No Return (21 page)

He wondered if the beast had been born of magic, if it had cursed him for taking its life.

Of course, he reminded himself, he had not been the one to deliver the killing wound. Churls’s strike had been a thing of beauty, an act of stunning strength and precision.

In retrospect, he should not have expected anything less from the woman, who routinely got the best of him during their nightly Dull Sword sessions. Though unable to match his suit-assisted strength, she made up for her relative weakness with speed that outstripped his own. More than once, she disarmed him before he registered her movement—a first for an unsuited opponent, in his experience.

Unlike most combatants, she possessed only two giveaways: She pursed her lips before pressing forward, and her right shoulder twitched prior to switching her weapon to the left hand. At times she did neither, causing him to wonder if she were trying to keep him off-balance.

Their bouts were silent, humorless affairs. She breathed evenly through her nose and never showed her teeth. Afterward, she smiled tightly, as though disappointed with the outcome. He concentrated on stilling his shaking limbs.

Now and then, he caught her staring at him, as if she did not recognize his face.

Could she see through his pretense? He doubted the simple fact of his exhaustion would arouse her sympathy. But for a few brief moments of communion, following their course change he had given his resentment free reign. The gap between them continued to grow with each passing day, and he did nothing to bridge it. They could not be called friends, not by a stone’s throw.

By the end of their journey they would be strangers once more.

This outcome had not always seemed inevitable. He remembered the way she had looked at him when they set out from Nbena. After two decades of celibacy, the recognition of a woman’s attraction—and his own desire in response—had shocked him. For a brief while he had actually fantasized about a sexual encounter.

Now, when he caught himself staring at the curve of her clavicle, the inside of her thigh, he recoiled from his arousal.

Abse, Vedas reflected, would be proud. Though the abbey master did not stop brothers and sisters from forming physical bonds, he had made his own position clear on many occasions:
Lust clouds judgment. Remember, Vedas, we exist for one purpose above all else—to achieve victory over the enemies of man. Others have heard this calling, and felt it their duty to raise children who believe as they do, but this strikes us as too delicate a solution. Ours is the direct path. Any act that does not further us along that path is suspect.

Vedas recognized the truth in these words, and vowed to achieve an alignment of heart and mind. Accomplishing this, reason dictated, would allow him to see his path clearly again.

And yet... Again? The word rang false.

Had his heart and mind been in complete agreement when Sara and Zeb Jol were slaughtered before him, or when the hellhound took Julit Umeda’s life? They had certainly seemed to be, but now he found room for doubt. It seemed unreasonable that a man, knowing his cause to be just, having acted in accordance with his principles—bending his every thought toward one unselfish goal—should bear the weight of so much guilt.

Vedas considered the possibility that his heart and mind had never been in accord.

‡

Another restless night and fourteen hours of stiff-legged walking brought two facts into focus: He could not continue on his path without confronting his doubts, and one more day of traveling in strained silence would drive him mad.

The solution to both was simple, if not easy: he would have to seek counsel with Churls and Berun. The sooner he reestablished a sense of fellowship with them, no matter how fragile or slight, the better able he would be to name the problem that had so far eluded his waking mind.

Nonetheless, their arrival at the edge of the tenth Step came too soon. He prepared dinner slowly, trying to order his thoughts into a coherent pattern. An apology, a justification, or simply an explanation for himself. He suspected neither Churls nor Berun would accept an apology or fail to see through his justification.

An explanation, then. If he could make them understand the nature of his order, the specific reasons for his joining, they might help reorient him to his original purpose.

He had no intention of broaching the issue of intimacy with Churls—the thought of doing so horrified him—but he wondered if they might be able to reset their relationship, return it to its beginning. Dreaming of a physical encounter, ludicrous though the idea was, had distracted him from the memory of Julit Umeda.

Thus resolved to speak of his order, of camaraderie and shared purpose, it came as a surprise when he found himself recounting the events of the morning after the Thirteenth’s battle with the Soldiers of the Appropriate Desire. His walk to Querus, Golna’s only Tomen neighborhood. The smell of black pepper, cumin, and fennel. The hostile stares of dusky, redheaded men. His own stertorous breath and tightly clenched fists.

