Page 82 of The Book That Held Her Heart

“You’d better lead the way then, because I havenoidea where we are.”

The night deepenedand the mist grew shallower. The streets felt familiar, though whether his feet would lead him to the Stained Page if Starval stopped showing him the way, Evar couldn’t say.

“What was that?” Starval spun, seeking the source.

Before Evar could answer, it came again, a blow struck from beneath, as if some giant were striking up from below with a great hammer. The impact made the bedrock shudder and set every rooftile rattling. But whatever the effect on the buildings around them might be, it was as nothing to the shock that ran through Evar. He lurched into the air and hung there asif on a butcher’s hook, both his stab wound and the older stick-shot wound starting to pump black blood.

“Evar!” Starval ran for him.

A third shock came, like the tolling of some bell both far away and bigger than the world. And it took everything with it.

There are very few good reasons for someone putting a bag on your head. But in some cultures, that’s just how they carry their bags.

Perspective and How to Change It, by Jabari Abimbola

Chapter 36

Livira

For the journey to the Saviour, Tremon insisted that Carlotte and Livira be blindfolded and hidden beneath sackcloth in the back of a cart. Since Tremon was head and shoulders taller than either of them, weighed more than both of them together, and had a canith and two crossbow men to back her up, there was no arguing.

“Scar,” the younger of the two guards, drove the cart with seemingly nobody else to watch over them. He spent what felt like several hours clattering along city streets. Up the prevailing slope, down it, weaving in great figures of eight through built-up areas. Livira wondered who exactly the exercise was attempting to confuse.

Eventually the quality of the sound changed, and Livira understood that they had come inside some structure.

“Up you get, ladies.”

The sacks were pulled away. Livira could see nothing in the gloom but heard large wooden doors being closed with the rickety banging of a stable rather than the portals to some great castle. The place smelled of hay and livestock too. Stiff, sore, and edging towards angry, she shuffled out of the cart.

“I’ve had enough of touching things now.” Carlotte rubbed at her arms and side. “I’m ready to go back to being a ghost.”

“This way.” Their guide unhooded a lantern and led them past a series of stalls out of which the heads of incurious horses projected.

Rather than heading down, they aimed upwards this time, climbing a ladder into an attic as large as many churches. A second ladder led up to a trapdoor which opened after the man had knocked out a code. The secondary, much smaller, attic above had several shuttered windows offering potential escape routes over the roofs.

Tremon waited for them, crowding the place all by herself. Two well-armed guards squeezed in beside her, leaving space for a fourth person sitting in a plain wooden chair. This individual wore a white mask, curiously reminiscent of an assistant’s face, and a black cape concealed the rest of their body.

Carlotte and Livira wedged themselves in with their guide coming up behind them to close the trapdoor. “Well, this is cosy.” Carlotte beamed around at everyone, still enjoying the idea that so many people could see her.

Livira, more familiar with the consequences of being both visible and touchable, felt more apprehensive. The Saviour cut a sinister figure in his, or her, cape, dark eyes glittering behind the slits of their mask.

“The mysterious strangers.” The Saviour’s deep baritone settled Livira on “he.” He sounded like an older man, not ancient, but far past the flush of youth. “Normally, I wouldn’t entertain dealing with individuals who claim to have dropped into the city out of a clear blue sky. However, when you hear the nature of the matter in which you might be of aid to the cause, you will also understand my willingness to believe you.”

“You’ve found a portal?” Livira guessed.

The Saviour raised his hand. “First, I want you to understand our struggle. I wouldn’t ask you to risk yourselves in such a matter if it weren’t for the stakes not just for this city but for the kingdom, and even our neighbours. The potentate has been carried to his throne on a river of blood. He has made demons of the Amacar, an ancient religious sect who have lived peacefully among us for centuries. Their suffering has been a thing of legend, and still, as I raise my hand to the one true god, that is far from the worst of his crimes. This kingdom he has stolen is nothing to him but a weapon with which he might cut himself a larger empire. There is no bottom to his greed, no limit to the lives he will spend to feed it.

“In short we exist to end the potentate’s reign of terror and replace itwith a lasting peace that is responsive to the will of the people and established on a foundation of fairness and tolerance.”

Carlotte snorted, perhaps used to the ways of kings and would-be kings. “You want us to help you empty the throne so you can occupy it.”

The Saviour tilted his head, and for a long moment of silence Carlotte was the focus of four disapproving stares, with only the Saviour’s emotion hidden. “An ungenerous but not wholly inaccurate assessment. I wish someone better to lead us. Chosen by the people.”

“I’m here for a book, not to kill anyone,” Livira said.

“We just need you to get us in,” Tremon said. “We’ll do the rest. Just give us…”

The Saviour waved her to silence. “My spies tell me that the potentate has a book that opens doors. There is, in the mountain above us, a library of surpassing size and great antiquity. Many of its doors will admit neither man nor canith, and our ancestors have long believed that the secrets for true power lie behind them.”

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