The Rival (33 page)

Titus had first faced the Fey as a boy.  His Charge, as a young Aud, was to take a message to the Fey leader.  He had done so, refusing on pain of death to remove the small sword around his neck, and somehow managing to negotiate with the Fey.  The message and the subsequent meeting with the Fiftieth Rocaan and the Fey had led to the Rocaan's death.  Titus had seen his enemy in two forms: in their pathetic home in the woods, and in their murderous rage.

Both frightened him, but neither overwhelmed him.  He did agree with Matthias that these Fey were demons.  The Words Written and Unwritten said those claiming God's powers without God's consent were demons, creatures of the netherworld whose only desire was to defeat God in this land.   Such a belief was considered archaic now, even though it was in the Words.  No one had seen the demons, and thought it to be a metaphor for those who would subvert God's will.   There were still places on the Isle, though, where those Words held sway:  In the Snow Mountains, children born with demon look, demon height, or demon sparkle, were left on the mountainside to die.

It was an old, barbarous custom, and one the Tabernacle had never been able to prevent.

He gathered his knees to his chin like a young boy would, and then wrapped his arms around them.  In the hours of staring, waiting, the disquiet hadn't left.  Perhaps he had been too hasty in dismissing Stowe.  But Titus had trouble accepting Nicholas.  Nicholas, who had tried to take the position of Rocaan for himself.  Nicholas, who had married demons and created more demons.

Nicholas, who loved the Fey.

How could a man who had loved Fey fight them? 

Yet the position of Rocaan had been created for spiritual leadership, not to lead warriors into battle.  Even though Matthias had thought the two related, Titus did not.  In that, he was closer to the Fiftieth Rocaan, who believed in gentleness in all things.

A man who believed in gentleness and a man who loved the Fey were to fight an invasion force?  It could not be done.

But it had to be.

Titus swallowed.  The thing he could not stomach, the thing he had never really had to do, was make holy water as a weapon.  The fighting had been past when he became Rocaan.  He had only made holy water for Midnight Sacrament.

He wasn't certain he could make holy water and then watch it kill.  Through his nightlong reflection, that was what he had come to.  His anger against Stowe had come not just from his dislike of Nicholas, but also from his fear that he would be pressed into service, that he would have to use the most holy of materials to take lives, not save them.

The Fiftieth Rocaan had done so reluctantly.  The Fifty-First had done so with gusto.

Titus would have to do so as well to save the lives of his people.

But he could do nothing sitting here.  If this wasn't a ploy from the palace to seek power, if it had truly happened, then he needed to take action. 

And that was the conclusion he kept coming to.  Perhaps the still, small voice didn't speak.  Perhaps it nudged.  Or perhaps it kept pushing the mind in one direction, never letting the idea pass.

Titus looked up.  The sword was a weapon and a symbol of the most holy moment in all of Rocaanism.  It symbolized the Roca's sacrifice.  When faced with the Soldiers of the Enemy, he asked his own soldiers to lay down their arms.  Then he cleaned his sword with holy water.  The Soldiers of the Enemy took his sword, ran him through, and he was Absorbed into the Hand of God, where he sat now, watching over his people.

A weapon and a symbol.

Just like holy water was.

Titus had no choice.  He was Rocaan.  He had to guard his people's spiritual well-being, and sometimes that meant guarding their life.  He couldn't trust Nicholas to do it.  Nicholas had already shown that he did not understand the importance of the spiritual realm.

Titus had to guard that on his own.

And God had given a particularly difficult task in doing so.  Titus did not see the world as either evil or good.  He did not take the extremes of either of his predecessors.  He had to work with Nicholas because, at the moment, Nicholas was the best the Roca's line had to offer.  Then Titus had to either convince Nicholas to set his children aside, or Titus had to train them.  They were part Fey and part Islander.  He had been concentrating on the Fey.  He needed to concentrate on the Islander, bring out the blood of the Roca within them, and let them fight the spiritual battles within themselves.  If the good rose to the surface in just one of Nicholas's children, that would be enough to save the Isle.

