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“I don’t,” Devin said. “I’m sorry. It was as though for a moment I glimpsed the everyday life of this village and then in an instant it was gone, washed downstream in a swirling chaotic flood of adults, children, homes, and animals. Dear God, rest their souls. What a way to die!” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, realizing that in his dream everything had seemed crystal clear; now that he was awake his eyes were blurry again. “I want to explore what’s left of the church. Can we go now?”
Marcus’ movements were slow and studied as he heated water in a small pan. “Let’s eat first. We never know when we may have to hide suddenly. The fire is an advantage we aren’t often blessed with and we should use it.”
Devin stood up restlessly, glancing at Lavender who was whispering to the head of one of her brothers. God, he thought, they were all going mad! Marcus was the only sane one among them. He walked along the streambed to escape Lavender’s insane mutterings, pacing off the buildings he remembered from his dream. There had been a small bridge across from the baker’s, spanning the flow of the stream below the dam. There was no sign of it now, though he searched for stone pilings on both sides of the water, soaking his boots in the process.
A few foundations remained, many of them filled with water from recent rainfall. These small stone squares that had supported homes and shops were most apt to contain small artifacts that chronicled the inhabitants’ lives. He sifted through dirt with his hands at the millhouse, where the millstone still stood, tilted on its side, resting on a random stone that had been flung from the center of the dam. He found a knife, its blade nearly rusted away, and the remains of the rotted rim of a wooden bowl. There was nothing personal here, nothing that spoke of the hopes and fears of the people who had lived out their lives under the shadow of the dam. They had, apparently, never feared death by drowning. How long had the dam stood before it was sabotaged?
“Devin!” Marcus called.
Devin looked back and saw that Lavender was already consuming something out of a cup. No doubt they would have to share. There seemed no need to rush when she was already occupied with breakfast. He made his way back slowly, mentally placing each building where it had stood in his dream. He joined Marcus just as Lavender finished.
“Will there be more?” she asked, patting the heads she had gathered in her skirt. “We are still hungry.”
“There is only enough for each of us to have a cup,” Marcus replied.
“What is it?” Devin asked, looking suspiciously at the pan.
“Stew,” Marcus answered, “from one very small fish.”
“She can have mine,” Devin offered.
Marcus quelled Lavender’s eager smile with one word. “No! We have a long way to go and we all need to eat if we are going to make it home.”
“Home?” Devin asked. It was a strange choice of words for Marcus. Devin would be happy to reach La Paix but Marcus obviously had greater expectations.
Marcus scooped up a cup of the foamy stew and handed it to him. “Winter will be upon us before you know it, Devin; autumn is short in the mountains. We can’t go by ship back to Coreé. We have to cross the mountains into Vienne and it has to be done soon. We must reach Coreé before winter.”
“Or it will be too late?” Devin added. The words were implicit. Not only did winter’s snow and ice hang over them ominously, but his father’s life depended on them arriving in Coreé quickly. René Forneaux’s power was growing among Council members. Already, he was recruiting men from Vincent Roché’s personal guard and it was evident that he was planning a takeover soon.
Marcus didn’t answer. His eyes were lined, his face pinched with worry. His allegiance lay first with Chancellor Roché, with his son second. Devin could only imagine the conflicted emotions he must be feeling right now.
Devin finished the tasteless stew and handed the cup to Marcus who rinsed it in the stream before filling it with the dregs from the pot for his own meal. “I’m going up to look at the ruins of the church,” Devin said, standing.
“Sit,” Marcus said quietly. “Let me finish my breakfast. We’ll all go together.”
“We’re wasting time,” Devin protested.
“Sit,” Marcus repeated. “There is nothing there that hasn’t been waiting for centuries. Ten minutes more will make no difference.”
Devin flopped down beside the fire, watching Lavender endlessly sort her collection of heads. He swore if they reached La Paix, he would have one of the seamstresses design an apron with a pocket for each one. Maybe if Lavender knew each head was safe and securely tucked away in its own little compartment she would cease counting and playing with them. He knew he shouldn’t let her behavior bother him but it did. This valley seemed laden with the hundred ghosts of its past residents; he didn’t need Lavender’s creepy heads reminding him of all the ghosts that seemed to travel in her wake, too.
Marcus took his time eating, washed his cup and the small pot he’d used to cook their stew in, and finally began to pack their things.
“We’re not coming back?” Devin asked, his mind still on his exploration of the ruined church.
“I see no reason to,” Marcus replied. “Should the tunnels beneath the church look promising, we won’t have any reason to return. If not, we’ll continue up and over the hill. This valley has turned south and we need to go east to La Paix.”
Devin squatted down and drew a quick diagram on the wet earth near the stream. “The tunnels under the church don’t connect to the ones on the map,” he said after a moment. “I should have realized that before.”
Marcus looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?”
Devin gestured at his drawing. “I memorized the map.”
