The Thirteenth Scroll Read online

  Lysandra understood because she had lived that other life. Now she had found her future; she had to help Selia find hers as well. For Aghamore’s sake, yes… but most of all, for Selia’s own.

  “I know,” Lysandra said again.

  Selia shook her head. “You don’t know,” she said. “You can’t. What Father Peadar, you—all of you—call Wisdom, my parents didn’t. They threw me away, abandoned me to die because what you call Wisdom, they called demons. And I would have died if Father Peadar hadn’t found me. He saved me, body and spirit. He and the Church gave me the only true home I’ve ever known.”

  And now you’re being asked to leave it, Lysandra thought. Again, she knew what Selia felt. Lysandra’s parents had not abandoned her—but she had lost them to death, lost all she had known and loved, and the pain was just as real.

  But no birth comes without pain; no new life is born without labor.

  “I know,” she said one more time.

  Selia turned to Father Peadar, burying her face in his shoulder. Her own shoulders shook with her silent sobs.

  But Lysandra followed her. She reached out and touched Selia, gently turning her from Father Peadar’s shoulder into her own. She let Selia cry there for a moment, cradling her maternally as her own mother had long ago held Lysandra through her tears.

  “I don’t want this,” Selia’s words were muffled. “I don’t want to be what I am, know what I know. I just want—“

  “Everything,” Lysandra said softly, remembering her own heart at seventeen. “Selia,” she said softly but firmly, “look at me. See who I am—see who you are.”

  Hesitantly, the younger woman brought her eyes up. Calling to use some of the new gifts in her possession, Lysandra now touched Selia’s mind with a question the girl could not ignore.

  Which of us is truly blind, Lysandra’s thoughts asked. The one who cannot see—or the one who will not?

  I have seen too much, Selia’s thoughts answered her. Life is only pain and sorrow, suffering and loneliness. I don’t want to look… I don’t want to see anymore. At least if I take the veil, my loneliness can stand for something.

  Lysandra’s thoughts reached out to touch and comfort Selia as her own mother had comforted her, remembering the fragility of a seventeen-year-old’s heart.

  Oh, Selia, Lysandra’s thoughts told her, there is more—much, much more. You have seen only one side of life. The fear and the pain it brought blinded you to everything else. Don’t be afraid to look now. Don’t be afraid to truly see. You hold Wisdom within you, and it has given you the power to walk in Truth. Look at it now and see that on the other side of the Darkness, the Light shines brightly.

  Lysandra opened her mind to Selia, then guided her to that place of prescience Lysandra now called her own. This was the place from which Prophecy came, where hope was given birth, where the future danced to the music of possibility.

  Lysandra held nothing back. She shared her past with Selia in all its doubts and darknesses, in all its joys and triumphs. Then she showed the girl all she was now. Together, they saw the promise of the gifts it would take Lysandra a lifetime to fully understand.

  Then the Hand of Prophecy opened and Lysandra showed Selia the truth of who she was and all she could become—if she had the courage. A kingdom waited for Selia; a kingdom and a people who needed her. The way would be fraught with difficulties, valleys and mountain peaks, as all life was. But it was the journey that mattered. Her choice now would decide whether she made that journey in the Darkness or in the Light.

  Selia bowed her head. “I will come with you,” she said.

  Through the silent tension of these last minutes, no one had noticed Cloud-Dancer. Now, suddenly, the wolf gave a long howl. Lysandra closed her eyes and sent her Sight out into the town and beyond.

  Then she looked at Renan. “Giraldus,” was all she said. It was enough.

  “Where are they?”

  “They’ve entered the town. Some are riding guard upon the roads—others are headed this way.”

  “Aye, then,” Father Peadar spoke for the first time since he brought Selia out. “I’ve just the thing. Renan, and you—Talog, is it?—give me a hand here. We must move the altar a bit.”

  As the others rushed to help the old priest, Lysandra took Selia’s hand into her own. She felt the girl trembling, yet little of the fear came from who was now approaching.

