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“It’s papyrus,” she said. “It isn’t parchment at all.”
The strange markings on the page confused Antonia at first; then, just as Meriam spoke, she too recognized it for what it was. “It is a map,” said Meriam softly. “These hatchings are meant as mountains, I think. Here is a river. These are meant, I think, as trees.”
It was a map, but nothing like those ancient navigator’s instruments drawn by the Arethousans or by the Dariyans in the time of their empire. Besides obscure symbols at the border of the map, probably meant to represent heavenly bodies or certain heathen gods, there were seven main places marked on the pale sheet, six at equidistant points on the outside, almost in a circle, and one in the center ringed by what appeared to be mountains. Each of the seven places was made up of seven objects, ragged, arrowlike angles, surrounded by markings that seemed to indicate mountains, or a river, or a valley, or a forest, or the sea. It was hard to tell, and age had obscured some of the map.
“Those represent stone crowns.” Severus actually sounded amazed. “I’m sure of it!”
Marcus smiled slyly and let the scroll roll back up. He tied the ribbon back on, and handed the scroll to Anne. “It looks as if my theory is the correct one.” If his smugness was meant to wound Severus, it evidently worked. The older man looked annoyed and sat back with a grunt.
“Interesting news,” said Anne, although neither her tone nor her expression changed. She placed the scroll on the table. Liath stared at it fixedly; she seemed to want to pick it up, to study it again, but she did not. She only waited. “What shall we do about Darre?”
Marcus waved a hand dismissively. “Mother Clementia is old and weak. She is no threat to us. Whether Ironhead or the old Adeline house rules in Aosta matters nothing to me, and I do not believe it should change our plans.”
“Who rules always matters,” said Meriam softly.
“That book is a danger to everything I worked so painstakingly to conceal,” muttered Severus.
“I have worked for many years,” cried Zoë, affronted, “and still I can only assist in the weaving of the gateways because of their complexity. I remain the sixth part of the dragon, and truly I am content with my position, I don’t mean to suggest otherwise. But it seems impossible to me that an untrained man can through his own efforts open a gateway! With no help!”
“No help but Bernard’s book,” said Anne. “In the right hands, it would be a powerful goad as well as a powerful aid to one who has strength of will and a promising intelligence.”
“Or the ability to lie convincingly,” retorted Zoë.
“What do you say, Liath?”
Unlike Sanglant, Liath had learned how to control her expression; the feelings she carried in her heart did not show on her face. She was opaque. Not remote, like Anne, but veiled. “I have nothing to say.” Yet it seemed a trifle hotter in the chamber.
Lady Above! This entire episode made plain what was wrong with these people. The Chamber of Light was a long way away. God hadn’t put people on Earth so that they could twiddle their thumbs while waiting for death to claim them. This time on Earth was a test. And God had chosen certain, more righteous souls to make sure that all of humankind followed God’s teachings, whether they liked it or not. Like cattle, they must be herded, or else the wolves—the minions of the Enemy—would eat humankind alive.
“Should we kill him?” asked Marcus.
Anne smiled coolly. She turned with deliberate calm to Liath. “Should we kill him, Liathano? You have some acquaintance with this man, I believe. I would value your opinion.”
“Who are we to judge who shall be killed and who shall live?” replied Liath in a low voice, but now Antonia heard real anger beneath that opaque facade.
If Anne was offended by this reproof, she did not show it.
“Is it necessary to kill a person who may prove valuable to us later?” asked Meriam.
“When is it necessary to kill?” asked Anne. “We must only act in such a drastic way when there is no other choice, when there would be more dire consequences in letting a dangerous person live than in bringing death to him.” The armillary sphere set on the shelf behind Anne spun suddenly, although there was no breeze. The planets shifted position and slowed, settling into a new configuration. “But Sister Venia has not yet spoken.”
“I think,” said Antonia carefully, “that the strength of your reactions is founded on a history and an association that I know nothing of. I joined you only recently. These names mean little to me. I am still young in the art.” And increasingly curious. A man had been moving in court circles in Wendar with an interest in sorcery. It was a shame she hadn’t found him first. “Who is this Wendish churchman sent to stand trial for sorcery? From what lineage does he spring? Who is this Bernard whose book you all speak of? Where is he now?”
“Bernard is dead,” said Liath. “He was killed by a daimone. Someone had been hunting him for a long time.”
The celestial globe sitting on the shelf beside the armillary sphere began to glow suddenly, the painted pinpricks on its surface—representing stars—brightening as if a flame, or one of the servants, had somehow wriggled inside. A ripple of light twined along one of the beams overhead, and the smell of charred wood scented the air. Outside, leaves rattled as a stiff wind shook them, then stilled. The gust shifted the door, which stood ajar.
Liath rose suddenly, as stiff as a dog which has scented danger. Carefully, she swung a leg over the bench, extricating herself, and as deliberately walked over to the door. “You killed him,” she said. The sun’s light limned her, made her even seem to glow a little, yet for all her taut anger, her expression was unreadable. The veil had fallen to reveal the monotone face and voice of anger overridden by shock.
It was unusual to see Anne stricken with more emotion than the adversary she faced. Her mouth tightened. Her hands closed over nothing, except, perhaps, memory. “He stole you from us. He almost ruined you in the years he had you in his keeping. He almost rendered you unfit, as we can see this day, as we have seen every day since you joined us. I did what had to be done. When you see the necessity of that, Liath, I will know we have finally undone the damage Bernard did to you.”
“He loved you,” whispered Liath. “He was your husband. Didn’t you care for him at all? Didn’t those oaths mean anything to you?”
“We cannot let affection, or hatred, cloud our judgment. We must be strong enough to kill the ones who stand in our way. We are all only tools in Their hands, and our lives are meaningless except as we act as the instruments of Their will.”
“My God,” said Liath, and she walked out.
There was silence, of a kind. The light in the celestial globe dimmed and winked out.
