Kedle said, “Talk to Momma first. Momma understands me better.”
Could be. Madame Archimbault never put herself forward but she was the backbone of the family. She had a little quiet Kedle in her. She would be more disappointed than Raulet but definitely more understanding.
The Perfect said, “Let’s see what we can do for the boys right now.” He had some ideas. He would run them past Socia.
* * *
Queen Isabeth left Khaurene quietly. Only a few people turned out to watch. The weather was damp and cool and Isabeth had done a good job of fading from public awareness. She left one company of sixty soldiers to defend the Duke and train local soldiers.
The flight of militant Episcopals left the city quieter than it had been for years.
The economy was recovering. The Khaurenese were hardworking people who understood that God had given them an opportunity.
Partly due to the intercession of Maysalean Perfects, Serenity and Anne of Menand went off display, to be confined in more benign circumstances. Both recovered some. Anne never did understand why she had been so maltreated.
Their God did not intercede on their behalf.
Perhaps He was testing their faith. Serenity certainly believed himself to be on divine trial.
The deposed Patriarch loudly insisted that he was still the legitimate prelate.
Two score citizens of Antieux made the pilgrimage to Khaurene to attest to the evils Bronte Doneto had inflicted upon that city.
The verdict was never in doubt. Only the severity of the sentence remained to be discovered.
Brother Candle and other Perfects argued for clemency. They won the point partially, on Anne’s behalf, and that only because they argued that the judges must honor the Widow’s commitment to King Anselin.
Anne went home after just five weeks of Khaurenese torment, the shine gone off her that quickly. Anselin was welcome to her.
Kedle volunteered to lead her escort.
Socia refused her.
So the Widow vanished. Like that, during the night, she and the Vindicated decamped.
Brother Candle was surprised only because Kedle said no farewells.
Evidence at the Soames house suggested that the flight had been planned and executed with military precision and little concern for family.
Socia summoned Brother Candle. “Kedle is headed for the Holy Lands. She is on the road to Terliaga. She has a ship chartered. It won’t be fully fitted and provisioned for several weeks yet.”
“You know all this how?”
“I went and looked.”
He did not address that. She was a grown woman. She knew her own mind. Nor would he be able to change anything after the fact.
He was certain she roamed the darkness most nights, more carefully than she had done in Antieux. There were no rumors.
She was not him. She would not disdain the use of the tools the Instrumentality Dawn had given her.
He said, “She hid her intentions well.”
“She wasn’t happy. She couldn’t be the Widow here.”
“I knew that without understanding how miserable she really was.”
“What are you thinking about, old man?”
“Nothing. Other than to wonder about how Raulet and Chardén will be affected.” Mother preferring war to the company of her sons was sure to shape tomorrow’s men.
“They’re already used to her not being around.”
He grunted.
“Kids are tougher than you think. I survived it. You scream and curse but ten minutes later you don’t remember what your problem was.” She was sad, suddenly. “Neither Raulet, nor Chardén, nor even Lumiere, will have known their fathers.”
“You’ve been thinking about this.”
“Having children makes you think.”
“Unless you’re Kedle.”
“She thought a lot. Count on that. And she’s still tormenting herself.”
Probably true. “She was afraid she would hurt them. Physically.”
“I know. The same hungers and dreads haunt me. But I don’t have the option of running away.”
“Kedle has another twist. Hope set the fire.”
“I know. But Kedle wants that not to be true.”
Brother Candle thought Kedle wanted it to be true with Socia, instead-the impossibility of which might have tipped her decision to run away. Choked, he said, “I know how I can help.”
* * *
Brother Candle wore the white of a Seeker Perfect. That drew stares in Terliaga. Terliagans seldom saw Maysaleans. Most did not realize what he was.
Though al-Prama was the majority religion in that city, most other faiths had a following. Unlike the Khaurenese, Terliagans got along.
Brother Candle was intrigued by the squawking, quarreling seabirds overhead. He acquired an equally raucous coterie of curious youngsters. He smelled the waterfront long before it came into sight.
The vessel he sought proved to be a dismally small coastal carrier called Darter the way a grotesquely fat man might be called Tiny. He grew miserable just looking at it. Its aroma said it went fishing when it had no cargo or charter.
Brother Candle supposed the crew would not be above a foray into piracy, either, if the odds looked good enough.
The roguish-looking one-eyed ship’s master was pleased to have another paying customer. He became obsequious once he saw the Perfect’s serpent tattoos. The eyes of the one on the old man’s throat tracked.
No other passengers were aboard when Brother Candle took possession of a coffin of a cabin, determined to begin gaining his sea legs while the craft was still tied up.
Raulet Archimbault and the Khaurenese Seekers had been profligately generous in their effort to succor the moral foundation of their most famous daughter. Kedle might become the face seen by the entire eastern world.
So Brother Candle could afford the ship’s mess and a personal cabin.
The old man obsessed. Why must he afflict himself with the hell to come? Why was he not on the road to Sant Peyre? What hideous, insane compulsion drove him?
A Seeker pilgrimage to the Holy Lands really made no sense.
There was only one explanation.
The Good God required his presence amongst the Wells of Ihrian.
33. Lucidia: The Mountain and the Mountain
The Mountain was on the Mountain. The Rascal had grown that weak. Nassim and the Ansa dared, occasionally, to move into visual range of Andesqueluz.
The subsidies from Indala let the Ansa spare men to watch. Alizarin kept his lightest falcons deployed, too. Despite the firepowder shortage his crews had permission to fire if they got a good shot. Sometimes a crew moved fast enough. The effects were small but cumulative.
Er-Rashal fought back, ever less effectively.
“What is he eating?” Nassim once wondered. “He was never the sort to garden.”
Az replied, “The Ansa say some of their people have disappeared.”
“He ate them?”
“So the Ansa believe. It’s one more reason they’ve gotten aggressive. They’re terrified of what he could become if he resurrects Asher.”
Nassim stared across the barren slope. He saw only shades of brown flecked by points of sage gray. Not much lived up there. “What are we doing, Az? Is this really God’s work?”
“One must consider the impact on the Faithful of er-Rashal being successful at recalling his devil.”
“One should, yes.”
“The Ansa fear that he will soon begin capturing sacrifices to finish his ritual.”
“Sacrifices? On top of cannibalism?”
“So they say. The missing people were probably sacrifices that he ate afterward.”
“Why would they think like that?”
“They have tribal recollections of the old ways.” Az shrugged. “They’ve been setting traps. Some of them are quite clever-and appallingly ugly. They want to borrow a falcon.”