“Does he dislike it?”
“No! He bakes a wicked apple, ooh! No, no good to make him something he’d make better for himself. I gave him a stout cask of the family recipe instead. That got his attention.”
“An intelligent maneuver.”
“It was love at first pint!” They shared a laugh. Then Margot gestured at Andalynn’s left hand. “Biggs has put a pretty little fellow on your finger, hasn’t he? Is that how it’s done oversea?”
Andalynn admired the ring for a moment. “Yes, though it is unusual to receive the royal seal of an Antithian dynasty as an engagement ring.”
“That’s posh.”
“I do not believe he knew the value of what he was offering me.” Biggs snuck into the kitchen while she was speaking and stood behind her. He wore a heavy fur coat and a big furry hat.
Margot smiled at him. “Ooh, I don’t know. He seems pretty sure of himself.”
He said, “That’s right. It’s a ol’ family heirloom, cause I’m sump’n a highfalutin’ tithaneen.” He gave Andalynn a peck on the cheek. “Mornin. One a’ these for me?” He motioned at the baskets.
Andalynn could not have imagined many of the things that had come to pass over the last year and a half, not even in the darkest of her nightmares. Out of them all, her packing a picnic basket to send a red-necked husband off to work seemed among the most absurd. Embracing the ridiculousness of it, she said, “Yes, this one. Have a good day, dear.”
Biggs paused. Then he smiled and looked around the medieval kitchen like he was seeing it for the first time, despite having slept upstairs for months. He scratched his head and said, “D’you just say that?”
She blurted out, “I did!” and surrendered to laughter. Biggs understood right away and laughed with her. Margot smiled at the pair of them and continued packing. They made a fine match in her opinion.
Biggs kissed Andalynn again, on the mouth that time, with his hand on the back of her head to make it count. She was grinning when he pulled away. Her life was absurd but it was not altogether unpleasant. Her gallant cowboy slung his rifle over his shoulder, headed for the door and said, “You have yourself a good day too now, darlin.”
He opened it to the outside. A gust of cold and swirling snow - and then he jumped back against the stove. “Eeuuh!” Andalynn and Margot started when he called out. Biggs stomped his foot. “Dadgum it, Murrbus! Quit creepin’ around!”
From outside, “Ok.” The three humans shook their heads with relief and waved goodbyes. Biggs left for his perch at the wall. Marabbas poked in through the doorway, hairy face caked with blood and ice. He stared at the other picnic basket. “That’s fried chicken.”
Margot waved a finger at him and moved to prevent him from entering. “Marabbas! Don’t you even think about it, ooh, filthy beast! Get off to the well!” She couldn’t stand him tramping all about and making a bloody mess inside, even if he had brought a carcass to Fergus.
Marabbas spent a moment wondering if he could stop thinking about something at will. Then the scent wafting from the basket refocused him. “I want it.”
Margot put her fists on her hips. “Well, that’s too bad then, isn’t it? Because you can’t have it! That’s for Michael and Harold. Now, get!” Marabbas’ face fell as though he’d been delivered the most horrible news.
Andalynn took pity on him. “It is alright, Margot. He may have a piece. Here, Bas.” She tossed him a thigh. She had taken to calling him Bas in part because it reminded her of Sergeant Sebastian. Unfortunately, the nickname tended give Marabbas pause and the chicken hit him in the face. Then it fell on the ground. Andalynn’s hand went to her mouth.
Margot said, “Ooh!” and started laughing. Marabbas saw what had struck him, snatched it up off the floor and devoured it. Margot covered her laughter with one hand and shooed the gunder with the other. “Go wash up at the well - ooh - before you come in! Ooh!”
Marabbas bounded away. Margot turned to laugh with Andalynn, whose head was bowed from doing so. It was a good start to the day.
***
The morning sun sparkled on the distant rooftops. Snow crested the tombstones and crunched under Andalynn’s boots. Walking through the graveyard always gave her gooseflesh. She took the same path every time, the one they had that awful night, because it was the most direct. The hollow under her black scarf ached from the cold and from the memory. When she arrived at the church, a woman had just closed the door to leave, bundled against the weather in humble brown and white.
