“That was you?” asked Phoran, impressed. “I’d heard that the White Bird had to hire a wizard to undo the damage.”
Kissel smiled, not a nice smile. “I don’t like being confined. They thought it was funny I couldn’t find my way out. So I did.”
Phoran saw Rinnie examining Kissel as if he were more interesting than he’d been a few moments ago. “That sounds like something my brothers would do.”
Kissel grinned, a startling sudden grin. “I thank you for the compliment, Rinnie Tieragansdaughter.”
Rinnie shook her head. “No, the boys are called after their fathers and the girls after their mothers.”
“Ah,” said Kissel. “I didn’t know that.”
“Mother says it’s silly because that is not how the Travelers do it,” Rinnie said. “I think it is fun to be named after my mother. People are afraid of my mother. They don’t know that it’s Papa they ought to be most careful of.”
“Look,” said Ielian, peering under the curtain blocked the nearest doorway. “Toys.”
After the boys and Rinnie left, the camp was quiet. Tier was asleep, or dozing, at least, with his head in Seraph’s lap. Jes had disappeared; he was probably sleeping somewhere just outside of camp. Hennea was sitting cross-legged by the coals of their campfire meditating.
Seraph hadn’t meditated in a long time, and it had never been easy for her—mindless peace was not her natural state. Nevertheless, she thought it might be a good idea since she was too wound up to sleep. So she straightened her spine and relaxed her shoulders.
She didn’t really meditate, but she closed her eyes and blocked the rest of her senses so she could organize her thoughts. They had learned so much in such a short time, and she needed to let it all settle into place. Tier was safe. Hennea was the goddess of magic. Hinnum was alive and well. Tier was safe. Hinnum would come to help release the Orders from the rings. Hennea was the goddess of magic. Tier was safe.
“You’re thinking awfully hard,” murmured Tier, from the vicinity of her lap.
“Tier,” she said, without opening her eyes. “What do you think the Stalker wants?”
“Why ask me?” he asked, his tone lazy and warm, like a cat in the sun. “Until yesterday afternoon, I didn’t even know what the Stalker really was.”
“Yesterday when you were talking to Hinnum and you said there were three players in the story. Hinnum, Willon, and the Stalker. You had that last fit before you could tell us what you thought the Stalker’s motivations were.”
She heard him take a deep breath and let it out in a tired sigh. “Hinnum taught Willon about the Orders, Seraph. But Hinnum didn’t think he taught Willon enough to allow him to steal them.”
“I didn’t teach him how to see spirit,” said Hinnum. “I would have thought that was necessary to steal an Order.”
Seraph opened her eyes and saw the old wizard standing in front of them. He’d had come upon them without her hearing. Or Jes hearing—which meant he’d used magic of some sort. Tier didn’t bother opening his eyes.
Hinnum continued. “I spent all this morning and half the night—once I knew Tier’s music would appease the dead—trying to see how he could put what I taught him together and steal Orders from Travelers.”
Seraph noticed Hennea had opened her eyes, but she stayed where she was.
“I don’t see how he managed it,” Hinnum said. “I only knew because of what those fools had done to the Eagle. And because I helped the Raven to create the Orders in the first place. Willon is not a Raven, who can take the story of the Orders and know how it was done. At least he didn’t have access to a Raven’s power until after he’d already discovered how to steal the Orders. He’d have needed specifics. Rituals, words, and runes—something. I did not give them to him.”
“Hinnum,” said Hennea.
He turned to her and, to Seraph’s eyes, seemed to shrink a little. Then he caught himself, stood up straight, and looked her in the eyes. “I could not kill you, Raven. In all the centuries I paid my allegiance to you, there was only one thing you asked that I did not do. I could not do.”
Tier opened his eyes during Hinnum’s speech, looked up at Seraph, and raised an eyebrow. Centuries? He asked without words. Raven? Is Hennea the Raven? Is that what Hinnum is saying? Twenty years of marriage allowed her to read all of that in his face.
She nodded.
“What a story,” he mouthed. “I knew she was old.”
She smiled and touched her finger to her lips. “I’ll tell it to you later,” she mouthed back.
He smiled and closed his eyes again. She couldn’t tell if he was going to sleep.
“I don’t remember most of it very well even now,” Hennea told Hinnum, her face wearing its Raven mask. “Some things,” she said slowly, “are as clear as yesterday. I can see the Eagle’s face and hear his voice, but I don’t remember the Falcon or the Cormorant. When Seraph looked at Tier’s spirit, when she brought back the gem, I thought, ‘I remember how to do that.’ But there is much I ought to know that is simply a blank, fogged by time’s passage. I doubt I shall ever remember some of it.”
Hennea stood up and left the fire so she could face Hinnum. “But I do remember you. I remember you beside me during the black days before Colossae’s end. I remember finding peace in the knowledge that I would die when Colossae did—because you promised to kill me. And you always fulfilled your promises.”
Hinnum made a soft sound and turned away.
“For four and a half centuries, Hinnum, you were a man of your word.” She touched his shoulder, and he cringed under her hand. “And this beautiful morning, I cannot find it in me to be anything but grateful for the one time you were not.”
Tier sat up, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and looked at Hinnum. He rubbed his eyes again and looked some more.
“I see why you chose to stay here,” he said after an awkward moment.
Seraph looked, too, but Hinnum appeared no different to her than he originally had. Which, she realized, was odd, because he’d told her that something had happened to his body that kept him from leaving Colossae with the other wizards. He must still be using an illusion, even if it was his own body he wore that morning.
Hinnum lowered his eyebrows and looked down at Tier. “I love music,” he said heavily. “Last night you told the story of Shadow’s Fall with such power that I cried for the death of a man I never knew. Even so. Even so, Bards are the bane of my life. I am an illusionist, and Bards see truth.”
Tier shook his head. Whatever he saw must have been bad, because his reply was without the touch of humor he usually threw in. “My apologies, Hinnum. I won’t reveal what you want hidden.”
If Tier said he wouldn’t tell them what he had seen, he would not. If she was not to know what had happened to Hinnum, Seraph would rather talk about other, more important matters.
“If you did not teach him how to steal the Orders, how did he find out?” she asked.
“It was the Stalker,” said Tier.
“The Stalker?” said Hennea.
“Who else could it have been? I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“The Stalker is not evil,” Hinnum said.
“I didn’t say that he was. You told us the Elder gods’ powers are constant, almost involuntary. If there are holes in the veil that keeps the Elder gods from destroying the world, then I believe it is possible for a wizard to feed off the Stalker’s power without the Stalker’s consent. You also told Seraph that the Stalker is caught behind the veil against his will.”
Hennea took a seat beside Tier. “The Weaver told me the world was too old, too brittle for the stresses He and His brother would bring to it. Their powers would destroy it.”
“The Weaver told me His brother did not care if the world died,” Hennea continued. “Death is a part of the Stalker’s power and is a natural process. But the Weaver loves His creation—so He found a way to bind them both and restrict Their powers so that His world could survive.”