Chapter 12
Penny
Ishouldered through the door to the mission with my hands in my trouser pockets and my head hung low.
I didn’t mind missions as a whole; they did good work in local communities and, obviously, I had benefitted from their care.
But they had a certain smell that triggered unhappy memories, and I would just as soon have left them to their business and let them leave me to mine.
Kit was right that I wasn’t the one doing the robbing, but the weight of guilt plagued me as I wandered into the building, almost hoping to find it empty. That would be a stroke of good luck, and I was due some after the past two days.
The place was spacious and serene. The ceiling soared to the underside of the thatched roof in the central room, and to my left was an open door. A peek through it identified it as the infirmary ward, stretched the entire length of the building, lined with white sheeted beds and bathed in sunshine.
Back in the main room, wood floorboards seemed to point toward the far wall, where another door was tucked beside a few stacks of chairs. Since I didn’t see anyone in the infirmary—nurses or patients—I headed to the gnarled wooden door and knocked.
Scuffling sounds from inside preceded a woman’s voice calling out, “Be right there!”
The door swung inward to reveal the local Symbiarch in a plain gown with her frizzy brown hair in a bun. Her smile crinkled her blue eyes as she fixed them on me.
“Good morning, young man. Is there something I can help you with?”
I’d made no plans. Hadn’t considered for even a moment what I would say to keep this woman occupied while Kit and Anders stole away with all of Wendwood’s communal supplies.
But Kit needed me to distract her, and I needed him to be safe, so I snaked my tongue across my chapped lips, then spouted off the first thing I could think of.
“I’m visiting from out of town and thought I might stop in for… a tour?”
I sounded uncertain and so did the Symbiarch as she repeated, “A tour? Of the town?”
“No!” I blurted and shook my head. “Inside. A tour inside this building. Just here.” I swallowed and turned to glance back at the large room behind me. “It’s… lovely.”
When I faced the Symbiarch again, I found her still smiling kindly. “What’s your name, son?”
“Penwell,” I replied before wondering if I should have lied. If she pressed for my surname, I would come up with something other than Oliver. But, rather than question me further, she extended her hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Penwell,” she said. “I’m Sybil, and I would love to give you a tour.”
She laid a hand on my shoulder and spun me so we could walk in stride.
The open space was just that: vacant and abysmally uninteresting.
There was nothing to look at besides the walls, ceiling, and floors, and a podium positioned toward the front center presumably for the speaker at public town meetings.
I blinked and nodded and tried to listen as Sybil told me about the town’s founding, when the mission was built, and the Symbiarch who had tended it before her.
Tried to care about anything she said. Tried not to let my attention drift to the small sliver of the bank of bay of windows I could see through the open door to the infirmary, beneath which Kit and Anders were working.
I wasn’t sure if I just wasn’t very convincing or if my lack of response beyond the occasional grunt clued her in, but Sybil stopped and turned to face me.
“What brings you to Wendwood?” she asked.
My heart rate picked up to racing. “What?”
The crow’s feet around Sybil’s pale eyes deepened as her gaze sharpened. “You said you were visiting. What for?”
“Sightseeing.” I blurted the first thing to come to mind, then patted the satchel slung against my hip. “I like to draw. New towns have new things. Sometimes they inspire me.”
Sybil’s skeptical expression eased. She had a pleasant smile that would have soothed me if I wasn’t so wracked with shame. “What a wonderful pastime,” she said. “Paneus blesses the act of creation, you know. And the hearts of creators.”
I nodded. My mother said something similar when I was young, excusing my wandering mind and the constant need to buy more paper and pencils. She permitted that part of me, encouraged it even—most of the time. Sometimes, I even thought she was proud.
Sybil broke into motion, headed toward the infirmary. I had myriad reasons for wanting to avoid that space. I was already tired of lying, so it was fortunate for this one I could be honest.
“Oh, not that way.” I raised my hands to call her to a stop. “Just beds and sick people. Not very… scenic.”
Sybil nodded, but the twist of her lips was clearly perplexed.
I shrugged sheepishly before I noticed her gaze moving to my upheld palms. Everyone stared at my scars the first time they noticed them; some people even hesitated to shake hands with me.