Marcus took a step closer. “The one in the Bishop’s Book?”
Devin nodded.
“How long did that take you?” Marcus asked.
“Not long,” Devin replied. “I only have to see a page for a moment or so and I remember all of it.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows. “No wonder school was so easy for you. It seems you have an unfair advantage.”
“Unfair, perhaps,” Devin replied, “but quite useful in this instance, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps,” Marcus agreed. “But then there is no reason for us to pursue these tunnels below the church.”
Devin jumped to his feet, his hands shaking. “Please, allow me to take just a few minutes.”
Marcus’ gaze was wary. “You seem to be unusually agitated about this.”
Devin attempted to still his hands. “I know and I can’t explain it. It feels strangely important. It’s almost as though I lived through this massacre last night.” He glanced across the valley, tendrils of mist rising from the water and weaving through the tree branches above. “Can’t you feel it? It’s as though this valley is haunted by all the souls of those who lost their lives.”
Marcus was slow in answering. “I’ll admit I feel something but it makes me want to leave as soon as possible. Whatever happened here has nothing to do with us.”
“But don’t you see, it might?” Devin said. “I feel as though all of this is connected in some huge web of treachery that we have only just begun to untangle. We cannot fight it unless we have all the information we need.”
“And you expect to find it here?” Marcus pressed him.
“Perhaps,” Devin said desperately. “Perhaps not, but I need to look.”
Marcus exhaled. “Go on then.”
Devin scrambled up the incline toward the ruins of the stone church, finding handholds in the twisted roots of the ancient oaks. Behind him, he heard voices, muted and strange and then all of a sudden around him he heard the cries of people being yanked from their precarious holds by water blasting through their peaceful little valley. He dropped to his knees, his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the sound of women and children screaming for help and the anguished cries of men, unable to aid their families, as they were swept away themselves.
Marcus latched onto Devin’s shoulders and shook him. Devin focused on Marcus’ face and the undisturbed forest around them. The voices were gone, hushed as absolutely as though they had … died.
“Devin!” Marcus blustered. “You’re scaring me! What on earth is the matter?”
Devin wiped his dirty hands on his trousers. He bit his lip, his breaths coming in uneasy wheezes. “You didn’t hear it?”
“Hear what?” Marcus asked. “All I heard was you taking off up this hill as though the devil himself were after you.”
Devin shook his head. “I heard their voices again,” he said, looking at the earth in front of him. “I heard them dying, Marcus. It was as though if I didn’t climb the hill in time, I’d drown, too.”
Marcus, who didn’t quail at facing a dozen armed men, crumpled. He turned Devin’s head toward him, one hand reaching to lift the bandage over his temple. “Did I do this?” he asked, examining the injury. “Is this some side effect from the gunshot wound?”
“I don’t think so,” Devin replied. “It’s something about this place. It’s as though I’m having a waking dream. It’s not your fault, Marcus. None of this is.”
“We need to get out of here, Devin,” Marcus said, pulling him upright. “Something’s not right and I’m not going to risk your life by staying here a minute longer than necessary.”
“But it is necessary,” Devin told him. “There is something here that we need to know, something important. Those voices simply drove me upward. The answer is in that church or below it and we need to find it before we leave.” He pulled away, leaving Marcus and Lavender to climb the slope after him through the mist and shafts of sunlight.
CHAPTER 8 (#ulink_a4a52594-e329-58f2-a420-49c3f46741bd)
The Key (#ulink_a4a52594-e329-58f2-a420-49c3f46741bd)
Devin halted at a chasm that yawned open where the nave of the church had been. Near the altar, which hung suspended above the abyss, a spiral of mossy stone steps wound downward, disappearing into the darkness below.
Lavender came to stand beside him, humming some tuneless lullaby as she rocked one of her brothers’ heads in her arms. “The mossy steps,” she pointed out proudly, as though she had created them herself.
“What’s down there?” Marcus asked her.
She jerked one shoulder nervously and avoided his eyes. “The tunnels,” she said. “But I don’t go there.”
Marcus huffed in exasperation. “Then how do you know what is there?”
She rubbed one of her brothers’ heads against her cheek, like a child with a comforting toy. “I went there once with my brother when the church was still here. There was a room in the cellar but the door that led into it was locked.”
Devin glanced at Marcus. The key in his jacket was a token of passage, not made to open a lock. “Perhaps we can open it. If the door is wooden, it’s bound to be rotted by now. We could force it.”
“You need the key,” Lavender said.
“Do you have it?” Devin asked.
Lavender shook her head. “You have a key. I know you do,” she insisted.
“I don’t have the key to this door,” Devin replied irritably.
“You need the key to reach the tunnels,” Lavender insisted. “He told me that you need it!”
Marcus grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “Who told you that?”
Lavender shook in his grip, her face as white as a sheet. “Sébastian,” she whispered. “Sébastian told me.”
“Who is Sébastian?” Marcus shouted.
