Bolt picked his way through the marsh along a path that might have been a road in the past. I couldn’t see much difference. The smell of the sea came to us on the breeze, but it wasn’t the cold, clean scent I’d experienced in Vaerwold. This was heavy with the humidity of the south and held so much decay within it, I wondered how it managed to stay off the ground.
After another mile, we put enough of the shimmering waves of heat behind us that I could just discern the outlines of a village. Houses made of yellowish clay formed a broad arc defining the boundary of the village, but I couldn’t make out the rest of the details.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a village laid out in a circle before,” I said.
Bolt shook his head. “You wouldn’t have. None of the villages, towns, or cities in Collum is old enough.” He pointed at the sweep of buildings ahead of us. “This is Aeldu. We don’t know if it’s the oldest village on the continent, but if it’s not, it is close. It’s been deserted for the last hundred years.”
We were close enough to now make out hints of color that had been used to decorate the houses, suggestions of blue and green that still showed beneath the brown stains of weather. “Why?” Gael asked.
“Something changed,” Bolt said. “Either the sea rose or the land sank, but the villagers couldn’t keep the salt water from poisoning their fields. Eventually it crept into the village itself. Everything was taken.” He sent an unblinking glance my way.
“Are we still talking about the village?”
He abandoned his regard of Aeldu long enough to consider the question. “Are we? I don’t know. Maybe if the villagers had fought a little harder they could have held on to their lives.”
“How do you stop something as big as the sea?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but if you don’t try, you certainly won’t.”
“Pellin doesn’t know what to do,” Rory said.
During his silence as we rode, I’d forgotten he was with us. I’d also forgotten just how perceptive the little thief could be.
We coaxed our horses forward, and the ground under their hooves squelched with each step as we passed through the outer ring of houses and came to a smaller inner ring of buildings somewhat larger than those on the outside.
“These were homes as well,” Bolt said.
“For those who were wealthier.” I nodded. “That never changes. Money gets you access to power.” We passed through two more rings that I recognized as belonging to craftsmen and merchants before we came to the center of the village, a broad church that could have housed every occupant of Aeldu and then some.
I knew why Bolt had brought me here, but until that moment I’d been less than hopeful that Ealdor would appear. Now I feared that if I didn’t see him, I never would.
“The entire village is a children’s game,” Gael said. “It’s laid out in four circles.”
“I thought it was supposed to be a circle of four,” Rory said.
“No,” I said, feeling inside my mind for the door of memories that belonged to Custos. “The game is so old, we don’t know what it’s supposed to be, or even if it matters. More than one account of the children’s game says whoever calls the Fayit must die.”
“It hasn’t happened yet,” Bolt said.
I nodded. “It’s the yet that bothers me.”
The church squatted in the middle of a plaza, but the stones of the encircling street were mostly covered with mud. I dismounted, and a swarm of gnats floated up to surround me like some warped idea of a halo. No one else moved. “You’re not coming?” I asked Bolt.
He shook his head. “I don’t think we’re supposed to. You don’t need protection. Nothing’s here except us.”
Rory slapped his neck. “And the bugs.”
Bolt nodded. “Watch for snakes, Willet. If you see a blue one with a wedge-shaped head, give it a wide berth.”
I was about to say that the snakes in Bunard didn’t crawl on their bellies, but that wasn’t entirely true, so I let the comment pass. Two sets of steps led up to the church in groups of six and nine, of course, and I passed beneath a wide gray stone lintel that still showed a pair of intersecting arcs, the universal symbol of the faith. Broad double doors of thick reddish wood greeted me, closed. I grabbed the tarnished lever and pushed, but weather and disuse had swelled the panels. I backed up a step and, in a gesture that felt like sacrilege, rammed my shoulder into the right-hand door.
Toria stood in the small stable yard behind the estate in Edring, preparing for the journey Ealdor had assigned. A century of changing location every decade had taught her the importance of preparation. A quote from Elwin when she’d first come to the Vigil hung in her mind. “If I had seven days to make a journey, I would spend the first making sure I was prepared.” And this journey would be longer still. Aer willing, she and the rest of the Vigil would return from their travels.
“Strange,” she murmured.
Across from her, Fess raised his head from his inspection of their supplies. “Lady Deel?”
She started at the sound and turned, struck again by how impossibly young Fess looked for the burden that Aer had placed upon him, for the burdens he had taken upon himself. For a moment she considered demurring, but there might be few opportunities for unguarded conversation on their trip north, and despite her position within the Vigil, she needed companionship as much as anyone.
No. She
