A lot of clanking later, the doors opened.
“Master Sabrai is waiting,” one of the men told her. “He will meet you when you enter.”
The rules that governed visitors to the Oracular Halls were pretty simple: Don’t speak to anyone. Don’t touch anyone. Don’t react if someone screams and runs away at the sight of you.
The first time Kaylin had come up against these rules they had been confusing right up until the moment she’d entered the building. She understood them better now, and wasn’t surprised when she entered the Halls and saw a young girl teetering precariously on the winding steps that punctuated the foyer, singing to herself in a language that almost sounded like Elantran if you weren’t trying to make any sense of it.
Master Sabrai was, as the guard had suggested, waiting to greet them. Kaylin tendered him a bow; Severn tendered him a perfect bow. He nodded to each in turn, and Kaylin remembered, belatedly, that all visitors to these Halls were called supplicants.
Master Sabrai looked every inch the noble. His hair was iron-gray, and his beard was so perfectly tended it might as well have been chiseled. He wore expensive clothing, and if his hands weren’t entirely bejeweled, the two rings he did wear were very heavy gold with gems that suited that size. He had the bearing and posture of a man who was used to being obeyed.
Once that would have bothered Kaylin. In truth, in another man, it would have set her teeth on edge now.
“Private Neya,” Master Sabrai said. “Your companion?”
“Corporal Handred, also of the Hawks.”
“You have apprised him of the rules for visitors?”
“I have.” She grimaced, and added, “He’s better at following rules than I generally am. He’ll cause no trouble here.”
“Good. I am afraid that your visit here was not unexpected, and it is for that reason that I am here. Sigrenne is at the moment attempting to quiet two of the children, one of whom you met on a previous visit.”
“Everly? But he doesn’t talk—”
“No. He doesn’t. I was speaking of a young girl.”
Kaylin remembered the child, although she couldn’t remember the name. “She’s the one who saw—” She stopped. “She’s upset?”
“She had planted herself firmly in the door and would only be moved by force. She was not notably upset until her removal. I believe she was looking forward to reading you. Those were her exact words. She also,” he added, glancing at the covered mirrors that adorned part of the foyer, “attempted to decorate. She seemed to be afraid of the mirrors, which is not, with that child, at all the usual case. Come, please. Let us go to the Supplicant room.”
Sigrenne, still large and still intimidatingly matronly in exactly the same way as Marrin of the Foundling Hall—but without the attendant fur, fangs, and claws—was waiting for Master Sabrai in the Supplicant room. She was not on guard duty, so she didn’t resemble an armor-plated warrior, unless you actually paid attention to her expression.
That expression softened—slightly—when she caught sight of Kaylin. “You’re the Supplicant?” she asked.
“Well, sort of. One of the Supplicants, at any rate.”
“How is Marrin?”
“Doing really well. I swear, someone rich left all their money to the Foundling Halls. I’ve never heard so few complaints from her.”
“It’s probably the new kit.”
“You heard about him?”
“I saw him.” Sigrenne’s face creased in a smile that made her look, momentarily, friendly. “She brought him here when she came for her usual suspicious flyby.”
Some of the orphans left on the steps of the Foundling Halls ended up with the Oracles. Marrin, as territorial as any Leontine, still considered them her responsibility in some ways, so she made sure they were eating, dressing, and behaving as well as one could expect in the Oracular Halls.
Master Sabrai raised a brow at Sigrenne, and then threw his hands in the air, a gesture entirely at odds with both his dress and his generally reserved manner.
Sigrenne took this as permission to speak about matters that concerned the Oracles more directly. “You’re the only Supplicant we’re entertaining today. And that would mean you’re here by Imperial Dictate.” The last two words were spoken with very chilly and suspicious capitals.
Kaylin stiffened. “The other Supplicants?”
“Meetings have been postponed.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely. You can imagine how popular this has made Master Sabrai.”
If the Oracles did, indeed, see into the future—or the past—they often spoke in a way that made no bloody sense to anyone who couldn’t also see what they were seeing. Some of the Oracles didn’t speak at all, although that was rarer. But since the Emperor himself consulted with the Oracular Halls from time to time—and funded them—many powerful men and women thought they could gain some advantage by visits to the Oracles.
Those visits weren’t free, and they weren’t cheap. Kaylin, who sneered at the charlatans in Elani on a weekly basis, found the so-called real thing just as troubling, but for different reasons. She was mostly certain that the Supplicants who came with their questions couldn’t make heads or tails of the answers they actually got, and she couldn’t figure out why they’d spend the money at all.
But people with that much money could be really, really difficult if disappointed. She glanced at Sabrai. “Why have the Halls been closed to visitors?” she asked, in the no-nonsense tone she’d adopted while on formal Hawk business.
“I would imagine,” he replied, “that you have some suspicion, or Lord Sanabalis wouldn’t have sent you.”
“Is it like the last time?”
“No. Or at least, not yet.”
She waited.
So did he. And since he was used to dealing with people who could forget a conversation before they’d even finished a sentence, he won. “What do you mean when you say not yet?”