Devin stepped between them, breaking Marcus’ hold with his shoulder. “Her brother,” he said. “She says her brother Sébastian told her.”
Marcus put a hand to his head. “Holy Mary Mother of God!” he muttered. “I swear I’m the one who’s having nightmares. I just pray I’ll wake up soon. What possessed me to allow you to come with us, Lavender? This has been nothing but an ill-fated, insane undertaking from the start!”
“Can I go down?” Devin asked.
“We have no light and apparently we have no key to open the door at the bottom.” Marcus threw up his hands in disgust. “I can’t even see the bottom of the steps, Devin, let alone inside these tunnels she’s babbling about. Leave this, would you? We need to be on our way!”
Lavender sank down on a rock, a stray tear rolled down one cheek before she swiped at it with her ragged sleeve. She began rocking back and forth and humming, her arms clasped tightly around her. Devin felt she had never seemed so pathetic.
“Surely, we can make a torch from pitch,” Devin suggested. “This pine will burn.”
“Of course it will,” Marcus answered roughly. He glanced at the sun climbing the eastern sky. “I will give you until noon, Devin, and then we leave whether or not we have found whatever you think is waiting to be discovered here.” Devin started to object but Marcus interrupted him. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it!”
“I’ll take it,” Devin said. He cut a sturdy branch from a spruce tree and dipped the tip in the excess sap that seeped out of the trunk. He held out a hand to Marcus who reluctantly put his flint in it.
“That’s the only flint I have,” Marcus warned him. “Don’t lose it!”
“I won’t,” Devin assured him. He glanced back at Lavender, wanting to say or do something to counteract Marcus’ harsh words. He held out his hand. “Will you come with us, Lavender?”
She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t want to,” she whispered.
Devin touched her shoulder gently, afraid of upsetting her more. “Call down if you need us.”
She glanced up, her face softening for a moment. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Devin turned toward the ruined church, feeling Lavender’s desolation and Marcus’s irritation following him like a malevolent cloud. The steps were remarkably easy to descend although Lavender stayed behind, sitting dejectedly on her rock. Whether she was hurt or angry at Marcus or simply afraid of the tunnels, she seemed anxious to keep her distance from both of them. The moss provided a cushiony if slightly slippery layer to the stone as they made their way down. The smell of dampness, earth, and rot was overpowering. Ferns had rooted here, too, pushing up feathery foliage from fallen tree trunks long since decayed, surrounded by clusters of red mushrooms with yellow spots.
Devin thought of supper. “Those are beautiful. Are they …”
“No!” Marcus snapped. “They’re not. They’re Amanita muscaria and they are poisonous!”
Devin raised his eyebrows. “That’s good to know.”
The steps ended, lost in the deep shadow from the walls above. In places part of a floor remained, cut from massive squares of stone and fitted together almost seamlessly. In the corner, there was a door, arched at the top as the original church door might well have been, too. There was no ornate locking mechanism, just a simple keyhole. Marcus gave it a hefty yank but it didn’t budge. Devin slipped out the tip of his knife and fitted it into the lock, feeling it jam after half the length of the blade had entered.
“It’s locked from the inside,” he said. “I can feel the key.”
Marcus looked askance. “I had no idea you’d trained as a locksmith.”
Devin laughed. “Oh, never a locksmith, Marcus, but I didn’t get through the université without learning how to pick a lock.”
Marcus went down on a knee and ran his finger under the door. He turned to see if Lavender was watching. “Can you give me a piece of parchment from your jacket?”
“The only parchment I have is Tirolien’s Chronicle,” Devin hissed.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Marcus whispered. “If I slide it under the door do you think you can loosen the key enough that it will fall onto the parchment? We can slide it out under the door.”
It was easier said than done. Devin tried manipulating the knife but the blade wasn’t long enough. The blades on two of Marcus’ knives were too thick to enter the keyhole but the third one, that he withdrew from his boot, looked long, slender, and deadly.
“What’s that one for?” Devin asked.
“If you have you to ask, you’re not as smart as I thought you were,” Marcus remarked lightly. He stood up stiffly. “Here, you get down on your knees with the damn parchment! You’re less than half my age.”
Marcus fit the narrow knife into the keyhole, jiggled it several times and gave it a practiced twist. The key dropped but when Devin started to withdraw the paper, he could hear it bump the door.
“Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!” Marcus cautioned, extending a hand. “Let’s see if we can dig out under the paper a bit and give it more room. It’s probably a thick key.”
They cautiously brushed dirt away from the threshold as the sun rose higher in the sky. Not once did Marcus comment on the time of day or urge their departure. He lay with his eye on ground level, carefully shifting the parchment back and forth. Finally, he maneuvered the parchment forward, bringing a heavy iron key with it.
“Got it!” crowed Marcus, swooping to grasp the key from the parchment. Holding it aloft, he squinted over his shoulder at Devin. “Would you like to do this or shall I?”
