Soul of the sentinel, p.4
Soul of the Sentinel, page 4
Kiernan took the paper from Hannah’s outstretched hand and began to read it. His eyes moved very quickly over the words, and his eyebrows drew together in his concentration. He began nodding along, and by the time he had reached the bottom of the page, he was smiling slightly.
“Well,” he said, at last, looking up to meet Hannah’s eye as she watched him anxiously. “You’re quite determined to leave not a stone standing of this old law, aren’t you?”
“I… well…” Hannah stammered, unsure of how to respond.
“Not a pebble,” I said firmly. “I’m sure, as a result of our previously mentioned infamy, that you understand why we’d have a vested interest in seeing this whole thing overhauled.”
Kiernan laughed. “I think I remember hearing a thing or two. Something about a Prophecy, wasn’t it?”
He kept his tone light, but I could hear the strain in his voice nonetheless. The Prophecy had destroyed his family as thoroughly as it had destroyed ours, or nearly so. Certainly, he probably got as many suspicious looks as we did, thanks to Lucida.
“And of course, I’ve got my own selfish reasons for wanting the code changed, too,” I added. I watched as Kiernan’s eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to answer.
“I… I don’t know what you…”
I grinned at him. “It’s okay, Kiernan. Finn’s your superior now that Seamus is away. I’m sure the entire barracks is buzzing like a beehive with the gossip about the new boss and his illegal relationship with a Durupinen.”
“I… well, you’re not wrong,” Kiernan said with a bit of a sheepish grin on his face.
“We’re prepared for it,” I said with a resigned shrug. “We hid it for a long time. We’re done hiding.”
“And you shouldn’t have to hide anything, not after everything that’s just happened,” Hannah chimed in, her face glowing with indignation on my behalf. “If the events at the príosún taught us anything, it’s that things cannot continue the way they are between Durupinen and Caomhnóir. Something has to change—a lot of things, in fact. And we’re starting here.” She tapped her finger on her proposal, looking uncharacteristically fierce.
“It’s not just about the rebellion and the Prophecy,” Savvy added, looking very serious. “It’s like you said, about letting people use their talents, and not just forcing them into jobs they’ve got no business doing. I suppose you knew my Caomhnóir Bertie?”
Kiernan’s expression grew sober at once. “Yes, indeed, I did. Terrible, what happened to him.”
“Yeah, it bloody well was,” Savvy said. “Because he was doing a job he wasn’t equipped for. I imagine if your request had passed, Seamus might have let the poor bastard off the hook and given him a desk job or some tosh like that.”
“That was my goal,” Kiernan said. “We aren’t all made in the image of soldiers. We should all be free to serve the spirit world in our own way.”
“That’s right. That’s exactly right, mate,” Savvy said, nodding her head thoughtfully.
“So, anyway, that’s why I’m here, and I’m exceedingly glad that Keira thought to ask me,” Kiernan said, turning back to Hannah. “I’d really like to help you with this, if you’d have me. Including a Caomhnóir in the drafting will go a long way in helping get other Caomhnóir to support it. We aren’t often consulted in this process, and it’s a sore spot.”
Hannah smiled back. “We’d love to have you. We need all the help we can get.”
Kiernan knocked on the table. “Cheers,” he said, and reached into his bag. “I’ve got several copies of my proposal here. There’s quite a lot of research I’ve already done that I think you’ll find useful.”
“Could I have a look at one of those, mate?” Savvy asked, holding out a hand.
“Certainly,” Kiernan said, handing one to her. “And what about you, Hannah? Could I show it to you?”
“Please!” Hannah said eagerly and slid over on her bench to make room for him beside her. “Let’s get started!”
3
Senses
WITH KIERNAN ON BOARD, our scrappy little band of researchers found new enthusiasm for our project, which was good, because I was nursing a guilty conscience about how little I would able to be there to help over the final two weeks. Hannah continuously assured me that my project for Fiona was important too, but it did little to ease the boiling shame in the pit of my stomach.
“You’re doing all of this for me, and I’m abandoning you in the eleventh hour!” I cried, arriving home aching and exhausted from a long day working in Fiona’s studio.
