The Grimjinx Rebellion (15 page)

24

Blackvesper Abbey

“The greedy eye starves as the itchy palm feasts.”

—The Lymmaris Creed

T
he first thing I noticed was the soothing aroma of starkholly. Eyes closed, I inhaled deeply and allowed the herb's healing properties to fill my lungs. I felt myself cocooned in a warm, heavy blanket. Wherever I was lying was soft and comfortable. As memories of being attacked in the swamp reappeared, I tried to go back to sleep. Surely I'd earned a little rest.

But then I remembered Aubrin. Rest would have to wait.

I sat up. The cot on which I was lying ran the length of the small, square room. A black candle, little more than a mound of melted wax and a stubborn wick, burned on a rickety table next to the dish of smoldering starkholly. My possessions—pouches, vallix skin gloves, and Tree Bag—hung from the bedpost. Sitting up, I found a cup and metal pitcher, filled with water, near the foot of the bed.

It was official. I'd been kidnapped by gracious innkeepers.

I reached for the water pitcher and found the hand with which I'd grabbed the vexbriar thorns neatly bandaged. I peeked under the cloth. My wounds were covered in an oily green salve that smelled of amberberries. Between the starkholly incense and the lotion, whoever lived here clearly knew something about healing.

After downing several cups of water, I tried the door. Locked. Should have guessed, really.

“Hello?” I called. “I'm awake. Not to presume anything but I'm kinda hungry and could use some food. Hello?”

Silence. So much for the gracious innkeepers.

Some time later, keys rattled in the lock. A tall boy with smooth, dark skin, carrying a glass tray, gently pushed the door open with his foot. He looked about my age. The extra fabric of his ill-fitting brown robes pooled near his ankles. The very model of confidence, he stepped over the threshold, tripped on his robes, and fell flat on his face.

The tray shattered, sending slices of cheese and bits of fruit flying. As I knelt down to help, the boy sat up quickly, driving the top of his head into my chin. With a grunt, I fell back against the cot. The boy, holding his head, tried to get to his feet . . . but slipped on the cheese and ended up flat on his back. We both lay there, rubbing our injuries. There was something very familiar about this.

It was like I'd met my long-lost twin.

“You know how to make an entrance,” I joked. But he wouldn't look me in the eye. Slowly, we both got down on all fours and gathered the spilled food.

“It's okay,” I said. “I wasn't that hungry.” It was a lie but he seemed so ashamed, I had to say
something
to make him feel better. “Not quite the welcome I was expecting at Blackvesper Abbey.”

The boy stopped gathering food and eyed me sharply. “How could you know this is Blackvesper Abbey?”

I glanced slyly at his robes. “Bit of white powder near your collar, smells of ground yarmick seeds. I caught a whiff when I bent over to help you. It's often used in holy rituals. Your ink-stained fingers suggest you spend a lot of time gripping a quill. There are three religious orders in the Provinces where extensive writing exercises are mandatory. The Brotherhood of the Glistening Aura don't wear robes—they don't wear any clothes at all, in fact—so that's one down. You have to be at least sixty years old to join the Order of the Withering Days Monastery. That leaves Blackvesper Abbey.”

The boy sat slack-jawed at my deduction. Then, all traces of embarrassment bled away. He looked as confident as when he first opened the door. He offered his hand. “I'm Bennock. Pleased to meet you, Jaxter Grimjinx.”

We shook. “You know who I am?”

“Your roots are brown. You dyed your hair blond, probably to hide. These days, people only hide from the Palatinate. There are currently ten children being hunted by the Lordcourt. Four of them are girls. Two of the boys are par-Goblins, two are older than you, and one of the boys lives here in the Abbey. That leaves one boy: you. Jaxter Grimjinx.”

I can honestly say I'd never been more impressed or excited to meet someone in my entire life.

“Also, your sister told me.”

“Ah.”

“But I had you going.”

“Yes, you did.”

