Chapter 9
9
“F OR NOW, LET ’ S leave this matter for another time,” Ghyle said. “When you’re better rested and further recovered, you might remember more. Instead, I’m sure you have many questions about your current circumstances. I’m not oblivious to the concerns and fears you’ve attempted to voice over the past day. Mayhap we should also put those to rest as best we can.”
Nyx was more than ready to set aside her past and address her present—but she was also frightened to do so. There were questions she needed to ask, but she remained fearful of the answers.
She licked her lips. She knew she needed to address the aftermath of the attack atop the ninth tier of the school, to face the condemnation that was sure to come. To start with, she voiced her foremost fear. It was a boy’s name, a fellow seventhyear.
She closed her eyes to speak it, finding strength in the darkness.
“Byrd…” she whispered.
Ghyle’s answer was blunt. “Dead. But I suspect you already know this.”
She did not deny this. “And what of the others?”
“Your fellow seventhyears?”
She opened her eyes and nodded, remembering the throng chasing her heels.
“They attempted to hide the truth of that day, but Jace spoke up on your behalf and broke their impasse.”
Nyx sighed in relief, silently thanking Jace. The young man—ever her eyes when she was blind—proved yet again to be her most stalwart friend here at the Cloistery. And he had suffered for that friendship. She remembered his bloody nose.
“Journeyman Jace fares well,” Ghyle answered, as if reading her concern. “He’s been anxious to see you, but we’ve encouraged his patience.”
Nyx swallowed. “And how does Kindjal fare, Byrd’s twin sister?”
Ghyle sat back slightly. A deep line formed between her brows. “She returned to Fiskur with her brother’s remains, or at least the little of his body that the pyre had not consumed. But she will be back once the midsummer break ends in a fortnight. I tried to discourage her return.”
Ghyle stared at Nyx, silently adding what remained unspoken. Kindjal would not suffer the death of her twin brother without consequences. Neither would their father, the highmayor of Fiskur.
“What’s to become of me?” Nyx asked, shying over to a more immediate fear. “I trespassed onto the ninth tier.”
It was an inviolate rule of the Cloistery. To tread that tier before being accepted to the ninthyear was punished by immediate banishment. There were no exceptions—not even if one’s life was threatened.
Ghyle pointed a finger at Nyx’s chest. “That was not you who trespassed.”
She scrunched her face in confusion. “But it was. I can hardly attest otherwise. Many bore witness.”
Oeric spoke up. “And as many bore witness that you died. Both alchymists and hieromonks. Your heart had truly stopped. For half a bell, maybe longer. None thought you’d survive.”
“Yet, you came back from the dead,” Ghyle added. “You were reborn anew, purified of your past. All have come to believe that the Mother doubly blessed you. First with your life, then with your sight.”
Oeric chuckled under his breath. “A conceit well seeded by the prioress.”
Ghyle shrugged. “And who is to say I’m wrong?”
“I’d love to see someone try,” he mumbled.
“But it surely was the Mother’s hand,” her dah pressed. “I have no doubt. She has always smiled on my daughter.”
Hope rose in Nyx’s breast. “Does that mean I can stay at the school? Finish my seventhyear studies and continue on to the eighth?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ghyle said dourly. “It was put to the Council of Eight, and they cast their stones against such a plan.”
Her dah stood up. “That’s not fair, I tell you!”
Nyx reached over and grabbed his hand, which trembled in her grip. She squeezed him quiet, ready to accept her fate but no less despairing. “It’s all right, Dah. What’s done is done.”
“You both misunderstand me.” Ghyle’s gaze focused on Nyx. “It’s been decided that you should not proceed to the eighthyear with your fellow students. As you were clearly blessed atop the ninth tier, none would dare cast a stone against the expressed wishes of the Mother.”
“I don’t understand,” Nyx said.
Ghyle explained. “In a fortnight, you’ll ascend straight to the ninthyear.”
It took three full breaths for Nyx to even comprehend what the prioress was saying. She tried to blink away her shock.
Ninthyear…
Her dah was quicker to respond. He whooped loud enough to make them all jump. “What didda tell ya! I knew it all along.” He let go of Nyx’s fingers and dropped to his knees at her bedside. He clasped his palms together and raised his thumbs to his forehead. “Thank the Mother Below for her glory and blessings upon us.”
But even his faithfulness could not hold back his joy and excitement for long. He was soon back on his feet—not even needing his own cane. He grabbed Nyx’s cheeks and planted a kiss on her forehead. Only then did he calm himself enough to stare fully at Nyx. Tears wet his eyes and cheeks.
“Can ya just believe it?” he mumbled around a smile. “My Nyx. A ninthyear. I can hardly wait to tell Bastan and Ablen. The boys will be burstin’ with pride.”
Ghyle stood up next to him. “Mayhap you should share those good tidings now. There is another matter I wish to discuss with your daughter. Words that require privacy.”
“Aye, aye, of course.” Her dah turned to collect his cane. “I know you and the physik must be busy, and I won’t keep ya from it.”
“Most obliged, Trademan Polder.”
Her dah turned once more toward Nyx. His face glowed with such pride. It made him look a full score younger. He gave a small shake of his head that failed to loosen his smile. “Can ya believe it?” he repeated.
No, I can’t.
Nyx tried to accept the unfathomable. After so many miracles, she mistrusted this last one. Still, she did her best to return her dah’s smile. If nothing else, it warmed her to see him so happy. It was worth almost dying to see his faith in her fulfilled, his generosity of spirit rewarded.
