“Gone,” he whispered.
A sound broke from Mark, soft weeping that neither diminished nor scaled upward, a wellspring of grief that might last forever. The effort it took to reach for Mark made the room spin, threatened to pitch Pellin from his chair, and he grasped his apprentice’s tunic as much to keep himself from falling as to get the boy’s attention. “No,” he whispered. “Her vault. It’s gone. She’s herself.”
Mark turned to stare at him as if Pellin had assayed some cruel joke. “Her memories?”
Even smiling made the room tilt in his vision. “She has them. I must speak with Dukasti.” He took another drink of date wine, and the pinpoint of light narrowed some more. “When I wake.” His last sensation was of falling from the chair.
When Pellin woke again, Dukasti sat by his side. Circles darker than bruises lined the man’s red-rimmed eyes, mute testimony to the extremity of his effort. “Greetings, Honored One,” Pellin breathed.
To his credit, Dukasti didn’t waste time on rebuttals, only nodded in acknowledgment. Yet the solemnity of the gesture carried awareness of the burden he bore. “Greetings, Eldest. Your guard and apprentice tell me you have delved the girl and found her vault to be gone.” Dukasti’s eyes widened at this, as if his own words held the power to amaze him. “Is this true?”
Pellin nodded. “Have you not delved her?”
His counterpart gave a brief shake of his head. “I am far younger in the gift than you, Eldest. It will be some days before I can exercise it again. Even the thought of using my gift makes my stomach roil.”
Pellin stared at the ceiling. “Did you see it, there at the end?”
“No, Eldest,” Dukasti said. “I lost consciousness. How is it Elieve has emerged from the night without her vault?”
“Igesia,” Pellin said. “Some intuition or insight of Aer must have told him.”
Dukasti nodded his agreement. “I think he would have said the extremity of our circumstances allowed Aer to show us what we needed to know.”
Pellin smiled. “Amazing. We passed to the inside of Elieve’s vault, and Igesia used his gift to keep the evil of the Darkwater from withdrawing. When the morning sun hit Elieve with her vault open, it destroyed it.”
Dukasti nodded. “It took everything we had to manage it. We’re fortunate beyond reckoning that the corruption didn’t take us as well.”
Pellin nodded. “Indeed, but if the Vigil were at full strength, I believe it could be done with less risk.” His heartbeat increased in pace and intensity. “We have a way to break Willet Dura’s vault without destroying him.” A thought struck him. “Aer have mercy on me. We’ve killed hundreds. We could have saved them.”
“You are not Aer,” Dukasti admonished him. “There was no writing or lore to tell you how to save those who dared the forest.”
Pellin swallowed. “We didn’t think to ask.”
Dukasti said. “Do not fault yourself for what you couldn’t have known. You are not Aer. What of the writing in Elieve’s mind? Why did the evil work so hard to keep us from seeing what we couldn’t possibly read?”
“I don’t know yet,” Pellin said, “but I believe Lord Dura can summon those who can.” He took a moment to compare memories. “The writing inside Elieve’s mind is different than the writing I saw in Almawt’s memories.”
“Perhaps every vault is unique,” Dukasti said, “tied in some way to its owner.”
Pellin nodded. “Perhaps. Regardless, we will find our answers on the northern continent. There are none in the south who are infected with the poison of the desert.”
“Thank Aer for that,” Dukasti breathed.
“Yes,” Pellin agreed, “unfortunately, we have enough people with a vault in the north to test any number of theories.”
“I am the Honored One now, Pellin,” Dukasti said. “I could send some of the southern Vigil with you.”
His heart leapt at the offer, but after a moment, he demurred. “The ancients divided those with a gift for a reason. If we strip the defenses of the desert, we will find ourselves fighting a two-front war.” He looked outside. The deep night revealed hints of moonlight that bathed the sands in argent ghost light. He couldn’t see the stars, but in the sky overhead there would be scattered grains of light, testifying to the power of the Creator.
His bones ached with age and fatigue, and he wondered, idly, what it would be like to surrender his gift to Mark and sleep.
“I’m glad it’s night,” he said at last. “I need sleep. Tomorrow we leave for the northern continent.” He looked at Dukasti. “We will need whatever speed your authority and wealth can provide.”
The new Honored One assented with a small bow. “I will ride with you and ensure you have whatever you require.”
Pellin offered his thanks. “I must contact Toria Deel and the Chief of Servants and let them know of our success and my return.” He turned to Allta. “Would you bring my scrying stone?”
As he waited, Pellin thought of all that had occurred in the last day. For the first time in history, they had healed someone of their vault. He retreated into the sanctuary in his mind and floated past each door—so many—where he’d sequestered the memories of those he’d broken.
One by one, by name and visage, he apologized to their memory and pled Aer’s forgiveness. When he opened his eyes, he found Allta and Dukasti staring at him, their expectation plain. “I found myself in need of absolution,” he said. “Now, let us share the news of our victory with those who fight the battle with us.”
Allta placed the perfect shard of green diamond in Pellin’s hands, but when he called into the stone, no one answered.
Allta’s voice intruded. “Eldest.”
Pellin lifted a hand, asking for silence, then called again, but
