Artifacts? How could they afford to rent artifacts? “What have you four been doing the last seven months?”
“We deciphered the scripture we found on the Immersion Chamber’s wall.”
What did he mean? “I translated that within a day. How did it take you four a year?”
“I said ‘deciphered’, Saarg. There’s a hidden meaning there.”
“Wait, it was a riddle?” She’d not thought of the passage beyond being a hint where the renegades were headed.
“It’s not gibberish like they say, Saarg. It’s instructions.”
She realized she wasn’t even interested. “If you have artifacts, can you help me put an end to this entire place, Morgenheth?”
“After all the damage you did, why do you suddenly care?” There was no tone or emotion in his question, his voice was near a whisper.
She looked down. “I want to do what’s right. Sumad Reach has violated the Seeker’s Charter. There’s no more to say.” She met his eyes. “I became a Seeker to fight chaos, and it’s in this building. What can you do for me?”
For a long time, he said nothing.
She waited.
Eventually, he bent down to a pack she hadn’t noticed and pulled out a flat blue stone the size of her palm. “We made some friends.” It sounded like it might have been a complex story. “They said you asked for this?” The question in his voice invited explanation.
Terese took the stone from his hand. It weighed more than it should have and was warm, even on this cold night.
The means to destroy Sumad Reach. That was what she’d asked for in the chapel. “This is an artifact?”
“No. You’re supposed to keep it on you, and I suppose the rest will become clear. When you’re finished here, come find us. Soon.”
“Where are you?”
“HopeWall.”
She sighed. “Of course you are.”
“You know it?”
“Patzer’s obsessed with it. But… isn’t it women-only?”
He frowned. “No. Haven’t you heard?”
She shook her head. “Don’t tell me. Knowing things I don’t need to will get me killed.”
He stepped back, pulling his pack around his shoulders. “Then I’ll see you at HopeWall. Soon.”
On an impulse she whispered at his turned back. “Morgenheth! The deaths the four of you caused, back home. Did you truly do it?”
His shoulders slumped. “Whatever you learned, none of it was deliberate.”
“Wait. Back when you took me hostage. You said you’d like to let me walk away, but letting me go would be too dangerous.”
“Yes?”
“Were you planning on killing me?”
Morgenheth wheezed. “What? No! I was going to ask you to swear a vow on Polis Armer’s name. Your idea for us to not contact the newskeepers was better.”
Terese rubbed at her forehead. She’d spent half a year believing she’d been on the brink of death in that broken old shelter. Then, for no reason she could understand, she asked a question. “People call you Zale—short for Zalaran. Is that right?”
“Yes?”
“I hope I can hear your story when I get to HopeWall, Zale.”
“Only my friends call me that, Saarg.”
He climbed out the window, then somehow turned half transparent. The window’s grill bars glowed red as he bent them back into shape and welded them together, though she couldn’t tell what instrument he used. He dropped out of sight, then faint footsteps sounded below, and the wind whistled.
Terese held the stone to her cheek with both hands. It shivered and vibrated.
Shafts of morning light found her cross-legged on the bed, staring out that same window. When the morning bell sounded, she rose and dressed, tucking the stone into an internal uniform pocket.
She went to work.
20
The bell for night eight sounded distantly, within the chapel’s six walls. Outside, the winter sun would have dropped below the RimWall.
This place of quiet was such a precious thing. Over the past three weeks, Terese had spent hours in contemplation here, the peace and quiet sustaining her, answering her questions, focusing her resolve, and allowing her to craft and recraft her plan. She’d come so frequently that passing beneath the chapel’s wooden arches had become like stepping through her own front door. And all that time, the stone had pacified her, vibrating constantly in her pocket. It was no typical weaving stone, for she’d never sensed vibrations within it. But increasingly, an unfamiliar, pulsing energy whispered to her when her mind was most still. Today would be her final day in Sumad Reach. Alone in the chapel, clad in her Armer plate, Terese rose and took long, untrembling steps to the God on the dais.
“Thank You for Your help,” she said, kissing her fingertips and touching them to His chest. Sumad smiled back.
Terese left the chapel, her brown leather satchel swaying, brushing against her pack and the shortened shockpole at her waist.
People gave her second looks as they passed her on the stairs and in the passageways leading toward the administration center, clearly puzzled that she was clad in full plate. Some recognized her and looked away.
She smiled sadly as she pulled on her helmet outside Holder Mathra’s chambers and hefted her modified shockpole. Thoughts of Pella overwhelmed her. She switched her lenses to thermal, opened the door and shot Holder Mathra’s chamberlain. The old man staggered and flopped before going rigid, his muscles locking and straightening his limbs.
She pushed the stunned old man to the side, locked the door and leaned a chair beneath the handle. Two apprentices in the private kitchen were immobilized, as was Mathra’s wife. Once she’d subdued the residential side of Mathra’s apartments, she moved to the administrative side.
Holder Mathra wasn’t in his office, as expected. The five assistants bent over their desks hadn’t realized anything was happening, and the few missionaries and one head present had merely stared in bafflement when she’d shot them. So far as she knew, hers was the first shockpole to ever shoot energy, instead of passing it through contact. The hidden passage behind the bookshelf in Mathra’s study opened easily.
She and Head Fejak had used the service corridor
