Chapter 11
They had lost the priest, but they were rapidly losing the day as well.
Artair found himself glancing at the sky repeatedly as they wound their way through the narrow streets.
They were on the outskirts of Addersport, and the shadows were deepening.
Darkness did not necessarily mean sleep, but he was aware that thanks to a night spent running through the jih wood and another night sleeping on an uncomfortable cellar floor, he felt dangerously tired.
He had spent all his life training to be able to go long hours without sleep, yet there was no avoiding the fact that he was exhausted, light was leaking from the sky and a large part of him yearned to lay down and close his eyes.
‘Can we not find another tavern? I have the coin for it.’
‘Yeah, I saw the amount of silver you were piling up on that bar. Where did you get all that from, anyway?’ And then, before he could reply, ‘And no, we can’t find another tavern. That Trilot priest will still be after us—’
‘After you .’
‘—and we’re close to the edge of the city. We’ll be able to camp tonight under the stars.’ Clearly she couldn’t wait to leave Addersport.
‘I took the silver from the abbot’s room. And some gold too,’ said Artair. ‘I did what I had to do. I don’t have anything of my own.’
‘Well, from what you’ve told me, he won’t be missing it.
’ The buildings were thinning out around them, the waterways becoming more frequent.
The setting sun lent its deep orange light to the lines of water, turning them into fiery patterns, and in the distance it was possible to see the road that led to the east. ‘There, look.’ Elver pointed at a group of long, narrow boats that sat low in the water.
There were people climbing on and off them, their arms full of goods.
A tall man with a large moustache was lighting lamps on each boat as the daylight receded.
‘Look—a market. We can buy some food there with your ill-gotten silver, then disappear into the wood off the road for the night.’
A green narrow boat with golden moons on the side appeared to sell all manner of food, so they cautiously climbed on board. Immediately, they were approached by an older woman with a wide-brimmed hat. The glance she gave them was distracted, half impatient, but not unkind.
‘Well, what can I do for you? I have to go with the tides, my loves, or I won’t make the morning market in Sarancester.’
Artair stood in the prow, watching as Elver rattled off an order to the market woman, the sack containing the cub held securely in his arms. The boats sold food mainly, but he saw swords being sold too, and on one boat, a portly man that reminded him of Brother Benzin was selling charms that supposedly kept you in the good graces of the Twelve.
Many of them were made of glass and crystal, and they winked and sparkled in the ruddy light of the sunset.
It was the people, though, who drew his eye: they stood and chatted with each other, laughed at jokes, picked up their children when they ventured too close to the edge of the waterway.
He saw men and women holding hands; saw one man peck another on the cheek fondly before slinging his arm around his partner’s waist, and an older woman kiss her shorter, balding husband fondly on the top of his shining head.
In the monastery, such affections were never spoken of.
Not because it wasn’t allowed, exactly, but because they had all agreed not to, without ever having discussed it.
The idea of wanting to spend time with one person alone when your life must always be separate—it was too painful.
‘Are you ready?’
Elver had reappeared. She had also bartered a second sack off the woman and had it slung over one shoulder. Her hood was pulled low over her face and he noticed that she stood turned away from the humans, as though looking at them hurt her too.
‘I am,’ he said.
By the time they made it to the woods, it was full dark and Artair felt ready to drop.
He followed where Elver led—she could see in even the deepest shadow, she had told him—the weight of the cub becoming more and more difficult to bear.
It was almost funny, he thought. All that training to control his body’s weaknesses, and one full day in the real world had near wrecked him.
Elver had fallen into the silence that she was apparently used to, and all at once Artair found he needed to hear her voice. It would help keep him awake.
‘Tell me about Trilot,’ he said. ‘Tell me about this priest.’
‘You don’t learn about the Twelve in your monastery?’
‘We do, but only the basics. I imagine you know more.’
‘Hmm.’ In the safety of the wood, Elver had thrown back her hood and her white hair shone under the moonlight like the lamps on the boats.
She had a heart-shaped face, he noticed, countered by the sharpness of her cheekbones, and her yellow eyes had a darker line around their edge, making him think of the gold coins in his pack.
