The Rival (35 page)

"Dinna say that," Marly hissed.

He ignored her.  "The point is, I'm a demon who is offering to help you."

"At the price a yer own life," Yasep said.  He had his arms crossed, but the fingers of his right hand drummed on his upper arm. 

"I believe the Fey do not belong on Blue Isle," Matthias said.  "I believe they are the Soldiers of the Enemy mentioned in the Words Written and Unwritten."

He looked at Denl as he said that.  Denl looked away.

"I believe that we, like the Roca, must do all within our power to drive them out of Jahn and off the Isle.  I tried to do that as Rocaan, but discovered too much opposition.  I'm doing the work now, in my own way.  The Fey did this to me."  He ran a hand over his bandaged face.  "I have fought them and will continue to fight them until I can no longer take a breath."

His voice resounded through the cavern.  Marly had turned so that she could see him.  This time no one else moved at all.

"You know who I am, but I do not know who any of you are.  I suspect you do not want me to know.  That's fine.  I know about the ring of thieves operating through Jahn, appearing and disappearing at a whim, never getting caught.  These caverns would make a nice escape tunnel."

Marly tensed beside him.

"It's a brilliant scheme, but it's one that doesn't matter any more if what you say about the Fey is true.  It doesn't matter anyway.  I haven't been particular about my friends since I left the Tabernacle.  I don't care who you are or what you do as long as you fight Fey."

"If ye stay, ye'll not lead us," Yasep said.

Finally, he gave voice to his real fear.  Matthias smiled.  The movement of his lips pulled the skin on his face, and he winced.  "I can barely sit up," he said.  "I certainly cannot lead a group of people I've never met before."

Yasep nodded.  "Tis settled then."

"How's it settled?" Marly asked.  "Ye'll na kill him as he sleeps."

"Na," Yasep said.  "He'll stay here, with us, until the fightin ends or the Fey find us.  N when our holy water is gone, he'll make us more."

"How much holy water do you have?" Matthias asked.

"Yer  lookin at it," Jakib said, sweeping his hand toward the crates.

Matthias stifled his whistle of amazement.  If he'd had suspicions of this troop's illegal activities before, he had confirmation of it now.  There should never be this much holy water outside of the Tabernacle.

It was odd to steal holy water.

Unless you were afraid of the Fey, and afraid that no one would defend you.

"It'll be a while before you need me then," Matthias said.

"Aye," Yasep said.

"Good."  Matthias let himself sway.  "In that case, I hope you don't mind if I pass out."

And then, before they had a chance to reply, he leaned into Marly, and let the darkness take him.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Titus whirled away from the window.  He hurried back through his chamber, nearly tripping over the ornate furniture, his heart pounding. 

Fey, surrounding the Tabernacle, coming into the city.  It was the invasion all over again.  Only this time he was Rocaan.  This time, he was in charge of holy water.

Of the only thing that could help the Islanders survive.

He burst through the doors of his apartments, and looked for an Aud in the hallway.  Anyone. But the hallways were empty.  The night's torches still burned.

He knew where he would find people.  Near the windows.

Thinking they were looking at a miracle. 

He hurried down the corridor, and took the steps at the end two at a time.  The effort jolted his knees.  He was horribly out of shape, which surprised him.  In his mind, he wasn't much older than the nineteen-year-old who had become Rocaan.

At the window on the landing, five Officiates stood.  Titus grabbed the arm of Lindo.  His plush black robe flared as he turned.  Lindo was an older Officiate, one who never made the cut to Elder, but served well in this capacity.  His narrow eyes widened when he saw Titus.

"It's a miracle, Holy Sir," he said.

Titus didn't have time to argue with him.  "Get the Elders in my suite immediately.  Then I want everyone away from the windows, and I want the doors sealed. Double-check the supply of holy water, and then report to me."

"Holy Sir  — "

"Oh," Titus said, "Open the catacombs below and stock them with as many supplies as you can find.  Including holy water."

"Holy Sir, what?"

"That's not a miracle," Titus said.  "That's the Fey.  Now get busy."

The other Officiates turned at that news.  They looked confused.  Rusel was among them.  His portly frame shook.  "Holy Sir, if that's the Fey  — "

"Then we don't have much time," Titus said.