But being accustomed to the odd looks and unspoken questions didn’t make me any less sensitive to them, and I quickly tucked my hands back into my pockets.
With nothing else to see, Sybil stood a little ways from me, looking me from head to toes and still visibly puzzling.
“Are you very devout, Penwell?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not particularly.”
Less and less since my father died and I joined the Bone Men.
Losing his body to the cult was a staggering blow in itself, and finding out that Merrick was the one responsible did further damage.
My time in Ashpoint had given me no greater belief in either god than I had before, just less faith in the people who worshipped Eeus.
It made me think of what she’d said about the Paneus, what my mother might believe until she learned the truth of what happened to her husband’s remains.
My nose scrunched in a frown, and I looked away. “If I was, it would be hard to believe Paneus cared much for me. According to some members of my family, I’ve been a curse since the day I was born.”
Sybil clucked her tongue. “Now, you can’t believe that. Every soul has value in the eyes of the gods.”
“And the ability to spoil that value with foolishness,” I quipped. Or wickedness, but I didn’t say that part out loud.
I’d told Kit this didn’t make him a bad man, but it felt bad. Not for any religious reason, simply because I was raised better than to pillage and pilfer from others.
“Is something troubling you, son?” Sybil asked.
So many things had been piling up for months. Things I didn’t even tell Kit about for fear he’d blame himself. Like he’d corrupted me. But I’d insisted on my own ruination. I demanded to come and stay here, for my family, for my farm, for my pride… My lips pursed.
My silence served as answer enough, and Sybil bobbed her head. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen? We can talk more comfortably there.”
She motioned toward the door I’d knocked on, far from the cellar, and I obediently followed her lead.
Inside what was clearly her living quarters, it was crowded but quaint.
Furniture lined every wall from the kitchen through the sitting area to the curtain hung to create a barrier between more public spaces and what I assumed was her bedroom.
She motioned first to the hook by the door, where I hung my cloak, and then to the pair of sagging chairs on either side of a small table.
I went and sat while she took a kettle from the top of her cast iron stove and poured from it into a pair of tin cups.
I was remiss to take anything else from her, even hospitality, but I mumbled thanks when she gave me my cup, then held it between my palms, letting the drink’s heat pulse through my skin.
Once she had settled beside me, she set her tea on the table and swept her hands down the front of her dress before turning a sweet smile on me.
“It’s not often I am sent a wanderer,” she mused.
I frowned as she explained.
“A seeker,” she said. “You have questions.”
Did I? Maybe one…
“So, you don’t believe in curses? At all?”
“What sort of curse?” Sybil asked.
“Like… Eeus.” It seemed almost disrespectful to say his name here, but I forged on. “If someone is given to him as a sacrifice, do you not believe they’re cursed? That their family is cursed?”
“You mean taken by the Bone Men?”
My stomach surged into my throat, and I fought to keep my expression from betraying me. I couldn’t respond, too thoroughly choked, so I nodded.
“They have planted fear where it shouldn’t exist. Twisted Eeus’s true nature to suit their designs.
It’s a tragedy, truly.” She lifted her tea to blow off the steam, then took a sip.
“They’re trying to do something that’s been done hundreds of times, in calling the gods down into mortal form, but they’ve bastardized what was supposed to be an act of celebration and reverence by seeking to control Eeus once he’s here. ”
That was the purpose of the Vessel, that unseen monstrosity built of stolen bones. My father was part of it now. An honor, Merrick claimed. I failed to see it as anything but an abomination.
As for the Bone Men’s efforts to bring Eeus to walk among us, or to control him as Sybil claimed, I couldn’t fathom any good coming from it. Or, if it had been done before, what had come from it in the past. No one had attempted it in my lifetime. Not that I was aware of.
“People have always longed to be closer to the gods,” Sybil continued. “So the gods gave us a series of rituals to call them to our lower plane, to be with us for a time before returning to where they belong.”
“What kinds of rituals?” I wondered if she knew about the Oaths, or if asking might cause her to suspect our true intentions in coming here.
“It requires a willing host,” she said. “They must first take the mark of the god to designate themselves as the chosen vessel. Then they give a food offering, generally whatever is freshest in season or being harvested at the time. Third is purification. A special tea is prepared to cleanse the body and purge it of impurity…”