“Julit had been cremated at dawn,” he said, enunciating with great care, betraying no emotion. “Her father held her skull in his hands while we talked. He pointed to the skulls above the hearth.
Julit’s brother
, he told me.
Julit’s uncle and grandmother and great grandmother
. He spoke softly, and his wife never made a sound. I wouldn’t have known they were crying if the room wasn’t so bright. They had placed lit candles on every surface, like they were trying to chase a ghost away.

“They asked me to assist in the funerary rites. According to Abse, spreading ashes is an unclean but necessary ritual in Toma, appropriate for a stranger—or even an enemy—to perform. I fit the definition of both, I suppose. Nonetheless, the request surprised me. I hadn’t really expected them to ask. In Knos Ulom, a person’s remains are sacred.

“They told me her favorite spot in the city was just under the Physickers’ Bridge, on the Quarriton side. I used to go there as a child, too. It felt removed from the city somehow, like someone had set it aside for children. Even the homeless avoided it. The way down was tricky, dangerous for drunk feet.”

Berun and Churls stared at the fire. Neither seemed inclined to speak. Vedas let the silence stretch while he remembered. He had rolled drunks once, a lifetime ago, under the illusion of punishing Adrashi for their false piety. His gang of eleven children, not one above the age of ten, had enjoyed the implicit patronage of the city’s Black Suits, who provided information:
This is how you identify an Adrashi
, and the like. The orders had armed the children and informed their rude faith, made them dangerous.

Gave them the confidence to push homeless men from bridges.

Vedas now recognized the evil of this arrangement. He counted among his blessings the fact that Abse had rescued him. Among Golna’s orders, only the Thirteenth abstained from supporting the youth gangs. His brothers and sisters conformed to a code of ethics running deeper than mere doctrine. They watched over their recruits, educated and fed them, offered something better than a life on the streets. Even those who still lived at home were allowed to stay in the dormitories—a safe haven for many who would otherwise suffer abuse at the hands of their parents and siblings.

“Faith,” Vedas said, angling his eyes to the sky, pressing fingertips to the horns of his hood. The Needle and the moon had risen above the Steps, illuminating the plain with cold light. “Her parents couldn’t understand my faith, even though we were both Anadrashi. They had no idea their daughter had become involved with our order. It seemed to disgust them.
We’re devout
, the father told me. His wife held her sickle-moon pendant before her, as though she thought it would protect her from me.”

Churls cleared her throat. “You took off your suit?”

“No,” he said.
No, of course not
. He considered telling her that he had not taken his suit off in over two decades, that he would not do so for something as minor as his visit to Julit Umeda’s home.

But it had not been minor, had it? On the route to Nbena, he had replayed the meeting over and over again. Even with the distraction Churls provided, the event continued to haunt his sleep. On one mortifying occasion, he dreamt of Julit Umeda surviving the hellhound attack. Instead of informing her parents of her death, he went to congratulate them on her accomplishment, to welcome her into the order. He had woken from the dream, suffused with warmth, only to have the cold realization seize him again.

“Vedas,” Churls said. She leaned forward, one hand raised from her knee as if she wanted to touch him but could not make herself do it. In the glow of the fire, the tattoos seemed to dance on her arm. A bear lunged, spreading its forelegs. A falcon dived, wings pressed tight against its sides. “Did you spread the girl’s ashes under the bridge?”

“Yes,” Berun said. “Tell us. Did you do it?”

Vedas’s mouth was very dry. He moved his tongue around, but no moisture came. “I did,” he finally croaked. “I took her ashes to the Physickers’ Bridge. I slipped down the hill and located a spot to sit under the bridge—a place I used to go. The tide was low, so I hopped rocks out into the center of the river and smashed the urn. Her parents offered no directions, but that is the ritual among Knosi. We let water or wind carry the ashes away.”

“And still you felt nothing?” Churls asked. “No release?”