"Shouldn't we just pour holy water on them?  Stop them before they do anything?"

"Have they threatened us?" Titus asked.  "From my understanding, they've just been sitting there most of the morning."

"Yes, Holy Sir."

"Well, then, we can't really attack. We are supposed to have a truce with them, remember?"

Without waiting for a response, he hurried back up the stairs. The door to his apartments stood open, as he had left it.  He went inside, heart pounding.  Rusel had a good suggestion.  Just attack. But Titus couldn't.  Matthias would have been able to.  But Titus knew God's strictures and abided by them.  A
man is only as good as his word,
said the Words Written and Unwritten in one section.  Then, in another, they said,
A promise broken is a trust forsaken.
  And then, again, it said,
A promise is a man's solemn oath between himself, another, and God.

Matthias might have been able to break his promises, and sever his relationship with God.  Titus could not.

When he reached the inside of his apartments, he made himself stop and catch his breath.  He leaned on one of the velvet couches, and it slid.  He caught it, and held on.  His life had suddenly become impossible.  He had to prepare for an attack without allowing his people to attack.  And he had to protect them.  He also had to listen to whatever the Fey had to say.

He suspected they had something to tell him.  Otherwise why surround the Tabernacle?  Why not just invade?

He went to the balcony, gripped the wooden railing, and looked out.  None of the creatures had moved.  He went back inside, grabbed the double doors, and pulled them closed.

Sunlight seeped in around the edges of the doors.  And still came in through the windows.  He grabbed each tapestry and let it roll down.  The Fey would know that something had changed.  Instead of being watched, they would see that the doors were being locked, the windows shuttered.

He needed to get a message to Nicholas.  If there was trouble here, there would be some at the palace as well.  He peeked his head out the door.  Rusel stood beside it, a silent sentinel. 

"You're my guard?" Titus asked.  Titus would do better guarding himself.  Rusel couldn't fight.  He could barely run.

Rusel shrugged.  "Until we can clear the windows," he said.  "It is an Officiate's job to fill in."

"Well," Titus said, "you'll need to fill in elsewhere.  I need an Aud and I need him quickly."

Rusel nodded.  "At once, Holy Sir."  He spun and headed down the hall, his black robe swirling behind him. 

The mood had shifted in the Tabernacle.  He could feel it.  No longer did they see this as a miracle, but as a crisis.  His own attitude had changed it.  Now he had to prevent a panic. 

He went back into his rooms.  He had a store of holy water in a cabinet built into the wall between his bedroom and his main living quarters.  Matthias had ordered that during his tenure as Rocaan.  The Auds kept it stocked.  Titus pulled it open.  Row after row of green vials glittered.  There was enough here to keep him and the Elders supplied for a while at least.  He knew that the Elders had similar cabinets in their rooms.  The dormitories were stocked, as was the Servant's Chapel, the rooms behind it, and the Sanctuary.

A drop of holy water could kill a Fey.

The Tabernacle was protected.  At least for the moment.

A knock sounded on the door.  Titus pulled it open.  Porciluna stood outside.  His girth had increased over the years.  Now he couldn't walk the steps without breaking into a sweat.  His black robe hung on his stomach as if it were a table.  He wore his red sash around his neck because it slipped from his waist.

"The animals have Fey on them," Porciluna said, mopping his brow with a white cloth.

"When did you notice?"

"I didn't even know they were outside until Lindo appeared at my door."  Porciluna's small eyes darted back and forth.  "I was in my studies."

Or sleeping or indulging in something that Titus didn't want to think about.  When Titus became Rocaan, Porciluna lost all interest in the religious aspects of the Tabernacle.  Some of the other Elders suspected that Porciluna had only done his duties for show anyway, while he waited to be appointed Rocaan.  He had been bitterly disappointed when the Fiftieth Rocaan had appointed Matthias.  Porciluna had been angry when Matthias left the Secrets with Titus, and when Titus decided to hold them himself.

Titus stepped away from his door.  "The others will be here momentarily."

"I don't think now is the time to hold a meeting," Porciluna said.  He breathed heavily as if each word were an effort. 

"Nonetheless," Titus said.  He left the door open, and resisted the urge to peer down the hallway to see if anyone else was coming.