‘Trilot the Faceless is the god of justice, truth, purity and travel. They’re a powerful group, usually the hidden hand behind things like the city guard, the magistrate, schools.
In Addersport, they used to keep a few sticky fingers in the ports as well as under the guise of travel priests, and the ports in that city are rich.
Trilot deals in secrets: mages dedicated to Trilot must give him secrets in order to perform magic.
And…’ She frowned. ‘There are rumours about other things their god will accept, but I don’t know how true they are. ’
‘What things?’
Elver tipped her head to one side, then shrugged.
‘It doesn’t matter. Trilot’s priests take a vow of purity when they enter the temple, and that means that they are forbidden from human touch, both giving and receiving.
With each year of service, they earn a new piece of priestly garb to cover up their skin—a hood, a pair of gloves, and eventually a mask so that they are entirely covered up.
Touching another human, skin to skin, is the worst thing they can do.
It loses them their connection to their god. ’
‘So the fact that you touched that priest’s face…’
‘It will have caused him all sorts of trouble.’ She grinned.
‘He’ll not stop coming after us, then.’
‘No,’ she said, although he noted that she didn’t sound wholly certain.
‘Priests are too fond of their cosy little temples to leave them for long. And he’s just a priest, not a magpie.
He can’t use magic, he can just, you know, do whatever priests do.
Mewl around their gods’ skirts like kittens, I suppose. What can he do to us?’
‘At the tavern, you said I would need the help of another god to save my friends from the Bloody Claw. I’m guessing Trilot won’t do.’
Elver gave a brief snort of laughter. ‘Trilot would rather see both us and your Sleepless novices burned to a crisp. No, what you need is a lie. A powerful lie. An illusion to fool… to fool the mage.’
There was a spark in the girl’s eye that hadn’t been there the night before. He wondered what had changed.
‘You’re suggesting I give her an illusion of the cub instead of the real thing?’
Elver nodded. ‘And to get an illusion, you need to deal with the god Tisk. I happen to know there is a mage dedicated to Tisk near a village to the east of Addersport. You can go there and buy an illusion spell, and then give the thieving magpie a version of this cub convincing enough that you can get the novices out before she notices.’
‘The god of mischief and lies.’ Artair frowned. It felt risky. ‘How do I know Mother Maura won’t just see straight through it?’
The girl seemed to wince, but turned her face away before he could figure out why.
‘I guess you don’t. But I still think it’s your only plan.’
He cleared his throat. ‘And will you come with me? Will you help me, Elver?’
Her glance was sharp and piercing; it was, he thought, like being watched by a bird of prey.
‘What do you need my help for?’
‘I know very little about mages, or gods. I’d never even been in a city before.
You’re right, maybe I could manage this alone, but I think my chances are better with company.
And I need someone to keep watch over me at night so the Other doesn’t escape.
’ He took a slow breath. ‘I can’t fail. People are relying on me. ’
Elver looked around at the darkened trees, as though seeking their counsel.
‘I’ll come at least as far as the mage,’ she said eventually. ‘I know where the temple is, and she will need the cub in order to make the illusion. After that, I’ll be taking him back to the Jih Forest. Where we both belong.’
They eventually chose a clearing on the edge of a stream to make camp.
Elver made a fire with the ease of someone who performed such tasks every day, and they let the cub out of the sack.
Elver spoke to the creature in a low voice—Artair caught the odd snatch of their conversation, phrases like ‘behave yourself’ and ‘soon be home’—and then they unpacked some of the food they’d bought at the waterway market.
‘He’s saying he wants some of what you’re having,’ said Elver.
Artair looked down at the pastry in his hands, which was filled with chunks of beef, gravy and carrots. It was probably one of the best things he’d ever eaten.
‘Oh.’ He broke off a chunk and threw it to the cub, who caught it in one snap of his jaws. ‘Does he have a name?’
‘He said he’s thinking about getting one. Something like Strongest-in-all-the-forest, or Cruncher-of-human-bones.’
The cub was pushing at Artair’s ankle with his nose, and he found he didn’t need Elver to translate his intent. He broke off another, larger piece of pastry and passed it to the cub, who this time snaffled it straight off his palm.