Chapter 48 #2
“In any case,” the pink--cheeked augur says, “we are not here to stop you from doing anything. We are here to arm you with purpose, as we did with limited success the last time you stood before us.”
In his periphery, he sees Elegy’s hands tighten into fists at her sides.
“You wish to fly the Sundial to a doorway in the stars,” the augur says. “You must do this in order to walk the path we laid out for you.”
Theren hasn’t spoken to many augurs, but he thinks this is the most specific he’s ever heard one get. It’s unsettling.
The augur goes on: “You seek an epocha in order to do it. You seek the one who bears the Vidari name. Yes?”
“Yes,” Elegy says.
“It will not be enough,” the smallest augur says, their voice high and feather--light. “You must build a fulcrum of past, present, and future, as Rava Vidar did.”
“I’m not sure what that means,” Elegy admits.
“What did we tell you about the fulcrum?” the pink--cheeked augur says. “Surely you remember our words.”
“You said it was three voices in harmony.” Elegy sighs a little. “One who bears the Vidari name. One who knows the taste of Cenobium salt. And . . . another.” She pauses. “And you told Rava Vidar to look for past, present, and future, I hear.”
“Yes,” the augur replies. “You seek the one who bears the Vidari name—-the epocha, the past. And you have the other.” He gestures to Theren with an open hand.
“The Knight who reads hearts—-who reads the present. But you must also bring with you the future. The one who has tasted Cenobium salt. Or you will not be able to navigate the doorway.”
“So I need an augur.” Elegy claps her hands together in front of her. “Any volunteers?”
Unexpectedly, the smallest augur smiles.
“You have two options,” she says. “One of our number has been taken captive by Rava Vidar. You have spoken of her already, our oldest member. She is being held under heavy guard at the monastery where you are already headed.” She looks to Theren, and her voice softens. “You remember her, my dear.”
She must be talking about the augur in his restored memory.
“Rava promised to return her here,” Theren says.
“Rava Vidar doesn’t return what she borrows if she can still make use of it,” the smallest augur replies.
“You want us to rescue your augur,” Elegy says.
“We want you to know that she can be rescued, in some futures,” the augur with the shaved head replies. “But there is another option.”
“Oh yes,” the pink--cheeked augur says. “You can also replace her.”
“Replace her?”
Fear creeps in at the edges of Elegy. Theren feels it, too.
“You can meet our God,” the pink--cheeked augur replies.
In unison, all the augurs make the sign of the Fever over their mouths.
“If you survive the encounter, Elegy Rosyk,” the pink--cheeked augur says, “then you will be an augur.”
In the silence, he hears the distant echo of footsteps in other parts of the Cenobium. But this room is silent and still as the sunlight fades.
Elegy laughs. It sounds strained.
“To be clear,” she says, “you’re saying that if I get infected, I’ll be able to see the future.”
“To be clear, you may not survive it,” the pink--cheeked augur replies. “Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t. But when you do, yes, that is how the Fever works in you.”
He thinks of Nerina’s study of genes. The complex pattern layered through Elegy that the Fever would first kill, and then revive so that she can encounter, not the past, but the future.
There’s something fitting about this, that a woman destined for something great would meet the Fever with greatness.
“No offense,” Elegy says, “but I have no fucking interest in being one of you.”
“Then you must choose the other path,” the pink--cheeked augur says. “But you must not board the Sundial without the fulcrum in place, or it will mean death for everyone on board.”
“Though death among the stars is not the worst form of death,” the smallest augur muses.
“I could just take one of you with me right now,” Elegy says.
“You could,” the pink--cheeked augur acknowledges with a nod. “But those paths inevitably lead to capture and death.”
“Or you’re just telling me that so I won’t kidnap you.”
The pink--cheeked augur smiles. “I suppose you’ll have to trust us.”
Elegy snorts.
“The difference between you and Rava Vidar,” the smallest augur says, “is that she would use force to take one of us somewhere we didn’t want to go, and you will not. You must hold fast to the differences between you, Elegy Rosyk.” She pauses a moment. “Elegy Ahn.”
It’s a small concession, saying Elegy’s real name. Theren knows it might be a manipulation intended to soften Elegy, but he thinks it works anyway.