Rusel approached, an Aud in tow.  The Aud looked no more than thirteen.  His face was filthy and his feet were dark with dirt.  Titus wondered if he had looked like that when the Fiftieth Rocaan gave him his Charge.

"Thank you," Titus said to Rusel, dismissing him by tone. 

Rusel nodded, then backed away.  As he started to leave, Porciluna peeked his head out the door.  "I believe we should have Auds up here.  With holy water."

Titus bit back annoyance.  Rusel, to his credit, looked at Titus.  Titus nodded.  Porciluna went back inside. 

Titus took the Aud's arm and brought him in as well.  The fabric of his robe was coarse, and he smelled faintly of sweat.  "What's your name, son?" Titus asked.

"Constantine," the boy whispered.  He kept his head down.  "After that old King."

So the boy came from an upper class family.  His accent showed it, and his name confirmed it.

"I prefer Con." The boy said in the face of Titus's silence.

"Con it is, then," Titus said.  "Listen, Con, I have a Charge for you.  But it is risky, and it might cost you your life."

Con kept his head down.  The back of his skull was a mass of dirty blond curls.

"He's giving you an out, boy," Porciluna said. "A way to save yourself."

"It's an Aud's duty to do what his Rocaan asks," Con said, looking at Porciluna sideways.

Score one for the educated young man.  Titus suppressed a smile.  He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.  "Are you familiar with the catacombs beneath the Tabernacle?"

The boy finally raised his head.  His eyes were the clearest blue Titus had ever seen.  His skin was rosy and unblemished.  He was beautiful, the kind of beauty that made breath stop in the throat.

"No, Holy Sir," Con said.

"Porciluna," Titus said, "would you get the map?  It's in the drawer in my bedside table."

"You can explain  — "

"We'll need it for the meeting you don't want, as well," Titus said. 

Porciluna sighed heavily and made his way into the bedroom.  His breathing was stentorian and, this time, Titus suspected, mostly faked.

Titus led the boy deeper into the room.  "There are ancient catacombs under the Tabernacle," he said.  "In fact, they go under most of Jahn.  They link the Tabernacle and the palace  —  or at least, that is what they were designed for, in the days of the Thirteenth Rocaan."

"Beg pardon, Holy Sir, but I don't see how that's possible, what with the river between."  The boy managed to look solemn and frightened at the same time.

"It is a marvel of engineering," Porciluna said as he emerged from the bedroom. The map was rolled up in his right hand.  "They built a secret passage through Jahn Bridge."

"I'd send you above ground," Titus said, "but I have a bad feeling about these Fey below.  They've never liked us.  They may be gathered outside the Tabernacle for a perfectly innocent reason, and then again, they may not.  We have no real way of knowing what else is going on in the city.  We might be the only one in this situation.  We cannot wait for the King to get word.  We must send it ourselves."

"You want me to speak to the King, Holy Sir?" The boy's voice squeaked.

"Yes, Con, I do.  You need to warn him about what's happening here, and you need to do it quickly."

Another Elder, Reece, came to the door.  Reece was thin and nervous, accenting the long lines of his face.  Titus waved him in.  Reece glanced at Con, frowned, and walked around him. 

Porciluna spread the map on one of Titus's end tables.  He used votive candle holders to keep the ends in place.  "Here, son," Porciluna said, his voice soft.  Titus couldn't believe Porciluna was helping.  The vision of the Fey on the backs of those creatures must have spooked him as well.  "This map is old, but it does show the path."

Con glanced at Titus. Titus led the boy to the table.  Reece followed, looking confused. 

The map was brittle.  The catacombs were painted with a thin brush as a single black line.  The ground above was marked with an ink pen, and the river was painted as well.  Most of the building landmarks, with the exception of the palace, the Tabernacle, and the bridge, were gone. 

"He'll need to take this with him," Porciluna said.  "The catacombs branch.  The last thing we want is for him to get lost."

"I heard," a voice said from the door, "that when you are heading toward the bridge, you should always walk toward the sound of the water."

Titus turned.  Linus stood there.  He was one of the older Elders, a man who had been in the Tabernacle for a very long time.  His blond hair was cut in a bowl shape, which had the effect of making his round face seem even rounder.