Andalynn rounded the bell and said, “Good morning, Faith.”
Faith shrieked in terror, “AAAiiieee!” and backed into the wall, clutching her chest. Andalynn stood there with a picnic basket, sorry to have caused such a fright, and decided to make her presence known from farther away next time.
Michael burst out, fully armored except for one hand which held a messy piece of gooseberry pie. After looking them over and realizing everyone was safe, he said, “God’s mercy! I thought the bauran had come back.” It had been more than a month since one had answered his bell, two weeks since the last infection.
Faith breathed into her hands, embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Oh, Andalynn, I’m sorry. How silly of me. You must think me such a cowardly ninny.” Fear released her like a clawed grip, leaving pins and needles behind.
Andalynn said, “I do not,” and stepped forward. “This is a frightening place. You are courageous to come here as often as you do.” Faith managed a sheepish smile.
Her face hadn’t suffered jagged cuts like Andalynn’s. Faith could hide most of her wounds under her clothes. However, Michael had realigned a few of her broken bones - having broken them again by hand to do so - and ridges from some of those second fusions showed beneath the skin of her cheek. Andalynn saw a rugged beauty in the damage, evidence of what had been survived. It was easier to appreciate in someone else.
Michael nodded, respecting what Andalynn had said. “Ah, quite right. And you visit me without any sort of want or need. That’s not only brave, but selfless. Good show, Faith.”
Faith became even more embarrassed than she’d been before. She curtsied to excuse herself and scuttled away, picking an awkward path home through the frozen graves. Michael stared after her for a moment. Then he held the door open and said, “It’s the candle again today.” Andalynn nodded and went in.
The contents of the library cluttered the church. Michael had emptied that back room out to make a prison cell for Harold. The round table took up the space of three sleeping mats. Books piled from floor to waist in seemingly random columns around the hall. Scrolls and loose papers crowded the corners along with ironbound chests and a few hardwood practice swords, carved to the measure of caligans.
Harold’s shield, emblazoned with a scarlet wolf’s head, leaned against the wall, his broadsword behind it. His plate mail suit sat on the stones like an empty, metal man and Harold himself sat on a stack of displaced mats near the hearth. Gaunt in his donated clothing, he didn’t look up when they came in.
Andalynn said, “I want you to eat today, Harold. I have something excellent in this basket.”
Harold was a soldier who’d lost everything but his honor. “No, thank you.” He’d taken nothing but water since he’d survived and he rarely spoke unless it was to politely refuse the kindness of his jailer. Michael hadn’t kept him locked up for very long. Harold didn’t seem like he would try to escape. He’d even given his word that he wouldn’t when Michael asked him for it. There was nowhere for him to go anyway and it had grown too cold to keep him in the back room.
Andalynn and Michael shared a look of concern but Harold was in no immediate danger from his self-imposed fast. So, Michael lit a candle from the fireplace and sat down at the round table with the rest of Faith’s pie. Andalynn prepared a quick plate of chicken and pickled apples and set it on the floor next to Harold, who slumped when he saw it.
Michael said to her, “Let’s see how much you can do by yourself first.” She rol
led up her sleeve and took a seat in front of the candle. She’d earned a hairless patch on her forearm from this exercise. Harold turned to watch.
Andalynn sat in calm concentration, her first goal being to achieve that feeling of nothingness. She did so by remembering the faces of unfortunate sailors like Sue, Fritz and Drake. Andalynn had discovered by then what her path truly was; it was the void she needed to feel in order to pull the trigger. The nothingness was a suppression of emotion. But in that way, it was also part of the realm of ideas and of feelings and of the will, and so was subject to the Circle’s techniques.