“There were a number of disturbing incidents today.”
“Were there any visual Oracles offered?”
“There were. They are not…unified, but there is a similarity of theme in some of them. It is not the visual that is of concern, and until we isolate the possible cause, we would prefer not to deal with the more trivial questions that cross this threshold. Why did the Emperor send you?”
“There were marked unusual disturbances in parts of the city today.”
“Unusual?”
“You could call them miraculous, given that we were on Elani.”
“How?”
“Some of the daily garbage that passes for magic on Elani actually seemed to work,” she replied.
He was silent for a few moments, staring just to the left of Kaylin’s shoulder.
“Master Sabrai,” Sigrenne said firmly.
He blinked, and shook his head. “My pardon, Sigrenne. I was…thinking.” His gaze became more focused, and his expression sharper. “And did incidents of this nature occur elsewhere?”
“Yes. I’m wondering, at this point, if they occurred here.”
“No. Or at least not in a fashion that would appear unusual to either myself or the caretakers. What question do you have for us?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” she replied, with a confidence she didn’t feel, because she didn’t actually have a question she wanted to hand to the Oracles. “Can you describe the unusual verbal incidents you’ve been experiencing?”
He hesitated for just a moment, and then said, “Let me see the letter you’re carrying.” It wasn’t what she was expecting, but she had no trouble handing it over. He, on the other hand, read it with care before he returned it.
“We have transcripts on hand,” he finally said. “They are less…useful…than normal, but in the past two days, a pattern seems to be emerging. The pattern involves fear—of monsters, of armies, of invasions. And,” he added, with a frown, “of doors.”
She watched the glance that passed between Mast
er Sabrai and Sigrenne.
“There’s more.”
Master Sabrai nodded and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Everly is painting.”
CHAPTER 4
Everly wasn’t painting. He was stretching a canvas. He worked, as he always did, in silence; the only noises he made were the usual grunts physical effort produced. The canvas, however, was taller than he was, and it was almost as wide as it was tall. Kaylin looked at it, and then turned to Master Sabrai.
“When did he start?”
“Approximately two hours ago. We keep wood, nails, and canvas in the corner of his gallery.” The gallery in question was also the room he slept and lived in.
“He hasn’t done any drawings at all?”
“No. Not one. Whatever it is he’s painting, the image is strong enough—and large enough—that he feels compelled to begin immediately.”
From tone alone, Kaylin understood that this was not a good thing in the opinion of Master Sabrai.
“It is seldom that his large canvases are used for trivial affairs, but it does happen. The very large image of Lord Sanabalis might be considered one such event.”
That image, as Master Sabrai called it, occupied the wall directly opposite the door. It was the largest painting in the room, and as Kaylin wasn’t much of an artist, one of the largest she’d seen. The Halls of Law did boast some sculpture and some tapestry, but it was mostly for show, and therefore tucked away where only important visitors could see it.
“He will work until he’s done,” Master Sabrai added. “Inform Lord Sanabalis when you report to him. He has always expressed a clear interest in Everly’s work.” He paused and then added, “If you wish to remain, Private, you may remain to observe.”
She watched Everly for another fifteen minutes, and then said, “We’ll come by tomorrow or the day after.”
It was raining when they left the Oracular Halls. Master Sabrai was kind enough to hand them the transcriptions of the other possible Oracles, and he was foresightful enough to mention that anything discovered while under the auspices of the Imperial Court, however indirectly, could be legally discussed only with members of said Court.
Then again, foresight—for a definition of foresight that included garbled confusion and mute painters—was his specialty, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise. The carriage was still waiting, the horses looked a little more bedraggled, and the streets had half emptied, which at this time of day—closing in on sunset—was about as much as you could hope for this side of the Ablayne.
But as they drove toward the Imperial Palace, the rain changed. Kaylin thought at first it had just gotten heavier, because visibility plummeted sharply as they turned a corner. This pleasant bit of mundane wrongheadedness didn’t last, in part because the street around the carriage suddenly got a whole lot louder. People were shouting, screaming, and running for cover—not all at once, and not necessarily in that order.
She glanced at Severn; Severn had already unlatched the door on his side of the carriage by the time the carriage rolled to a halt. The streets weren’t empty enough to negotiate while people were running all over the place in blind panic.
Kaylin stepped into the rain and immediately understood why people were screaming.
It was raining blood.
Blood this watery and this red was usually warm; the rain was no exception. The clouds that were shedding it looked like normal green-gray storm clouds; there was no lightning and no thunder. Given the nature of what there was, on the other hand, the lack was probably a blessing in disguise.
It was the only one they were likely to get.
Kaylin headed straight for an actual store, tried hard not to drip on the bolts of cloth that seemed to take up most of its available space, and borrowed a mirror. She let Severn talk the establishment’s occupants down from the ceiling, because frankly, he was better at it.
