Blood of the Fold

Chapter 31

Verna squinted in the light. The sun was just up. She groaned as she rose from the overstuffed chair and stretched her cramped muscles. She had corresponded with the Prelate late into the night, and then, too tired to go to her bed, had curled up in the chair and fallen asleep. After Verna had heard about Richard and the mriswith in Aydindril, the two had written back and forth about palace business.

The Prelate answered countless questions Verna asked about the running of the palace, the way things worked, and how to handle her advisors, administrators, and other Sisters. The lessons Ann imparted were eye-opening.

Verna had never realized the extent of palace politics and how nearly every facet of palace life and law revolved around it. A Prelate’s power was derived in part from making the correct alliances, and using duties and power carefully assigned to control opposition. Divided into factions, responsible for their own niche and given wide leeway in narrowly denned areas, the more influential Sisters were diverted from joining in opposition to the Prelate. Information was granted or withheld in a carefully controlled process, keeping opposing groups balanced in influence and power. This balance kept the Prelate the pivot point, and in control of palace objectives.

Though the Sisters couldn’t remove a Prelate from office, except for treason against the palace and Creator, they could mire the workings of the palace in petty bickering and power struggles. The Prelate had to control that energy and focus it to worthwhile goals.

It seemed that running the palace, doing the Creator’s work, was really handling personalities and their attendant feelings and sensibilities, rather than simply assigning tasks that needed to be done. Verna had never viewed the running of the palace in this way. She had always seen them as one happy family, all intent on the Creator’s work, running smoothly on direction from the Prelate. That, she had learned, had been because of the deft handling of the Sisters by the Prelate. Because of her, they all worked to a purpose, seeming to Verna to be satisfied with their part in the scheme of things.

After the talk with Annalina, Verna felt even more inadequate at her post, but at the same time more prepared to rise to the task. She had never known the vast extent of the Prelate’s knowledge about the most trivial of palace matters. It was no wonder that Prelate Annalina had made the job look so easy; she was a master at it—a juggler who could keep a dozen balls in the air at once while smiling and patting a novice on the head.

Verna rubbed her eyes as she yawned. She had gotten only a few hours’ sleep, but she had work to do, and couldn’t lie about any longer. She tucked the journey book, all its pages wiped clean, back into her belt and headed back to her office, stopping along the way to splash water from the pond on her face.

A pair of green ducks swam closer, interested in what she was doing mucking about in their world. They circled about a bit before deciding to preen themselves, apparently content that she had no interest other than to share their water. The sky was a glorious pink and violet in the new day, the air clean and fresh. Though deeply worried about what she had learned, she also felt optimistic. Like everything around her in the light of the new day, she felt as if her mind had been enlightened, too.

Verna shook the water from her hands as she fretted about how she was going to discover which Sisters were sworn to the Keeper. Just because the Prelate had faith in her, and had ordered it, that didn’t mean she would succeed. She sighed, and then kissed the Prelate’s ring, asking the Creator to please help her figure out a way.

Verna couldn’t wait to tell Warren about the Prelate, and all the things she had learned in talking with her, but she was heavyhearted, too, because she was going to have to ask him to go into hiding. She didn’t know how she was going to manage without him. Maybe if he was able to find a safe place not too far, she could still visit him occasionally, and not feel so alone.

In her office, Verna smiled when she saw the teetering stacks of waiting reports. She left the doors to the garden open to let in the cool morning air, and let out the stale air of her office. She began straightening the reports, shuffling the papers into order and making the stacks straight, lining them up along the edge. For the first time, she was able to see some of the wood of the tabletop.

Verna looked up when the door opened. Phoebe and Dulcinia, each carrying more reports in the crook of an arm, both started when they saw her.

“Good morning,” Verna said in a bright voice.

“Forgive us, Prelate,” Dulcinia said. Her penetrating blue eyes caught when she saw the neat stacks of reports. “We didn’t realize the Prelate would be at work so early. We didn’t mean to interrupt. We can see that you’ve a lot of work to do. We’ll just put these down with the others, if we may.”

“Oh yes, please do,” Verna said, holding an inviting hand out toward her desk. “Leoma and Philippa will be pleased you brought them to me.”

“Prelate?” Phoebe said, her round face set in puzzlement.

“Oh, you know what I mean. My advisors of course like to make sure the palace runs as smooth as a new greased wheel. Leoma and Philippa fret over the task.”

“Task?” Dulcinia asked, her frown growing.

“The reports,” Verna said, as if it should be obvious. “They wouldn’t want ones so new at the job as you two to be undertaking such responsibility. Maybe if you continue to work hard, and prove yourselves, I will someday trust you with them. If they think it wise, of course.”

Dulcinia’s frown darkened. “What did Philippa say, Prelate? What aspect of my experience does she find inadequate?”

