Chapter 14
Home. Josan could feel the pull of the city, calling to him. The weight of his years of exile on Txomin’s Island and the longing to be once more among his own kind rose within him, pulling him inexorably toward the one place he associated with safety—the high stone walls and quiet courtyards of the collegium. The closer they came to Karystos, the more impatient he became.
The night before, he had been unable to sleep, knowing that the coming day would bring them within the walls of his native city. His restless pacing around their rented room had brought grumbles from Myles, who slept lightly in recent nights, as if fearing an attack. So Josan had settled himself as if to meditate, but such mental discipline was no longer within his grasp. Perhaps it was simply the anticipation of his long awaited homecoming. Or perhaps it was the pressure of the Other, who stirred restlessly, an unwelcome presence beneath the surface of Josan’s thoughts. Whatever the reason, he could no longer summon the calm reflection that had been as natural to him as breathing by the time he was a novice.
Instead he had let his mind drift to recollections of his days in Karystos, calling to mind the perfect order of the central library of the collegium, the low hum of the brethren chanting the praises of the twin gods, the feel of cool marble beneath his feet. His mind stretched outward from the buildings of the collegium, traversing the great square, then following the Road of Triumph that led from the great square of the people up the central hill to the imperial compound, where the palace was surrounded by buildings of state.
In his imagination he stood on a balcony at the topmost floor of the palace, gazing over the city spread below him as it sloped down to the central harbor. The sun glinted off the white-stone buildings as if the city was new-built, or a noble’s toy laid out for his pleasure. For a brief moment he allowed himself to wonder if this was what the empress saw when she gazed out the windows of her apartments. Did she see the city and think of the lives contained within it? Or did she see merely the wealth and power at her command?
The question occupied his mind for some time till he realized how foolish his speculations were. How could he expect to know the mind of an empress? He was a monk, accustomed to obedience, not leadership, and his studies had focused on science, not politics.
Though his arrival in Karystos would be seen as a sign that he had not learned the lessons of obedience. Brother Nikos had strictly forbidden his return, but surely once he understood Josan’s circumstances, he would also understand the reasons that had compelled him to return. And if all Josan had to fear was punishment for disobeying that order, he would be a fortunate man indeed. More and more, he had become convinced that the gaps in his memories hid the knowledge of some unspeakable crime.
Which, paradoxically, only increased his eagerness to return to the brethren. He was tired of being protected from himself, treated as one not capable of making his own decisions. The brethren might have been trying to protect him, and indeed the confused man who had left their care six years before had been much in need of guidance. But Josan was no longer that man. He did not need protection; he needed the truth. Regardless of how ugly it was. He could not move forward until he had faced his past.
Such thoughts had occupied his mind throughout the long night. An hour before dawn the shreds of his patience had snapped, and he had risen from his cot and awakened Myles. With only a few words they dressed in the darkness, then went down to the common room of the hostel, where a few coppers convinced the yawning attendant to stir the kitchen fire so they could have hot tea and barley soup before they set off.
The road leading to Karystos was wide and level, with a raised berm on either side to channel rainfall away from its surface. At first traffic was sparse, but soon after sunrise the road became packed with travelers on foot, drovers taking beasts to market, wagonloads of goods to feed the ever-hungry city, plus the occasional rider or carriage. If the road had been clear, they could have reached the city in just a few hours, but as it was it took them most of the day to make their way through the press of humanity.
On either side of the road, villas whose modest size belied their expense alternated with orchards that bore exotic fruits to cater to the wealthiest residents of Karystos. Gradually these open spaces disappeared, until either side of the road was lined with buildings—merchants’ and artisans’ shops mixed in with apartments for those who made their living serving the great capital but could not afford to live within. This was the outer city that had sprung up beyond the city walls, and as the buildings enclosed Josan and Myles on both sides, it felt increasingly like a trap.
It was barely spring, but Josan felt the sweat running down his back as if it were high summer. He fought the urge to draw the cowl over his head, knowing that hiding his face would only serve to draw attention to him. Myles, too, was doing his best to appear an ordinary traveler, having decided not to wear his leather armor.
As they approached the gate that led into the city proper, Josan tensed. He knew at least one magistrate had issued a warrant for his arrest in connection with the death of the assassin at the lighthouse. It was unlikely that they would expect him to return to Karystos, but if they did, then the guards at the gates might well have been alerted to look for him. It was small comfort that he bore no resemblance to the shaven-headed monk of the island. He no longer recognized his own face in the mirror, but his enemies were not as easily confused. They had had no trouble finding him in Utika, after all.