The task of bringing that good forth, though, belonged to Titus.

He stood, and sighed.  For too long, he had been using his youth as an excuse, his odd entrance into the Rocaan's position as a way out of the difficult decisions.  At times he had followed the path created by the Fiftieth Rocaan, and at times, he had followed the path created by the Fifty-first.  He had never really blazed his own trail.

He had never needed to until now.

He picked up the candle snuffer, and starting with the candles near the altar, he put out the flames.  Tiny wisps of black smoke rose, filling the air with the scent of wax and singed string.  He was stalling, he knew, trying to find a way around going to the palace.  An Aud could put out the candles, and Titus could leave immediately.  But he really didn't want to enter Nicholas's territory so quickly after the decision.  He wanted a moment to change his mind, a chance to rethink things.

As if he hadn't thought of them enough already.

When he finished with the candles, he hung the snuffer on its peg in the back of the Sanctuary, and let himself out.  He blinked once as he stepped into the corridor.  The corridor was dusky dark, as if someone hadn't lit the evening torches yet.  But the torches were out.  The dawn had come some time ago.

Something was blocking the light.

His two Aud guards stood by the door.  They nodded when they saw him.  He didn't nod back.  Instead, he stepped farther into the hall.

Half a dozen Danites crowded around one window.  The windows were narrow slits in this part of the Tabernacle, and the Danites had to pile on top of each other to see.  At the next window, another group of Danites stood, and another all the way along. 

"Is there a problem?" he asked, and the Danites closest to him jumped.  One held his finger to his lips. 

"Look, Holy Sir," he said.  "A miracle."

"A miracle," Titus said softly, "and no one thought to get me?"

The Danite flushed.  The others stepped silently away from the window.  Titus walked forward and peered through the slit.

Animals sat in the courtyard.  Hundreds of animals.  They lined themselves in neat rows: small cats formed the first row.  They sat, their paws neatly before them, and stared at the Tabernacle.  Behind the cats, a row of dogs.  They also sat at attention, heads forward, paws down.  Behind them, wolves, and behind them, even larger cats, larger than any Titus had ever seen.  It was the creatures in the back that startled him, though.  Black, gray, brown, they towered over the others, and stood on their hind legs like men.  They had massive front paws, with long sharp claws.  Their faces seemed dog-like, with a long snout and tiny eyes, only they didn't look like dogs.  They didn't look like any creatures he had ever seen.  They too were silent, staring at the Tabernacle, as if waiting.

"How long has this been going on?" Titus asked.

"Since dawn," the Danite said.

"And no one thought to get me?"

"At first no one could find you, Holy Sir, and when they did locate you, you were in meditation, and you had asked not to be disturbed."

Titus's heart was pounding hard against his chest.  They could be right, he told himself.  It could be a miracle.

He picked up the skirts of his robe and hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  It was as if he rose in the ranks of the Tabernacle as he did so:  Auds and Danites stared out the windows on the first three levels, and Officiates crowded the windows on the fourth.

The corridors on the fifth were empty.  The Elders had their own rooms.  Titus hurried to his.  He pulled open the double doors, crossed the living area, and went onto the balcony.

There he stopped.

The animals formed a barrier between the Tabernacle and the road, the Tabernacle and the river, the Tabernacle and the rest of Jahn.  The streets were empty, the bridge was empty, even this early in the morning.

A group of horses were galloping along one of the sideroads. The riders on their backs wore no uniforms.  In fact, they wore no shirts at all.  They were male and female.

And Fey.

Titus's mouth was dry.

He glanced down at the animals below, and realized that from the ground level, he had missed something.

All of them had riders on their backs.  Tiny Fey on the backs of the cats, and large Fey on the backs of the giant hairy creatures. 

Fey everywhere.

Fey staring at the Tabernacle.

Fey waiting.

For what?  A command?

He glanced at the river, and saw creatures coming out the other side.  Long flat creatures that looked like snakes with legs, with snouts big enough to eat a man.  Their tails thrashed as they moved into the city.

Fey sat on their backs as well.

