Directly toward Elieve.
Chapter 23
Pellin thrust his arm backward so that the man’s hand was forced to touch him instead. In his mind he locked away every recollection of Elieve and her vault. Then he waited for the presence of the soldier to appear, though the stumbling man was unfamiliar to him. The instant their skin touched, the man’s image appeared in his sanctuary, the projection a few years younger than the man himself.
“If you will allow it”—Pellin bowed within his mind—“I would like to explain our presence in Erimos in the traditional way.”
The soldier’s hand left his, and they continued walking. Nothing more was said until they reached the southernmost tip of the city, where another wall and pair of gates stood vigil. The soldier coughed twice, and like a horse on a leading rein, Arcadial swerved toward a building composed of two long wings, intersecting in the middle with a red-tiled roof. High arches that reached almost to the ceiling ran through each room. Pellin stood at the entrance and found he could see completely through the building’s length.
“The summers here are intense,” he explained to Mark. “The archways capture and magnify the breezes, keeping the interior cool.”
“This way,” Arcadial ordered in clipped tones, leading them toward the center of the building, where the two wings intersected. At his command the four doors of the room were closed and barred. Without the cooling breezes, the air turned stifling. A pair of soldiers posted up on the far side of each door until only Arcadial and the soldier who had attempted to delve Elieve remained with Pellin and his company.
Pellin bowed to the soldier. “The north sends greetings to our honored brethren in the south.”
Instead of returning his bow, the soldier’s gaze cut to Arcadial, whose mouth had tightened so that the skin around his lips blanched.
“Is it not enough,” Arcadial demanded, “that the twelve have asserted their authority over me by proxy? Must you also make it so obvious that even untutored norlanders can see it?”
The guard sighed. “Interpreter Arcadial, as I’ve said before, the twelve mean you no disrespect, but circumstances—”
“Circumstances they refuse to share!” Arcadial spat the words as if they had the power to wound. “What good is the One Church if we harbor the same divisions internally that the uncouth orders of the north parade externally?”
Pellin blinked and the soldier stiffened. “Interpreter Arcadial,” the soldier said, enunciating each syllable formally, “you go too far. The bishop and his party are guests here in the south, and your words and tone are offensive. I think it would be better if I spoke to them alone.”
Arcadial turned apoplectic. A crooked vein throbbed on the side of his forehead. “You are dismissing me? Do you think the twelve will tolerate this behavior out of one of their messengers, Dukasti?”
The soldier pointed to the door, his face devoid of any emotion. “I suggest you excuse yourself to some locale where you may scry any of the twelve of your choice and state your grievance. But Arcadial,” Dukasti added as the interpreter stomped away, “I suggest you do it in private, just in case the conversation doesn’t go as you intend. I know how zealous you are concerning your position and the dignity of the church.”
He waited until the door closed behind the interpreter before turning to Pellin, but his demeanor didn’t change. “I offer apologies for Interpreter Arcadial. He is young to be an interpreter and thinks to compensate by donning gravity as other men would a tunic. I offer you greetings, Eldest Pellin, from your kinsman of the gift here in the south.”
Pellin nodded, but a knot in his chest remained even after the welcome. “I have no memory of you, watchful one, though I thank you for your recognition. How old are you in the gift?”
Dukasti smiled. “In some quarters, the abruptness of your question would be considered coarse.” He shrugged. “I have held the gift for fifteen years.”
Rings showed under his eyes and his voice held the brittle timber of forced equanimity.
“Does Igesia still lead the southern Vigil, Dukasti?” At the man’s nod, he inched forward. “I need to see him.”
Dukasti’s dark brows lowered until his eyes glittered at Pellin from the depths. “When I touched you, Eldest, I noted many things that disturbed me.” He nodded toward Elieve. “We’ll leave the question of why your memories of her were locked behind the doors of your sanctuary for later. I noticed that you were not wholly surprised by circumstances here in Erimos.” His face darkened further. “Do you not wish to know the specifics that require one of the southern Vigil to delve every merchant before allowing them to go inland?”
“Since you touched me, Dukasti, then you know I have suspicions.” He inclined his head in apology. “And that the northern Vigil holds the blame for your circumstances. I would ask your forgiveness.”
A hint of a smile that held no humor might have touched Dukasti’s face. “You know our theology differs from yours in the north. We do not hold with the idea of blaming the group for an individual’s wrong.”
Unexpected tears burned his eyes. “Cesla . . .” He stopped, then restarted. “I knew something had changed within my brother. He grew restive at the end with his duty to guard and judge. He wanted victory.” A pair of tears, one for each lost brother tracked their way down his cheeks. He would have wiped them away and pretended they had never been, but the culture of the southern continent frowned upon such gestures.
Dukasti straightened. “You should have deposed him.”
Bitter laughter burst from him. “And have us be led by who? Elwin? He worshipped the ground Cesla walked on. Me? I was the youngest of us and least suited to leadership. I am Eldest now by virtue of attrition.”
“Forgive me for saying so, Eldest,” Dukasti emphasized the title, “but you’ve yet to make a case for why I should