“Why are you helping me?” Elegy demands. “You could have told me this—-you could have told me a lot more than this—-at any time. Why now?”
“We have particular priorities,” the pink--cheeked augur says. “It would be impossible not to.”
“Does the tree resent the gardener who prunes it into a desirable shape?” the smallest augur says.
“Does the field resent the farmer for planting his crops in perfect rows?” the augur with the shaved head chimes in.
“We have particular priorities,” the pink--cheeked augur says again. “And our priority now is you.”
“And the others?” Elegy says. “The augurs who threw their weight behind Rava? What do they say about this?”
“They can no longer perceive you unless you are with Rava Vidar,” the pink--cheeked augur replies. “Just as we can no longer perceive Rava Vidar unless she is with you. That is the cost of our choices. Some are pleased with it, some are not. But time cannot run backward for any of us.”
The sun is done setting. At the edge of the sanctuary, Nerina moves from lantern to lantern to light the wicks with a sturdy flame. She’s quiet and practiced in her movements. Soon the room flickers with unsteady light.
The augur with the long, black hair, who has stood silent at the end of the row since the start, finally speaks up.
“My turn now,” she says.
She steps onto the mirror without raising her robes, inelegant, letting them trip her a little until she stands in front of Theren. She smiles, wide, a row of slightly crooked teeth showing for just a moment.
She feels . . . warm. Fond. Like someone who knows him.
“It is so wonderful to meet you at last,” she says. “These other augurs see Elegy Rosyk, and not Rava Vidar. The remaining four see Rava Vidar, but not Elegy Rosyk. But I . . .” She steps toward him, her voice gentling. “I see only you.”
Her features are elongated and narrow. Her hair is long enough to brush her rib cage, parted down the middle and graying at the temples. She’s not quite beautiful, but it’s difficult not to look at her. She’s close, within arm’s reach, and he resists the urge to back away from her.
She sees only him.
“Why?” he says weakly.
Instead of answering him, she looks to Elegy.
“You already know what he is,” the augur says. “But you haven’t told him, and that is why I must do it now.”
Elegy’s next swallow is labored.
“He deserves to have choices,” Elegy says. “What you’re about to tell him takes them away.”
“My dear, we are not granted endless choices,” the augur replies sadly. “Any decisions we make are within the confines of what we did not—-could not—-decide. We have run out of time, and now he must know.”
Theren has no room for frustration, or anger, or even apprehension. He’s still stuck on the idea that this woman, this augur, only sees him.
“You are the apex of two potential destinies,” the augur says to him. Her voice is low and clear. The room shrinks around her. “Two women with equal claim to the future of this world, and the other thing they have in common is you.”
Her eyes are as gray as her robes, a maudlin color.
“When we called Rava Vidar and Elegy Rosyk here, years ago, we told them each about a man who would precede the fulfillment of their opposing fates.” Lantern light flickers on the surface of the mirror, scattered by its facets.
“This man, we told them, would be a signpost on the way to their twin destinies. And they would each be in love with him.”
Theren goes still.
He remembers kissing Elegy outside the trailer in Twentynine, his palms on the hot metal, asking her why she was avoiding him. The fear in her voice as she replied, I told you, I can’t talk about this right now.
This is why she was afraid. Because the prophecy that ruined her life was coming true. Through him.
“To the extent that each of them understands love, which in Rava’s case is . . . variable,” the augur says, “they have met this criteria.”
Theren feels something deep and aching in Elegy, painful enough for him to bring his hand up to his sternum automatically; he feels the tumult of panic; he feels something else, too, something wild and weightless. It’s too much, all of it.
And then there’s the grief tearing through her.
It’s familiar. It’s the feeling of Shir Alexios, only stronger than Theren’s felt before, like a wail.
He looks at her, alarmed, but she’s very still, now more than ever resembling the statue of Cassandra the Seer that stands two stories high in the Getty.
“I don’t know why you are resisting this so strongly—-” the augur begins, frowning at Elegy, and he cuts off whatever she’s about to say. He’s not going to let her make it worse. The augurs have brought Elegy nothing but grief.
“Enough,” he says. “Is that all? You just wanted to tell me this?”
“Well . . .” The augur looks confused. “Yes, but—-”
He reaches for Elegy’s hand, and tugs her back across the mirror, down the aisle, and through the doors.