We stared at each other, neither willing to budge, each wearing the same knowing smile. It really was like meeting another version of me. Very exciting.

Bennock cleared his throat. “Well, so much for my vow of silence. Made it a whole twenty-two days this time.”

Now it was my turn to feel ashamed. “Sorry I made you break your vow. I've heard it's important to your order.”

“All acolytes must remain silent for an entire year.”

“Then you become an assassin-monk?”

“Then the monks decide if I'm worthy.”

His stare told me that meant a lot. “Listen,” I said, “I won't tell anyone you spoke to me. You can just wake up tomorrow and let it be day twenty-three of silence.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “
I'd
know,” he said softly. “No, once I drop you off with the abbot, it's back to Day Zero for me.”

Pity. He was clumsy, good at verbal sparring. . . . Here I thought we were going to be best friends. But he was a bit too honest for me. Well, no one's perfect.

“I'm sorry, what was that? The abbot?”

Bennock stood and opened the door. “I'll escort you to him,” he said. “And I'll, um, see if I can round up some more food for you.”

I stood my ground. “I want to see my sister.”

“The abbot will explain everything. Don't worry. He's fair and wise.”

I wasn't sure what to think. It was Aubrin who'd suggested we seek out the monks to help translate the message in her journal. I should have been grateful they were this easy to find. But it felt just a little
convenient
that they'd found us just as the Palatinate had tracked us down. I had a feeling that the rumors of the monks' allegiance to the Lordcourt were about to be proven true.

With no other choice, I gathered my things and followed Bennock out into a long stone corridor lit with green-blue torches. Ascending a spiral staircase, I could hear the distant sound of chanting, melodious and hypnotic. We passed monks—both men and women—on the stairs. Unlike Bennock's robes—loose fitting and voluminous—the black robes of the monks were custom-made, clinging to their lithe bodies. They wore soft-soled boots that made no sound as they moved. Cowls covered the tops of their heads, while their faces were hidden behind black porcelain masks that cut off just below the nose.

Bennock led me into a dark niche just off the staircase to a door made of weathered gray wood. He bowed deeply and muttered what sounded like a prayer before opening the door and ushering me in.

The abbot's chamber was only slightly larger than the room I'd woken in. A similar cot sat against one wall. A square table, covered in maps of each Province, took up the center of the room. A modest desk pointed to an alcove through which I could see an outdoor balcony and what looked to be the first rays of sunlight on the horizon just beyond.

Seated at the desk was the abbot. His attention was directed down at a large open book on the desktop. He wore clothes identical to the other monks, but unlike theirs, his mask was dotted with tiny red jewels along the edges.

“Very good, Bennock. Please leave us.”

The abbot's voice was deep and scratchy. I waited for him to look up but he continued to read from the book.

“Abbot,” Bennock said, eyes lowered, “I spoke. I broke my vow. Again.”

As he stared at his book, the abbot folded his index fingers into a steeple and brought them to his lips. He considered for several moments. Then he said, “The vow of silence is a tradition as old as the halls of this Abbey. Followers of the order undertake the task as a way to remind themselves that not all words are spoken. That, often, gestures are far more powerful.

“But you, acolyte, I feel you were born with this knowledge. Every day, your gestures of kindness inspire every monk in the order. There is much
you
could teach others, but I feel you've little else to learn from the lesson of silence. Therefore, I release you from the vow. You may speak freely from now on.”

I thought Bennock was going to cry, he looked so happy. But he lifted his chin and bowed to the abbot he revered so greatly.

I reached out and shook Bennock's hand. “So, tell me, when do I get to meet the other boy on the Lordcourt's most wanted list? The one who lives here in the Abbey.”

Bennock smiled. “You already have.”

I had a feeling.

The acolyte bowed his head again and left me alone with the abbot.

“That was nice of you,” I said. “Letting Bennock off the hook with his vow. He said you were wise and fair.”

The abbot stood very slowly. He stared at me, unblinking, for the longest time. “What do the par-Goblins say?
Uruhl derets sil bruk derets ta.
‘People believe what they want to believe.'”