“I’m doing it for everyone, not just you, and you’ve given me lots of help already,” Hannah insisted. “Fiona is the one who really needs you now, so keep your focus on her, please. I’ve got plenty of help proofreading and copying. Besides, I really think Kiernan was the element we were missing. I’m feeling more and more confident about where the legislation is now.”
And it was true, thank goodness. Hannah was so thrilled with the material she was able to pull from Kiernan’s proposal that some of her panic and doubt started ebbing away. It was as though the addition of a Caomhnóir’s perspective had opened up an entirely new dimension to her argument, and there was no denying it was a powerful one. Even Savvy, whose participation had been half-hearted at best, suddenly began spending more time in the library, even when the others had called it quits for the day. In fact, she was spending so much time there, that it was the first place I attempted to find her a week later.
“Hey there, bookworm,” I said, dropping into the chair beside her.
She shoved her papers into her book, slammed it shut, and scowled at me. “How very dare you, you cheeky monkey! The sixth form skive off champion will not be addressed in such a manner, thank you very much.”
“What are you doing here so early?” I asked her.
“Oh, you know. Celeste told me to get involved, so here I am, making a right lifestyle out of it,” she replied. “What about you, then? What are you up so bloody early for?”
“I set an alarm so I could call Tia and wish her luck on her exam today. I would have called her last night, but it was after nine o’clock by the time I remembered, and she would have skinned me alive if I called her after 8 PM on the eve of a test.”
Savvy chuckled. “How is old Tia, then?”
“She’s good! Modest as usual, but she’s been asked to present a paper at yet another fancy medical conference, and based on her general lack of hyperventilating, she’s at the top of her class right now. She’s decided to stay on campus for the time being. I think she likes being surrounded by science nerds 24/7 instead of ghosts.”
“Ah, good on ‘er! I worried about her after… after everything that happened.” Savvy’s voice faded. She looked back down at her hands, which now looked in danger of snapping the pencil she was holding right in half. I plowed on awkwardly, knowing that talking about Charlie Wright would only send Savvy into an emotional downward spiral.
“Yeah, so anyway, she’s good. But I had to be up early to catch her, so once I was up, I… Finn?”
Finn had just emerged from the stacks, carrying two books under his arm.
“Jess! I didn’t expect to see you up so early!” he said, looking surprised but pleased to see me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“Taking out a couple of books,” Finn said with a chuckle. “It is a library, after all.”
“No, I know that, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting to see you,” I said. “I feel like everyone I know has permanently relocated to the library.”
“Not permanently, I assure you,” Finn said, placing his books down upon the table so that he could kiss me. “A pleasant surprise to see you, love.”
“What books are you taking out?”
“Some training manuals for Novitiates,” Finn explained, holding them up. “You aren’t the only one embarking on a new venture this week, remember?”
“Of course!” I said. There was so much going on that I’d nearly forgotten that the next day, Finn was taking up his new assignment to oversee Novitiate training. Some girlfriend I was. “You must be just about as nervous as I am.”
“Nearly, I imagine. What brings you to the library?”
“I thought Hannah might be down here. She was already gone when I got up. Have you seen her?” I asked.
“I saw her up at breakfast with Kiernan, going over notes,” Savvy offered up. “I expect they’ll be along soon.”
I looked at my watch and groaned. “I don’t think I’ve got time to go all the way back down there now. I’ve got to get up to the hospital wing,” I said.
“What for?” Savvy asked.
“I promised to help get Fiona back to her tower. Mrs. Mistlemoore is discharging her today.”
“Already?” Savvy asked.
“I don’t think they had much of a choice, to be honest,” I said. “I mean, imagine if you were the one telling Fiona that she couldn’t go and do exactly as she pleased. How long do you think you’d last before you kicked her out, just to save your own sanity?”
“Fair point, mate,” Savvy said, eyes wide. “I don’t reckon I’d have lasted a day, do you?”
“Well, I’m about to find out,” I said with a grimace. “I’ve agreed to be her assistant.”
“What?” Savvy asked, looking utterly horrified. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she needs someone to help her with her work here at that castle while she’s healing. And, in what can only be described as a moment of temporary insanity, I volunteered myself for the job.”
