Ferran's Map (19 page)

Last night, their group met in Silas’ cabin
to discuss their arrival in The City of Crowns. Sora, Crash, Burn
and Caprion would take the sacred weapons to the Temple of the
North Wind. If they could speak to the High Priestess, they might
be able to secure her help, and she might have information about
the Shade. Surely, if any news existed of the Sixth Race, it would
be at the Wind Temple.

Meanwhile, Lori would accompany Ferran on
his houseboat to the Healer’s seminary, which was located on the
other side of The Bath. She wanted to see the extent of the plague
and how the Healers were treating it. Between their two parties,
they were certain to uncover evidence of the Shade’s presence, and
perhaps track down
The Book of the Named
.

Sora wrapped the sacred weapons in a linen
cloth and placed them carefully at the bottom of her leather
satchel. Then she shouldered her bag and headed out the door.

Burn, Caprion and Crash met her at the
bottom of the plank. It was already past noon, though clouds
obscured the sun, making midday feel like early evening. A brisk
wind sent shimmering ripples over the surface of the water. From
the railing of the
Dawn Seeker
, Sora found herself looking
out over The Bath, the wide lake at the base of the City of Crowns.
If she listened hard enough, she could catch the waterfall’s roar
at its southern end. Or perhaps that was the general cacophony of
the city.

The docks of the southern wharf were large
and expansive, trailing out across the wide lake in a complex
network of floating boards. They bobbed and shifted beneath her
feet as she joined her companions.

“You have the weapons?” Burn asked
softly.

She nodded.

His eyes cautiously scanned the docks,
though they were far out on the wharf and no one approached. He
beckoned for them to follow and started toward the city. Crash
joined him in the lead, with Sora and Caprion trailing behind. As
they walked, the docks became more stable underfoot, supported by
large pillars sunken into the muddy banks of the Crown’s Rush.

Sora gazed about the boardwalk in wide-eyed
curiosity. Countless ships of all different shapes and sizes were
anchored outside the city. Caprion seemed just as curious, and kept
drifting a half-inch off the ground in distraction, like a
particularly buoyant leaf. She would touch his arm now and then,
and he would sink back down, casting her a sheepish look. Sora
found it amusing.

They traversed the docks swiftly to the
southern gate, where the crowds became as dense and swirling as the
Crown’s current. A constant flow of people rushed to and from the
southern gate of the city. Sora remembered this kind of foot
traffic in the seaside city of Delbar and braced herself against
it. She kept close to Burn’s back. The Wolfy was like a giant barge
cutting his way through the waves.

The river smelled much worse than Delbar’s
seaside port. In this area, where the Crown’s Rush became slow and
stagnant as it widened into The Bath, the water released a rank,
noxious smell. She saw floating clumps of rotten vegetation,
drowned rats and fish carcasses, old clothes, soggy wood and other
debris.

“Do they throw everything in the river?”
Caprion asked, appraising the water dubiously.

“Mostly,” Burn said in distraction. “Don’t
drink the water, would be my advice.”

“And people do that?” Caprion balked.

“Only if they’re drunk,” Burn said
wryly.

“Or drowning,” Crash added.

Burn cast him a humorous look. “Perhaps
suffocating
would be more appropriate.”

Crash nodded, his eyes skimming the water.
“They say drowning in The Bath is like being buried alive.”

Sora snorted, unable to hold back a laugh.
She caught Caprion’s alarmed look. “They’re not serious,” she
reassured him.
At least, I don’t think so.
She certainly
wouldn’t want to fall into that water.

The foot traffic became all but impenetrable
when they reached the southern gates to the city. Sora noticed a
dozen or so soldiers standing outside. They wore heavy suits of
armor with the royal emblem of a boar’s head engraved on their
chest plates. As Sora watched, she saw the soldiers call out to
people seemingly at random, stopping them, perhaps questioning them
about their business. Some pedestrians flashed a piece of paper to
the guards and then quickly walked free.

“Residency cards,” Burn explained, noticing
her lingering look. “You can apply for one if you live on the east
bank. They allow you to pass freely through the gates of the city.
Otherwise, if the soldiers take notice of you, prepare for a long
delay."