Something had changed. The timbre of the abbot's voice was a bit higher. A Yonick Province accent slurred the words together. And why was he quoting par-Goblin proverbs? Only thieves did that.

“Any chance I could see my sister?” I asked. “She's probably worried.”

The abbot's gloved hands moved slowly across the desk as he gripped the cover of the book and closed it. “There'll be time for that later. I think it's best that you and I speak first. It'll give us a chance to catch up on old times.”

The edge in his voice triggered a memory, and a breath caught in my throat. The abbot slid his mask off. I instantly recognized those steely eyes, sunken deep into pockets of twisted, scarred flesh. I was staring into the disfigured face of Edilman Jaxter.

25

The Abbot and the Answer

“Hasty theft pleases only the Castellan.”

—Sareth Grimjinx, pillager of the tin mines of Rexin

T
he right side of Edilman's face looked like a map: waxy pink scars ran like roads from his chin to just under his eye. The skin sagged a bit, like it was barely clinging to his skull. I vividly recalled the day he got burned. More accurately, I remembered burning his face. He'd tried to stop me from destroying a magic tapestry with an acidic solvent and got hit by accident.

I must have been gazing a little too hard at his injuries because he grunted and said, “Don't worry, Jaxter. I don't blame you for this any more than I blame your parents for the years I spent in prison.”

I steeled my jaw. “But you
do
blame my parents.”

Edilman laid the mask aside. “Oh, yeah. That's right.” He sat back in his chair and shrugged. “Well, then I'll try not to let it come between us. Have a seat.”

I took a step back, my eyes scanning the room for an escape. There was only the door to my rear and the outside balcony. I had no idea how high up we were. But I seriously considered flinging myself out the window and taking a chance. It seemed better than if I stayed within arm's reach of Edilman.

The “abbot”
tsk
ed. “Jaxter, if I wanted to hurt you, I had all night while you slept.” His foot snaked out from under the desk and pushed a stool at me. “Sit.”

Resigned, I did as he said. “If you touch Aubrin—”

“Aubrin's fine,” Edilman said. “She's enjoying breakfast right now in the dining hall with my monks.”

I laughed. “‘Your' monks? How are they ‘your' monks?”

Edilman smiled. “I'm the abbot of Blackvesper Abbey.”

“Very impressive. Certainly one of your better cons.”

He folded his hands and lay them atop the book on his desk. “Believe it or not, it's no con.”

“I don't believe it.” The idea of a garfluk like Edilman having command over a league of assassins was terrifying. But it appeared to be true.

He sighed. “Your arrival has placed the Abbey in grave danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“It should have come as no surprise to anyone that the Palatinate was planning a takeover. The monks and I had seen the signs for months. The disappearance of the Shadowhands, the theft of magical relics from the High Laird's most secure vaults . . .”

“How do you know about that?”

“The assassin-monks have informants everywhere. Like I said, the takeover was no surprise to us. The fact that the Palatinate's first order of business was to hunt down
your
family . . . Well, now, that was a little surprising. I should have guessed that you and your parents would be mixed up in it all. Only a Grimjinx could incur the wrath of every mage in the Provinces.” He leaned in. “Once I knew how badly the Palatinate wanted you, I knew I had to find you first.”

I frowned. “To kill us before they can?”

Edilman rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You need more proof you're safe?” he asked. “Take a look outside.”

I stepped through the curtains and out onto the balcony. The swamp was gone. The Abbey stood on a precipice overlooking the ocean. To the right, past the stony cliff face, I saw vast open fields. Below, the ocean roared as it crashed against the rocks. The warm glow of sunrise shimmered off the morning tide.

Edilman joined me. “The Abbey likes this place. We come here a lot. A day and a half by mang from the nearest village or town-state. The Abbey likes isolation.”

“I'm sorry but— What?”

