“You know the Makers act for a reason.” Galen stood slowly, easing his stiff leg. “You are the rightful leader of the Order.”
“Ah, but who knows how many are left?”
“How did you stay free?” Raffi blurted out. “How did you escape the Watch?” He was fascinated, Carys knew. His eyes shone as if he were hearing an old story come to life; she could feel the excitement in him.
Solon shook his head. “We left Mardoc. I’ll never forget looking back from the hills and seeing the black figures of the Watchguard that surrounded that place. Nor how they dragged him out . . .” He glanced again at Flain’s window, as if for help. “But he had outwitted them even at the end, and though he went to the torture, they say the Watch has never found the House of Trees. One old man defied them. I pray his sufferings were short.”
The House of Trees. Carys wondered what he’d say when he knew they’d been there. That she’d been there.
In the stillness the fire crackled. A leaf-scutter rummaged in the beech tree outside the window. Felnia put her head around the door. “Marco’s thirsty. Can I get him some ale?”
Tallis turned quickly. “Yes. Open a new flask. And Felnia!”
The little girl came back. “What?”
“Stop listening at the door.”
Carys grinned. Felnia stuck her tongue out and vanished.
Solon looked nervous. “Will she tell Marco?”
“No. She’s . . . been trained to keep secrets.”
He nodded absently. “I must finish my story. I’ll be brief. For years after Mardoc’s death I eluded capture somehow. One of my scholars died—my dear Jeros, shot by a Watchpatrol as we fled through a town at night. We had to leave his body lying there in the dirt, without even a blessing. The other . . . he lost faith. He renounced the Makers. That was an even more bitter blow.” He cleared his throat. “Finally, last year, I was caught, digging a relic up from some farmland. The farmer had his house burned and went to the mines. I was . . . interrogated.”
He sat very still. Carys bit her lip and looked at Galen, who stood up and stalked to the window, looking out.
“Where did they take you?” she asked.
“A Watchtower.”
“Number?”
“I’m not sure. Forty-five? At Feas Hill. A black, bitter place. I had no idea there were such places.”
“What was the castellan’s name?
“Timon. I think it was Timon.”
Galen half turned and glared at her. She sat back.
“I don’t know how long it lasted.” Solon’s long fingers rubbed the scars on his wrists; Carys knew he would have more, all over his body. “A stinking cell, endless beatings, torments. They have worms of Kest that devour flesh, burrow into the skin . . .”
His voice broke.
Tallis reached out and took his hand, and he smiled at her. After a moment he struggled on.
“All the brutality you have heard of the Watch, my children, all of it is true. I heard men tortured in other cells around me, screaming to die. And I was no hero. They broke me down soon enough. I would have told them anything they asked, because after a while there is only pain. The agony in your body fills all the world. I forgot the Order, but the Makers did not forget me. In one corner of my cell I scratched an image of Soren. No one else would have recognized it. In all the delirium and fear and darkness I sometimes thought she was there, speaking to me . . .”
Galen swung around. “And the Ring?”
“They never found that. As you know it cannot be seen or felt unless I wish it. I managed never to wish it.”
“You were lucky,” Carys said bluntly.
“I was. I knew so little that was of any use to them. I had seen no other keepers for years, knew no safe houses, no passwords, no networks of hiding places. In the end, I suppose they just grew tired of me. The Watch always have more prisoners to ill-treat. I was left alone for weeks. Then, one day, we were chained up and brought to Telman, to the Frost Fair, eleven of us. One died on the way. Marco and I were shackled together on the journey, the iron cutting into our legs. We became friends—unlikely friends, I admit, but then, we both fully expected to die, and I wanted to convert him. I thought I had accepted death. Until you came running up to me, Raffi, and the ice shattered. I still do not understand how that was done. But I thank Flain for his mercy.” He smiled gently at Tallis, drawing his fingers back. “And you, Guardian, for your peaceful island.”
She nodded, but from the window Galen said bleakly, “How much do you know about this Marco?” He turned, and they saw his face was dark. “Why were they holding him?”
“Ah.” Solon looked awkward. His fingers stroked his neck as if he felt for awen-beads that had been long lost. “Yes. Marco. He’s a good man, Galen. He tried to get free one night and they beat him with chains for it. He may not think quite like us, but . . .”
Galen came closer. He looked grim. “Archkeeper. What had he done?”
The older man smiled unhappily. “You won’t like it.”
“I can see that. Tell me.”
Solon scratched his cheek. Then he said, “It appears Marco went back on a business deal with them. He cheated them. I’m afraid he is—was—a dealer, Galen. He sold relics to the Watch.”
9
I have done dark things. Dark and terrible. And I cannot undo them.
Sorrows of Kest
CARYS WINCED.
Galen exploded into rage. “He does what?”
“We must forgive him. He’s a good man.”
“A good man!” The keeper lashed a chair aside in fury. “Do you tell me we’ve brought such a man here! To Sarres! Half carried him for miles through wood and fen! Dear God, Solon, if I’d known, I’d have put the noose around his neck myself!”
“No, you wouldn’t,” the Archkeeper said mildly.
“You don’t know me,” Galen snarled. He strode across the room in wrath. “Men like that are the scum of the world. To steal the gifts of the Makers and sell them for scrap! And you say he’s your friend!”
“He is.” Solon stood up. “Come, Galen. We are here to help the fallen, even those who have sunk so low they believe in nothing. He needs us. He may not know it, but he does.”
Galen folded his arms, fighting for control. He took a deep breath, but when he spoke his voice was still acid with bitterness. “No wonder Mardoc chose you if you have kindness even for a wretch like this. I am not so perfect, Archkeeper.”
“You’ve had a hard struggle. We all have.” Solon came up to him hesitantly. “But he’s here now. And for my sake, Galen, let him stay.”
Galen looked at him in surprise. “You’re the leader here, not me.”
“I still ask you.”
A shrill giggle interrupted them. They looked through the window and saw Marco limp painfully across the lawns, Felnia running in front of him. He sat carefully on a stone seat and gazed around, legs stretched out.
“For your sake,” Galen said harshly. “But I pray he won’t steal all of Sarres before the end.”
“You blindfolded him,” Carys pointed out.
He glared at her. “So I did.”
“And now . . .” Solon sat down quickly, as if anxious to change the subject. “I have told my story, and someone, please, must tell me yours. I am eaten up with curiosity.” He looked around the table at them contentedly. “I mean, how did you all come here? And if this is truly the island of Artelan’s Dream, how is it uncorrupted? Above all”—he turned to look at Galen, who was still staring darkly out the window—“above all, keeper, how did you break the ice and speak to the trees with such strength? Because I have never seen the like of that in my life.”