Among those had been—was—a notion of sin, the first sin. Until now he had only suspected what it was, but the hint of possibility must have been retained out of all that had been lost in being one with the Fay.
Somehow he knew their sin, though not why they called it such.
Their—his—first sin had been domination, a slavery so utter and complete, but he could remember no more than this from his time as part of them.
Was the one memory, that last image of his own sin, all that was left of Nawyat?
Perhaps it was a sign that the guide was still there and would return to his own flesh. Perhaps that was just a pathetic wish spawned in guilt and self-loathing he could have never imagined.
Chap slipped from the tent and hobbled at first until he regained control of his own body.
He began running for the coast.
Each dusk he burrowed into the snow with only the fur hide Leesil had fashioned around his body. He was left to fitful sleep, plagued by what he had done to a man as Fay and what he had felt from the orbs.
Each dawn he hunted for any wild game until the day fully came. Whether he had eaten or not, he ran onward. When he finally saw the ocean in the distance, he turned southward along the shore. On the seventh day, in the late afternoon, he spotted a canvas shelter upon a small knoll above the rocky beach. Down near the water, someone stood looking out over the ocean.
Chap saw white-blond hair blowing in the wind—and he howled.
Leesil twisted around and, as Chap bolted onward, Leesil shouted. “Magiere!”
Chap stopped ten paces off when Magiere thrashed out of the shelter. She went running toward Leesil until she saw Chap. He’d known they would wait for him, though he was uncertain how Magiere would react now. She only studied him through unreadable eyes.
“Is it done?” she asked.
He huffed once for yes.
“I want to go back to Calm Seatt,” she said. “I want to talk to Wynn.”
Chap huffed once, again. Then Leesil was on him, wrapping both arms around his neck as Magiere joined them.
In the mouth of the cutway off a street in Chathburh, Chap looked back and locked eyes with Leesil. As before, as on the ship, perhaps they remembered some of the same things ... but not everything.
Leaning against Leesil’s chest, Magiere breathed heavily and raised her right hand. There was still blood on her fingers, like there had been the moment in the Wastelanders’ camp among the corpses of the dogs.
“What did I—?”
“It’s all right,” Leesil interrupted, stroking her hair.
Nothing was all right. All three of them knew this, though Chap knew two things that were far worse. He looked away from Magiere and then hung his head.
She was not the only one who had changed for the worse.
The first sin of the Fay was not his only burden, though he did not yet understand why and how they had come to name it so. It was one thing no one else could ever know until he understood what it meant.
Leesil had felt nothing from touching the orbs. Magiere had felt something only when she opened one or touched a thôrhk to it. The only difference between them and Chap was that he was a Fay born into flesh.
And he did know exactly what he had felt.
A Fay had been imprisoned inside each of those two orbs.
All the hate that Chap bore them for what they had done him and those he cherished did nothing to smother his second guilt. What he had done, he would not even wish upon Brot’an.
Chap had buried alive two of his forsaken kin in a frozen grave to be forgotten.
Chapter Fifteen
Returning to the annex, Chap followed Leesil and Magiere through the reception area and up the stairs. As they passed, two sages sat reading in the library, but neither looked up. When they reached their room, Chap paused.
He was too weary with his own burdens and, even though Magiere needed tending, he did not want to spend the night watching Leesil soothe Magiere. When Leesil ushered Magiere in, Chap remained in the hallway. Leesil looked back in puzzlement.
—I will—stay—out here—for a while—
Leesil half turned to Chap but then glanced at Magiere collapsed on the bed. Leesil pursed his lips and was perhaps ready to argue, but instead nodded and closed the door.
Chap looked down the hallway. Both Leanâlhâm’s and Brot’an’s doors were closed. Chap quietly approached the latter and sniffed at the space near the bottom. The scent was faint, but he could tell that the old assassin was inside. It was the only scent he picked up, so Leanâlhâm must be in her own room. And suddenly Chap no longer wanted to be alone.
Leaving Magiere and Leesil to each other, he went to scratch softly on Leanâlhâm’s door. Light footsteps sounded inside, and she opened it and looked down. Her hair hung loose down her back.
“Majay-hì?”
—May I—come in?—
Leanâlhâm blinked, glanced about the upper hallway in puzzlement, and then stepped back.
“Please,” she answered, pulling the door wide for him.
He entered, and after closing the door, she scurried in her bare feet back toward the bed. The book he’d seen her with earlier was lying open and propped up on a pillow.
—Were you—reading?—
“I have been trying, but the pictures keep stopping me. My people do not make drawings like this in their texts unless necessary.”
Chap was slightly taken aback by the ease with which she talked to him. Perhaps having her own space to control made her more comfortable. Anything that made her treat him less like an aberration of her homeland’s sacred guardians was a relief to him.
She clambered up onto the tall bed, settled before the book, and turned a page.
“Are you coming up?”
He leaped up after her, stumbling a bit when his paws sank into the quilt and mattress. He stretched out, and she pointed to an illustration of a young elven female dressed in a sage’s robe and holding an etched wooden plate.
“I think she was doing travels and uncovered artifacts, but I do not know why she was traveling.”
Chap glanced over the story.
—She—was—a journeyor—
Leanâlhâm looked up at him in surprise. “You can read this book?”
—Some— ... —words are—different—for elves—in—this land— ... —I know—only—the way—your people—speak—
Leanâlhâm’s brow wrinkled for a moment at that, and Chap hoped she would not start treating him with awe once again. Thankfully, her curiosity overrode all else.
“What is ... a journeyor?”
—Like Wynn— ... —a rank—among the sages— ... —They go—away—after learning—much—to learn—more— ... —to prove—worth—and bring back—knowledge—to their guild—
“They must be so brave to go to strange places all alone.”
—Not all—journey—like Wynn—did— ... —Most—go to—other—branches—annexes—settlements—in their—region—or—places—to work—
Leanâlhâm grew quiet and still. “She is very brave, and now she will journey again with that other man and your daughter ... and Osha?”
—Hopefully—
It seemed a strange thing to hope for. Chap said nothing about the hope that any of them would survive to return home. Leanâlhâm pulled her knees up against her chest and studied the image of the young elven sage, and Chap dipped lightly into her mind for any surfacing memories.