“…the archon might instruct his consort to repair this imbalance,” I said. “And the Chosen can forcibly remove the kirani of the Mountain and the Sea from the Canon.”
“I believe this is why he names Nysse Chosen. He hopes to repair the Canon by sheering it in twain.” After speaking this grim verdict, Kol stretched his legs straight in front of him, linked his hands behind his back, and bent his forehead to his knees, raising his linked hands skyward.
I leaped to my feet, appalled, certain that Kol’s theory was correct. Ronila had purposely destroyed the map in front of me, knowing that my news of it would be a torment to Kol and Stian. “Tuari may have yielded to your argument, uncle, but Ronila will find a way to kill you…you and Stian…and me, too, if she learns what’s happened here. She wants to ensure the Mountain and the Sea are lost forever along with the Plain and the Well.”
“I shall warn my sire,” said my uncle, his voice muffled by his knees and the effort of his stretching. “We shall need his help to get thee into the Canon.”
This made no sense at all. “I cannot pass for one of you, no matter my gards. I cannot dance. I’ve no idea what to do.”
He released his arms, drew in his legs, and bounced to his feet. “Return here at high sun on the solstice, and Stian will instruct thee. There will be sufficient distraction in the Canon for him to slip thee into his round.”
“Distraction?”
Kol raised his arms and bent wholly to one side and then the other, holding each for longer than my sympathizing muscles could bear. Then he stood upright and bent forward from the waist. Supporting his weight on his arms, he slid his feet in opposite directions until it seemed he must rip himself in two. He settled his groin to the ice, then stretched his arms forward, flattening his chest to the ground as well. After a very long time, breathing slow and deep, he rose again.
“I shall issue challenge to the archon, asserting my right to dance the Center,” he said. “If I prepare sufficiently, my kiran of challenge shall be of such a nature that none shall question my right, and for certain none shall pay any mind to a new-marked dancer in a minor circle of Stian’s Round. I shall dance thy sianou, rejongai. Unusual—but then, all that touches thee is unusual. That the Well is reclaimed will ripple through the senses of the long-lived as a spring zephyr. And on solstice night when the season shifts, I shall infuse the gold veins of Dashon Ra with the power of the Canon and trust thee to put the world right again.”
His confidence…his courage…left me breathless. “And if you fail, uncle? Or if Stian is caught bringing a halfbreed into the Canon? Or if Ronila—?”
“Be off, Valen rejongai. I’ve work to do.”
Chapter 30
The few-quellae walk took me from the Well into the ruin of Gillarine, and only twenty or thirty steps more transported me from the cloisters into Renna’s well yard. The high walls left the yard in gray-blue shadows. A leaden afternoon—a proper reflection of my spirits. Flicks of sensation—a taste of moisture in the air, the feel of damp earth beneath my feet, the spongy moss between the stones—afflicted me with a yearning like that of a traveler on an evening road, hoping to see a warm and well-lit house over the next rise. And my gut felt uneasy.
I sighed and strolled toward the stair. I dared not hope that this third passage had somehow cured my doulon craving. I must speak with Saverian. I needed clothes. I needed sleep. I needed to know what day it was.
“Who’s down there?” The gruff challenge came from high atop the wall that separated the well yard from the inner bailey. Someone had spotted me. “Gatzi’s thumb! What’s that?”
“There you are!” This shout, emitted in the squawking timbre of a young male, came from much closer. “Did you fall out of your head just because you spilt a bit of dye on you? You’ll freeze out here, and His Grace won’t like you tainting the well with dye!”
Confused, I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see a great bat flying across the yard, only I realized, as the dark mantle of wool fell over my head, that it was but a boy carrying a very large cloak. No sooner had I twisted the heavy folds so that my face poked out of the hood rather than into it, than Jullian shoved me into the deeper shadows of the colonnade.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Brother Valen,” he whispered, as the guards on the wall speculated quietly on the likely parentage of a fool who’d walk naked in the freezing well yard after spilling dye on himself, and wasn’t it an odd kind of dye to shine so brightly. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen…this way.” He sounded disapproving, but then, he persisted in calling me Brother.
“I’m grateful,” I said, fastening the clip at my neck. “It feels right to wear only the gards when I’m in the wild, just as wearing a cowl feels right in an abbey. But when I’m back amongst the rest of you, it’s damned awkward. Tell me…how long was I gone?”
“A sevenday, it’s been.”
“Seven days!” Dismay erased what smattering of confidence I’d held on to. The solstice was but two days hence. Sila Diaglou would likely be crossing Caedmon’s Bridge this very night.
“Everyone’s worried, but no one will speak what’s on his mind, especially to me. There’s going to be a battle here, isn’t there? A magical battle that will mean the dark age is come?”
“Yes.” Jullian was no longer a child to be sheltered with sweet lies.
He straightened his back. “I knew it. They keep saying I need to be hidden in some fortress along with Mistress Elene and Brother Victor, but Mistress Elene vows she will ride out to war tomorrow. Mistress Saverian insists Brother Victor is too weak to travel anywhere, but he winks at me when she says it. We believe—Brother Victor and I—that there’s only one place we ought to be when this battle comes. Prince Osriel told us how you took him there so quickly, and if you were to take us that same way, then Brother Victor wouldn’t have to ride out in the cold. We’ve no other Scholar.”
His boldness stilled my churning thoughts. “You want to go to the lighthouse.”
He bobbed his head.
Simple logic and the boy’s stalwart stance testified to the rightness of such a course. Brave Jullian, the brightest student the abbey had ever nurtured, with the wise and capable Victor to mentor him, could become a Scholar well worthy of those who had died to give the world hope. To deny these two the chance to honor their vows to their god and their brotherhood would be to forswear my own.
I bowed to him with sincere solemnity. “In the name of the lighthouse cabal, I would be honored to transport the Scholar and his mentor to their duties. Teneamus.”
Jullian released a deep-held breath, no doubt erasing the pent arguments he’d held ready to hand, and squared his shoulders for the next challenge. “I suppose we’d best tell the others.”
I grinned and started up the stair. “I’ll tell them. But I’d give a good deal for a shirt and a mug of ale first.”
“I’ve tunic, braies, hose, and all over here. The physician gave them to me to hold for you.”
“Just tunic and leggings, I think. No braies today.” The walk from the Well had kept my new gards stinging.