Duskfall (39 page)

It was difficult to trust her. Each previous time Kali branded her sift onto a new body, Nash had found her, the real Kali, easily. He couldn’t explain how. It was a feeling, a sense he got that the person he interacted with was the same woman he had known for years. This time, that task was proving more difficult.

When Kali touched down, Nash slipped down the rope after her, half-sliding and half-climbing. Lowering himself with his
tendra
wasn’t an option; he simply wasn’t strong enough—few telenics were. But Nash didn’t mind; sometimes he liked to do things the slow way. After he landed, he reached a
tendron
upwards to unhook the grapple and pull the rope down. He coiled the rope around his body as they moved quickly across the snow on the edge of the field. Soon they neared the gate, its two massive towers looming above them in the darkness like ancient giants.

Kali motioned for Nash to wait. He normally took point, but Kali had taken the lead before he could talk her out of it, and he had followed, knowing it was better to let her have her way.

The Blood Gate was closed and no Borderguards stood on the Navone side, but there would certainly be at least a pair on the other, facing Roden. Nash didn’t see any guards patrolling the wall, but he knew they were there. He had studied city defenses and guard patrol routes extensively. Roden and Khale weren’t at war at the moment, but that didn’t mean suspicions weren’t stoked like glowing coals, waiting to ignite. Likely the Borderguards’ attention was on Roden. Even so, Nash eyed the walls and arrow slits warily. “Likely” had never been a word he bet on.

Kali motioned him to advance. Nash did so, broadening his focus to stay aware of any changes in their surroundings.

They made it to the base of the gate without incident. Nash looked at Kali, who nodded. Going over was their only option. He unraveled the grappling rope and swung the cloth-covered hook into the air and over the battlements, guiding the grapple with a
tendron
. He tugged on the rope, making sure it was secure, then began climbing full-speed up the wall.

He strained past the rush of breath and blood in his ears to hear any voices or movement of guards. Nash was about to reach over the battlements when he froze.

A whisper.

The rope trembled slightly, and Nash grabbed for the battlement with both hands. Just as the rope slipped down, Nash heaved himself up and over, onto the wall, rolling into a crouch.

Two Borderguards stood by the severed grapple, one holding a sword, the other a crossbow. Out of the corner of his eye Nash noticed another guard at the other end of the rampart, also raising a crossbow.

Nash drew two long, thin daggers from his belt. He threw one to his right and it slid into the throat of the guard further down the rampart. The man who had severed the rope went down next, a puncture blooming red as Nash withdrew the other dagger from his neck. He lashed out at the other man, dodging a sword swing. Nash danced around the guard, pulling the man’s head back with one hand, and slitting his throat with the other.

Nash pulled his thrown dagger back to him with a
tendron
. He looked down at Kali. She held one end of the rope in her hands. Nash reached a
tendron
and pulled it up. He looked around, listening intently, hoping no one else had heard his scuffle with the guards. Nothing. He retied the rope to the grapple and secured it, glancing down at Kali to signal it was safe for her to climb. Nash crept to the other side of the rampart, looking furtively down at the other side of the gate, facing the Sorensan Pass.

Two Borderguards stood watch, holding long spears. They apparently hadn’t heard the commotion on the wall. Nash breathed a quiet sigh. It was fortunate that the guard’s scream had been cut off so quickly. He sent a quick prayer to Canta in thanks.

Behind him, Nash heard a quiet scraping sound and turned to see Kali climb over the battlements. Suddenly, her voice spoke in Nash’s head.

Permission?
It was her way of knocking. They agreed long ago that she would never intrude on his thoughts; she would ask, and if he accepted, she would proceed.

Go ahead
. The method was simple: Kali projected words into Nash’s head, and Nash only had to think his response. It made Nash monitor his thoughts, of course—an acumen as powerful as Kali could hear almost everything if she concentrated. But the communication was useful—especially for a pair of assassins.

Guards?

Two, on the ground, unaware.

Kali nodded. Then she smiled.
Lower me. I’ll take them; you climb down after.

