And now there were no more initiates, and no more Cult, but only my blade. The last of Morgan.
14
sat cross-legged on the floor, the blade across my knees, sharpstone in hand. The stone rasped as I drew it against the edge. It was a drone that was familiar to my ears, like a prayer for calm. The girl was still staring at me. Waiting for me to do something.
'You were in a hurry a minute ago,' she said, after several long minutes filled only by the stone's song.
'Things change,' I said.
'Just in the short time I've known you, you've always been the sort to act. Rather than sit.'
'I am. But now I must also be Barnabas, and Tomas, and Isabel.' I turned the sword over and started on the other side. 'I am the Council of Elders, and the legion of Paladins, and the armies of the initiates. I have to be the whole Cult, Cass. The luxury of being only the Paladin is ending.'
'And this is what the Council of Elders would do? Sharpen their blades and think things through?'
'In a way. They sit and they think and they ask questions. Like this: Where did the archive come from?'
Cassandra stood up, paced the room, peered out the slatting, and then sat down again. 'I don't know. I don't know why it matters, either.'
'Matters? It's probably the most important thing right now. It came to us at this time, in this way. You said yourself it was a message. But a message from whom?' I stopped my sharpening and put away the stone. 'Better yet, why now?'
'Maybe this was only recently found. Maybe whoever found it didn't trust the Alexians to convict their own god-'
'A reasonable mistrust,' I said.
— and didn't think anyone would believe the Amonites. So they gave it to Morgan.'
'No one would believe the Amonites. And yet here we are. You, an Amonite, asking me to believe what you've read on the archive.' I got out a rag to polish the sword. 'And what you've read is that your god is innocent, and the only god we have left is the true murderer.'
'I swear, Eva, that's what it says.'
'Perhaps. And if it does? What are we to do? Proclaim Alexander as the Betrayer, and lead a popular revolt among…' I waved my hand dismissively. 'Among the civilians? Lead an army of trash pickers and fishermen against the Fraternal Army?'
'We would join you! Free the Librarians Desolate and we would provide you with-'
'Stop. No one will believe the scions of Amon. Joining you to the cause would only invalidate it in the eyes of the people.' I leaned back against the tower and closed my eyes, the rag and sword forgotten in my hands. 'I haven't said I believe you, yet. The more I think about it, the less I believe. It's too perfect, and too easy to conceal. Some Amonite cult mocked up a pretty-looking machine and snuck it into the monastery. It didn't make any sense to us because it's just a pile of junk made to look nice, so we summon an Amonite. The Amonite `deciphers' the archive to reveal that the Scholar has been innocent all along.' I opened my eyes and clutched the rag. 'How could you expect us to believe that?'
'How do you explain the murders, then? Someone wants to keep this hidden.'
'Or is willing to kill to make the story look good,' I answered.
'Gods, why are you so stubborn?' She stood up and threw her arms wide. 'They've declared you apostate! For no reason! Alexander has burned your monastery and is going to kill your Elders! And you're debating over who the enemy actually is?'
'For two hundred years we have carried the banner of the Fraterdom. We have hunted the scions of Amon throughout the earth!' I stood as well, because I looked more impressive standing than this skinny, curly haired little girl, and I didn't want her to forget that. 'Amon has been the Betrayer for all that time! Do you expect us just to abandon that crusade, to make amends and turn against Alexander? On your word, you, an Amonite?'
We stood trembling at each other, fists balled, jaws set. I at least had my arm thrown over a mighty big sword. She didn't back down. She wouldn't back down.
'Really, I don't care if you take my word. But it's true. I don't know what has to happen for you to believe that, but it's true.'
'The timing is crummy,' I said, after a space of many breaths. 'The Rethari are marching. They could have spies in the city. They could be spawning those… monsters, agitating the Betrayer Cults. They could have fed the archive to us, and fed false information to Alexander, implicating us in the attacks. The Alexians could be acting in true faith. The Rethari could be setting us against each other in the hope of finally throwing us down and raising up their own gods.'
'You have a lot of theories,' she said. 'But I'm not hearing a lot of answers, and fewer plans.'
I sighed and nodded. 'Yeah. It's easy to ask questions.' I sheathed the blade and buckled on my holster. 'I need to know more, though. I need to know that this is true, before I act.'
'Who else can you ask? The Alexians? They're not just going to say, `Oh, yeah, right. We're the ones who killed Morgan. Sorry about that,' and go away.'
'No, they're not. And if it's true, I'm willing to bet most of them don't know, anyway. No, I need to find a different source. Someone I can trust.'
'Who?'
I looked around the little platform, at the wreckage of our short stay. This might be a holy place, someday. The last temple of Morgan.
'The Feyr. Amon's research led to them, didn't it? Maybe they still have the same answers to his questions.'
'There aren't many Feyr still around.'
'Nope. But I know where to find them.' I motioned to the archive, and her shotgun. 'Get that stuff together. We're going, and we're not coming back.'
* * *
The echoing hum started up in my bones as we got closer, the period of the impellor's vibration getting shorter with each step. By the time Cassandra and I were standing outside of the tall, black tower, every second breath was washed in the invisible song of the impellor.
There was a time when these had been the tallest buildings in Ash, save the Spear and the Strength. Mostly for the comfort of the inhabitants, though even here at ground level the wave of the strange device inside was… distracting. Up at the same elevation as the monotrain, you couldn't stand this close to the impellor, not without jellying your meat. All across the city, any building this high had a couple empty floors, abandoned to the periodic thrum.
Cassandra hid in an alleyway near the tower. I had told her where we were going. There would be a signal for her to come inside. I was still wearing my new half-cloak, and the sword was bundled into a reed mat strapped across my back. Not the best disguise, but the best we could manage. No one had called the whiteshirts on us. Yet. Once Cassandra was good and hidden away, I braced myself and went inside.
The tower was really just a shell, stitched inside with catwalks that gave access to the central spinning core. Black-clad Amonites crawled all over the inside of the tower, checking fittings and monitoring the impellor's activity. They wore some kind of hard suit, with masks and goggles over their faces. The sheath twitched beneath the reeds on my back as a wave of adrenaline spun through my fingers. Up there, in their goggles and masks, they looked so much like the coldmen. Similar technology, maybe? I swore, every clue I got gave me more people to mistrust. My instincts yelled for guilt on the heads of the scions of Amon. Everything else pointed to Alexander. I didn't like it.
The impellor itself was… alien. The shaft was a blizzard of movement, like a tornado of twisting metal pistons and smooth, swooping cogs that meshed and danced at odd angles and impossible speeds. The structure rose to