  “It’s all right, Selia,” she told her. “It’s all right to be afraid—and it’s all right to trust in spite of the fear. Trust the Wisdom that is within you and it will show you what is worthy and honorable.”

  “This way,” Renan called to Lysandra. “Hurry.”

  Hand in hand, the two women hurried to where the altar had been pushed aside to reveal a long staircase descending into the darkness. Father Peadar retrieved one of the oil lanterns from a wall niche and handed it to Renan.

  “This was built to hold the bones of the first priests of this parish,” he said. “But it was later enlarged with a tunnel that leads out past the town, to where a cloister was once planned. It was never built, and most people have forgotten the tunnel exists. Go quickly now, and with God’s help.”

  “How will you be able to move the altar back?” Renan asked.

  “There’s a lever at the foot of the stairs. Pull it and the lock of the altar will be released. It will swing back on its own. Hurry now.”

  Selia stopped and knelt before Father Peadar to receive the old man’s blessing. Lysandra waited while the priest laid a hand on the young woman’s head and softly spoke a prayer, then raised her up and kissed her cheek.

  “Go with God, my child,” he said, “and do not forget to trust Him. It is He who made ye—and He always knows what he’s doin’.”

  “Thank you,” Selia said, “for everything.” She threw her arms around the old man’s neck and embraced him. Then she turned and hurried toward Renan.

  Lysandra softly kissed the old priest’s weathered cheek. “We would have failed without your help,” she said. “We were looking for a child and would never have found Selia.”

  “We’re all children,” he replied, giving her one of his merry grins.

  Calling Cloud-Dancer to her side, she followed Selia down the stairs.

  Talog waited below, lantern in hand. As Lysandra and Cloud-Dancer descended the stone stairwell, she heard Renan and Father Peadar saying their farewells.

  “One thing,” she heard Renan say. “How did you quote the scroll so exactly? I know I didn’t read it to you.”

  But Father Peadar made no answer that Lysandra could hear, and a few seconds later Renan was on the steps behind her.

  “God go with ye,” she heard Father Peadar call softly after them. “Trust Him and He shall be the lamp unto yer feet. Remember, when ye walk in that Light, the path becomes clear.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and Renan found the lever. He pulled; it would not move.

  “They’re getting closer,” Lysandra said tensely, and no one needed to ask whom she meant. “But they’re confused. It’s slowing them down. Most of the houses in the village are dark, and they don’t know where to search.”

  Talog added his strength to Renan’s. It took several more seconds but, finally, together they were able to shift the lever. Overhead, there was the groan of stone upon stone as the lock was released and the altar swung back into place.

  “I will lead,” Talog said. He handed the lantern back to Renan, disdaining its use.

  As they all followed him, Lysandra saw the symmetry of their union. All of their gifts had been necessary to find Selia and get her away.

  She also saw that the danger was far from over and that all of their gifts would be still necessary before this flight was finished.

  Chapter Thirty

  Aurya and Giraldus rode down the silent streets of Caerryck, with Sergeant Maelik and two of his men. The other soldiers had been set as guards on all the roads that led from town. Each of them carried a torch a
nd had been ordered to keep careful watch. Aurya had made it plain that it was her anger they would face if they let anyone slip past.

  The silence of the sleeping village was broken only by the sounds of their horses’ hooves and the constant crashing of the sea. It was eerie, this darkness and this silence. Aurya knew that neither Giraldus nor his men were happy about being ordered from their beds to ride into this town in the dark. But she did not care. Her hair flowing loose, her eyes wide and her senses of body and of magic extended, she rode like a mad goddess out of some half-forgotten myth.

  You cannot hide, her thoughts sent along their magic current, searching for the one she was here to claim. I will find you—you shall be mine. Yet, as certain as she was that Caerryck was the town of the scroll and that the child was here, she received no impression from those searching tendrils of magic to tell her where in this town to go.