Edilman smiled. “‘You don't find the assassin-monks, the assassin-monks find you.' Sounds very spooky. But it's quite literal. The tower is enchanted. Very strong magic from before the Great Uprisings. If someone needs the monks, the Abbey goes where we're needed. When we're not needed, we find ourselves here, in this exact spot. I think the Abbey might have been built with stone from these very cliffs. Maybe it thinks of this place as home.”

That explained my hazy vision before passing out. A magical, moving tower. Very helpful, especially when trying to hide from the Palatinate.

“So, you go where you're needed,” I repeated, trying to grasp the idea. It explained how easy it was for the monks to find us. Aubrin and I had certainly needed them. “And a lot of people have need for holy men who also kill people?”

Edilman laughed. “We train in the art of assassination so that we might know the darkness of an evil mind, not to use the skills for harm. And, yes, you'd be surprised how many people need us.”

He stepped back into his chambers. When I followed, I found him standing over the table covered in maps.

“Since the Palatinate came to power, we've hardly stopped moving,” Edilman said, pointing out locations all over the maps. “The Abbey has taken us across the Five Provinces. We wake up in a new location practically every day. We've become a traveling refugee camp, taking in strays everywhere we go, staying one step ahead of the Sentinels. It's getting hard.”

“Why would the Sentinels be after you?”

“Oh, the Palatinate knows we're a threat. We're something they can't control. That's why they spread a rumor that we were working for them. It made people stay away from us.”

“So what happens now?”

Edilman's jaw tightened. “Things have changed. The Palatinate doesn't just want to lead the Provinces. They want absolute control. The monks are devoted to making sure that doesn't happen. But we can't do it alone. And isn't it your own grandmother who's fond of saying ‘Common enemies create uncommon friends'? Come with me.”

Edilman replaced his mask and led me from his chambers. We made our way down the staircase and through a set of double doors into a massive hall with rows of tables and benches. In their cowls and masks, monks moved from table to table, offering food and drink to a strange assortment of humans, Aviards, par-Goblins, and other creatures. These were the refugees Edilman had mentioned.

Bennock approached, carrying another tray of food, which he offered with a secret smile. I grabbed a juicy blackdrupe from the tray and bit into it. It was then I realized I was starving.

“Jaxter!”

A short, red blur grabbed me around the waist, nearly sending us both to the floor. I reached down and put my arm around Aubrin.

“You okay, Jinxface?”

She nodded. “I found the Abbey in the valley just outside the swamp. I knocked on the door and told them you were in trouble. And they came!”

“Of course they did. How could they resist this face? Because this face . . .”

“. . . is a
weapon!
” we finished together.

“And guess what else?” she said, eyes glistening.

“What?”

Aubrin pulled back, grinning at something just behind me. A meaty hand clamped down on the back of my neck. I turned and felt the air rush from my lungs.

It was Maloch. His eyes were red and baggy. It made him look a lot older. There was something seriously wrong with his face. It looked broken or distorted maybe.

Or maybe it was just that he was smiling.

I couldn't help myself. I threw my arms around him and squeezed. The only thing more surprising was when Maloch hugged me back.

“We thought you were killed,” I said.

His wide shoulders slumped and his face grew ashen. “We almost were. It all happened so fast. One day, we were in the kitchen eating dinner, and the entire mountain started shaking. There were explosions everywhere. When the ceilings started falling, I tried to lead everyone out but the exit caved in. We were trapped inside.”

“How did you get out?”

Maloch looked across the room to Luda, who sat at a table, surrounded by the other seers. If seeing Maloch smile was a shock, it was nothing compared to watching Luda with those kids. Her gruff exterior was gone as she joked around, making faces to get them to eat the vegetables on their plates.

“She arrived just as the attack started. Luda tunneled her way to us. She got us out just in time. We wandered for days. We would have died if the Abbey hadn't suddenly appeared.”

Behind me, Edilman cleared his throat. Now that I'd seen proof he was telling the truth, now that I knew he'd saved Luda and the others, I had no choice but to listen to him.

