Silent Hall (6 page)

Another mile, and the road ran beside a brook, with a fen on one side and the woods on the other. It was a charming spot, really, with all the mystery and romance that lack of visibility can bring. It reminded him of how Ma used to let him look out the window on foggy days, so that he could imagine that the mist concealed his real father coming to reclaim his son.

A man stepped out of the woods in front of them, raising a hand to halt their approach. He was a tall man in his twenties – about Criton's height, in fact – with a long sword at his side and a grim expression on his face. Half of his upraised arm was covered with a tattoo of a boar.

“Right, then,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “Let's have your weapons on the ground first, then your valuables. Nobody makes any trouble, nobody dies, yes?”

There were some other men visible now as well, two in the fen and three in the woods, standing with bows ready. Narky swore and put down his crossbow, but Hunter hesitated. He was clearly considering fighting his way out of this. Criton shook his head.

When he was still a boy playing at dragon-finding, Ma had used to laugh and warn about bandits on the road. Something about the way she had said it made him imagine the bandits as grinning buffoons who could never really stop a boy with dragon's blood and a dream. But these men were not buffoons, and they were not grinning. This was their livelihood. Criton's haze of mind was gone, and every muscle in his body longed for this fight, but his mind prevailed. How could a few boys whose beards were not yet full grown even consider resisting them?

There was a sudden bark from behind, and Phaedra screamed. The bandits turned their heads, which was enough of an opening for Hunter to attack. In an instant he was charging the woods, sword and shield in hand. It was too late for caution then. The thought made Criton's heart leap with a vicious joy. He looked to the fen and found the men there backing away from Four-foot's onslaught, their arrows already loosed ineffectually and their faces showing panic.

There were several more screams.

The leader of the bandits ran toward Criton, Narky and Phaedra, sword raised. It wasn't clear whether he meant to kill them or take them hostage, but Criton did not wait to find out. He drew in a deep breath and imagined that the man was his Ma's husband. Flames leapt from his mouth. The highwayman threw up his arm to shield his eyes, and when he dropped his arm again, blinking and trying to find his assailant, Criton tore his face off.

The man's screams were horrifying. Narky stared, and Phaedra was sick.

“What in the Gods' own…?” was all Narky seemed able to say.

Criton didn't answer. He was trying not to be sick himself.

Soon Hunter returned, his sword still clean. “They ran,” he said, and then stopped short when he saw what Criton had done to the bandit leader.

They were all staring at him now, demanding an explanation. Criton suddenly felt that he had so much to answer for, he didn't even know where to start. He had killed someone, someone who had been alive just a moment ago. And it had come far too naturally to him.

His claws dripped blood. “My family is descended from dragons,” he said.

Ma had always told him to hide his true nature from others, so that he wouldn't be persecuted in the outside world. What would they do to him, now that they knew what he was?

He could see Hunter trying to decide whether he still counted as a countryman to defend, or whether he was a dangerous monster to be slain. He had apparently not decided yet when Bandu arrived, surveying the bodies and looking pleased with herself.

“Now you are glad Four-foot is with us,” she said.

“Yes,” Hunter said, and turned his head toward the wolf. The hero of the morning was busy feasting on one of the fallen men. Criton's hands might be covered in blood, but for the moment he was forgotten.

Thank the Gods for that.

A
fter that
, nobody objected to Four-foot's company. He and Bandu were welcomed into the pack, and they all traveled together toward the abbey, which was apparently just another word for a big den made out of stone. Bandu did not think she would ever understand why people needed all these different words for the same few things. Four-foot's kind never wasted their time finding new ways to say the same things.

Poor Four-foot. His cut was swelling, and she didn't like its color. Was it supposed to do that, after they burned it? She didn't know, but she hoped the abbey people would. What would she do, if Four-foot died? Her memories from before she met him were vague and disturbing. Just thinking about losing him made her feel more sympathetic toward Phaedra, who had already lost her own Four-foot.

The others had been awfully surprised about Criton's scales and sharp hands, and now they seemed to have decided to pretend nothing had happened. Bandu wondered how they had failed to notice it all to begin with. They weren't very perceptive people.

They were being just as blind now, ignoring that angry crow. It had been following them for some time already, ranting about some slight it had received. Bandu did not think the crow's anger was directed at her, but she couldn't be sure. She left it a piece of the dried meat that the others had bought for their journey. Even if it wasn't mad at her personally, she could at least be courteous.

The abbey, when they reached it, was a very large den with one of her kind's stone gardens to one side. A man came out of it to greet them as they arrived, blessing them in the name of his God. Bandu did not know much of the Gods, though she remembered a big man who had once prayed for guidance. Was it her father? He had been crying, but the next day his expression was hard as stone. Bandu did not like the Gods.