  Riding beside her, Giraldus still had said nothing. But his silence was a function of her Spell of Obedience and she could feel his fury pounding as relentlessly as the sea. Aurya tried to ignore it. He’ll understand soon, she promised herself, throwing a glance at him over her shoulder. The child is the key to the future—our future. He’ll see that as soon as we discover where it is hiding.

  Only the moon gave illumination to the darkened streets. The riders slowed their horses to a walk. The stone-cobbled streets were hard on the horses’ hooves and could be treacherous at a gallop. Nor were the streets straight enough to be traveled easily in the dark. Following the line of the shore, they meandered and curved, dipped and twisted. Aurya muttered a half-silent curse that she had ordered no additional torches made.

  Still they followed Aurya’s lead, though she knew no better than they where they were heading. Then, suddenly, something stirred, touched her magic, and was gone again. It was faint, like a whiff of fragrance carried on a breeze, but to Aurya it was as unmistakable as the scent of a rose.

  She pulled her horse up short and looked around. The stirring came again. It sent a shiver down to her core; power was close. She closed her eyes to better focus, trying to capture the feeling and follow it through the labyrinth of this unknowing darkness.

  But even as her magic tried to hold it, it disappeared again. It was like wrapping her fingers around smoke—the more she tried to tighten around it, the more it slipped away. It had told her, however, what she needed to know. She turned her horse east, away from the shore and the village’s main road, down an alley and into the back part of town.

  They walked their horses even more slowly here, where not even the light of the moon reached between the houses. A baby cried in the distance, breaking the silence with its sudden wail. The sound made Aurya start. She had to rein in, close her eyes again to find that fragile, elusive sensation that was her only guide.

  Her senses were extended to their fullest. She could feel the energy draining from her and wished there were time to tap Rhys or one of the others as a source of strength. But time was what they did not have. Her body would make her pay for this night, she knew and accepted—but later, after the prize was won.

  There—she had it once again; she could feel the place they needed to be. Aurya touched her heels to her gelding’s side. A minute passed… two… three; finally, through the darkness shone the softly colored light of lamps through stained glass and Aurya knew the church ahead was their destination.

  They rode into the little churchyard. Aurya dismounted quickly and rushed toward the door, the others a step or two behind. From within the church, all was quiet. If not for the light from the windows, the church would have seemed as shut down as the rest of Caerryck.

  Aurya knew it was not. The elusive scent of power wrapped around Aurya’s extended senses like the billowing smoke from a thurible at High Mass. Magic upon magic, it touched and surrounded her until at last she understood. The child, the Font of Wisdom, was a catalyst to power such as she had only dreamed of possessing.

  She put her hand to the latches of the double doors and pulled. Nothing. Neither door would budge. She stood aside and let Giraldus try, but his strength, too, could not open them.

  “The child is in there,” she said aloud, her voice sounding odd in the pervasive silence.

  With a curt nod, Giraldus withdrew his sword and banged with the hilt upon one door. The sharp crack of each strike echoed dully down the silent streets.

  At the same time, Aurya sent her magic to the locks. She wrapped her awareness around them, hoping to find a way to shift the parts open. But the locks were not what held the door; she could feel the solid beam barring the entrance, and no magic of hers would shift such a thing.

  “You”—she pointed at one of the soldiers—“go try the back way. You and you”—she pointed at Maelik and the remaining escort—“go around and try the windows. We’ll break them, if there’s no other way to get inside. I’ll not be stopped now.”

  The soldiers all moved to obey. Giraldus began to force his sword through the crack between the doors.

  “Don’t bother,” she told him. “The bar’s too heavy for one sword to lift.”

  Just as Giraldus was about to pound again upon the wood, a scraping sound came through the door. The bar was being slowly slid out of its place. Aurya felt as if something had slowed time and motion as the sound continued, prolonging the moment of entrance. Finally, the doors began a tiny outward motion. Aurya had no more patience. She grabbed a handle and pulled, yanking the door from the hold of the old priest who stood outlined in the light streaming from within.

