The Temple of Heart and Bone (32 page)

“I was stunned, just numb. I
couldn’t ride. The men who were pulling me away took my reins. They wouldn’t
even look at me. Sweet Lord and Maker, after all that we had seen, all that
bitter, bloody cruelty, and then to be just pushed away…” Drothspar let go of
Petreus’ hand and the priest released his shoulder. The old man buried his face
in his hands and sobbed, his body racked, his shoulders shaking. Chance put her
arms around her uncle and the old man rested his head on her shoulder. “I
tried,” he cried, “I tried.”

His head shot up so suddenly that
Chance was thrown momentarily off balance. The old priest had a slightly wild
look in his eyes.

“I went on my own, later. I was
determined that they wouldn’t stop me.” He nodded to himself. “I told Gathner I
was going on a pilgrimage to Æostemark to pray for the souls of the faithful
and to rid myself of the nightmares I’d been having. He let me go. I don’t know
if he believed me or not. I didn’t really care. I
was
going to pray. The
nightmares
were
real.” He drank down the glass of wine.

“I avoided all the farms as I
rode out to the cottage. I didn’t want anyone reporting my visit to Gathner. He
wasn’t the same after the invasion. He hadn’t been fond of me since you and Li
were married. He’d always tried to keep that private. After the invasion, he
just pushed me to the side like an unwanted dog.” He shrugged and filled his
glass again.

“It took a while, but I made it
to the cottage. It was so cold and dark when I got there. It wasn’t night, you
know, when I got there. It was probably just after noon. Probably.” His voice
had begun to slow into an alcohol induced drawl. “I could see the, um,” he
paused, “the burn-marks! Yes, the burn-marks on the wood. But the fire hadn’t
gotten far. Not far at all.

“I looked,” he paused, breathing
shakily, “I looked inside. All I… all I saw was a dried up blood… a dried up
pool of blood.” His head sank slowly against his chest, and his shoulders
started shaking once more. Drothspar looked at Chance and he could see the
sadness in her eyes.

Petreus’ head shot up again.
Drothspar drew back slightly. The old man’s eyes rolled slowly into a lucid
focus as he stared at Drothspar’s skull.

“I’m so sorry, boy,” he said, his
voice clear and resonant. “I am so very sorry.” His eyes flickered shut and
Drothspar caught him as he slowly toppled forward.

Drothspar and Chance lifted
Petreus out of his chair and carried him over to his bed. Each knew that the
old man had suffered some terrible shocks in meeting Drothspar in his current
form, but neither had known the pain he had endured during and after the
invasion. Gently, they settled the old man down to rest and stepped quietly
away to the desk.

“He never talked about any of
this,” Chance whispered to Drothspar. “In all the years we’ve been talking and
drinking, he never once brought this up.”

Drothspar nodded slowly.

“What are we going to do now?”

“Tonight, you sleep. Tomorrow, I
want to visit my father-in-law,” Drothspar whispered.

The night passed with Chance
sleeping on the floor and Drothspar seated quietly at Petreus’ desk. His mind
played over the memories of his own post-mortem visit to Æostemark and the
memories that Petreus had shared with him. He thought about the cottage and
what Petreus had said about Li’s father. Ythel had been staring into the
cottage. What had he seen? Had Li been there, lying in that pool of blood? Only
one man knew the answer to that, but how would he react to a skeletal
inquisitor?

Light began to slip its way into
the cell through the windows. Drothspar could hear shuffling feet out in the
hall and the opening and closing of doors. He heard someone stop outside the
door and pause. A soft rap sounded at the door.

“Petreus, are you up?” came a
hoarse whisper from the other side. “Petreus, time for morning prayer,” the
voice hissed. The man in the hall kicked the bottom of Petreus’ door then
shuffled away.

Drothspar looked back toward the
bed. Chance sat upright on the floor, woken by the man at the door. She looked
curiously at Drothspar. He shrugged his shoulders in reply. Chance got up
quietly and came over to the desk.