Phaedra spoke to the abbey man, and Narky told him about Four-foot. The man looked concerned. He came closer, reaching out his hand for the wolf to smell. Four-foot seemed to like him. Bandu relaxed.

“I am Brother Gedrel,” the man said. “May I look at his wound?”

Four-foot licked Brother Gedrel's hand, and Bandu nodded. While he inspected Four-foot's side, Narky spoke. “You're not dressed like any priest I've ever seen.”

Brother Gedrel only smiled and said, “I am not a priest. Priests are leaders, those who can pray and give sacrifices on behalf of others. A friar is but a man who has renounced worldly pleasures and dedicated his own life to the service of his God. I pray and sacrifice as any other man would, and command no greater authority.”

“What good is that, then?” Narky asked.

Gedrel laughed. “I do not know. What more can a man hope to gain, besides the favor of his God?”

“I don't know, how about a wife and children, and power and respect, and some money to wash it down?”

The friar did not reply to this. Phaedra looked as if she could have punched Narky.

“He means no harm,” Hunter said, putting a warning hand on Narky's shoulder.

Narky shrugged the hand off. “Don't tell me what I mean.” But he was quiet after that.

Brother Gedrel finished inspecting Four-foot's side and stood up. “We can do our best, but I'm afraid it doesn't look good. To burn a wound is not enough: one must keep it clean after cautery. Perhaps even more than before it.”

Bandu looked at Four-foot and began to cry. “He will die?”

“I can't know for sure,” Brother Gedrel said, “but, like I said, it doesn't look good. We'll do our best.”

Phaedra put her arms around Bandu, and Criton came too, more timidly. Bandu knelt and cried into Four-foot's fur, while the new members of her pack closed around her.

“Please live,” she whispered to him, and he whined at her distress. “My kind are not enough.”

They stayed with the friars for many days, while the weather grew hotter and Four-foot grew weaker. His cut turned black, and its bad color grew outward. He was in pain, she knew, but she could not end his life, much though the others urged her to. The friars had a drink that they made from flowers to take the pain away, and when Four-foot could no longer lap it up on his own, Bandu sat with his head in her lap and gently poured it down his throat.

He died with his eyes open. Bandu's pack mourned with her, even though they had been afraid of him at first. She was grateful for their company. The friars offered to bury Four-foot in their stone garden, but that was not the way of his kind. Instead, Bandu left him out for the angry crows and the other animals to feast on. The others in her pack were shocked, but they let her have her way. Narky said it was too hot to dig holes anyway.

Phaedra asked how she had met Four-foot, but she could not remember. That made her cry again. It felt as if, with Four-foot gone, Two-foot's memories were slipping away too. She did like the name Bandu though, and she was glad she had chosen it. It meant that she would carry Four-foot's heartbeat with her forever, which was what Phaedra would have called ‘appropriate.' Nobody else knew why she was called Bandu, and that was also appropriate. Four-foot's heartbeat had been a secret that only she knew about, and she wanted it to stay that way.

The day after Four-foot died, Brother Gedrel left them. He said only that he had stayed too long, but Phaedra understood what he meant. She explained to them that the Brothers of Gedrel's order never stayed in one place for more than a year or two, but went from holy place to holy place in between larger voyages. Gedrel had been in charge at the Crossroads not because he was smarter or stronger or older or better than the others, but because he had been there longest and would soon be leaving. After he was gone, Brother Tanatos was the head of the friars. Bandu did not like him as much. He spoke more, and listened less.

Criton talked to Brother Tanatos a lot. He asked very many questions about some kind of things called dragons, and Brother Tanatos always gave him long answers. Those answers clearly bothered Criton. He seemed especially sad when the friar said the word, ‘Extinct.'

Phaedra seemed to understand everything, and she didn't mind explaining. Bandu was glad to have her. Phaedra used a needle and thread to make Bandu's new coverings fit better, and Bandu agreed to practice her speech with her. If she couldn't live in the forest with Four-foot anymore, she would have to learn how to speak better.

Phaedra did not really like it here, Bandu realized. Not anymore, anyway. She
wanted
to like it, but she didn't. The trouble was that Phaedra loved to learn new things, and she knew too much about this place already. She took to pacing around the little building, restless and bored. Bandu thought that people who loved to learn should not be so good at it. It would last them longer that way.

Bandu did not know what she would do without Four-foot, but she knew that staying here would not bring him back. If Phaedra was done here, that meant it was time to go.

But before they all managed to leave, Brother Tanatos found a way to pull Bandu aside and talk to her.