“Can you excuse me?” I said to Aubrin and Maloch. I pulled Edilman into the corner where we couldn't be overheard.

“You said you were looking for my family,” I said. “Why? To hide us? Protect us?”

“I told you,” he said quietly. “The Palatinate wants you very badly. That means we can't let them have you. Or the Dowager. I assume she's with your family?”

“She's with Da,” I said.

His burned lips mustered a frightening smile. “Good. He won't let anything happen to her. This brings me to my next question. We found you because you needed us. Why do you need the assassin-monks?”

I motioned for Aubrin. “Did you show him the journal?”

She handed the book to Edilman, opened to the mysterious message. “I was waiting for you.”

“Aubrin saw this in a vision,” I told the abbot. “We need to get it translated. It's . . . important.”

Edilman squinted at the text for several moments, then waved to a passing monk. The woman came as beckoned, bowing to her abbot. “Jaxter, this is Sister Andris. The assassin-monks are the guardians of all known forms of communication, with archives containing the secrets of every known language. If anyone can translate it, she can.”

Sister Andris ran her finger over the strange symbols and muttered to herself.

“Can you read it?” I asked.

“It's Xyrin,” she confirmed. “Very old. One of the very first recorded languages. It may take some time, but I can translate it.” The monk tucked the book into her robes, bowed, and hurried away.

By now, Luda had spotted me and crossed the hall. A fresh scar divided her right cheek. The horn on the left side of her head had been broken off halfway down, leaving a jagged nub. She pursed her lips and stood to her full height. I reached out but she stopped me with a hand on my forehead.

“We have discussed this,” she said. “I do not hug.”

“Just this once.”

“If you try, I will be forced to break you.”

“Well, we don't want that. It's good to see you, Luda. Thank you for saving my friends.”

For a second, I thought she might accept the thanks. Instead, she stiffened and said, “A soldier requires no thanks for performing her duty.”

I was wearing her down. I could tell.

I turned to Edilman. “Can you get us back to Slagbog? We need to see if anyone's left.”

Edilman scowled. “What do you mean?”

I told him how the entire village was populated by thieves and about the recent arrival of the Sentinel. It was possible that everyone in Slagbog had already been transported to Umbramore.

But Edilman didn't seem concerned about the appearance of the Sentinel. He was far more interested in the idea of Slagbog being a haven for thieves.

“That might be just what we need,” he said, before striding quickly from the hall.

Small fingers laced with my own. I looked down to see Aubrin smiling up at me. We glanced around at the monks and the seers and our friends.

“Jaxter,” she said, “how did you fight off the bloodreavers?”

I took a deep breath. “I have no idea.”

The question had haunted me. The more I thought about it, the more I sensed there
was
an answer just beyond my reach. . . .

“Something weird is happening, Jinxface.” I listed everything I could think of. When the Sentinels who came for Aubrin in Vengekeep failed to stop me with magic . . . when the gaolglobe failed to capture me . . . when the quickjump spell failed in Vesta . . . and finally, when the bloodreavers had exploded after touching me.

“I didn't think much of it each time,” I said, “but now it's hard not to see. Magic keeps failing around me. You think working with magic-resistant plants has made me invincible?”

She guffawed. “Hardly.”

“But it can't be a coincidence, right? So what's . . . ?”

I quickly gave myself a pat down and found nothing but the Twelve Essentials in my pouches. I opened up Tree Bag. Again, nothing.

But as I ran my fingers along the bottom of Tree Bag, I came to a lump in the corner that I'd never noticed before. The thick fabric made it easy to miss, but
something
had clearly been sewn into the bottom. I dug my fingers in, tearing at the thread that held the bag together. The bottom tore and something sparkly fell out.

I picked up a small crystal pyramid. Its four crenellated sides shone with a soft iridescence. Squinting, I could make out a tiny black sphere embedded inside. I held it up and rolled it around in my hand. It was beautiful but completely ordinary in every way.