her head. “Father? Who were my parents?” But he never opened his eyes again.

28
The Orphan

Lumin Cycle 10152

Mia’s march back to her cell
was a blur. She was consumed with grief for Father and anger at Dominus Nikola. How long had they been hiding Father here right under her nose? Was it weeks? Moons even? Had he wasted away alone when she could have been with him? She couldn't stop the hot tears from streaming down her face, but she stoically avoided looking at or talking to any of the clerics. Dominus Nikola uttered some words to her as she was pulled away from Father's lifeless body, but they slipped past her mind like a forgotten dream. She was beyond caring about what he might have to say, her limbs numb and mind broken.

Brothers Valentine and Borus dragged her back through the winding corridors. She kept her face down and focused on her blurry, boot-covered feet. She noted upon reentering the cell that a bunk mattress and dingy blanket had been dumped on the floor. Her throat tightened, and she restrained a cough. After the others were finally gone, anger boiled up inside her and she kicked the mattress repeatedly, until her chest was heaving from the exertion.  Finally, she collapsed on it, still furious but simultaneously grateful for something to cushion her sore body, even if its presence gave her a foreboding sense of finality. Father was gone, and this cell was her home now.

Mia
awoke to the sound of footsteps
approaching the cell door
. Not
again. I can’t take any more right now.
She was curled up on the pallet, her eyes crusted with tears and sleep, her mouth gummy. Timepieces were suddenly a luxury. She never knew what time it was anymore. Maybe someone was bringing food. Voices murmured on the other side of the door.

“Not food then,” she grumbled under her breath. She rolled over so she faced the wall and stayed curled in a ball, pretending to be asleep. The bolt to the door shifted with a clink, and the door opened. She kept her eyes closed and continued to feign sleep. Whoever entered the cell was undeterred. She heard the scrape of a chair being set in the cell, and then Brother Cornelius’s voice said, “Thank you, Valentine. You can leave us now.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Brother Valentine’s gruff voice replied.

“Oh, completely, my dear boy,” Cornelius said, and chuckled softly. Brother Valentine grunted, and then his heavy footsteps retreated through the door. He bolted it from the other side.

Only Brother Cornelius could pull off calling a cleric over five and fifty a boy
, Mia thought. She wrestled with her desire to talk to Brother Cornelius, the rage she still felt toward the clerics for hiding her father from her, and the shame of her betrayal to the good brother. In her plotting, she often had felt a niggle of guilt that she was leaving Brother Cornelius, that she was taking advantage of his kindness and confidence in her. She had managed to convince herself that she never would have to face him again. The longer she lay there, pretending to be asleep, the deeper the silence grew.

“I know you’re awake,” he finally said.

The sound made her body twitch in surprise.

“You might as well turn around and face me. Cowardice isn’t becoming to any of us, I’m afraid,” he said.

Mia’s resolve melted away at his words. His voice was the soft, kind voice she remembered, but his tone was distant, as if she were some casual acquaintance he’d once met. His tone shamed her more than the words ever could. She sat up on the pallet and shifted so her back was against the stone wall, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet Brother Cornelius’s eyes. There was a rustle and then a thunk as a cake landed on the stone floor in front of her. She suppressed a smile despite herself and reached forward to grab it. The impact of it hitting the floor already had started the heating process. She tucked it under her feet.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Brother Cornelius sighed deeply, and his chair creaked as he shifted in it. If she looked over, she suspected she would see him tapping the whiskers on his chin, as he always did when he was thinking hard. She didn’t look over, though. She stared at her hands as they picked at a thread on the worn blanket that covered her knees.

“Yes, well, this is all very disappointing,” he started. “Very disappointing indeed.”

Mia nodded but didn’t say a word. Her throat was heavy, and she didn’t trust herself to speak without croaking.

“We all put an awful lot of trust in you,” he said. “I especially did. Brother SainClair said you weren’t to be trusted, but no one paid much heed to that. You went ahead and proved him right, though.” His gentle voice carried a sturdy, grim edge.

Mia bowed her head lower. Nothing she could say could adequately explain her actions. She knew that. Yet the Order had played her for a fool as well. They had pled ignorance to Father’s condition, and as a result, his final days had been squandered.

“When you activated Compendium, we were all interested to see how you would use it. We had high hopes for you, high indeed. I personally hoped you’d figure out some interesting new engineering techniques useful in the library. You can imagine our dismay when we learned you planned to use it to break into the Catacombs.”

Mia’s stomach churned. “It was all a test?” she asked, her curiosity outweighing her shame and anger.

“Oh, heavens no,” Brother Cornelius said. “It was your birthright, so how could it be a test? It was merely a subject of interest and speculation followed by great and bitter disappointment.”

“If Compendium is my birthright, why has the Order confiscated it?” she asked after some thought.