“Easy,” Myles murmured, as it came their turn to pass through the gates.
Josan noticed that Myles had loosened his sword in his scabbard, though if it came to blows, a single mounted soldier could not expect to prevail against a half dozen guards, even if they were on foot. Crop Ear, who had shown a remarkably placid disposition for the entire journey, chose that moment to take offense as a kid goat ran bleating between her hooves. She reared back just as a young boy dived in pursuit of the goat.
Josan jerked hard on the reins to keep Crop Ear’s hooves from dashing the boy’s skull. After a few dancing steps, and much head tossing, she settled down.
The two nearest guards had seized both goat and boy, and were impugning their probable joint ancestry with rough eloquence. With a mere glance they waved Josan and Myles through, still caught up in berating the boy for his carelessness.
It was only when the angry shouts of the guards had faded behind them that Josan allowed himself to relax. Luck had favored them this time, but he knew better than to assume it would last. As they reached the first of the ring streets that encircled the city, Josan guided his horse toward the right, only to have Myles seize his reins.
“Hold,” Myles said. “Where are you going?”
Josan glanced around, but none of the passersby seemed interested in them. Still he lowered his voice to a whisper as he replied, “The collegium, where else?”
Myles shook his head. “And how do you know it is safe?”
How could he not trust the brethren? This was the whole point of his journey, was it not?
“But—”
Myles pulled the rein, guiding their horses to the left. “We will stay this night with a friend of mine. Find out what is happening in the city and whether there are watchers at the collegium, hoping for you to fall into their hands.”
Josan hesitated, then gave in. “For tonight, only,” he said.
On the journey it had been easy for him to let Myles make the decisions. Simpler to play at master and man rather than to risk their friendship becoming something else. He knew Myles wanted more than mere friendship from him, but Josan had nothing to offer. He could not trust himself, not while madness threatened, and not while so much of his past was still veiled in darkness.
Fortunately, Myles was not put off by Josan’s diffidence, seemingly content for the moment with friendship. And he had once again proven his worth with his clear thinking. The collegium had fewer entrances than the city and was far easier to watch. If his enemies had set a trap, it would most likely be there.
He had been so focused on the collegium as a place of refuge that it had not occurred to him that, the closer he came to that refuge, the greater danger he would be in. Fortunately, Myles was able to reason logically while Josan had been blinded by his emotions.
Still he would only be guided by Myles for so long. If Myles reported that it was unsafe to approach the collegium, then Josan would send word to Brother Nikos to arrange a meeting in a safe location. Either way, he would have his answers.
The city streets were too steep and crowded to navigate on horseback, so they left their mounts at a livery stable, where the price of a month’s stabling in Utika bought them a week of care and a promise that the horses would be cooled off before they were put in their stalls. With their saddlebags slung over their shoulders, Myles led them unerringly through the streets, giving a wide berth to the imperial compound before turning down the wide avenue that separated the second ring from the third. A respectable neighborhood inhabited by government ministers and minor courtiers, it seemed an unlikely place for a friend of a former mercenary. In the late afternoon the streets were quiet as the inhabitants dozed in their chambers or went about their business elsewhere in the city. Still, there were a few people about—mostly servants hurrying by on errands, who eyed the travelers askance, as if suspecting they were criminals bent on mischief.
Myles turned into a narrow alleyway between two of the great houses. He paused as soon as they were out of view. “Your cowl, raise it.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
Josan shrugged, then tugged his cowl so that it hid his face, wondering why Myles had not done the same. To his surprise Myles continued down the alleyway, which led to a narrow lane behind the great houses, used for access by servants and delivery carts. Now their route made more sense. Undoubtedly Myles’s friend was a servant in one of these great houses.
To Josan’s eyes, each iron gate set in the low stone wall appeared identical to its neighbors, but Myles must have been here frequently since he stopped at the sixth gate and lifted the bar. No one challenged them as they made their way along the stone path to a plain wooden door.
Myles tugged on the rope that hung from a hole next to the door, and they heard the faint sound of a ringing bell. After a moment the top half of the door swung open, revealing a youth dressed in the sleeveless tunic of a common servant.
“I have business with the steward,” Myles said.
The boy looked at them dubiously.
“Go. Fetch him,” Myles barked.
The boy jumped and hastily swung the top half of the door shut.
This time the wait was longer, and Josan wondered what they would do if Myles’s friend was no longer a servant there. He had enough coins left for lodgings down by the wharf if it came to that, and Myles still had coins in his purse, along with the imperial scrip.