The mirror rippled, losing her reflection—and gaining, sadly, a sticky, wet palm print, which, given the cost of the mirror, was going to cause ructions—and Caitlin’s face swam into view, solidifying after a few seconds. Her usually calm expression stiffened instantly, and her eyes widened.
“No, no—it’s fine, Caitlin. The blood’s not mine.” Realizing that this would not, in fact, calm the office mother down, she added, “We’re having a bit of trouble down on Lattimar road, near Gorran, and we need Swords out here. Now. Can you get Marcus?”
The image froze on silence. When it began to move again, Caitlin said, “You’re not the only place that’s having trouble, dear.” At least she looked less shocked about the blood. Her image froze again. Kaylin waited until it started moving and said, “How large an area is this rain falling in?”
“A large one, dear. Sergeant Kassan is here.”
Ironjaw’s eyes were orange, and he was bristling. He was not, however, angry at Kaylin, and even if he were, she was well out of reach. “You said you were at Lattimar and Gorran?”
She nodded. “It was at Lattimar and Gorran that the rain went…strange, sir.”
“Get your butt back outside and see whether or not there’s a clear line of so-called strange.”
“People are running around screaming in total panic.”
Eyebrows rose; the tufts of Leontine ears were standing on end. “The Swords are already out in the streets, Private. It’s covered. Now get out there and get me some useful information.”
There was a clear line of so-called strange, a point at which blood gave way to water. It wasn’t instant, but the blur between the two could be seen both on the ground and in the air itself. They had followed Lattimar past Gorran, heading toward the wall, and when they found the five yards of blur, Kaylin actually muttered what she hoped sounded like thanks to any possible deity who might be eavesdropping.
It was wet, and the rain was cold; the blood-rain wasn’t, but in this case, Kaylin was willing to settle for cold. While the rain lasted, Kaylin and Severn followed its line, and marked the streets where clear water gave way to red fluid. Neither of them had the means to take more than a very small sample of this altered rain, if you didn’t count what could be wrung out of their clothing.
They didn’t manage to trace the periphery of the area, which seemed to be roughly circular in shape, before the rain petered out. It was perhaps the only time she could think of that she cursed lack of rain—and in two languages, at that. But they’d circled a large enough part of the city, sans carriage, before they made their way back to the Halls.
There were guards at the doors, which wasn’t unusual—even in the midnight hours, these doors were manned. But these guards had clearly not only seen the effects of the rain; they’d also been standing in it. They didn’t even lift a brow at the reddened mess that was Kaylin’s clothing. Nor did they engage in anything like small talk; they were silent in that grim, worried way, and they waved both Hawks through the unlocked doors.
The Aerie was as crowded as it was during training maneuvers, and Kaylin glimpsed familiar wings in the artificial light that radiated down from the heights. Aerian shadows looked a lot like giant fish against the stone floors, and she watched them—briefly—before Severn tapped her shoulder.
“Sorry,” she told him, as she picked up her walking speed.
The office was not, as one would expect at this time of the day, empty. But the foul temper the orders from on high had caused had dissipated the way it always did when there was a distinct and obvious emergency. If people weren’t thrilled to be there—and judging from some expressions, they weren’t—they were awake and focused.
They were all also, almost to a man—and one shockingly matted Leontine—in various shades of red. Patches of dried blood lay across the office floor, making a visible track between desks and mirrors; it looked as if Marcus had gone berserk.
“Private!”
Speaking of berserk… Kaylin headed straight to the Sergeant’s desk, and stood at attention, which was hard because he looked like a drowned cat. But huge. “Repor
ting in, Sir.”
“Well?”
“We have some street coordinates. We gathered the information we could before the rain stopped.”
He turned and shouted at the mirror closest to his desk, not that it mattered much; all of the office mirrors were alive. The window, sadly, was also alive, and it reminded people that it was time to leave, that they had to clock out, that they had to check the duty roster before they left, and that they should be careful in case of rain. Kaylin stared at it.
“Every ten minutes,” Marcus growled. “And it has special commentary on the hour.” He added, “Map, center city, low detail.” The mirror rippled, as it often did, and the image that had occupied it before his curt command receded until it was part of a larger network of lines.
“Special commentary?” She walked over to the mirror, looked at her hands, and let them drop to the side.
“It has,” he continued, ignoring the interruption, “stopped attempting to correct ‘obscene’ language.” He gestured to the mirror, stepping out from behind his desk to do so.
Since even Mallory had never attempted to rein in what was politely referred to as local color, Kaylin grimaced. She hated to think that something could be more uptight than Mallory. “I’ll wash up,” she told him.
“Don’t bother. No one else has.” To drive this point home, he ran a claw lightly over the mirror’s surface. It stopped at the intersection of Lattimar and Gorran. “You mirrored from here.”
“A bit down the road, but yes, that was the general area.”
Severn stepped up to the mirror, to the left of their Sergeant. “Magnify. Center Lattimar and Gorran.” The mirror obeyed, and Kaylin found herself holding her breath as the buildings came into view. But they didn’t leap out of the mirror’s surface, and they didn’t turn into something monstrous or strange, which was good because she needed to exhale.