“My child,” Brother Cornelius said, “it’s still your birthright, but you’ve committed a crime and a serious one. Repairs are still underway on the Crater Grove. The damage was extensive. Parts of the Compound are still without power. Brother SainClair only today woke from his unconscious state. These are very much real issues, but frankly they pale in comparison to the fact that you allowed the Shillelagh to fall into the hands of the Druids.”

Mia flinched as the words rolled over her. “The Druids?” she said, her voice hollow. “What do you mean? Taryn took the Shillelagh.”

“Indeed she did,” Cornelius said. He frowned deeply. “You didn’t say that she went to Rosewater, though.”

“So?” asked Mia. “I assumed Rosewater was a place she’d been wanting to visit.”

Brother Cornelius shook his head and rubbed his neck. “My child, Rosewater is the head Druid.”

“What?” Mia said, at first uncomprehending. She sprang from the mattress and walked over to the other side of the cell, shuffling her feet along the floor until she found what she was looking for. It lay in the dust in the far corner. She picked up the smooth stone, walked back to Brother Cornelius, and handed it to him. “Taryn tossed this to me right as she departed. She said it would explain everything. I thought she was just mocking me.”

Brother Cornelius turned the stone over in his hand. “’Tis the mark of the Druids,” he said, frowning. “When Brother SainClair woke today, he told us he heard Ms. Windbough shout to be taken to Rosewater. We hoped it was a mistake, but alas there was no mistake.” His fist tightened over the stone.

“Do you understand how serious this is?” he continued. “This goes well beyond your betrayal, which was a betrayal of not just me and those others who put their trust in you, but of your own family and all our forebears who sacrificed themselves to the service of the Order. All of Lumin may suffer because of this now.”

“What would the Druids want with the Shillelagh?” Mia asked softly.

“That’s certainly something we’ve all been giving a lot of thought. Ms. Windbough’s bunk has been thoroughly searched. She was researching the Great Fall quite extensively. We think she may be researching how to reenter the Core. What she left behind when she departed is mostly nonsensical.”

“The Core?” Mia asked. “She wants to enter the center of the planet?”

“The Core isn’t just the center of Lumin,” Brother Cornelius explained, “although it’s that too. It was the meeting place of the Central Counsel, a chamber deep in the earth among the roots of the Central Grove. Since the Great Fall, no one has been able to access it. Entry to the Core has been lost to time. At least, that’s what the Order has led the Druids and others to believe. We knew the Shillelagh was capable of taking us there.”

“Have you ever been there?” Mia asked. Her curiosity was growing stronger by the moment, and she was having trouble maintaining her dour disposition.

“Oh, goodness no!” Brother Cornelius exclaimed. “No one in the Order has.”

“Well, why not?”

“The Shillelagh gets you to the entrance to the Core, but you can’t get in without the key.”

“Who has the key?”

“We don’t know,” said Brother Cornelius. We don’t even know what the key is. Our knowledge was greatly diminished after the Great Fall, and the Order has been researching these topics for hundreds of cycles, well past the time when we should have resolved these matters.” Uncharacteristic frustration crossed his face. “There’s a hole in our records, a large one. It’s as if history doesn’t want itself revealed.”

“It would appear the Druids also are researching how to get to the Core,” said Mia.

“Aye, they are. We can only hope they don’t already have the key.”

“Do you think they mean to go interfere with the Core?”

“Oh, they will eventually, but we have no way of knowing when or how.”

“I can’t believe Taryn spent more than two cycles here just to spy,” she said.

“She has as much faith in her calling as I have in mine,” Brother Cornelius said.

“Brother?” she asked. “Why did you tell me all this? I betrayed the Order for selfish reasons, almost killed a brother, and damaged the Compound.”

“Oh, believe me, I haven’t told you everything,” Cornelius said grimly. There was no humor in his eyes. “The Order isn’t happy with you right now, hence this,” he added, gesturing to the cell walls. “This can’t go on forever, though. You must make amends to the clerics. The Order is going to need you.”

Mia pursed her lips and gritted her teeth. “Well, how do I do that?” she asked. “Nothing can change my betrayal.”

“You can start by apologizing!” Brother Cornelius snapped.

She never had heard him raise his voice before. She looked at him for a moment, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her eyes lowered and head bowed.

“It’s not me you have to convince,” he said with a sigh, “and that wasn’t very convincing to me either. After you apologize properly, you’ll have to earn back Nikola’s trust.”

“Earn back the Dominus’s trust?”

“You’ll have to retrieve the Shillelagh,” he said finally, his voice low and eyes piercing. His face held a slight gray cast, and black smudges rested comfortably under his eyes. “Let’s hope it isn’t too late.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” she asked, incredulous. “You just got done telling me it was with the Druids now! Believe me, I’ll not be able to waltz in there the way Taryn waltzed into the Order.”

Brother Cornelius gave her an uncharacteristically dark look at that dig, pausing momentarily, as if deciding something. Maybe she had gone too far.

“Well, perhaps this will give you some ideas,” he said finally. He leaned forward in his chair and pulled a small volume from his sash.

Mia’s heartbeat quickened. It was Compendium.