This time the entire door swung open. The man who stood there was middle-aged, his spotless livery girded with the belt of his office, his round cheeks and pale skin giving evidence of a comfortable life. He did not seem the type who would call Myles friend, and Josan braced himself to be turned away.
“I am the Sergeant and this is a friend of ours,” Myles said. As he spoke, his right hand flashed a series of complicated gestures.
The steward’s eye flickered once to Josan, then returned to Myles. “Of course. If you would follow me,” he said, with a subtle inclination of his head.
These were not the mannerisms of two old friends greeting one another. On the contrary, coded phrases and recognition signals were the hallmarks of criminals or conspirators.
Myles started through the door, but Josan caught his arm. “What is going on?” he hissed.
“You have trusted me this far,” Myles replied. “Trust me a little longer, and I will explain everything.”
Josan’s gaze searched his face, but found nothing in it except concern, and he realized that he was acting foolishly. He would stake his life that Myles did not intend to harm him. Myles was entitled to a few secrets of his own, and if he trusted these people, then Josan would give them the benefit of the doubt. For the time being.
The steward led them up through the kitchens, then up the stairs that led from the servants quarters into the public spaces of the mansion. Pausing outside a paneled door, he knocked once, then opened the door.
“Magistrate Renato, your guests have arrived,” he announced. He bowed, then gestured for the two men to precede him into the room.
Josan started as the doors swung shut behind them.
Magistrate Renato rose from his seat behind his desk and advanced to greet them. A tall man, whose shoulders were stooped from age, his face broke into a broad smile.
“Sergeant, I remember you. You had no trouble getting here?”
“We were not followed,” Myles said.
Josan tugged back the cowl of his cloak, revealing his features, watching closely as Magistrate Renato’s eyes widened in shock.
“And this is—” the magistrate began.
“This is a friend of ours, who calls himself Josan,” Myles interrupted.
“This is a great honor for me,” Renato continued smoothly, though Josan had no doubt that he had originally intended to say something else. “You are both welcome in my home.”
“How do you know each other?” Josan asked.
“We met in difficult times, when the sergeant was kind enough to do me a favor. I promised I was at his service if ever he had need of a favor in return,” Renato said.
It was an explanation of sorts. Difficult times could refer to anything from a petty brawl in the marketplace to the bloody uprising six years past. Whatever service Myles had done for Renato, it had obviously impressed the magistrate enough that he remembered him.
Renato’s initial shock had given way to satisfaction. He rubbed his hands together and licked his lips as his gaze flickered from Josan to Myles and back again. There was something in the way that Renato’s eyes swept over every detail of their appearance that made Josan feel as if he were on display. Renato did not have the air of a man repaying a favor, but rather the air of a man whose long hunger was about to be satisfied.
Perhaps the relationship between Myles and Renato had been one of an intimate nature, and what he was seeing was simple lust. That could also explain why Renato was so interested in him, seeing Josan as a potential rival for Myles’s affections.
Though a mere physical relationship would not explain why Myles had been given code words that gained him entry to this house, long after he had left Karystos. Josan’s unease grew as he remembered his suspicions that Myles had been more than the mere soldier he claimed to be.
“You must be tired from your long journey. Let me summon servants to take you to rooms where you may refresh yourselves. You will join me for the evening meal, and we can talk about how I may best help you.”
Renato looked at Josan as he spoke, so after a long moment he replied, “Thank you.”
A bell instantly summoned the steward, who must have been waiting outside in the corridor while they talked. He led them to a large room that adjoined an ample bathing chamber. After so many weeks of travel, when bathing had been a rag dampened in a basin, Josan and Myles took turns scraping the dust of the road from their bodies, then soaking in the warm bath.
When Josan returned to the sleep chamber, he found a linen tunic and cotton trousers laid out for him. From the fineness of the silk bands that adorned the tunic he guessed the clothing had once been part of Renato’s own wardrobe. The tunic fit well enough, for Renato was his equal in height, though the drawstring of the trousers was the only thing that kept them from slipping off his hips.
Clothing was laid out for Myles as well, plainer than what was offered to Josan, no doubt because of the differences in their sizes. Still, freshly bathed, with their itching beards trimmed off, and in clothing that was not held together by dust and sweat, the two of them appeared entirely respectable. They would be fit dining companions for the magistrate and whoever else of his household would be in attendance.
Myles had just finished retying his sandal straps when the boy who had greeted them earlier returned to conduct them to the dining chamber. Magistrate Renato was apparently a bachelor, for there were only three couches set out around the dining platform.
