Tamir procured some parchment from his Scribbler’s cranny, and Polly opened the book to its first porous page. The first symbol was strange. A snakelike curve cross-sectioned in several places, encased in a house, or a pyramid maybe. The lines tessellated.
Polly traced the pattern with one finger as though memorizing the shapes, and as she did so, ink appeared on Tamir’s blank page. A perfect imitation.
Polly paused and looked up at us. “Each symbol has layers, do you see? If one can find the layers, they can decipher the code.”
“We ain’t in class,” John said. “Get on with it.”
Polly swallowed. Then she considered that symbol on the page, the strange lines that both connected and diverged.
At first, nothing happened, and Patrick began to wonder if it were all a ploy. Perhaps Polly was only delaying them, betting on the police arriving sooner rather than later.
But suddenly, the ink on the page warped. Disentangled.
Slowly, ink melted and reappeared. Certain lines evaporating, as though Polly were merely testing it, like moving a game piece around a board to check its merit.
No one spoke, except Polly, whose lips moved while she worked, whispering to herself. Her forehead creased in concentration.
But soon, the ink seemed to separate in a permanent manner. Polly’s eyes widened with fervor.
The single symbol became three. One oblong, one serpentine, one cutting.
“Joan,” Polly read, her finger beneath the first symbol. “Dione,” she said for the second. “Idia.”
Patrick’s hand went to his jaw, grazing the stubble there. He’d not heard the names in many years. “The three daughters,” he said quietly.
It seemed he wasn’t the only one rattled by the names. John had paced away, his hand dragging through his overgrown hair. Nina stared at the book, lost in her own thoughts, though her face had softened. The wrath in her diverted for now.
“What does it mean?” Nina asked no one in particular. “What do the three daughters have to do with Idia’s Seam?”
Polly balked. “Idia’s Seam?” She turned then to Patrick, to Theo and John. “That’s what you’re searching for?”
“Lest I didn’t make it clear enough, Miss, you ain’t in a position to ask questions,” John muttered, but his eyes were on Patrick, his tongue running over his bottom lip.
Nina’s eyes were distant. “The three daughters. But it’s only a Crafter’s myth.”
“So is Idia’s Seam,” Patrick countered.
Theo scoffed. “They’re not the same. The three daughters was a story concocted by heretics. God had onlyonedaughter, and she sacrificed herself in the Battle of Belavere. There are no records, no evidence at all that another two fought alongside Idia.”
“Learn that in school, did you?” Patrick asked. He imagined Theo dressed like a swank schoolboy, still wet behind the ears, some soft-faced nursery maid tightening his belt and wiping his nose each morning.
What a smug little bastard he must have been.
Theo’s mouth tightened. “I did.”
“Pardon me,” said Tamir, inserting his head into the circle. “But who are these ‘three daughters’?”
Of course, it was Theo who answered first. “A group of apostates—the self-proclaimed Stewards—once claimed that there were three daughters of God, and that they lived as simple farmers. Some of the less… educated folk still propagate it as fact—”
“Crafters,” Patrick uttered darkly. “Have the bullocks to say what you mean, Teddy.”
Theo bristled.
“And these Stewards.” Tamir pressed, steering them away from a fight. “What do they say about the other two daughters?”
“That their blood was just as magical. Just as powerful,” Nina said. “That they could grant wishes.”
“Wishes?” Theo asked incredulously. Patrick imagined that Artisan children never heardthatpart of the tale. Never snapped a chicken bone at midnight. Never blew a strand of hair into the water the way Crafters did at the beginning of spring. “That sounds like a nursery story. But there are actualwrittenaccounts of witnesses who were there the day Idia threw herself onto enemy battlements. There was a bright white light, an explosion, and the other side was slain immediately. Her blood seeped into the ground that day.”