"My God," he whispered, understanding now his own feeling of disquiet. 

He had been wrong.  The Fey were here, and this time, they were determined to win.

THIRTY-SIX

Matthias started awake, wincing at the pain in his chest and shoulders.  His eyes were gummed together, and his mouth tasted of cotton.  He blinked the sleep out, then frowned, trying to pinpoint what woke him.

Something was different.

The candle had burned down to the end of its wick.  The light was flickering.  The room was dark because it had no windows.  He peered through the open door.  The candle still burned beside the tapestry frame, but Marly wasn't in her chair. 

He leaned up on one elbow, frowning as the skin pulled on his wounds.  With his right hand, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.  His fingers came away gummy.  He should have bathed after falling in the river.  Who knew what sort of debris had been floating in there?

A rustle in the other room caught his attention.  He pushed the blankets back.  He was naked except for the bandages.  His thin legs looked spindly in the dim light.  Bruises ran along his thighs and calves.  The Fey had kicked him when she tried to drown him. 

He was lucky to be alive.

A panel moved beside the fireplace.  Matthias pulled the blanket to his waist and looked for his pants.  He couldn't see them.  His heart was pounding.  He didn't know how much energy he would have. 

He didn't know how much he would need.

With a slight grinding sound, the panel slid open.  Marly stepped out.  He must have heard her go in.  That had to be what woke him.

But that didn't feel right.

When she saw him, she put a finger to her lips.  He nodded.  Then she propped the door open with a brick, and grabbed a basket from beside the fireplace. 

"There are men's clothes beside the bed," she whispered.  "I had hoped to clean yours, but there isn't time."

What kind of woman kept men's clothes beside her bed?  He wasn't certain he wanted to know.  He tried to slide off the bed, still holding the blanket in place.

"We don't have time for modesty," she said.  "Hurry."

He didn't have the energy for it, either.  He let the blanket fall away.  He crouched, his weak legs trembling with the effort.  If he had wondered how close to death he had been, he had an answer now.  Simply getting out of bed and crouching was too much for him.

"Hurry," she said again.

There were several wooden chests between the bed and the wall. The chests were lying on their sides.  He pulled one open and took a soft blue shirt and tan breeches that tied at the waist.  Then he grabbed a pair of fabric shoes, which were beside the bed.

"Hurry!"

He was hurrying.  He stood, swayed and almost fell.

"You don't have time to dress," she said.  "Get in here."

He carried the clothes across the room, ignoring his own dizziness.  Then he put a hand on the mantel, and nearly toppled through the open panel.  She caught him, kicked the brick aside and let the panel swing shut.

The darkness was complete.  He had never been anywhere that dark. 

She took his hand.  "You'll need to be quiet," she said.  "When we're past the main section of tunnel, I'll light a lantern.  Until then, we'll have to go in the darkness."

"Can I dress?" he asked, not certain he could carry the clothes and walk at the same time.

"Quickly," she said.

Her hand left his.  He missed the warmth.  He leaned against the hot wall, the one that was part of the fireplace, and pulled on his breeches.  Then he slid the shirt over his head.  He had never felt material so soft.

The shoes were also soft, but they covered his feet, and the hard soles protected him from whatever he was going to walk on.  When he finished, he groped in the darkness for her.  His fingers brushed the rich fabric of her dress.  She caught his hand with her own.

Her fingers were warm and dry.  Their grip was sound.  She led him through the darkness, slow step by slow step, supporting him once or twice as he swayed.

Since he couldn't see and he couldn't talk, he focused on the moment that he had awakened.  The odd sense that something was wrong.  The sense hadn't come from anything in the room, even if the panel had grated.  It had come from outside.

Outside.

The feeling of outside had changed.

He had noticed that before years ago, when he was still in the Tabernacle.  He had felt it in Jahn as well.  The feeling that someone had come into his home, that a person who didn't belong had touched his things.  He had shrugged the feeling off.  He no longer had a home, and he really didn't have things. He had been without possessions or a place to lay his head since he left the Tabernacle fifteen years before.