Children of a Broken Sky (Redemption Chronicle Book 1) Page 4

  Suddenly her expression darkened. "Are you certain you're not in any trouble?"

  "Mother!" Lyseira reprimanded. "Give him a chance, for the love of winter.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked Seth.

  "A Preserver shouldn't hunger," he answered. Then he admitted, "But if you're eating anyway, I'd take whatever's left."

  Shouldn't hunger? Lyseira parsed this and turned away to prepare breakfast, marveling. I barely recognize him. How did they get him to start talking that way? The Seth she remembered nearly ate them out of house and home.

  "M'sai, 'Seira," Mother told her. "I'll handle the food. You visit with your brother."

  As Lyseira took a seat at the little table, Seth said, "I heard about Abbot Forthin."

  "That was a terrible business," Mother agreed as she started logs burning for the oven. "Lyseira had the poor fortune to find him."

  "It was his time," Lyseira offered. She didn't like discussing it.

  "How did you know about that?" Mother asked. "I know Father Forthin was an abbot, but I didn't think word would travel so far west."

  "I visited the temple when I arrived. I met a heretic on my way here and needed to report him. Deacon Annish told me."

  "You met a heretic?" Lyseira asked. "In Southlight?"

  Seth considered this. "I met him on the road, and accompanied him here. So yes, he is here now. He names himself Brother Matthew." He paused. "He seemed kind. We spoke much on the road. I told him where the inn was before I reported him."

  A distant loon's call echoed in the silence.

  A heretic in Southlight? There had been stories of witches for years, but never anything so close to home. If Abbot Forthin were still here, she would go to the temple this afternoon to find out what was going on. Maybe even send a message north for him, or help escort the heretic to the Tribunal.

  She blinked, coming back to herself. "So what is the school like?" she said, trying to move on. "I've always wondered."

  He glanced at the wall and then down at his lap. "I have failed to become a Preserver."

  "What?" Lyseira leaned forward. "How?"

  "I was nearly accepted," Seth said. "I bested each challenger and all physical tests. Master Retash said my combat skill is 'without peer.'" The barest hint of pride glimmered in his words.

  Again, silence. Lyseira said, "But...?"

  "But a Preserver also needs to know and follow the tenets of scripture." He drew a deep breath, his eyes latched to the wall, his jaw locked. "That is where I failed. In my knowledge of the Church's history and of the history of the Preservers, and in my understanding of the Seven Sacred Principles."

  Lyseira absorbed this. "Wait. You failed a history test?" She guffawed. "That's the Seth I remember!"

  "Lyseira!" Mother chastised.

  Seth's gaze moved a degree away from Lyseira. He's ashamed, she realized. "I'm sorry," she said, her smile fading. "I didn't mean anything by it." I'm just relieved to hear you're still in there.

  "The Trial can be attempted twice. After a second failure, students are expelled."

  "Well, you can study the pieces you missed, can't you?" Lyseira pressed. "They must have a copy of scripture at the school."

  "I can't. The words are beyond me." He clasped his hands on the table, still staring past her at the wall. "There are others with that failing, but they can listen and learn. I fail even at that.

  "Master Retash arranged for me to leave the compound for a year. He told me to think on my failures and find a way past them. I came to you because you've always been wise with words, and you know scripture. You..."

  Lyseira waited while he assembled his words. "You helped me when I was a child," he said at last, "and I had hoped you would help me now."

  Helped me when I was a child. A pang of old anguish flashed in her heart. She cupped his clasped hands in her own. "Of course I will," she promised. "You're my brother." And you've no idea how much I've missed you.

  He finally lifted his eyes to her. The gratitude she read in them made her heart ache. Akir takes Abbot Forthin and my dream of initiation, but returns my brother, she realized. I don't understand it, but I'll accept what He gives me. This afternoon, we can go up to the temple—

  "Oh, no," she blurted. "Mercy, Seth. I'm not sure I can help you."

  "Why?"

  "I... well, I've made a mess of things with the new Keeper." At the oven, Mom turned around and arched a brow. Lyseira stole a glance at her before looking away. "I went up to meet him last night, and he..." She winced, preparing for a tongue lashing from her mother. "He threw me out."