Vedas breathed deeply into his stomach. He held the air for a moment, and then let it rush out. “No. I don’t know what I expected to feel. I’ve commanded men and women not much older than Julit Umeda. Many times. A few have died. I never felt responsible. I did all that I could to insure their safety. I tried so hard to...”

His head dropped forward. His fingers curled into fists in his lap.

“No, that’s a lie. If I tried as hard as I could to insure their safety, they would still be alive. I shouldn’t try to convince myself otherwise. Millar Abo, Kelt Abbenajer, Amy Luethr, Somses Xu, Sara and Zeb Jol, Vakim Woril, Samual Honesth, Pylar Romane, Edard Hsui, Julit Umeda—I sent each of them to their deaths. I carry their memories. I can’t let them go, even though wisdom says I should.”

“Whose wisdom?” Churls asked.

Vedas’s features twisted into a scowl. He had expected the question, but the anger it provoked took him by surprise. “Don’t,” he said. His lips puckered, on the verge of shaping words.

“Don’t what?” she said. She held up her hand, silencing any response. “I’ve tried so hard not to offend you, Vedas, but that’s coming to an end, right here: We match honesty with honesty. I see you trying to defend your faith when you and I both know it requires no defending. Adrash exists, and you believe he should be opposed. You believe mankind should dictate its own course. Fine. As far as convictions go, it’s not a bad one. But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about what a man does in the name of his faith.”

He started to speak. Again, she stopped him with a gesture.

“Listen, the problem is that you can’t separate what you’ve been told with what you know in your gut to be true. If you believed in your role as wholeheartedly as you want to believe in it, there would be no problem. You wouldn’t have to forgive yourself for leading those kids to death because you would have been in the right all along.” She chuckled without humor. “I hear you asking a question, but I don’t think you’re listening to yourself yet.”

Berun nodded his great head.

Vedas’s fists loosened, and he clasped his shaking hands together. Despite his attempts to hold onto it, the temper that had built while Churls spoke dissolved, settling within his veins, leaving him cold. His head swam as though he had been blindsided by a vicious blow. She had spoken truly: Something did indeed call from within. A question or a revelation. It whispered at the edge of comprehension, awful in its potency.

Instinctually, he fled from it, retreating to a comfortable position.

“I should have protected them,” he said.

Churls sighed. From Berun came the odd rustling sound of spheres moving deep within his body. Neither moved, and Vedas admonished himself for a fool. Of course they had nothing to say. How could they put themselves in his position? Had they ever led a team of scared children, or tried to comfort a grieving parent? Certainly, Berun had never done so. And Churls—Churls was traveling to Danoor for personal gain, probably in order to satisfy a debt. Hardly a situation for a responsible person to find herself in.

I would have more luck talking with the ocean
, Vedas thought, and rose wearily to his feet.

“Stop,” said Churls. “Don’t go. You see Berun and me sitting here, listening? If you don’t want to ask yourself the question I think you should ask, fine—I’m not going to try to force you. Still, there are other questions. Why did you insist on going to the girl’s house in the first place? What did you hope to accomplish? You said this had happened before, so why burden yourself before your journey? It makes no sense.”

Vedas swayed where he stood, unwilling to sit back down, unable to walk away. Churls’s words passed through him like an arrow through flesh, tearing a new pathway for infection, new doubts to plague his existence.

The sound of spheres moving in Berun’s body increased, and then abruptly shut off. “No,” he said. “It’s not time to answer questions. It’s time to listen. Do you know what Nhamed told me about you? He said you’re a man of honor. After traveling with you for some time, I know this for a fact.” He swiveled his head to stare at the sky. “You’re a closed book, Vedas, and more than once I’ve wanted to knock your head from your shoulders, but that isn’t important. You defended Churls when you didn’t have to.”

His eyes found Vedas again. “Quit lying to yourself. There’s only one sure way you could have prevented those children’s deaths, and that is by not placing them in danger. If your faith isn’t strong enough to withstand the death of a child from time to time, then you will have to stop leading them into battle altogether.”

Churls dipped her head in agreement. Her eyes had returned to the fire.