Luckily, all the soldiers were busy when
they reached the gates, and the crowds were so thick, their small
group passed into the city unnoticed. Immediately, the traffic
lessened until Sora could walk freely. A paved street, wide enough
for several wagons to pass on either side, stretched before them.
She saw horse-drawn carriages of all shapes and sizes, house
servants, midwives, heavy-set merchants and baker’s boys. Some men
looked like stewards in expensive uniforms, their house insignias
pinned to their high collars, but she saw no lords or ladies.
They must keep to a different district,
she thought. In this
part of the city, tall brick apartments lined the road, staggered
on top of squat storefronts. The buildings all looked very square
and utilitarian. Their size was impressive, but Sora felt a little
disappointed. She had imagined a grander sight upon entering the
city.

Small waterways interrupted the streets,
crossed over by all manner of footbridges. Sora found the canals
charming, and she imagined them quite beautiful in the summer when
the blue sky reflected from their surface. Now, with the murky
clouds overhead, the tiny streams looked dull and brown, carrying
dead branches and winter leaves. Some were half frozen over with
ice. She wondered how much sewage ended up in the water.

Finally, they turned down a winding street
called Tamarack Way. They followed it toward the eastern side of
the city, away from the Crown’s Rush. Occasionally on street
corners, she saw figures dressed in elaborate, billowing costumes,
some in burgundy red with gold stripes, others in midnight blue
with silver brocade. They wore delicately crafted porcelain masks
beneath wide jesters' hats, and stared at passing street traffic
with eerily hollow eyes. As Sora passed, one swept into a low bow,
each movement carefully measured like a fine dancer.

She cast Crash a questioning look. The masks
were unnerving. “Who are these people?” she asked.

“A tradition in The City of Crowns,” Crash
offered briefly. He seemed distracted, his eyes scanning the
streets.

“The Winter Solstice Festival is upon us,”
Burn explained in further detail. “You’ll see a lot more masked
characters in the days to come. The festival is quite an ordeal,
you know. Biggest holiday of the year. Parades, fairs, markets,
parties….”

Sora nodded. She hadn’t realized the two
weeks of festivities had already begun. Now that Burn mentioned it,
she saw many storefronts decorated for the season. Some hung large
wooden masks outside their doors. Painted pine cones and glass
ornaments dangled from windows. Streamers and banners, the
traditional colors of winter solstice, adorned the sides of
buildings: black for the evening sky, white for the dawn’s renewal,
and silver for that gray space in between, where time slowed and
ghosts lingered, and a man’s spirit could take on its raw form. The
festival had once been a very somber and serious affair, a time to
honor the dead and make offerings to the various gods. But more
recently it had turned into a celebration, one final surge for
storekeepers and merchants to earn coin before the long, hard
winter began. The festival would continue for the next week or so
until its culmination on winter solstice eve.

A shiver of excitement ran down Sora’s
spine. She had always wanted to visit the City of Crowns for the
winter solstice festival. Now she would finally have her
chance.

As they traveled up Tourmaline Street, the
buildings grew smaller and shorter, until finally Sora caught a
glimpse of a domed temple arching above the city. She sucked in a
short breath.

The Temple of the North Wind was built
completely out of sparkling white granite. Even in the dull winter
light, its surface gleamed from the countless flecks of quartz and
mica crystals embedded in its surface. It was crowned by a domed
roof made of shining gold. At the top of the roof spun the emblem
of the Goddess, turning this way and that as a weathervane.

Perhaps even more surprising were the myriad
of small, delicately shaped windmills that adorned the temple’s
roof. Their various twisting blades spun and twirled in the wind.
Some were made of bronze, silver or copper, others gilded in
goldleaf or studded with gemstones. All glinted with rainbow-hued
light.

“Windmills?” Sora asked, slightly
breathless.

“Prayer wheels,” Burn corrected. “The
spinning blades represent the ever-constant movement of the
Goddess. They say when all of the prayer wheels spin at once, the
Goddess showers the city in blessings.”