“What was that?” she asked
looking at the door.

“Someone wanted to wake Petreus
for morning prayer,” he replied. Chance shivered as she listened to Drothspar’s
voice, but tried to cover it by rubbing her shoulders.

“Gets cold in here in the
mornings,” she said, rubbing vigorously. “Will he get in trouble if he doesn’t
go?”

“No more than usual, I imagine.
He was never very good about making morning prayer—even when he was leading
it.”

A muffled grunt came from the
bed. Petreus slept with his face in the pillow. Chance and Drothspar stared at him.
Drothspar poured a glass of wine and set it on the desk.

“Is that a good idea?” Chance
asked, her voice suspicious.

“Probably not,” Drothspar
replied, “but it will ease his headache.”

“Won’t he just feel worse later?”

“Yes, unless he drinks a little more.”

“Isn’t that sort of a vicious
circle?”

“Oddly enough,” he said, “you can
make it work if you’ve had the practice.”

“Doesn’t sound very appealing,”
Chance observed, her stomach lurching.

“It’s not, and it really isn’t a
good idea, but it
will
work.”

Petreus turned restlessly in his
bed, muttering in his last moments of sleep. Cool autumn sunlight was streaming
into the room, illuminating the floating dust, when Petreus finally opened his
eyes. He opened and closed them several times before shading them with his
hand.

“Wine,” he pleaded in a rasping
voice. Drothspar inclined his head and Chance took the glass over to her uncle.

“Um, thank you Sasha,” Petreus
said, taking the glass in a shuddering hand. He drank the wine slowly, smacking
his lips and shaking his head.

“Good morning, Uncle,” she said,
taking the empty glass from his outstretched hand.

“Good morning,” he said hoarsely,
“well, morning at least. We’ll see about the ‘good.’” He looked over at the
desk. “You really are here, aren’t you?”

Drothspar nodded.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a
better host.” Petreus swung his legs over the side of the bed and steadied
himself with his hands. “Could I have a little more of that wine?”

Chance gave him a dubious look
but poured another glass.

“Thank you again, Sasha,” he
said, taking the glass eagerly. “Has Steadword been by yet?”

“Someone came by to wake you for
morning prayers,” Chance offered.

“That’s him,” Petreus nodded. “He
tries to wake me up every morning. Annoying man, he really is. He takes a
perverse pleasure in watching me suffer.” His forehead furrowed in thought.
“Need more pastries,” he muttered. “What are you going to do today,” Petreus
asked rubbing his temples with both hands.

“I want to see Ythel,” Drothspar
said in his rasping voice.

Petreus looked up, startled. “You
were serious?” he asked, suddenly wide awake. “How do you plan to get in to see
him?”

Drothspar raised his arm and
pointed a bony finger at Petreus.

“You
aren’t
serious,”
Petreus said. “Ythel hasn’t had a thing to do with me since he sent me off from
the cottage! You’d have a better chance if you marched up there without your
robe on! You could convince him you were the angel of death come for his soul…”

Drothspar nodded and stood up to
leave.

“Wait, wait,” Petreus exclaimed.
“I was just kidding… Would be interesting to watch, but he’d probably have his
guards hack you into kindling on the spot.”

Drothspar sat back down.

“Besides, I already told you I’d
go… didn’t I?”

Drothspar nodded.

“I need some time to pull myself
together,” Petreus said, “maybe slip out and wash up a bit, too. Can you wait?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Petreus said as he pulled
a set of robes out of his cabinet. “I’ll see if I can’t find you some better robes
while I’m at it.” He smiled to himself and nodded. “I’ll be back in a little
bit.” He stopped at the door. “You’d better lock this after I leave,” he said.
“I’ll give the secret knock when I get back.”

Drothspar nodded and Petreus
slipped out the door.

“What’s the secret knock?” Chance
asked curiously.

Drothspar knocked twice quickly,
paused, knocked twice quickly again, paused, then knocked once more.