Nash frowned. Kali could handle two guards, but he worried what she would do to them. A quick, honorable death was one thing. What Kali had a tendency to do was quite different. She didn’t view it as such, of course. Taking a lacuna, wiping the mind of another human being, was all business to her.

Nothing to worry about, darling. I’m all business, as you say.

Nash frowned. He had not intended for her to hear that last thought.

If you’re that worried, you can go on your own.

Nash shook his head.
It’s all yours.

Nash pulled the rope to him with a
tendron
, catching the grapple in his hand. Then he walked with Kali to the edge of the battlement. They were directly over the gate and between the two Borderguards. Kali drew a dagger in one hand, similar to the two Nash carried at his belt, and in her other her vex, a long, thin, needle-like weapon. She nodded at him, and with two
tendra
Nash gripped her leather jerkin by the straps—specially designed for the purpose—that ran from her waist to her shoulders. He lifted her slowly, up and over the battlements, and lowered her down past the gate. He watched her descend, again reminded of a spider on a strand of web. Nash blinked. The strain of so much telenic power was taking its toll. He needed to be careful, or he would start losing senses.

When Kali was barely above the guards’ heads, Nash let go and watched her fall the rest of the way to the ground. Both men jumped in surprise. The Borderguard to Kali’s right was lucky. She moved fast, faster than Nash ever could, and stabbed the man through the eye with her vex. Kali visibly relaxed as she turned to meet the other guard, hands lowering to her sides and shoulders drooping slightly. The guard, who had at first made a move towards Kali, now stood perfectly still.

They faced one another for a moment, and Nash turned away, fixing the grapple to the battlement. He didn’t care to see this part. When he touched down, Kali was waiting for him.

She keeps getting better at this
, Nash thought. He told himself, not for the first time, that he would have to speak with Kosarin when they returned to Triah. Kali was an amazing woman, an incredible psimancer, but lately had shown signs of… erratic behavior. The only person who could obliterate a person so quickly was Kosarin himself.

Perhaps Nash was just getting old. Kali’s use of her acumency had never bothered him before. But, then again, she never used to make lacunas unless absolutely necessary. He wished he could go back five years, and be that man who was with that woman.

You worry too much, Nash. I’m fine.

Is it done?
he asked, already knowing the answer.

Done and done. Nash, meet Dahlin.

Nash looked at the Borderguard, standing straight and stiff, staring at him blankly. Nash shivered. The blank look of a lacuna was one of the most disturbing things Nash knew of. It was the look of a dead man, with only brief hints of tortured life in its depths. To look at a lacuna was to look into Oblivion itself.

Nash hated that look.

Nash and Kali walked up the Sorensan Pass and the lacuna followed, his footsteps unsure, behind them.

“I
N THE BEGINNING, THERE
was the Praeclara, and all the souls who dwelled in it, which numbered three and three and three again.”

Cinzia stared at the page for a moment before continuing, not quite believing that she was reading what she was reading. The fact that she could make sense of the strange markings seemed otherworldly. Most of the markings, anyway. While most of the characters formed into words she could read, there were still a few symbols that did not shift into anything Cinzia recognized. They seemed to serve a different purpose than the normal alphabetical characters, but what that purpose was, she did not know. Her sister seemed unconcerned. If there were a few oddities, what did it matter?

How could she see these words when no one else could? What did it say about Jane, about the Cantic Denomination, or her? There had been a time when Cinzia felt a constant, easy connection with the Goddess, but that connection was all but gone now, the memory far away. And yet, here she was, reading a language she did not speak.
Something
was behind that. And then there was the vision, or revelation, or whatever it had been. Jane never referred to it, and Cinzia preferred it that way until she could get a handle on her own feelings.

For now, translating was enough. Implications could be dealt with later.

Cinzia sat on the bed, her legs folded beneath her, the wide book propped up on them. Jane sat at the desk, a large quill pen in her hand and a stack of blank pages beneath her chair. Jane had brought everything in that ridiculous pack of hers.

