Miguil flicked the reins. Goodbyes shouted around them from the maids and cooks. Ōbhin found Fingers lingering in the back, arms folded, watching with stoic grace. Their gazes met. A single nod was all that needed to be said.
Then Miguil turned them west onto the lane and they were clattering away from Dualayn’s estate.
The road would bend to the north and skirt the Porcelain. There it would intersect the main highway heading west from Kash. After three or so days of travel, they’d reach the Upfing Woods. Another day to travel south into its heart and find the ruins.
As they rode, Ōbhin glanced at Dualayn. He was going from book to book, examining something. “You do know how to find this antenna, right?”
“Yes, yes,” Dualayn said. “In the Hall of Communication.” He lifted his gaze, his upper lip swollen from Avena’s slap. “You see, the gems function through a signal that resonates through the immaterial. Eight standing harmonics.”
“The Tones,” Ōbhin said. “What was once one was broken by disharmony and separated.”
“That is . . . a creation myth for them,” Dualayn said with care. “Either way, the Tones, these standing harmonics which are probably amplified by the moons, each vibrate at their own specific frequency. Not one any human can create. Luckily, they don’t use all the possible ones. Not even close. There are plenty of frequencies not in use. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Other . . . musical notes being played.”
“Okay,” Ōbhin said, struggling to understand. He knew music scales. There were more than eight notes. “Your point?”
“That she is broadcasting on her own frequency. No one else uses it, so there shouldn’t be any signal interference,” Dualayn explained. “What she’s experiencing is degradation since I did not fully sculpt the obsidian antenna correctly. That is my mistake, but I only have the work of my friend in Democh and my translations from the Recorder’s description. Once I have my hands on the proper antenna found in Koilon, she won’t have any of these problems. I promise. She’ll live a normal existence.”
“Except I’ll have obsidian in my head!” snapped Avena from the driver’s bench. “I have the Black’s forbidden gem in my skull connected to my nerves by black iron. It’s going to leach into my blood and taint my soul.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” said Dualayn. “Perhaps I should have done a better job of stamping out these beliefs you picked up from the Daughters of Compassion. Obsidian isn’t forbidden for any logical or sound reason. It is no different than any other gem.”
“Except you have to use black iron wires to make it work. The poisoned metal that scars the world! The Black unleashed it in the Shattering.”
“Child, no one possibly knows fully what happened back then. It was three thousand years ago. Yes, something happened to change obsidian and separate it from the other seven gems, but it’s not some mythical clash between invented beings.”
“Invented?” Avena’s head whipped around while Ōbhin shifted. “Elohm is invented? The Creator of All, who put that miserable, shrunken soul into your body and filled you with all the Colours to give your existence meaning, was invented?”
Dualayn sighed and glanced at Ōbhin. “You see, the Daughters who raised her indoctrina—”
“Ōbhin, gag him, please. I’m tired of hearing his offensive speech.”
Ōbhin didn’t necessarily disagree with Dualayn about Elohm. The Tones were the truth. The harmonic resonances that powered the gems had their own . . . Well, “personalities” wasn’t quite the word. Their own quirks. They were elemental forces personifying Fire or Water or Fatherhood. However, his stomach curdled listening to Dualayn’s constant attempts to justify his actions.
Ōbhin found a rag and rolled it into a gag. Dualayn stared dully at him. “If you gag me, people will wonder. All I have to do is make a commotion, and you shall be arrested. I have powerful friends, and I don’t just mean Grey and his Brotherhood. I want to help Avena as much as you do, but there are limits to what I will endure.”
“Then don’t antagonize her. And if you do draw attention to us, remember, I can draw my blade in a heartbeat. I’ve killed better men than you.”
Dualayn shivered. “Indeed. My apologies. I forget. I just keep hoping that we can put this past us.”
“I doubt that’s possible,” Ōbhin said, tossing the gag at the man. “She’s the only thing keeping you alive. Remember that the next time you claim her god isn’t real and that what you did to her was no different from setting a broken leg.”
Dualayn stared down at the gag and sighed.
“We will find it,” Dualayn said. “The antenna. While we didn’t excavate far, lucking out and finding the Grand Library from the start, there were passages leading from it. I hope we can find intact streets. It will be dangerous, but I am willing to do it.”
“Facing death’s always a powerful motivator,” Ōbhin said, sitting down on the scholar’s traveling trunk. He leaned over. “Keep studying your notes. Make sure we find it fast so we can be done with you.”
“You shall understand once the anger dies down,” Dualayn said. “I promise. We will one day—”
“Ōbhin,” Avena said, her voice low and deadly.
His hand dropped to his sword. Dualayn swallowed and clamped his jaw shut.
For the next two hours, they rode in silence. As darkness descended, they approached one of the small farming villages outside of Kash. It lay far enough that they weren’t in danger of being swallowed by the avaricious city and its ever-growing need for land.
*
Ninth Day of Patience, 755 EU
Avena sat beside Miguil as he drove the wagon west again, the sun rising behind them. She hadn’t slept well at all. She had spent much of the night staring at the traveling chest containing her mind, half-afraid that
