The Dew of Flesh

  Chapter 41

  Siniq-elb rapped on the door again, ignoring the grimace of a passing servant. Siniq-elb knew that he reeked of oil and sweat and fear; there was no time to visit the baths, and Dakel would not care. The door remained closed, though, and after a moment Siniq-elb knocked again. Tair and Father take the man, where was Dakel? A third knock rattled the su-esis’s door on its hinges, but there was no answer, nor any sign of the man.

  “What are you doing?” Vas asked. The stout man stood down the hall at the door to the kitchen, his dark hair in disarray, and his eyes curious.

  Siniq-elb made his way to the kitchen and grabbed Vas by the arm. “We need to talk.” With a single, insistent tug, Siniq-elb led Vas to the kitchen storeroom and shut the door behind them.

  Sacks of flour and sugar, beans and grains, covered long shelves; others held baskets of carrots and onions and potatoes. Filling the space between were barrels, their iron bands dark with corrosion, and marked to show their contents: Setin olive oil, local beers, Qet wine. The amount of it all surprised Siniq-elb; this was enough to withstand a siege.

  “So?” Vas said. “What’s going on? I’m helping Jela with a new soup I invented—those Cenarbasin mushrooms, you know, but with wine and chicken broth and wildflowers. It’s going to be incredible, and Jela said we could have some, not just the regular stuff we get.”

  “Fine,” Siniq-elb said. “That’s great. But we don’t have time for soup right now. Vas, something is really wrong. I followed Khylar today, down into the basements, and—”

  “You followed him?” Vas said. “How did he not hear you? Those crutches make a bit of noise, you know. Always clicking and thumping. And why? And what did he find in the basement?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Siniq-elb said, “he didn’t hear me. That’s not what’s important. Vas, there are seiri under the temple. Seiri!” The last was a whisper that threatened to tip over into a shout.

  Vas shifted, his eyes going to the door and then back to Siniq-elb. “Seiri? You’re sure.”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Siniq-elb said. “One of them killed my squad before the eses took me.”

  “And you survived?” Vas said. “That’s incredible.”

  From anyone else, that would have sounded an insult, or at least a backhanded way of claiming that Siniq-elb was lying. From Vas, it was filled with delight and, as always, pregnant with questions.

  “We have to find Dakel.”

  “The su-esis? Why?” Vas asked.

  “Heart-of-stone, Vas. He knows about the seir. He told me so himself—that he believes me, that he went and saw the body.”

  “Why didn’t he bring it back, then?” Vas said. “Why haven’t the other su-eses made a big deal about it? Why hasn’t there been an alarm?”

  The questions were logical; the first thing Dakel should have done was bring back the body of the seir, both as evidence and as warning to the rest of the temple. The tair should have been the first to investigate the creature.

  “Why bring his concerns to you?” Vas continued, his eyes going distant as they always did when he thought. “And why the seiri? You’re sure it wasn’t a wight?”

  “Father take me, I’m sure,” Siniq-elb said. His words were more forceful than he felt; Vas’s questions were right. What was Dakel’s plan? Why ask a cripple from the Garden to spy on Khylar instead of someone else—someone more suited to the work? Why keep this information from the temple?

  “You know,” Vas said, “I read that the seiri were created by the gods-made-flesh, warriors of a sort.”

  “Why would they make the seiri?” Siniq-elb said. “That’s like saying they made the Father as well; why would you make a weapon you knew was going to be used against you?”

  “I don’t remember,” Vas said. “Actually, better said, I don’t know. That was the last book I was reading before I was brought here. I didn’t have a chance to finish it.”

  “Well, that’s just great. The book that might explain something is the one, gloried book in the Paths that you haven’t read.”

  “I’m not sure it would have helped,” Vas said. “What difference does it make if the seiri were created by the gods-made-flesh or not?”

  Siniq-elb blinked. “Father take me, you’re right.”

  “I am?” Vas said.

  “Yes. It doesn’t matter why Dakel didn’t do what he should have; all that matters is that there are seiri below the temple. And Khylar is tending to them, taking care of them.”

  “What?”

  “That means we have to stop him,” Siniq-elb said. “Before he can awaken them.”

  “It does?” Vas said. “But . . . my soup.”

  “Vas,” Siniq-elb said. “You’re the one who’s always talking about helping each other, feeling each other’s pain, all that stuff that you go on about. Understanding each other. Well, think about this—what’s going to happen when those seiri awaken? Do you think there will be much understanding then?”

  A flush rose into Vas’s cheeks. “I know you think I’m foolish,” he said. “But you shouldn’t talk to people like that. It’s not right. The truth is, Siniq-elb, we don’t know what will happen. No one has seen a seir in a hundred years—except you, that is. And who can say that the one you saw wasn’t out of control? What if they are the servants of the tair, intended to drive off the rebels? What if they are supposed to help us?”

  “They’re not,” Siniq-elb said. “They can’t be; Khylar is tending to them. They’re for something else.”

  “Khylar is a bastard,” Vas said, and Siniq-elb stared at the dark-haired man in shock. “He’s cruel and he does what he can to break the spirits of every man and woman in the Garden. That doesn’t mean he’s a traitor, and it doesn’t mean that the seiri are anything but what I’ve said.”

  “Fine,” Siniq-elb said. “Fine. Mece and I will handle this.” He had thought Vas, at least, would understand. Be willing to help. He turned to leave the storeroom.

  “Siniq-elb, stop,” Vas said. The stout man’s voice was firm. “You think I’m a fool and you think I’m weak. Those things might be true. But I’m also your friend. And I’ll help you.”

  Relief, warm as summer rain, flooded through Siniq-elb. He turned back to face Vas. “I don’t think you’re a fool.”

  “Yes you do,” Vas said. “But so does everyone else. It’s alright. That’s not important now; what’s important is that, regardless of what we know about the seiri, or Khylar, or Dakel, we can still go forward with the plan to steal the brachal. Once we have that, Khylar will be easy to stop, and stopping Khylar will buy us time to learn more about Dakel and the seiri.” The fat man was suddenly confident, as though having thought through the plan diminished his fear of Khylar somewhat.

  “Tair around us,” Siniq-elb said. “That actually makes sense.”

  Vas blushed and seemed at a loss for words, but he stood a little straighter.

  “Thank the tair you’re as smart as you seem,” Siniq-elb said. “Because I have no gloried idea of how we’re going to get the brachal. Maybe you can come up with something?”

  For the first time since he had met Vas, Siniq-elb saw the stout man happy about something besides food. Vas’s flush deepened to match his smile, but neither smile nor blush concealed the newfound look of confidence that Siniq-elb’s words had brought.

  “Here’s what I know,” Siniq-elb said, motioning for Vas to follow him back to the kitchen. They still had cleaning to do after dinner. And he started to explain what he had seen of Khylar’s room, of the man’s habits and patterns. Vas’s questions were hesitant at first, his eyes often going distant, but as they washed pots, as Siniq-elb praised Vas’s insights and disagreed with other ideas, the dark-haired man grew more and more confident. Most importantly, even as they planned the theft, the man radiated a happiness that had nothing to do with food, and Siniq-elb realized, for the first time, how truly unhappy Vas had been up until then. How much he had longed to be understood the way he tr
ied to understand the people around him. How happy he was to be seen for who he was.

  And seeing that change made the threat of the seiri seem less pressing, at least for the moment.