  "He what?" Mom demanded.

  Seth interrupted. "He asked me to send for you when I came. He needs your help."

  Lyseira blinked, struck dumb by this news. Angbar's encouragement from the night before echoed in her mind. "What? With what?"

  "He didn't say," Seth answered, "but he asked that I bring you as soon as possible."

  She threw a questioning look to her mother, who pursed her lips. "Go on, then," Mom said, waving her off. "Breakfast will still be here when you get back."

  ~ ~

  Lyseira found the new Keeper in Abbot Forthin's old office, seated at the desk, reviewing a ledger. Seth waited in the chapel while she went to the doorway.

  "Father." Lyseira bowed her head and waited to be acknowledged.

  "Oh, look up." He snapped his gaze to her. "Did you manage these ledgers for Abbot Forthin?" he demanded. His lazy eye might have been quivering with rage. "The man was blind, and this is woman's writing."

  A thousand retorts leapt to her tongue. She fought them all back. "He may have been unable to see the ledgers, but his mind was whole. He asked for my help, and I gave it. I wrote only what he asked me to write."

  Annish flipped the pages, a curl of disgust on his lips. "This..." He shook his head, flipped another page, then huffed as if he'd spotted a worm on his coat. "This is an abomination. Irregular tithes, and not nearly ten percent from most. I see..." He counted on his fingers. "The Smiths, the Mellersons, and the Rulanos—to your credit. Three." He brandished the count at her. "Three families. Nearly all others tithe less. Most don't tithe every week. And the Shed'deis—there is no record whatsoever."

  "Angbar's family doesn't attend—" she started, before realizing her error.

  "Their failure to attend temple is a separate sin. Am I to understand it should somehow excuse them from their debts to Akir?" Father Annish snapped.

  "No, Father."

  "They do breathe the air He made and drink the water He sends?"

  She fought to keep her humility. "Yes, Father."

  He shook his head. His gaze slid over her breasts before returning to the ledger, where something made him scoff. "And this." He jabbed a finger at an entry. "In his personal journal, he mentions performing miracles of healing, yet the donation in the ledger is far below expectation, if it's there at all.

  "'Nellie Ferguson, on the second of Northwind, healed of influenza.' Influenza," he repeated, stealing a chance to bore into her eyes. "That can kill a child without intercession. And the donation...?"

  Three heels, Lyseira thought, but kept her tongue.

  "Three heels," Annish spat. "Three copper heels. Did Forthin think so poorly of Akir's miracles that he would rent them out like cheap alley whores?"

  Her restraint shattered. "The Fergusons are poor shepherds," she snapped, "and old friends. Three heels was half a week's profit for them."

  "And a tenth of the expected donation for us! You condoned this?"

  Damn right I did, she wanted to say, but her brain caught up to her tongue before it could speak. "I would never question the Keeper," she retorted instead.

  His onslaught halted. His good eye searched her gaze, while his other regarded her ear. "Fair enough." His posture eased. "You aren't even an initiate. Why would I expect you to keep an abbot in line?"

  He tapped a finger on the desk. "I shouldn't tell you this, but you're a smart little thing; you'd probably figu
re it out anyway. Forthin was not running things the way he should've been. That is probably why he never sponsored you. If an initiate suddenly showed up in Newton who thought it was a'fin to heal shepherds without donations because they were poor, and accept low tithes... well, it would come back to him. It should've come back to him." He snorted. "Truth be, the bastard was lucky to die when he did."

  Lyseira's hand curled into a fist. The 'bastard?' She wanted to roar, to slap the man across the face. You were an initiate for forty years and you dare call The Abbot a bastard? The man who taught me everything I know, the man who was the closest I've ever had to a father? She was ready to give up everything, to throw away her entire childhood of work, to defend Forthin in that instant. She looked away, fighting to keep control, and met eyes with Seth.

  He shook his head.

  "No matter," Annish finally continued. "I'm here now, and things will be done according to Akir's plan. This"—he indicated the ledger entry for Nellie Ferguson—"will not happen again. It's no wonder this temple looks like a cesspit, when there's no collection of donations."