Perhaps it was the fatigue of the journey finally catching up with him. Or perhaps it was merely the strangeness of a day that began with the fear of capture and ended as an honored guest. Whatever the reason, Josan felt a strange sense of unreality as he sipped a glass of pale yellow wine while Magistrate Renato inquired as to his comfort. He assured the magistrate that their rooms were to their satisfaction, noting yet again that while it was Myles who held the claim of friendship, it was Josan’s approval their host sought.
The wine tasted sweet on his tongue, and he could feel fatigue creeping up on him. As he held the wine cup in his hand, he found himself wishing that the magistrate’s palate was less refined. For a moment it seemed that the cup grew warm in his hand, but then realized it was merely because the cup was half-empty. After Renato refilled it, Josan took another sip. The wine wasn’t as sweet as he had first thought, and indeed it went well with the bread and olives that had been set out as the first course.
They conversed as if they were old friends recently returned to the city, as Magistrate Renato shared tidbits of recent events. The olives were followed by salads of fresh greens drizzled with vinegar, then the main course, pork cooked in wine, garnished with both red and green grapes. By the time the savory was set out, slices of apples topped with melted cheese, Josan could eat no more.
Renato had kept everyone’s wine cups filled, and though the wine served with the main course had been generously watered Josan had taken care to drink sparingly. Despite his caution, Josan felt his head drooping with exhaustion.
“I can see you are both fatigued,” Renato said. “We should wait until you have rested to discuss serious matters.”
“But—” Josan began.
“I agree with the magistrate,” Myles said. “We will have clearer heads in the morning.”
Something was wrong. Myles had not mentioned the Learned Brethren once, and following his lead Josan had kept his own tongue silent as well. Still, they had come to the magistrate for his help, had they not? Or was it that Myles trusted Renato with their persons but not with their secrets?
After thanking Renato for the excellent dinner, Josan and Myles made their way back to the chamber that had been assigned to them. The hour was early, but his sleepless night had caught up with Josan, and as he sat down on his bed he felt the urge simply to lie down and wrap himself in the blankets.
“Who is Renato to you?” Josan asked. “And why did you not speak to him about the brethren?”
Myles sat down on the opposite bed. “I met Renato a few years ago when I did him a favor. Something that could have caused him much embarrassment if it had been improperly handled, but I was able to help him, and in turn he has been a friend to me.”
Myles reached down and began unfastening his sandals. “I want us both clearheaded when we talk to Renato and ask his advice. And your story is too long to do it justice in a few sentences, which is all we have left before you fall asleep.”
Josan opened his mouth to protest, but instead he yawned, thus proving Myles’s point. It was true, he could hardly think. His head was swimming with weariness, and it was all he could do to strip off his tunic and untie his sandals. Gratefully, he stretched out on the soft mattress, leaving it to Myles to blow out the lamps.
Dimly he heard Myles moving around the room. Josan rolled over onto his side, savoring the feeling of a mattress that held neither lumps nor unwelcome critters. The soft blanket caressed his skin, a far cry from the coarse wool he was accustomed to. Such luxury was to be his only for a night, so he would make the most of it.
Yet even as a part of him welcomed sleep, there was another part that cried out for wakefulness. That something was wrong, and he dare not rest. You have been tricked, the Other told him. This is a trap.
Cold fear replaced his earlier lethargy as he realized that the Other was in ascendance. Josan could not afford to lose control. Not now, not when he was so close to the ones who could help him. He sought to center himself, inhaling and exhaling in carefully measured breaths, focusing his mind on the underlying order of the universe and his place within it. But the disciplines of meditation were no match for the Other, who continued to whisper of danger and betrayal.
Abandoning meditation, his mind raced for alternatives. Chants, meditation, even asserting his identity had not proven enough to silence the Other in the past. He needed to focus his mind on a single thought. He cast his mind back to the years spent living with the brethren, wondering what secrets of soul magic they would be able to offer him. His thoughts turned to Brother Thanatos, which was odd since to his knowledge Thanatos had never studied soul magic. Numbers were his life, and he had shared that passion with all of his pupils.
Slowly, Josan began mentally ticking off the sacred numbers. One. Three. Five. Seven. Eleven. As he counted, the strange whispers of the Other grew quieter. He was congratulating himself on his success when he heard the door to the chamber open.
Opening his eyes, he saw Myles’s figure silhouetted against the light coming in through the partially opened door.
“Is he asleep?” he heard Renato ask.