“Blimey,” Savvy whispered.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.”
“Good luck, mate,” Savvy said, shaking her head. “You’re a braver woman than me.”
“Very brave, indeed,” Finn agreed. “Is everything ready in the studio?”
“I think so,” I said. “I’m not sure whether she’s going to thank me or murder me.”
“Well, if she murders you, I know a few people who can help you Cross,” Finn said in the most practical of tones.
“Thanks,” I grumbled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
§
When I arrived at the hospital ward a few minutes later, I found Fiona sitting in a chair beside her bed, her arms folded tightly across her chest and a truculent expression on her face. Her eyes were still bandaged. Mrs. Mistlemoore stood beside her, looking exasperated.
“Fiona, you have to wait until someone gets here to—”
“Gets here to what? Gets here to what, exactly?” Fiona was shouting. “Carry me over their shoulder? Lead me around like a lost little lamb? Walk in front of me with a bloody rib roast so I can follow the smell?”
“Oh, shit, I left all my rib roasts back in my bedroom. Should I go grab a couple?” I asked as I approached the bedspace. Mrs. Mistlemoore looked up, looking frankly relieved, but Fiona gave a dismissive snort.
“That you, then, Jess? Have you been appointed my nanny?” Fiona asked, her voice caustic.
“Rib roasts? Nannying? Your expectations are pretty high, Fiona. All I did was offer to walk you up to the tower, not feed and entertain you,” I said, coming to stop beside Mrs. Mistlemoore.
“Well, you’re just a barrel of laughs today, aren’t you?” Fiona grumbled.
“I’m a barrel of laughs every day, and you know it,” I replied, before turning to Mrs. Mistlemoore. “So, what are my instructions?”
“She’s got to apply this cream with a clean swab once every three hours,” Mrs. Mistlemoore told me, handing me a large tube of ointment and a paper bag of bandages. “The bandages should stay off for twenty minutes after the application, and then she can put fresh bandages on. There’s medical tape in there, along with the bandages. If she’s got any questions…”
“If she’s got any questions, she can bloody well ask you herself, seeing as she’s right here!” Fiona barked. “And she’d quite like it if you didn’t talk about her like she was a half-wit who can’t understand simple instructions.”
Mrs. Mistlemoore closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, probably to prevent herself from calling Fiona something rather more offensive than “half-wit.” When she opened her eyes again, she kept them focused on me. “You’re quite sure you’re up to this?” she asked, hoisting one skeptical eyebrow.
“Oh, sure,” I said, waving a casual hand. “We’re going to be just fine. I already drive her crazy, so that’s nothing new. Besides, you could probably use a break. I’m sure she’s been a delight.”
Mrs. Mistlemoore tried not to smirk, but couldn’t quite smother it. “I have repeatedly told Fiona that I am happy to keep her here with me in the hospital ward until she is more fully healed.”
“And Fiona has told you repeatedly that she would rather gouge out what’s left of her eyes than have to spend another day cooped up in this place,” Fiona snapped. “So, are we going, or aren’t we?”
“Sure, if you’re ready,” I said calmly, refusing to rise to Fiona’s bait. She wanted a fight, and I wasn’t going to give her one, at least not until we were safely back up in her tower. If she wanted to rage and storm, she could do it up there, where she’d already destroyed half her possessions anyway.
Fiona rose from her chair, and I hurried over to stand beside her. “How do you want to do this?” I asked her.
I expected a snide reply, but now that she was faced with the reality of walking through the castle without the aid of her eyes, she looked suddenly small and frightened. “I don’t reckon I know…” she muttered, unable to control the quaver in her voice. “Maybe… just give me your arm, I suppose.”
I took Fiona’s hand and tucked it around my arm, and then pulled my elbow in against my side in an effort to help her feel snug and secure beside me. Her fingers dug sharply into the skin on the top of my forearm, but I tried to ignore it.
“Just let me know if I’m going too fast, okay?” I told her, and she nodded once, curtly.
“Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything,” Mrs. Mistlemoore called after us as we left.