  She ached to confront him. Nellie would've been lost without Father Forthin's help. Would you have watched her die because her parents were poor?

  "I've decided to give you a second chance," Annish said. "I have a task for you."

  Lyseira forced the thoughts from her mind. "Thank you, Father," she made herself say. "What is it?"

  "A man by the name of Matthew Rentiss arrived this morning. He was once an abbot, but after the Rending he left the Church to marry a woman." He paused, as if to let the moral of this story sink in. "The man is a heretic. He has wandered Darnoth for years now, spreading lies about the Church.

  "I need you to find him and confront him. Make it clear that he's not welcome and needs to leave."

  "I..." Lyseira had expected to clean the front entry, or at worst, be sent out to collect on back tithes. She wasn't ready for this.

  "Is there a problem?"

  "I just... will he even listen to me? I don't speak for the Church."

  Annish glared. "Aren't you clever. I'm not going to find you a sponsor, just for this. You'll have to try harder than that."

  Lyseira flushed at the accusation. "I'm not—I'm not trying anything, I just... isn't he more likely to listen to you?"

  "'Never question a Keeper,' you say, yet you've questioned me twice just since you walked in here. Did I make a mistake with you?"

  She swallowed her retorts. "No, Father. I'll do as you ask."

  "Good. I'll be leaving this afternoon to head to Coram. I have to send a message north. I'll need you to manage the temple for a few days."

  Despite herself, she felt a rush of pride at this news. "Yes, Father. I will."

  "I'm sure." He closed the ledger and rose. "Lest you read more into this than you should, let me be clear: Do as I ask before I return, or I will request a real initiate for this church." He dragged his eyes over her body. "One who knows his place."

  ~ ~

  "I can't stand that man!" she hissed once they were back on the road, out of earshot. She whirled toward her brother and stabbed a finger toward the temple. "It's bad enough that The Abbot died, but then we have to get him!"

  Seth said nothing, his eyes dispassionate.

  "Why does he talk to me like that? Who does he think he is? I have practically been running this church by myself for the last two years!"

  "He speaks to you in that way because he's your superior," Seth said, in a voice like stone. "He thinks he's the Keeper of this temple, and he's right."

  Lyseira gaped at him. "But how can he just ignore everything I've done for the Church? I've helped The Abbot keep this place running since I was a child!"

  "He's not Abbot Forthin. Why should that matter to him?"

  "Well, why shouldn't it?" Lyseira pounded her fist against her thigh. She felt tears brimming in her eyes and called on her anger, wielding it like a club to knock them away.

  Finally, she looked at her brother. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

  Seth returned her stare. "I didn't realize I had to choose."

  The Seth she had known would have been supportive, she was sure of it—and probably would have chased the deacon down and hit him with a mudball for good measure. That was seven years and half a lifetime ago, she realized with a sudden chill.

  This isn't the same person.

  ~ ~

  The next morning she went hunting for Brother Matthew, and found him outside Horace Brogund's bakery. It was Mountainday, time for Brogund's legendary apple sweetcakes, and a small crowd had gathered as it did every week. The weather had grown even colder overnight; the villagers were a mass of scarves and heavy winter coats, the words of their conversations coalescing in a haze of fog around them.

  Helix and Minda were at the back of the line, laughing as Minda nibbled playfully at Helix's fingers. She was miming eating an applecake, except Lyseira had never seen anyone eat an applecake like that.

  Ugh. Minda Fletchins was a tramp. Lyseira had no idea what Helix saw in her. To be fair, though, it was easy to see why Minda was drawn to him: he was tall and muscular from the hours spent in his father's smithy, with a broad, honest smile and a cap of wild red hair. The freckles he'd had in his youth had faded, robbing him of the childish look he used to have and leaving a rather handsome man in its place. In the summer, he would sometimes wander around with his shirt off, treating the girls of the village to a view of the black hair leading from just below his belly button and into his breeches. This led to rampant speculation among some of the less scrupulous girls as to the color of the hair further down: red or black? Of course, Lyseira had no patience for such nonsense and made herself scarce whenever the topic was raised.

  She preferred to wonder about such things in private.