“You are about to become something that you never were before,” he said. “It will be frightening, and you will think you are losing yourself. Don't be afraid, and don't blame it on your friends. Your sadness is the sadness of leaving childhood behind, which is something we all must do. You understand?”

Bandu's knowledge of words was getting better. It made her feel much more confident in her answer.

“No,” she said.

T
hey would travel together
for safety until they found reason to part ways. Hunter doubted it would take long: Criton wanted to go looking for dragons, Narky didn't, Bandu was most comfortable in the woods, and Phaedra had only ever slept in a bed. Soon Hunter would have to make a decision. Where would he go? With whom would he stay? There was no obvious answer, but that was not really the problem. The problem was that he didn't care.

He had had plans before, for a whole life. Now those plans were useless, and he could not think of a new one. It seemed that he was not as resourceful as Phaedra.

When they left the abbey, the crows were waiting for them. There must have been at least fifty of the birds watching them from outside the grounds, and they greeted the survivors of Tarphae with a chorus of raucous voices.

“I wish those damned birds would quiet down and go away,” Narky said.

“Quiet,” said Phaedra. “The crow is sacred to Ravennis.”

“They must be here for me,” Hunter said.

Narky stared at him. “Why would they be here for you?”

Hunter let his breath out through his teeth, and tried to explain. “Father went to see the Oracle of Ravennis, the Day Before. That's why he made me go.”

He thought they should understand, but they clearly didn't. Oh, well. Hunter had never been very good at explaining himself. Father and Kataras were outgoing, talkative people, but Hunter and his mother were quiet by nature. When he was having a bad day, Hunter used to go and sit with Mother in her room. They never spoke, but he would sit beside her and polish his shield while she did needlework. An hour of their focused silence always made him feel better.

“The day before what?” said Narky, and Phaedra asked, “What did the Oracle say?” Bandu said nothing, but she was looking at him in that unsettling way of hers.

“Father asked how to give me a long life,” Hunter said, feeling their eyes on him. “The Oracle told him to send me away from Tarphae on the first ship he could find.”

“Makes sense,” said Narky. “But I don't see why that would make Ravennis send a bunch of crows after you now.”

Neither did Hunter, but it was the only connection he could think of. “Maybe we should ask,” he said.

“Oh, sure,” Narky said, and stepped toward the crowd of birds. “O holy birds, what are you here for?”

A crow flew at his head, cawing furiously, and Narky had to duck and beat it off with a cry of surprise. Criton laughed, but the others were solemn.

“Don't insult the Gods,” Phaedra scolded. “Have you learned nothing? Our people were killed by a God, possibly because someone was foolish enough to insult one. The Gods take these slights seriously.”

“Why should they?” Narky asked, looking rueful.

“Now is not the time,” she said sternly. “I suggest you apologize to Ravennis as soon as you get the chance. Through sacrifice,” she added, when it looked as though Narky might make a sarcastic apology to the murder of crows.

Hunter sighed. “What I meant was, we should go see the Oracle and ask what we've done to anger Ravennis.”

“The Oracle is at Laarna,” Phaedra said. “North of Atuna.”

“Where do you learn these things?” Narky asked.

As they turned northward, the crows took flight. It gave Hunter an ominous feeling. He did not think the birds would leave them alone for long.

After some time, Bandu asked, “What is oracle?”

Phaedra explained it to her, as best she could. It seemed that Phaedra had studied continental religions extensively. When she had finished explaining about oracles, she expounded upon the nature of Gods, Their servants, and Their need for humans to do Their work.

“The Gods are infinitely greater and more powerful than people,” she said at one point, “but that doesn't mean They don't need us, because Their power is remote. I like the way Katinaras puts it best. He likens the heavens to a wire mesh, with the Gods on one side and our world on the other. The Gods are huge and powerful, but that makes Them too big to fit through the gaps in the mesh. Only Their fingers are small enough to fit through, so as powerful as They are, Their power does have limits in this world. Especially when They're opposed by another God.

“They're not really fingers, of course, Bandu, that's only a metaphor. A metaphor is – well, no, let's not get into that. But that's why the Gods pay so much attention to what we people do. When we worship Them and give Them sacrifices, we strengthen the fingers, and when we oppose Them or slay Their followers, it weakens Them and makes Them angry. Because even though we see only a tiny part of Them in this world, we play a big part in Their relations with each other.”

“How?” asked Criton.

“Well,” Phaedra said, “the Gods are frequently in conflict. Since our actions can strengthen or weaken a God's fingers, we can have a real effect on these conflicts. If your fingers are completely cut off, you can't really stand up to your enemies on your own side of the mesh. Obviously it's a lot more complicated than that, but that's why I love Katinaras' analogy. It makes so much sense, even if it is a little simplistic.”