Despite Cinzia’s attempts to convince her otherwise, Jane had insisted that, at least for now, Kovac not see the Codex. Kovac, in turn, had insisted that he be present in order to protect them. They had compromised by taking one of the sheets from the bed and hanging it from the bedposts nearest the door, blocking Kovac’s view of Cinzia. Kovac himself sat in a large, stuffed chair on the other side, near the door. Cinzia knew Kovac was not sleeping, though she had insisted he try. It was well past midnight now, and they all should have retired hours ago. But Cinzia’s curiosity propelled her forward.

Cinzia wondered if Jane planned on translating the entire book. It must be hundreds of pages long, perhaps thousands. The strangely thin, metallic sheets made it difficult to tell, and there were no page numbers. They had already translated the title page, an introduction, and some kind of preface—all seemingly written by this Elwene woman, of whom neither Cinzia nor Jane had ever heard—but had barely made a dent in the massive tome.

“Are you going to continue, sister, or just keep staring at the page?” Jane asked.

Cinzia looked up. “Yes, sorry. I’ll keep going.” She looked down at the page, searching for where she left off. She would read a few phrases or a sentence or two, and then pause briefly, allowing Jane to catch up. It was a tedious process, but at least they were getting into the real meat of the document now. The book of Elessa was the name of the first section they were translating. Elessa, of course, was one of the original Nine Disciples that Canta chose while she walked the Sfaera. Elessa, Ocrestia, and Cinzia—after whom Cinzia herself was named—were known as the First Three. That was all traditional doctrine within the Denomination. Elessa, however, seemed to speak of a different first three.

“The first of the first three,”
Cinzia continued,

was Andara, the God of Gods. She was in the beginning, and She was the Beginning; She was in the end, and She was the End. With her was Ellendre, High God of Life and Death and Before and After. He was with Andara in the beginning, and He was with Andara in the end. And with them also was Canta, the Daughter-God, with power beyond measure, and wisdom beyond measure, and love beyond measure. These three were the first three, in the beginning, and so it was.

The second three were thus: the Brother-Gods Emidor, Irit being the first, Orit being the second, and Erit being the third. And thus the brother-gods served the First Three, in thought and in deed, in the beginning, and so it was.

The final three were thus: the Sister-Gods Adimor, Irali being the first, Orali being the second, and Arali being the third. And thus the sister-gods served the First Three, in thought and in deed, in the beginning, and so it was.

“What is it, Cinzi?”

Cinzia had stopped reading, and now stared down at the page before her.

“I’ve seen
four
of those unchanging symbols in this section,” Cinzia said quietly. “They have to be there for a reason.”

Jane sighed. “I can make note of them if you like, but I do not think there is much we can do until we know what significance they carry, if they are significant at all. Perhaps later they are explained?”

“Perhaps,” Cinzia said quietly, staring at the symbols. The first two came after the names of Canta’s parents, respectively. The third came after the phrase “the Brother-Gods Emidor,” and the fourth after “the Sister-Gods Adimor.” That did not seem coincidental. “Can you at least make a mark of where the symbols are?” she asked, looking up at Jane. “If they
are
important, if we do discover their meaning later, it might be helpful to know where they occurred.”

“That sounds simple enough.”

Cinzia could tell Jane did not think the symbols were important, but better to be safe.

“Now what about the passage you just read?” Jane asked.

Cinzia rubbed her chin absently. “We are taught this in seminary,” she said. “The names are slightly different, changed over time, perhaps, and I’ve never heard of those names referred to in threes… but otherwise the story is the same. Why are we translating something that is already known, Jane?”

Jane looked up from her writing. “We are bound to come across things we already know. Canta’s true religion is not
completely
different from the Cantic Denomination. I trust we will come to understand more as we translate more.”

Cinzia frowned. She still chafed at the thought of the Cantic Denomination being wrong at all. But, then again, how could a religion led by the Goddess that Cinzia knew—a goddess of immeasurable wisdom and love—be responsible for what the Holy Crucible had caused in Navone? Cinzia still did not know what power had caused that chaos. But she suspected it had something to do with Nayome. There was no other explanation.