Heartland-The Second Book of the Codex of Souls (41 page)

"Who?" Vivienne tried.

"Husserl."

"The Preceptor?" Vivienne shook her head. "Why would he promise me anything?" She wouldn't look at me. Her lie—
the Preceptor
—was so transparent that I wondered why she had bothered.

"Did he promise to free you?"

"No." I detected a note of sorrow in her voice. The expected outrage was there, as was defiance at being cast in the role of victim. But underneath all that, a hint of sadness. A resigned exhalation, an acceptance of some weight that she was to carry for the rest of her life.

"No, of course not." I said, as if I realized the error of my question. "Marielle was the one who dangled that carrot."

She tried to hide her reaction, but she knew I had already heard the sudden intake of breath. She knew I had seen her hands tighten on the rim of the basin. Vivienne laughed, a hollow sound devoid of any warmth or humor. "She has a great deal of faith in the blind devotion of her suitors. How many did she promise the Crown to?"

It was something Husserl had said at Notre-Dame-sous-Terre when I had asked him about Marielle.
I won't try to convince you that she came willingly, because you won't believe me.
I had been too distracted to listen closely to what he had been saying, but there had been time during the drive to reflect on everything. And the more I thought about the situation, the more it started to make sense.

Marielle had been frantic to get to Mont-Saint-Michel, not for Antoine's sake—though he was just as useful a tool as I—but to secure the Spear. When I had joined her in the grotto and the others had arrived, it had been my job to go fight them, and I had gone willingly. But, the more I replayed events in my head, the more I realized how eager we all were to fight for her. Even at the safe house where Lafoutain had died. Delacroix had practically thrown himself at her feet in an effort to please her.

The winner gets the prize. And they all knew it. She didn't care, or maybe she did—it was hard to tell anymore—and besides there was no end of suitable suitors. How many?

Me? Just one more in an endless line of suckers.

My bluster deflated, like a balloon with a sudden leak. The question of how many—how many others had been tasked before me?—revealed my indignation as the empty posturing that it was. Like the anonymous voices in the Chorus, I was just a face in the crowd. An able body who had been tasked with serving the whim of the Hierarch's Daughter.

Vivienne hadn't escaped Marielle's grasp either. The light from the basin only highlighted the bloodless resignation in Vivienne's face. We had all been used.

"Vivienne Lafoutain, Chief among the Archivists of the Secrets of
La Société Lumineuse,
I ask a boon of you. I ask that you give me leave to bear the Grail to the Coronation ceremony." I didn't bother trying to hide my bitterness. Just get it done. Just finish the task assigned you. Receive your pat on the head like a good soldier—
my ever dutiful wolf
—and go sit in the corner and wait to be called again.

Vivienne grimaced at my words, similar thoughts running through her head. "Landis Michael Markham,
solute frater
and willing Quester for the office of Hierarch, I grant you leave to approach and take up the Grail." She stepped back from the basin, indicating it with a wave of her hand. "Should it find you worthy," she added, her words equally caustic.

I stood, and approached the basin. I looked in, but nothing had changed. There was nothing there but the gold lining. Nevertheless, I put my hand in the water.

The gold plating shivered, and at first I thought it was the water itself that was rippling and then I realized the motion was coming from the gold. It lifted free of the stone, crumpling and twisting into a smaller shape. I held my hand still, and the gold brushed across my fingers, wrapping and unwrapping itself across my flesh, and a tingling sensation like a mild electric current ran up my arm. I felt parts of my body twitch and itch. All the gashes and cuts and bruises sustained over the last few days were burning. As the gold Cup formed itself in the water of the basin, its touch healed me, including the cut in my arm from the Spear; the Grail healed all of my wounds, except for the one in my soul.

Nuriye was waiting for us as we stepped out of the tapestry, a long cloth of maroon and midnight in her hands. I wrapped the fabric around the Grail, and its light was strong enough that the gold threads in the fabric glowed, hidden veins of light. I carried it in the crook of my arm, almost as if I were cradling a child.

Nuriye fell in step with Vivienne, and they both fell back a few steps, herding me toward the foyer of the Archives. The route back was shorter; the Archives hadn't reconfigured themselves when we had been in the inner chapel, the daughters simply wanted me gone and guided me along the shortest route.