  Aurya spared the priest barely a glance as she strode past him into the church. The empty church. As Giraldus shouted to his men, Aurya once more tried to pick up the traces of the child. But with the opening of the door, it was as if everything she had been sensing had flown out in a single gust, to quickly dissipate in the open air. She whirled on the priest, who had followed her with aged, shuffling steps.

  “Where is the child?” Aurya demanded.

  “What child do you seek, daughter?” the priest asked placidly. “The only child here is Our Lord in the arms of His Blessed Mother.”

  The priest waved toward a crude painting of the Madonna and Child that adorned one wall. Aurya barely spared it a glance. Eyes blazing, she stepped closer to the priest, surprised that he neither flinched nor drew back from her.

  “Do not try to lie to me, priest.” She spat the word. “I know the child is here. You cannot hide anything from me.”

  The old priest laughed—actually laughed at her. Aurya felt her anger double, grow to dangerous proportions.

  “I have nothing to hide, daughter,” he said. “Search if you will—I am alone, except for the Presence that is always here.”

  At a nod from her, Giraldus and his men began to search. Aurya stood watching the priest for any signs of nervousness, any sudden twitch or shifting of his eyes that might betray the child’s location. But he remained placid as a sheep. His pale, rheumy eyes did not leave her face and the little, almost dim-witted half smile never wavered from his expression.

  It was maddening for Aurya. “If you have nothing to hide, why was the door barred—and why are you here when the rest of the town is home and asleep?” she demanded.

  “I often stay late,” the priest replied pleasantly. “I enjoy saying the final Office here instead of alone in my rectory. I barred the door to protect the sacred vessels. There have been rumors of armed men abroad.” He stared pointedly at the sword in Giraldus’s hand.

  “Your rectory, where is it?” Aurya was unwilling to give up.

  “It is behind the church. Come, daughter, I will show you. You may search there, too, if you wish. Again I say, I have nothing to hide from you.”

  At those words, Aurya knew there was no point to continue. The child was gone; the white dove of her dream had flown away in triumph after all.

  But not for long, she thought. I will find you yet.

  “Come,” she called to Giraldus and the others. “There’s nothing h
ere anymore. I don’t yet know how they got away or what part you played in this, priest,” she said, turning back to the old man. “But be assured, I will find the child—and I will destroy any who get in the way.”

  Aurya headed for the door. Once away from the town, she would do a true Spell of Finding… and she did not care how many of the men she had to drain to do so.

  Talog led the others down the long dark tunnel with a swiftness that would have been impossible without him. Although Lysandra’s Sight was still strong and not dependent upon any external vision, although Renan held a lantern that kept himself and Selia from stumbling, it was the Cryf who was able to see obstacles long before the others and guide them quickly past.

  That this route had not been used in many years was obvious by its state of disrepair. They had to scuttle around rocks and crawl over places where walls had partially collapsed or pieces of ceiling beam had given way. But their passage was never blocked completely, and somehow they managed to keep going.

  “Giraldus has reached the church,” Lysandra told them at one point, though how long they had been underground or how far they had traveled, she could not say. In such a place as this, time and distance felt obscured. But her words sparked them to even greater effort; each of them knew they had to get Selia safely away.

  Part of Lysandra wished they could travel this tunnel all the way back to the Realm of the Cryf, for as long as they were underground they could escape detection. But another part of her, the greater part, longed for the feel of open air. She had to fight not to give in to the occasional wave of claustrophobic panic that swept through her, whispering of collapsing tunnels and cut off air.

  Finally, the floor began to slant upward in a long, gentle slope that was easily climbed. As they ascended, Lysandra felt herself breathe more easily. We’re going to make it, she promised herself. Still, it seemed an impossibly long time before, finally, Lysandra felt the soft kiss of fresh air upon her cheek. The others felt it, too, for Renan whispered the call for a brief rest before they left the safety of the tunnel.