Verna shrugged. “Don’t misunderstand me, Sister. My advisors haven’t derided you in any way; they are most scrupulous about praising you, in fact. It’s just that they’ve made it clear that the reports are important, and have urged me to see to them myself. I’m sure they will come around, in a few years, and have the confidence to advise me when you are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Phoebe asked in bewilderment.

Verna waggled her hand toward the stacks of reports. “Well, it’s the duty of the prelate’s administrators to read the reports and dispose of them. The Prelate only needs to occasionally oversee the disposition, to confirm that her administrators are doing a proper job. Since my advisors urged me to handle the reports myself, I assumed it was obvious that they . . . well, I’m sure they meant no offense, seeing as how they always compliment the both of you.” Verna clicked her tongue. “Though they do then go on to remind me that I should handle the reports myself, in the best interest of the palace.”

Dulcinia stiffened with indignation. “We already read those reports—every one—to make sure they’re in order. We know more about them than anyone. The Creator knows I see those reports in my sleep! We know when something is amiss, and note it for you, don’t we? We bring tallies to your attention when they don’t reconcile, don’t we? Those two have no business telling you that you must do it yourself.”

Verna strolled to a bookshelf, busying herself with a fictitious search for a particular volume. “I’m sure they only have the best interest of the palace in mind, Sister. You being so new at the post, and all. I think you read to much into their advice.”

“I’m as old as Philippa! I have as much experience as she!”

“Sister, she made no accusation,” Verna said in her most humble tone as she glanced over her shoulder.

“She advised you to handle the reports, didn’t she?”

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“She’s wrong. The both of them are wrong.”

“They are?” Verna asked, turning away from the bookcase.

“Of course.” Dulcinia looked to Phoebe. “We could have those reports, the whole lot of them, worked, ordered, assessed, and ruled on in a matter of a week or two, couldn’t we, Sister Phoebe.”

Phoebe lifted her nose. “I should think we could have it done in under a week. We know more about how to handle those reports than anyone.” Her face flushed as she glanced to Verna. “Except you, of course, Prelate.”

“Really? It’s a huge responsibility. I wouldn’t want to put you in over your heads. You have only been at the jobs a short time. Do you think you are already seasoned enough?”

Dulcinia huffed. “I should say we are.” She marched to the desk and scooped up a huge stack. “We’ll see about this. You just come and check any we’ve done, and you’ll find you would have handled matters in the exact same manner we do. We know what we’re doing. You’ll see.” She scowled. “And those two will see, too.”

“Well, if you really think you can handle it, I’m willing to give you a chance. You are my administrators, after all.”

“I should say we are.” Dulcinia tilted her head toward the desk. “Phoebe, grab a stack.”

Phoebe lifted a large column of reports, staggering back a step to keep them balanced. “I’m sure the Prelate has more important matters to attend to than doing work her administrators can just as easily handle.”

Verna folded her hands at her belt. “Well, I did appoint you because I believed in your abilities. I guess it only fair that I allow you to prove them. After all, a Prelate’s administrators are of vital importance to the running of the palace.”

Dulcinia’s lips spread in a cunning smile. “You’ll see just how vital we are to helping you, Prelate. And so will your advisors.”

Verna lifted her eyebrows. “I’m already impressed, Sisters. Well, I do have some matters to look into. What with being so busy with reports, I’ve not had a chance to check up on my advisors, and make sure that they’re handling their duties properly. I guess it’s about time I did that.”

“Yes,” Dulcinia said as she followed Phoebe out the door, “I think that would be wise.”

Verna let out a huge sigh when the door closed. She had thought she would never see the end of those reports. She gave a mental thank-you to Prelate Annalina. She realized she was grinning, and straightened her face.

Warren didn’t answer her knock, and when she peeked into his room she saw his bed didn’t look slept in. Verna winced when she remembered that she had ordered him to the vaults to link up those prophecies. Poor Warren had probably been sleeping with his books, doing as she had commanded. She recalled with shame how she had spoken to him when she had been so angry after her talk with the gravedigger. Now, she was relieved and overjoyed to know that the Prelate and Nathan were alive, but at the time she had been livid and had taken it out on Warren.

Instead of causing a stir, she descended the stairs and corridors without an escort to empty the vaults for her. She thought it would be safer if she were to simply pay a short visit to the vaults on a minor inspection and tell Warren to come to her at their meeting spot by the river. This information was far too dangerous to convey even in the safety of the empty vaults.

Maybe Warren could come up with an idea of how they could unmask the Sisters of the Dark. Warren’s cleverness was surprising at times. She kissed her ring in an attempt to banish the anguish when she remembered her duty to send him away. She had to get him away at once.