The script on the guardian wall glowed gold as we approached—not silver as it had the last time I had left the Archives—and the wall faded away when I raised the cloth-covered Grail.

The foyer was empty; there was no sign of Antoine.

"Where did he go?" I asked the women behind me.

Nuriye shrugged as she took two steps back. The shadow of a stack fell on her and her face became unreadable.

"He went back down to the car," Vivienne said. Her voice was flat, toneless, and the Chorus tightened in my gut. She had been withdrawn since the Grail had formed in my hand, and I didn't blame her. The only reason my heart was racing was because of the relic in my hand. She was lost in her own head, in her own guilt and remorse. The light had changed when I had lifted the Grail from the basin. It was still radiant, a glow that would transfix anyone who laid eyes upon the Cup, but it wasn't as bright. We felt the loss of light; we carried the memory of a brighter star, and everything seemed dimmer now. It was easy to let shadows prey on our minds.

I hesitated on the edge of the Archives. The floor beneath my feet was still polished wood. One step away from the cold marble of the lobby. The Grail hadn't crossed the threshold yet. I could give it back. I could put it down and walk away.

It is your fight,
the Chorus whispered.
It is your right. Take it. Claim the Crown. She will give you her love. Above all others, she loves you the best
.

"What is it?" Vivienne asked.

"Why?" I asked. The Chorus hissed and attacked my doubt, silver snakes darting through the fog in my brain, slaying the rising phantoms of disbelief.

"That is a question without answer, M. Markham. That is an aimless question, one that has no purpose. Surely you are of a stronger
mind
than that?"

"Why me?" I clarified. If Marielle had so many suitors to pick from, why had she chosen me? Why had Husserl allowed me to be the one?

"Really, Monsieur. You expect me to know the answer to that question?"

I stepped away from the edge and returned to Vivienne. Close enough to examine her face. Searching for some clue, some idea as to where I had failed, because—the Chorus' elation at having the Grail in hand, notwithstanding—I had a nagging feeling that something was very wrong. The spirits in my head couldn't shake the sensation, much as they tried. In some ways, their eagerness to take the Grail across the threshold only increased my apprehension. Too many possibilities with thresholds. Too many chances for the world to change suddenly when you stepped across into another world.

"Goodbye, M. Markham," Vivienne said after tolerating my examination for a moment. "We have called the elevator for you. It is time for you to leave." Her face was a porcelain mask, smooth and without any lines or markings. There was nothing to read, nor did her eyes reveal any emotion. Just a blank wall.

"What have we lost?" I asked her, and her eyes went even colder. The light was hidden behind a thick veil.

"Please, Monsieur," Nuriye said from the shadows. "Respect our wishes. You have taken our light. Just go, and leave us in these shadows."

Vivienne remained frozen, though I could detect a tiny tremor at the corner of her mouth. A tiny quiver that, if I were to watch it long enough, might develop into a fracture. But I didn't stay; I let the Chorus pull me away, and I walked backward from the two daughters. Unwilling to turn my back on them. Not yet.

The Grail shivered in my arms as I crossed the threshold and the shining veins in the cloth went dark. The bundle in my arm was heavy, but it wasn't dead weight. There was still power in the Cup, but it was diminished even further now. It wouldn't show any radiance again until it was filled. Not until the morning light filled its golden bowl.

I waited for a second, but the walls didn't materialize. Vivienne and Nuriye remained still, watching me. Waiting for me to leave.

The Chorus swarmed and sparked, pulling me toward the elevator. Pulling me and the Grail. What was I waiting for? Nuriye was right. I had taken the light from the chapel. There was no reason to stay here, no reason to watch the shadows creep into the Archives. I had done enough.

The elevator,
the Chorus reminded me as its bell rang.
It is time
.

I turned.

There was no elevator. The doors were open, but there was no car. Just an open shaft.

"It is time."