She was improving. It took her less than a minute to follow the nothingness to its source, where it was a perversion of riin - that strange, limitless influence that inexplicably enters reality to cause life. She had learned to perceive these things outside of her other senses and was able to pull at the source with her will, widening it just barely more than its natural gauge. Thus, she opened the way, slightly. Additional riin flickered into her body, like tongues of ghostly fire.
Success. She held her arm up to the heat, close enough to burn, and riin coursed toward the damage on its own. It was an exhilarating sensation, like a champion had taken the field for her, certain of victory. She couldn’t release the sheer amount of power that Michael could, though, and held her arm too close. It started to hurt. She lost focus, hissed and withdrew.
Michael said, “You’re doing it again. Don’t try to defeat the candle. You’ll only damage yourself that way. This exercise is about growing accustomed to riin’s ebb and flow. Hold your arm only close enough to feel that.” She nodded and readied herself for another try, but definitely harbored intent to defeat the candle.
Andalynn channeled steadily against the flame for a minute at a time, a rivaling glow under her skin. Michael sometimes put his hand on her forehead and observed her reflection while she did. Now and then, he would use his more advanced technique to pull a comparably tremendous amount of riin into her body, thereby helping to reveal to her the invisible locks and tumblers that allowed for such access. With his assistance she could hold her arm directly over the flame and riin flared into the world from her with blinding radiance. They practiced like that for two hours while Harold sat in silent amazement.
Then they took a break, ate and discussed what they’d done and how she could improve. And, they noticed Harold eating as well. The three shared solemn smiles. Harold’s curiosity had finally overcome his willful depression. He was filled with questions. In becoming open to ask them, he also became open to a meal.
Harold said, “You were right. This is excellent. Thank you.”
Andalynn was glad to see him coming around. “You are welcome.”
Michael held up a drumstick. “Fried chicken is my favorite. I think it’s even better when it’s cold. Would you care to try some of this gooseberry pie? It’s also quite good.” He offered the dish.
Harold accepted it. “Yes, I would. Thank you.” Though his first bite in weeks let hunger rage into him like an animal, Harold kept a ceremonious and reserved manner when eating. King’s Men were not barbarians to scarf their food. He consistently invalidated Michael’s preconceptions.
Harold said, “May I ask some questions about what it is that you’re doing?”
Michael said, “Certainly.”
“Thank you. Can anyone do that?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no part of ancestry to it?”
Michael prickled some. “As there is with royal entitlement? No, certainly not.”
Harold proceeded cautiously. “Why are there so few of you who possess this ability? How can I have never heard of this skill before?”
“That is a long story about my order’s ignorance, secrets and misguided loyalty. Suffice it to say, the plague forced us to correct that, and hopefully not too late.”
Harold nodded. “With just a few more of you, the entire kingdom could have survived. I don’t say that to cast blame. I can tell you’re acting in the right. It’s just such an overwhelming tragedy...”
They waited for him to speak again while he picked up a book and turned through it. Harold had been educated at the royal academy and was fond of reading but the Circle’s library confounded him. Not one of the books was written in Meroan. Some contained drawings of wicked-looking beasts and demons. “What are these about? I’ve never seen such symbols.”
Michael said, “Much of this is bestiary. It’s a collection of devils and how to deal with them.”
With a mixture of sadness and interest, Harold said, “Do you have one for the bauran?”
“I do. I wrote it.” It was the second book Michael had written for the church. The first hadn’t been very useful. He stood up, went straight across the room and retrieved the original book of bauran from one of the piles. He handed it over, curious to hear more of what had been on Harold’s mind for the past two weeks.
Harold weighed it in hand, guessing it was the most valuable book in the world. It was an inch thick, bound in leather and encoded with a solid volume of vital information. “You knew right where this one was.”
“I know where all of them are. I’ve read and reread this entire collection since the plague began, searching for some record of the man named Ezekiel, the one who guided the sailors here.” Andalynn did not know Michael had been researching Zeke. It roused her interest.
Harold said, “And you’ve found nothing?”
“Not much more than the loose notes in that book.”