With a sad smile, she thought that maybe he could get some wrinkles on his annoyingly smooth face, and catch up with her while she remained under the palace’s spell.

Sister Becky, her pregnancy becoming obvious to all, was lecturing a group of older novices on the intricacies of prophecy. She was pointing out the danger of false prophecy because of forks that had been taken in the past. Once an event in a prophecy had taken place, and if it carried an “either or” fork, then the prophecy had been resolved by events; one branch of the fork had proven true, and the other branch then became a false prophecy.

The difficulty was that yet other prophecies were linked to each branch, but when they were given it wasn’t yet decided which fork would come to pass. Once resolved, any prophecy linked to the dead branch became false, too, but because it was often impossible to determine which fork many prophecies were linked to, the vaults were clogged with this dead wood.

Verna moved to the back wall and listened for time as the novices asked questions.

It was frustrating for them to learn the scope of the problems facing one trying to work with prophecy, and how many of the things they asked had no answer. Verna now knew from what Warren had told her that the Sisters had even less understanding of the prophecies than they thought.

Prophecy was really meant to be interpreted by a wizard whose gift possessed that aptitude. In the last thousand years, Nathan was the only wizard they had come across who had the ability to give prophecy. She now knew that he understood them in a way no Sister had ever known, except perhaps Prelate Annalina. She now knew that Warren, too, had that latent talent for prophecy.

As Sister Becky went on with an explanation of linkage through key events and chronology, Verna quietly moved off toward the back rooms where Warren usually worked, but found them all empty, and their books returned to the shelves. Verna puzzled over where to look next. It had never been difficult to find Warren, but that was because he was almost always in the vaults.

Sister Leoma met her as she was returning up the aisles between the long rows of shelves. Her advisor smiled in greeting and bowed her head of long, straight white hair, tied behind with a golden ribbon. Verna detected worry in the creases of her face.

“Good morning, Prelate. The Creator’s blessing on this new day.”

Verna returned the warm smile. “Thank you, Sister. A fine day it is, too. How are the novices doing?”

Leoma glanced off toward the tables with the young women sitting around it in concentration. “They will make fine Sisters. I’ve been observing the lessons, and there’s not an inattentive one in the lot,” Without returning her gaze to Verna, she asked, “Have you come to find Warren?”

Verna twisted the ring on her finger. “Yes. There were a few matters I thought to ask him check for me. Have you seen him about?”

When Leoma turned back at last, her creases had deepened into true concern. “Verna, I’m afraid Warren is not here.”

“I see. Well, do you know where I could find him?”

She let out a deep breath. “What I mean, Verna, is that Warren is gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

Sister Leoma’s gaze drifted away to the shadows among the shelves. “I mean he has left the palace. For good.”

Verna’s mouth dropped opened. “Are you sure? You must be mistaken. Perhaps you . . .”

Leoma smoothed back a wisp of white hair. “Verna, he came to me, night before last, and told me he was leaving.”

Verna wet her lips. “Why didn’t he come to me? Why wouldn’t he tell the Prelate that he was leaving?”

Leoma drew her shawl tighter. “Verna, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but he said you and he had words, and he thought that it would be for the best if he were to leave the palace. For now, at least. He made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you for a couple of days so he could be away. He didn’t want you coming after him.”

“Coming after him!” Verna’s fists tightened. “What makes him think . . .” Verna’s head was spinning, trying to understand, and suddenly trying to call back words that were days ago uttered. “But . . . did he say when he would be back? The palace needs his talent. He knows about the books down here. He can’t just up and leave!”

Leoma glanced away again. “I’m sorry, Verna, but he’s gone. He said that he didn’t know when, or if, he would return. He said that he thought it would be for the best, and that you would come to see that, too.”

“Did he say anything else,” she whispered hopefully.

She shook her head.

“And you just let him go? Didn’t you try to stop him?”

“Verna,” Leoma said in a gentle tone, “Warren had his collar off. You yourself released him from his Rada’Han. We can’t force a wizard to remain at the palace against his will when you’ve released him. He is a free man. It is his choice, not ours.”

It all came over her in an icy wave of tingling dread. She had released him. How could she expect him to remain to help her when she treated him in such a humiliating fashion? He was her friend, and she had dressed him down as if he were a first-year boy. He was not a boy. He was a man. His own man.

And now he was gone.

Verna forced herself to speak. “Thank you, Leoma, for telling me.”

Leoma nodded and after giving Verna’s shoulder a squeeze of reassurance, walked back toward the lessons in the distance.

Warren was gone.

Reason told her that the Sisters of the Dark might have taken him, but in her heart she could only blame herself.

Verna’s faltering steps bore her to one of the little rooms, and after the stone door had closed, she sank weakly into a chair. Her head fell into her arms, and she began to weep, realizing only now how much Warren had meant to her.