Hunter scratched at his scalp, where the hair was just beginning to grow back. “My father once said that when the men of Ardis conquered the plainsfolk to their north, they killed their Gods. Are you saying those Gods were actually killed on Their own side of the mesh by the Ardismen's God?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Hunter considered this. He thought he was beginning to understand the analogy, but he suspected that his understanding would dissipate as soon as Phaedra stopped explaining it all. He also couldn't help but notice that now everyone
but
Bandu seemed interested in the conversation. The girl's eyes had glazed over and she was tromping along silently, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“But if someone insults the Gods,” asked Criton, “that can't possibly weaken the fingers all on its own, can it? What harm can it do?”

“I guess it humiliates Them in front of everyone They know,” Narky said suddenly.

“Yes,” said Phaedra, surprised. “Yes, I guess it must.”

They were traveling due north, not quite the same way they had come, but their journey still took them through the same thick forest of guardian trees and tall milk-rimmed shrubs. The road here became a narrow path through the undergrowth, at times barely discernable. Their progress was slow and loud, until Bandu tapped Hunter on the shoulder and whispered, “Stop.”

Hunter looked about, trying to find whatever was distressing her, but he could see and hear nothing out of the ordinary. Then Bandu pointed and he saw, in the branches high above the path, two creatures silently watching them. They were tall as men, with bald heads and teeth filed down to points, and their hands and feet were great birdlike talons. Their bodies were pale, and at first he thought that they were wearing black cloaks, but then he realized that those were actually huge black wings, folded at rest.

Hunter unslung his shield from his back as quickly as he could, and tightened the straps around his arm. “What are those things?” he whispered.

Bandu shook her head, and Narky said, “What things?” followed by, “Oh hell!”

At this, the pale monsters spread their wings and leapt from their boughs, screeching like birds of prey. Hunter drew his sword, and in an instant the things were upon them. His sword caught one in the chest as it flew at him, and the force of it knocked him off his feet and wrenched the sword from his hand.

Criton had not ducked as quickly as the others, and the second monster caught him by the shoulders with its lower talons. Its wings beat the air, and its upper claws made to tear at his face. Yet before they could, the pale thing had suddenly let go and flipped backward onto the ground, ducking under a burst of flame from the young man's mouth.

Hunter had never seen Criton's fire before, though Narky had told him about the bandit leader. For a moment he just stared. But the monster had dodged the flames unharmed, and it now leapt at Criton again, knocking him onto his back and tearing at his flesh. Hunter rose to his feet and charged the creature, throwing his weight against his shield. At the impact, the thing let go of Criton and fell against the ground next to Hunter, who rolled to his feet and was ready once more. The monster shrieked and its claws reached out, but Hunter knocked them aside with his shield and caught the monster's face with it on his backswing. While it reeled, his hand found the knife that he kept in a sheath at the small of his back. After another bash of his shield against its head, he ran the blade across the monster's throat.

Blood spattered and the thing collapsed on the ground, shrinking away from him. Then the strangest thing happened. The monster went right on shrinking, shrinking under its feathers until it became a simple raven with its throat cut open. Hunter looked with surprise back at where the other had fallen, and found another raven impaled upon his sword. The sword looked so strange, yards from where he had lost it, now several times the size of the creature that had borne it away.

Criton staggered to his feet, his face and shirt covered in blood. “What were those things?” he asked.

“I don't know,” said Hunter, at the same time as Phaedra said, “Angels.”

Criton wiped his face on his sleeve, revealing a fairly deep scratch above his eye and a bloody nose, but no more. His chest and shoulders were bloodied too, though he still seemed to have full use of his arms. That was a good sign.

“Angels?” Narky said disbelievingly. “Those things?”

“An angel is a messenger from a God,” Phaedra told him, in an irritated voice. “There is no other meaning to the word.”

“Then we're in real trouble,” said Hunter, retrieving his sword and trying to shake the dead raven off it. “Ravennis might have been warning us earlier, but now it looks like He's just trying to kill us.”

“But why?” Phaedra asked. “What was He warning us about? He can't possibly be the one who sent the plague to Tarphae – why would He have told your father to save you before, if He meant to kill us now? We must have recently offended Him, but I can't think how. The Gods sometimes forgive those who repent their sins, but you can't repent for a sin you don't know you've committed!”

“Well, we don't have time to ask the Oracle,” Narky said. “If we're going to pray for forgiveness, we'd better do it now.”

“Yes,” Criton said, “now would be the time.” The forest had grown suddenly dark, and he was pointing up at the skyline.

Hunter looked up, and his heart sank. It was only just before noon, but the sun was nowhere to be seen. The sky was black with birds.