“He’ll sleep till morning. I assume there was something in his wine?”
“Of course.”
Myles slipped through the door and as he closed it behind him, the room plunged into darkness.
Betrayal the Other chortled, and this time Josan agreed.
It would have hurt less if Myles had merely stabbed him. He had trusted Myles, at a time when he could trust no one else, not even himself. And now Myles had turned on him.
Josan sat up, his earlier exhaustion forgotten. He located his sandals and tunic by touch and quickly dressed. By then his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and he made his way unerringly to the door. Cracking it open, he glanced down the corridor, which was empty.
Instinct told him that Renato would feel safest speaking to Myles in his study, and memory guided him back along the route he had taken earlier that day. The Other whispered for Josan to flee, but Josan needed to know the extent of Myles’s treachery. It would not do to escape this trap only to fall into another.
When he reached the lower level he passed a servant who was just leaving the study. The servant kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, not acknowledging Josan’s presence except by the way he was careful not to block his path. The sign of a well-trained retainer, one accustomed to serving in a house of secrets.
It was a bitter reminder of how blind he had been. From the moment they had approached this place the signs of conspiracy had been all around him, but he had willfully closed his eyes. He had put his faith in Myles’s friendship rather than demanding to know the truth.
That was about to change.
The door to the study had been left slightly ajar, and through it he heard voices. He waited till the servant was out of sight, then moved closer, wondering what to do next. Should he attempt to spy on them? Confront them with their trickery?
But what he heard made his blood run cold and froze him in place.
“And he has no idea who he is?”
“None whatsoever.” He recognized Myles’s voice, and knew from the tone that his erstwhile friend was frustrated. “The brethren have filled his head with lies.”
“A glance in the mirror ought to be enough to prove his lineage.”
Myles gave a grim laugh. “He is stubborn, and disinclined to take anyone’s counsel except his own.”
“Well, he has Constantin’s arrogance.”
“And that will not be enough. I’d hoped one of the alliance would know a magician who could break whatever spell the brethren have put him under.”
Myles must have seen more of the Other than Josan had realized and apparently decided that his madness was the result of an evil spell. But if Myles did not believe that he was the monk Josan, then who did he think he was? Why had he kept his knowledge to himself? Had he done so out of a sense of misguided friendship? Or were there darker motives at work?
And why would Magistrate Renato help him? What had he to gain?
“I thought such magics the province of legends and children’s tales. It is unlikely that there is anything that can be done.”
“But you will try?” Myles sounded genuinely concerned, which made his apparent betrayal even more puzzling.
“I will try,” Renato said. “And perhaps our friends from the Seddon Federation have resources that we do not.”
“We cannot afford to wait for one to journey from Seddon. I could barely convince him to spend the night here. If we do not do something, he will be off to seek the brethren tomorrow, and our hopes will be dashed.”
“I agree, we have no time to wait. Healed or no, we can still use him. We must use him,” Renato said. “If your path had taken you through the old city, you would have seen the signs. The killings have started, and already we are on the verge of losing control. We need him, as much as he needs us.”
“And what if we cannot persuade him to join us? What then?”
“We will give him no choice.”
Josan had heard enough. He moved forward to confront them, ready to demand an explanation. But as he reached to push open the door, his hand froze.
The killings have started, the Other whispered.
He tried to move forward, but his mind was filled with strange images. Buildings burning, the flames turning the dark of night into day. Corpses filling the streets, blood running through the gutters. He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to force out the visions, but they persisted.
A woman’s body, naked, her bowels gaping obscenely through her slashed belly. The torso of a man, his limbs hacked off in evidence of the savage violence of his death. Two maniacally grinning skulls, posted on stakes outside the imperial palace.
These were more than mere nightmares. To his horror he realized that these were images of his past. A past that was threatening to repeat itself—if Renato had his way.
Josan was paralyzed with fear, overwhelmed by images of sickening violence. He could not move, but the Other—perhaps immune to the horrors that lurked within—did not share his weakness. Josan’s terror rose as he felt his body move without conscious volition. Turning on his heel, he lurched down the corridor. He struggled to regain control of his body, but succeeded only in waving one arm, and knocking a figurine off a table. The crash as it hit the tile floor seemed loud enough to wake the dead, and he knew that Myles would waste no time in coming to investigate.
He had no choice. He needed to flee, and he could not do it alone. Reluctantly, he stopped fighting the Other.
As his body fled, with a speed that he had not known he possessed, he could not help wondering if in fleeing one evil, he had made the mistake of embracing another.