At the sound of the voice, an external echo to the internal vibration of the Chorus, I turned around. But something struck my lower back before I could reverse myself, before I could complete my turn. The Chorus, furiously tugging at me a second before, collapsed into a burning knot. Pinned, like an angry butterfly. The Grail, even though it was wrapped in the cloth, felt slippery against my arm, and when I looked down at the bundle in my arms, I was distracted by the bloody tip of the Spear protruding from my side.

My left side burned, and I couldn't even feel the Grail as it slipped away from me. Someone shoved me forward and I stumbled, tripping over my own feet that refused to respond to my mental commands. I was as clumsy as a bull in the ring, weakened by blood loss from the picador's lance.

The Spear was pulled out, a savage yank more traumatic than the initial thrust. My legs gave way, and I collapsed in a heap, banging my elbow and forehead on the floor. The Grail struck the marble and rang with a muffled note, almost a sob; or maybe the sound came from my throat. I wasn't sure.

The world was inverted. Gravity flowed in the wrong direction, and my ears were filled with a buzzing harmonic tone. In the distance, Vivienne stood upside down, clinging to the floor like a vampire bat. The Grail lay nearby, its cloth cover coming undone, like a partially unwrapped Christmas present.

It's not time,
I thought.
Not yet.

I reached for the trailing edge of the cloth, my fingers groping desperately for the fabric.

"No, my friend," Antoine said as he put his foot down on my arm. "Not this time."

With a smooth motion, he brought the Spear down and I thought I saw the sun break through the fog, but there was no fog, nor was there any sun. It was just the fiery touch of the Spear as it cut through the flesh and muscle and bone of my wrist.

Antoine, his body shivering and glittering with the fading magick of the spell which had hidden him from my sight, crouched so that he could look me in the eyes. "Endgame," he smiled—that old, feral grin of his. "Your part in this Weave is done. It is my turn now."

I tried to grab the Grail again, but my stump just shook and spat blood all over the cloth. I tried to find the Chorus—to make them heal me, to tell them to make the pain go away—but they were scattered in my head. Like single fireflies, strewn across an acre of open field. I couldn't catch them. I couldn't hold them. I couldn't hold anything. Long smears blurred across my field of vision.

Antoine put his foot against my side and shoved. As I slid across the floor, my head flopped around and I could see Vivienne, who hadn't moved. Who did nothing but watch as Antoine pushed me toward the open elevator shaft. I reached out to her, or maybe I just wanted her to see the stump of my arm.

My right leg went over the lip of the elevator, and my left feebly tried to find some purchase on the cold marble floor. My left hand scrabbled on the smooth floor, and when I couldn't grab something there, I tried for Antoine's leg as he shoved me one last time. I felt the fabric of his trousers slip through my fingers. Too much blood. Too slick.

Vivienne never looked away as Antoine shoved me into the elevator shaft. And what made me let go, what extinguished the fading hope in my chest, was her expression. She knew he had been waiting for me. She had known his plan. This was her revenge, allowing one suitor to murder another. Or perhaps it was deeper than that. Perhaps this was her message to Marielle.
You took my father; I will take your lover.

But we both knew it was an empty message.

She had warned me, but I hadn't listened.

Goddess help you, Michael Markham, if you are that alone.

I was just the dumb courier. I was expendable. A piece to be used and then discarded.

Antoine had warned me too.
I will be patient
.

I hadn't listened.

Felix Anima
O libenter veniam ad vos ut prebeatis michi osculum cordis.
 
Virtutes
Nos debemus militare tecum, o filia regis.
 

* * *

The happy SOUL
Oh, let me come to you freely so that you may give unto me a kiss from your heart.
 
VIRTUES
It is our duty to fight alongside you, o daughter of the king.
 

– Hildegard von Bingen,
Ordo Virtutum

In each corner of the room, squat stands with a dozen candles each provided illumination. Not enough to reach to the ceiling, not enough to reach to Heaven, but enough to light the lower realm. Opposite me, hidden by muslin screens, was a narrow bed, and shadows danced on the wall behind the bed, phantasmal figures partially visible over the top edge of the screens. Whoever lay in the bed was tied down. I could see enough through the gaps between the screens to discern that the figure wore a plain cotton habit, and judging by the shape of the bare foot I glimpsed, it was a woman.