Sora imagined it would take a mighty blast
of wind to turn all the wheels on the domed roof. There were so
many of varying shapes and sizes, they seldom moved at the same
time.

They walked ten more blocks before reaching
the wide pavilion in front of the temple. As they entered the
circular pavilion, Sora became aware of a growing crowd. A horrible
feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

Tents and wagons packed the cobblestone
courtyard outside the Temple of the North Wind, transforming the
pavilion into a miniature campground. A large granite wall and
heavy stone gates separated the masses from the temple. The King’s
soldiers stood about, trying futilely to control traffic. None of
the campers seemed about to leave. Sora recognized sunburned farm
types, burly trappers and fishermen. Many appeared sick.
Yes,
Sora confirmed. The plague had struck the city.

Burn came to a stop. The street traffic
swirled around his large bulk, like a river around a boulder.

“Well,” he said briefly, his deep baritone
carrying easily over the hubbub of the pavilion, “this isn’t very
encouraging.”

“It’s just like the temple in Barcella,”
Sora murmured. She remembered visiting the Temple of the West Wind.
Then, she used her Cat’s-Eye stone’s ability to gain an audience
with the Priestess of the West. She wasn’t so sure that would work
this time. The city types had a hardened look about them, and no
minor acolytes stood at the temple gates, only glaring soldiers in
heavy helms. If she and her companions caused trouble, they might
be arrested.

“There has to be a way inside,” Sora said.
She shared a look with Crash. “If we can get inside the temple
grounds, we can still speak to the priestesses.”

“I could lift us over the wall…” Caprion
began, then paused.

Burn was already shaking his head. “Too many
people,” he said. “We’d start a riot.”

Crash surveyed the pavilion in thought, then
pointed past the large temple to where rolling hills slanted upward
behind the city. Windmills dotted the deep green grass and spun
idly in the wind. The Temple of the North Wind stood at the most
eastern point of the City of Crowns, and abutted the tall slopes
beyond the eastern wall.

“Perhaps we will find it less crowded behind
the temple,” Crash suggested. “It must have a rear gate of some
kind, though we might have to scale a few walls. We could find a
place to slip onto the grounds.”

Sora nodded, and no one offered an
objection. After a moment, Crash motioned for them to follow, then
led them down an alley to the right of the temple. “This way,” he
said.

CHAPTER 10

Lori’s first sight of the seminary brought a
familiar lump to her throat. Almost fifteen years had passed since
she first arrived at the Healer’s academy, ten years since she
completed her training and achieved the elevated rank of Healer,
and seven years since she left. She remembered the light smell of
the river, its brisk, moist chill and the promise of snow on the
wind

She pulled her cloak tighter and waited for
Ferran to finish securing his houseboat to the seminary’s ample
docks. Though smaller than the grand marina of the City of Crowns,
the boardwalk here was packed with ships. Lori expected as much.
With the plague spreading, she assumed the seminary would be
overrun with desperate people looking for a cure.

Ferran finished and joined her side, a
yellow reed dangling from his lips. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded. They continued down the forested
path to the seminary’s tall towers. She remembered it too well. The
path was wide enough for a wagon to pass. With thick ferns and
foliage on either side, it felt more like they had followed a long
tunnel through the wilderness.

She rounded a turn and caught a glimpse of a
tall gray tower thrusting above the pines. It stretched upward
until it blended with the overcast sky.

As they neared the seminary, Lori saw tents
pitched around campfires in the forest; the smell of cooking meat
tickled her nose. A busy campground sprawled through the trees. She
could hear subdued coughing from every side, the low murmur of
voices, and, dimly, broken sobbing.

This is a dreary place,
she thought.
She remembered the seminary as a sanctuary of peace, a place of
wellness and hope. Now the pallor of death seemed to hang over the
woods, the stone walls and the tower’s darkened windows.

As they neared the seminary gates, more
people crossed the path before her. Many wore white Healer’s robes,
or the gray robes of novices. She even saw a few lower priestesses
walking swiftly from tent to tent, their robes blue or purple,
denoting rank. Still, they were a rare sight compared to the number
of serfs and peasants.