Wynn flipped to a blank page in her journal and began writing every name she could find.
She marked the names of five of the Children. The rest remained to be identified as either the Reverent or the Eaters of Silence, or someone separate altogether. She scanned onward, reaching a place where the original text had decayed too much. Only fragments of Volyno's entry remained.
Wynn paused with her quill hanging motionless above her journal.
The Children, the five, divided—what did that mean? Did they become at odds with one another? And why had the Beloved taken refuge, and from what?
Volyno and Häs'saun had gone with Li'kän and the orb into the Pock Peaks, where the castle had been built by minions in that high frozen waste. Wynn knew too well what had become of those 'obedient chattel.' Magiere had seen hundreds of ancient skeletons, only some of them human, left crouched and curled in obeisance within small stone cubbies—left to starve in the cavern below the castle. The sanctuary they had built housed the orb that Magiere, Leesil, and Chap now attempted to hide somewhere in safety.
But what had happened to Volyno and Häs'saun?
It was hard to imagine that they'd simply left, since Li'kän seemed trapped there. Every time the white undead had tried to do anything, something unknown and unseen had reined her in. In over a thousand years she'd never left that place. Alone for so long, and sinking into her madness, Li'kän had even forgotten the sound of spoken words. It seemed likely that for whatever reason, Volyno and Häs'saun were no more.
And if «divided» did mean 'separated,' there was still the question of where Vespana and Ga'hetman had gone. And why decrease their strength in numbers, as well as abandon their master? Three had gone with the orb, so what had the other two done?
And most of all, where had their Beloved gone?
Perhaps these answers were what the black-robed undead was searching for—other ancient servants of the Enemy. Wynn reached a disconnected phrase so puzzling it knocked out all other questions.
She checked the left column. Its translated part sounded like some kind of Sumanese, possibly Iyindu, but the rest was missing. If Domin il'Sänke had translated this, she would have to ask him. But when she scanned the rest of the column and looked to the codex for any further reference, she found nothing more. Surely if il'Sänke had any notion of its possible meaning, he would've noted it for others working on translations. With no other texts as old as these ever found, internal referencing was what would be leaned upon most.
Volyno's writing grew more and more sketchy, more broken by untranslated or unreadable pieces. Soon Wynn found it difficult to distinguish between a possible name and just indefinable proper nouns. She did come across a word translated as «priests» near another reference to 'those of the Beloved.'
She remembered the calcified remains Magiere had spoken of along the curving tunnels and cavern of the orb. Li'kän had walked between those long-dead worshipers in utter disregard. Again Wynn found herself understanding—sharing—the fear that drove Sykion and High-Tower to deception and subterfuge.
Had a dark religion existed behind the force that sought the end to all sentient life?
Wynn didn't care to think how people like Rodian would take that, coupled with an ancient history they denied. Had the Children also been a religious order?
No, not with other groups mentioned. Those ancient Noble Dead might have been seen as holy, but by mere title, the more likely «priests» were the Reverent. So which of the other names belonged to the third group—the Eaters of Silence? And who or what had they been?
Wynn bit her lower lip in frustration and turned the page. It was the last one in the stack.
She dug through the piles, checking volume numbers for any section that followed, but she never found one. Further work on volume seven hadn't been completed yet.
In the end, she had a list of seventeen names and nine blanks as possible names where the writing systems were unknown to the translators. Of the former, five were the Children of the Beloved—Li'kän, Volyno, Häs'saun, Vespana, and Ga'hetman.
Wynn swallowed hard and then started at a grumbling whine.
'Young Hygeorht!' Tärpodious croaked from the outer room. 'If that animal has an accident in my archives, you'll answer for it! It is late for supper already.'
Had an entire day slipped by again? Wynn glanced down.
The female looked up, not even raising her head from her paws, and a wave of guilt hit Wynn. Her new companion hadn't gone outside all day.
She restacked all the pages as best she could and gathered her things. About to close her journal, she glanced once more over the names there. The majay-hì finally raised her head and sat up, peering over the tabletop.
'Names and more names.' Wynn sighed, carefully stroking the female's head, remembering the day she'd haphazardly named Lily. 'And I still don't know what to call you.'
A quick chain of images shuffled through her thoughts—Chap alone, then with Lily, their heads touching, and finally the old wolfhound.
Wynn groaned. 'Stop that. It doesn't mean anything to me.'
But it didn't stop. The images merely slowed in repetition.
She saw Chap leaning into Lily, slowly sliding his head along hers, as the majay-hì did in memory- speak. This time, when the wolfhound's image rose in Wynn's mind, it flickered with the image of a charcoal- colored pup tussling with her siblings.
Again, and again, until the image of Chap speaking to Lily faded into the mother's memory of a dark-coated daughter—now sitting beside Wynn. That last memory wasn't Wynn's own.
Wynn slipped from the chair, kneeling before Chap's daughter. She had no experience in memory-speak, so it had taken time for the meaning to finally sink in. Another instant of looking into the female's yellow-flecked eyes finally brought clarity.
Wynn didn't need to find a name.
Chap had already supplied one, taught to Lily, and through her to their daughter, in a way without words. A name called from his own memory of an aging wolfhound, honoring a simple animal who'd once saved him.
Wynn carefully put her hands around the face of Chap's daughter.
'Shade,' she whispered.
The dog didn't respond in any way. Wynn relaxed all conscious thought to let her own memory of the wolfhound rise. As an answer, she received a warm, wet lap of tongue across her face.
It was going to take time and effort before they understood each other better.
With that, she gathered her things to leave, and Shade followed her into the outer chamber.
'Master Tärpodious, will everything be kept as I've arranged it? I didn't know if the materials would be secured for the night or left out for me.'
For a moment his wrinkled face softened, perhaps at the concern and diligence of her studies. He was an archivist, after all, dedicating his life to the catalogues of knowledge. Then he scowled at the 'wolf's' presence.
'I'll return it myself… to its safe place,' he said. 'But I'll pay heed to your arrangements when it is brought back out tomorrow.'
'Thank you,' Wynn said, but she wondered where the translations were being kept.
'Come, Shade,' she said. 'We'll have to hurry if you're going out to the gardens before the portcullis closes for the night. I don't think anyone would appreciate your relieving yourself in the courtyard.'
She hurried for the stairs, and Shade trotted beside her without being urged. As they neared the side arch of the common hall, Wynn began to fret. Better to take the main passage around to the front than go through there again. Before she even passed the entrance, Domin High-Tower came thumping down the passage from the