“Nice rhythm,” Chance observed.

“We worked it out when Petreus
was carrying messages to Li,” Drothspar told her.

“Why?” she asked.

“Petreus doesn’t like to be
disturbed sometimes. He won’t open his door unless he knows who’s there.” He
thought about it. “Mostly, I think he just likes to play.”

The sun had slanted across the
floor before they heard the secret knock. Petreus’ hair was still wet and water
was beading down his face. He had a broad grin and he carried an extra bundle
of dark brown robes.

“Steadword came down for a bath
after prayers,” he said smugly. “I took his towel, too,” he added, waving the
towel back and forth.

“Great,” said Chance, snatching
the towel from his hand, “we can use it for extra padding.”

Drothspar and Petreus got dressed
while Chance flipped through an illuminated manuscript. Drothspar removed his
old robes and slipped into his new ones. The new robes fit better over his
smaller, fleshless frame. Once Petreus had finished dressing, he helped
Drothspar with the padding. Chance sighed loudly, exaggerating her sense of
boredom. Drothspar, unable to sense the passage of time, wondered how much she
was exaggerating.

“There,” the old man said,
adjusting Drothspar’s shoulders. “What do you think, Sasha?”

“Wow,” she said, turning away
from a highly illuminated drawing of a craftsman. “Very nice. That robe fits
much better than the last one.”

“Drothspar was a bigger man than
Steadword,” Petreus explained, “in many ways.
He
would have let me
borrow his robe. Of course, stealing it from Steady was much more fun.” His
face broadened into a grin.

Chance got up and inspected Drothspar
more closely. She pushed and pulled at the cloth. The rough adjustments
reminded Drothspar of visits to the tailor when he was younger… and alive. He
stood patiently, as he had back then. He turned when they turned him and
endured all the final touches.

“Excellent!” he heard Petreus
say.

“Try the hood,” Chance suggested.

Petreus pulled up the hood as far
as he could. Chance clucked her tongue disapprovingly. The hood covered the
sides of Drothspar’s skull, but not much more. Petreus tugged at it a few more
times as if trying to stretch it.

“It’s not going to work,” Chance
commented.

Petreus snapped his fingers and
dashed to his cabinet. He rifled through his own clothes, reaching deeply to
the bottom of a pile. After a few moments of searching and discarding, he
produced a dark brown mantle. He slipped it over Drothspar’s head. It covered
Drothspar’s shoulders and included a very deep cowl.

“These haven’t been in fashion
for some time, but older people will recognize them. Works wonderfully, doesn’t
it?”

“It’s perfect,” Chance agreed,
“but what was it for?”

“Funerals,” Petreus said, smiling
at the opportunity to explain and listen to himself talk. “You see, several
brothers would stand on either side of the coffin wearing these hoods.
Symbolically, the hoods reserved judgment of the deceased for the Divine by
hiding the priests’ faces. The hood covered those unworthy to judge while the
soul presented itself before God.” He raised his hand to make another point
while Chance rolled her eyes at Drothspar.

“Personally,” Petreus continued,
“I think the hood’s symbolism evolved out of a practical need. Priests, in
general, are a judgmental lot. We compare this to that to get another. I think
the hoods were necessary to hide the expressions of the attending priests from
those attending the funeral services. I mean, if dear uncle ‘Gladbus’ was a
thief and a procurer, you didn’t necessarily want the priests reminding you of
that while you were paying for his services. Anyway, the priests didn’t move
during the ceremony, so it wasn’t necessary for them to see clearly. The hood
was a perfect answer.” He smiled proudly as he finished his presentation.

“I see,” Chance said.

“Of course,” Petreus said thoughtfully,
“the tradition of the priests standing still may have evolved
after
the
hood came into use…”

“Petreus…” Drothspar said in his
haunting voice.

“Yes?”

“Are we finished?”

“Um… sure.” Petreus looked at
Chance quickly for support.

“You look wonderful,” Chance said
with exaggerated admiration.