“I’ll bring your supper before the first bell of Eventoll,” he promised. “I’ll drag up Bastan and Ablen. We’ll celebrate with sweetcake and honey.”
She found a truer smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
He bowed to both the prioress and the physik, muttered his thanks, and left her cell. Nyx listened to the tap of his cane as it faded through the wards.
Ghyle did, too. She waited until it was gone, then waved for Oeric to close the door. Once obeyed, the prioress turned back to Nyx. Her countenance had turned far sterner.
“What we speak of next must not be shared.”
N YX SHIFTED TALLER in the bed and waited as the prioress and the physik whispered by the door. She only caught snatches of their furtive conversation.
… get word to Azantiia…
… rumors of the Iflelen…
… the king will not abide…
… calumny and blasphemy…
… must know for certain.
The last was spoken by Physik Oeric, who glanced over at Nyx. The prioress sighed heavily and nodded. She turned and crossed back to the bed and sat on its edge again.
Nyx shivered, sensing the stirring of forces far larger than herself. Ghyle studied her face intently for too long a time. Whatever the prioress was looking for, she eventually seemed satisfied and spoke.
“Nyx, while you were lost in that poisonous oblivion, you thrashed and fought, as if trapped in a nightmare. Do you remember any of that?”
She shook her head, denying it. Though it was a lie. She certainly remembered the chorus of screams in the dark, of the quaking world, and then a crushing, unending silence. She didn’t mean to lie, but she was too fearful to speak aloud of it, as if doing so would make it inescapable. She wanted to forget it, to dismiss it all as a fevered dream, a phantasm born of her fear of death.
Only now the prioress sought to add flesh and bone to that dream.
Ghyle clearly read her fear. “We must know, Nyx. What you speak now will remain among us three. That I swear to you.”
Nyx took another two breaths. How could she refuse the woman who had so championed her? If only to honor that debt, Nyx knew she could not remain silent.
“I… I remember just pieces,” she finally admitted. “It was as if a great calamity had befallen the Urth. Every voice in all the lands raised in terror. The world shaking and being torn apart. And then… and then…”
Her mouth went dry as she relived it.
Shrieks echoed in her skull, setting all her fine hairs on end.
“What came next?” Ghyle pressed gently, reaching to Nyx’s hand.
She cringed for a long moment, wishing to hold it inside her. Instead, she stared up at the prioress, so the woman could see both her sincerity and fear. “A silence absolute. Stretching out into the void. To the cold stars themselves.”
Nyx’s throat tightened around her next words, as if trying to strangle them from being spoken, such was her certainty. “I… I know it will happen. I don’t understand how, but it will come to be.”
Ghyle looked over to Oeric.
The physik moved closer. “You said the silence reached the stars. What about the moon?”
She frowned. “The moon? I don’t understand.”
Ghyle’s fingers tightened on Nyx’s hand. “During your thrashing, you mumbled and cried out. Often about the moon. You kept repeating the word moonfall. ”
Nyx shook her head again, denying any knowledge of this—and this time it was the truth.
As the prioress studied Nyx, the woman’s eyes slowly widened in dismay. “You are certain you have no memory of the moon?”
“Perhaps you saw it in your dream?” Oeric pressed.
Nyx looked between the pair. “I saw nothing. I swear upon the Son and Daughter who make the moon their home.” She lifted her free hand and touched one eye, then the other. “I heard the screams. Felt the quakes. But in that nightmare, I was as blind as I ever was.”
Ghyle sagged. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry,” Nyx said, knowing she had disappointed the woman. “That’s all I remember. Truly.”
“I believe you.”
Oeric closed his eyes with a tired groan. “It seems the gods picked a broken vessel to fill with their wisdom.”
Nyx rankled at his description. While she might have wished for her sight when she was very young, she had never considered herself broken. Certainly, her rise through the tiers at the school was proof enough of that.
“It may not have been the gods who chose her…” Ghyle mumbled cryptically, and stood. “No matter, while we can’t confirm what is considered blasphemous, we will share what we know. I’ll send a skrycrow to Highmount.”
“But if the king should—”
“Fear not, my high-spirited former student will keep our counsel. We both know the surreptitious work he performs atop Kepenhill.”
Nyx still felt ill, sensing she had somehow failed the prioress and physik. But her ears pricked at the mention of Kepenhill. It was the oldest of the land’s schools, positioned on the tallest hill at the outskirts of Highmount. It was also home to the ancient Shrivenkeep, where it was said those who achieved the emblem of Highcryst in both alchymy and religious scholarship delved into the most arcane of studies.
In her grandest of dreams, Nyx imagined herself joining such ranks. Though, in truth, she had never given it more than half a hope. Then again, she had never thought she’d ever reach the ninth tier of the Cloistery.
Ghyle finally returned her attention to Nyx. “You must speak to no one about any of this. Not about our conversation, certainly not about your nightmares. Not even to your family.”
Nyx nodded. She had no intention of doing any of that. She was happy to dismiss it all. She intended to shove it down deep—until she could no longer hear those screams. She also recognized the warning behind the prioress’s command, that Nyx’s life depended on her keeping quiet.
But will my silence be enough?
She again sensed a swirling of forces far larger than herself, of machinations and plots beyond her understanding, of a storm building. She pictured the copper orrery in the astronicum, its gears turning, spinning planets around a coal-heated sun. But in this particular case, whose hand was turning those massive gears around her?
And how long until I’m crushed within them?