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“Where?”
Brother Peter paused. “They are to meet her at the Shrine of the Fallen in two hours.”
Saint John was a long time in responding. He folded his hands behind his back and seemed to be interested in the dance of a pair of dragonflies.
“I want you to be there,” he said softly. “But don’t be seen. I want to know everything that is said at that meeting.”
“Yes, Honored One.”
“And I want to know if anyone—anyone—enters the shrine itself.”
“Mother Rose would never allow it. It’s her shrine,” said the young reaper. “Even I’ve never been inside.”
“Nor have I,” murmured Saint John.
The two reapers regarded each other for a silent moment.
Brother Peter frowned. “Why call a meeti
ng there, of all places? Why a place she has expressly forbidden anyone to visit? I—don’t understand.”
Saint John’s smile was small and cold. “God speaks to each of us in a different way. Who is to say what secrets he whispers to our beloved Rose?”
His smile was warm, but his tone was cold.
After a long silence, Brother Peter nodded. “There are times I do not entirely . . . understand what Mother Rose does, Honored One.”
“Oh?” said Saint John.
“Perhaps I am too simple a man, but sometimes I cannot connect her actions with the needs of our holy purpose.”
A faint smile played over Saint John’s lips. “I’m sure God forgives you for such doubts.”
The younger man bowed. As he straightened he said, “There is another matter, Honored One.”
“Oh?”
“I was patrolling the forest beyond the shrine, looking to see if Sister Margaret dared to lead any of the heretics that way . . .”
Saint John nodded encouragement.
“ . . . and I found five reapers who had red doors opened in them.”
The saint spread his hands. “We knew that Carter would fight. He is stubborn in his heresy, and there are many like him in his group.”
“No, Honored One, I do not believe that Carter or any of his people killed them. Whoever took them did it quietly and with great skill.”
“What level of skill?”
Brother Peter’s face was as bland as ever, but his eyes were alight. “Possibly as good as me. And around the bodies I found animal tracks.”
“A dog?” asked Saint John.
“A very large dog.”
“Ah,” said Saint John, raising his eyebrows. “You think he’s back? The ranger?”
“Yes, Honored One, I do . . . although that confuses me. Am I mistaken, or did not Brother Alexi swear that he killed the ranger? Did he not swear before God that he smashed the life out of him with his great hammer?”