Andalynn said, “May I see those?” Harold handed them up. It almost gave her a twinge of seasickness to unfold the one from the Grace. She could not read it, learning the script was not a prudent use of their time, but she knew what it said.
Armageddon is arrived.
Break your silence.
Open the library.
She said, “Is it possible that he contributed to any of these volumes without leaving his name? Would you recognize his handwriting?”
Michael said, “He does have a peculiar hand. There’s a sweeping, artistic quality to his style. The only place I’ve found its like is where he signed the ledger of ordination.”
Andalynn said, “May I see that?”
Michael went three piles over, lifted four books from the top and placed them on the floor next to the others to preserve whatever bizarre order he had them in. Then he brought the ledger to Andalynn and flipped right to Ezekiel’s signature. “For most of us, this is the first time we ever use the script, in signing our names to this book. Look at how clumsy the others are, but not his. It’s an obvious match.”
“Yes, even I can tell. Look at how much of the page he uses compared to everyone else. That is an arrogant signature by any standard. What does it say here around it?”
“Those are the dates of his ordination and of his supposed death, where he was from and where he’s buried in the churchyard.”
Andalynn was surprised. “Ezekiel has a marker outside?”
“Yes. I’ve visited it. I’m sure I’ve told you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You have not. That is interesting. I wonder who is buried there…”
Michael shrugged. “I suppose we’ll never know.”
Harold said, “Where was he from?”
“Meroe.”
Harold darkened. Despite his previous withdrawal, they’d explained much to him already. The loss of Meroe, believed by some scholars to be the birthplace of civilization, was what had convinced him there was no hope for the kingdom. He knew the smoke had bridged the gap and had gone on to destroy everything.
Andalynn said, “That grave makes Zeke a liar.”
Michael said, “Maybe.”
“How else can you explain the marker?”
“I don’t know.”
“A man calling himself by the name on a tombstone is concealing something. Possibly a murder or… it might even be evidence of a conspiracy. Now I am beyond interested.”
Michael sighed. “Honestly, a mu
rder? Ezekiel saved your lives.”
Andalynn smirked. “Very well. If he is who he says he is, then no one else is buried there, so, what is?”
“What? Was that a question?”
“Exhume what is there. Find out.”
Michael’s chin pulled into his throat. “God’s mercy! What an awful suggestion! Why would I do something dreadful like that?”
She chuckled at him. “Out of curiosity. For the sake of inquisition. As a way to spend your time? You have read and reread your library looking for him. That is no light endeavor. There is a stone outside with his name on it. Look for him there.”
Michael remembered having had a similar conversation with her before. “Desecrating the grave of a saint… It’s a mortal sin.” And not only that - thou shalt not defile the dead.
In Meroe, Andalynn had been wary of Michael having strong religious beliefs, knowing how dangerous such things often are. Since then, she had come to see such ideals as a loose kind of innocence in him rather than a threatening dictator of behavior and she was comfortable speaking freely with him on the subject.
“Who is left to punish you for your sins, Michael?”
He frowned at her. “That is not the point.”
***
Regardless, Ezekiel’s grave became an earthen hole in the snow. In it up to his hips, Michael heaved out dirt with a shovel. Andalynn and Harold stood watching nearby with their breath curling in the air. They’d been going in and out of the church for warmth since Michael had started.
Harold rubbed his arms. “I can’t believe he isn’t exhausted yet. He’s been at it forever.”
Andalynn said, “Michael is able to draw considerable stamina from the way.”
“If only I could. Is there a place in town we can get a cup of coffee?”
Andalynn smiled. “Yes. I would like that. However, I should warn you, since you are staying with him, the mention of coffee tends to sour Michael’s mood.”
Harold understood. “Noted.”
Andalynn called out that she and Harold were leaving. Michael waved for them to go ahead, not concerned at all. Once he’d decided to unearth Ezekiel’s mysterious remains, he could think of nothing else. The other two had been gone for half an hour when his shovel struck masonry.