  "Miss Rulano!" Cyrus Forester called to her. Now there was a man who had had his fair share of applecakes. "Yer not usually one for Brogund's sweets. Changed your mind, have you?"

  She returned his smile and pulled her coat tighter against the chill. "No, Cyrus. Sorry to disappoint you. I was actually looking for someone named Matthew Rentiss."

  A scruffy man turned toward her voice. "You've found him," he called in no particular direction.

  She wasn't sure what she had expected—someone more sinister-looking, maybe, with shifty eyes and greasy hair—but Matthew was not it. He wasn't old, but he was verging on it. He looked like a homeless vagrant, and—

  By Akir. Is he blind?

  He gave an amiable smile, aimed somewhere to her left. "What can I help you with, ma'am?"

  Lyseira felt a twist of guilt. Annish hadn't told her the man was a cripple. "Oh, just a word," she said. He extended a hand, and she shook it.

  "Just a word?" Cyrus said. He pulled in a sniff of the cold air. "When you can already catch a hint of them cakes on the wind?" He smiled at her conspiratorially. "Let me buy the cake, girl. One cake, and you'll be here every Mountainday morning with the rest of us."

  Lyseira shivered as a sudden gust of freezing wind lanced through her coat. She smiled at Cyrus wryly. "How enticing."

  Cyrus guffawed. "It's your choice, kiddo. You change your mind around, my offer stands."

  "Maybe next spring," Lyseira said. "I'm sorry Matthew, but can you step out of line so we can talk? Just for a moment."

  "I don't know." Matthew quirked a brow in mock suspicion. "I'm told these applecakes go fast once they're out, and I've already been waiting some time. You wouldn't be trying to take my spot, would you?"

  Cyrus laughed. "Our Lyseira has too much honor for that. You go ahead. I'll hold your place."

  "Well, then," Matthew said. "I'd be flattered, Miss...Lyseira, is it?"

  She took his hand and led him away. "Lyseira Rulano," she answered.

  "Brother Matthew," he returned. "A pleasure."

  The guilt chewed at her. He seemed like a nice enough man. She resolved to get it over with.

  "Brother Matthew," she said wh
en they were out of earshot, "Father Annish, our temple Keeper here in Southlight, asked me to come and talk to you."

  "Certainly."

  "You need—" She halted as he inclined his head, listening closely. "He's asked me..." she started again, but the earnest look on his blind face again stopped her short.

  Rev'naas take it all, this was harder than she'd expected. She'd planned on coming at him with fire and brimstone, all "heretic" this and "apostate" that, but this man was not the wicked creature she'd envisioned. Annish couldn't have mentioned he was blind? She resolved to have a few words with the deacon when he returned.

  "I've been through much, girl," Matthew assured her. "Whatever you have to say, spit it out; I promise I'll survive it. I actually have a few suspicions, but I'll keep them to myself in case they prove wrong."

  Feeling rather clever and rather cowardly at once, Lyseira seized on this. "No, by all means—share your suspicions."

  Matthew furrowed his brows, then shrugged. "Well, if we're talking about the Church, I'm sure the word 'heretic' was bandied about, and perhaps 'apostate' as well."

  "They were," Lyseira said.

  "Your Deacon Annish wants me gone from Southlight, I'd wager."

  "He does." She suppressed a sigh of relief. That hadn't been so bad, after all.

  "What do you want?"

  "I—?" This tripped her up, but she recovered quickly. "I want what the Keeper wants."

  "Ah. So you want me out of Southlight."

  "Well, I... yes. I do."

  "Why?"

  Lyseira scowled. "Father Matthew, I'm not here to play games with you."

  "Brother," he corrected her. "I was never anyone's father, and I'm certainly not now."

  She ignored him. "I'm not here to play games."

  "Obviously not. I've paid for a three-week stay at your village inn, but you want to throw me out of town. Do you think it's so unfair that I ask why?"

  "Father Annish has his reasons."

  "But he's not here. You're here."

  "Yes," Lyseira insisted, growing annoyed. "To deliver the message for him."

  "He could just as easily have told me himself."

  "He's very busy."

  "Too busy to take the time to throw a blind man out of town himself."