Fairhaven was sprawling and cavernous, but it had never seemed bigger than it did on that first walk back to Fiona’s tower. Every hallway seemed to stretch on forever. Every staircase felt needlessly, endlessly long. Fiona shuffled along at first, as though she were afraid to let her feet part company with the floor. This strategy to orient herself backfired, however; the stones of the castle floors were too uneven, and she kept stumbling. Finally, after catching her for the tenth time, I convinced her to lift her feet and set them down just as she normally would have done, and our progress became slightly smoother.
“Why don’t you put your other hand out along the wall?” I suggested, once we emerged from the hospital ward corridor and into a second, wider hallway.
“What in the devil’s name for?” Fiona grumbled.
“You’ll be able to feel for clues that will help you know where you are,” I replied.
“I know where I am. I’m in the seventh circle of hell, that’s where I bloody am,” Fiona said.
“Okay, fair enough, but let’s learn to navigate the seventh circle of hell, then,” I suggested.
Fiona sighed and reached out her right hand, so that her fingertips brushed along the wall. At first, she seemed to be doing it only to humor me, but after a few minutes, I noticed her feeling around, taking note of windowsills and counting doorways.
“So, that was five doorways and three windows along that corridor, and now we’ve reached the first flight of stairs,” I said encouragingly.
“I can count, thank you very much,” Fiona replied, though with less snap in her voice than I had expected.
We ascended the steps, each of us counting them silently, trying to commit as many details as possible to memory. It was rather alarming to me how many details of the castle I had never noticed before, now that I was making a concerted effort to pay attention—as though I had been walking around the place for the last few years seeing as little as Fiona could see now. This stairway had a niche window halfway up, with a stained-glass window, and a faded, grimy portrait of a long-dead Caomhnóir standing at attention before the Geatgrima. We emerged into a wide hallway of classrooms, skirting the righthand wall so that we could count how many of them we would need to pass before we turned again. Classes were in session, and I caught glimpses of Apprentices, their heads bowed over notebooks, and a room full of Novitiates, all staring attentively at a fellow student giving some sort of presentation. I remembered how Mackie had walked me along this very hallway on my first day, guiding me through the unfamiliar passages, to meet for the first time the woman now clinging to my arm like a lost child. I had to swallow the memory along with a sudden and violent urge to burst into tears.
We turned along another corridor and found ourselves in the Gallery of High Priestesses, a collection of tapestries and paintings and portraits that documented the history of Durupinen leadership going back centuries.
“We’re in the gallery now,” I said to Fiona, who snorted.
“No need to tell me that,” she said. “I could feel their eyes on me the moment we turned the corner. Always have, from the first time I set foot up here. Gives me the absolute willies.”
I glanced at her, surprised to hear her talk like that. “Are you serious? The amount of time you spend around ghosts and old paintings, and this place freaks you out?”
Fiona shrugged. “Can’t explain any better now than I could the first time I walked this hall. There’s just this feeling—like they’ve just asked a question I couldn’t hear, but they’re all waiting for me to answer it. Let’s keep moving, there’s a good lass.”
I picked up the pace slightly, pausing only once more, as the serene countenance of Agnes Isherwood gazed down upon me from her tapestry. Mackie had told me that she was a High Priestess from my own clan, the Clan Sassanaigh. She had meant the information to be comforting—Hannah and I had not exactly received a warm welcome and were feeling distinctly like outsiders. The presence of Agnes’ likeness in this hallway proved that we belonged within the walls of Fairhaven—that the gift in our blood was ancient, powerful, and wholly our own. It wasn’t until later that I discovered that Agnes Isherwood was the one who had made the Prophecy that had shaped my entire life and nearly ended it. Since then, I’d regarded my connection with the long-gone priestess with a combination of pride and fear. I looked up into her face, a face that, for all the age and wear on the fibers, still resembled mine. It was a curious expression on her face—as though she were forever about to open her mouth and tell me a great secret—as though the very fibers of the tapestry knew things it dared not speak. I found myself shuddering from head to foot with my own case of the “willies” and though I dropped my eyes and focused again on guiding Fiona down the hallway, I felt the eyes of Agnes Isherwood on me until we had turned the corner.
