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  “Do you suppose someone could have made it here before us?” she asked Gerard, clutching at his arm. She felt a niggle in the back of her mind; something worried her. Was it the unnatural silence in the trees, the deep darkness of the entrance, or something else that raised her hackles?

  “I don’t see how,” he said, patting her hand. “Mother’s letter said the various families would be notified, but you were the only one that made it out, right?”

  Melia nodded, thinking back to the fear and pain of that day. “I’m certain of it. But suppose someone opened their letter first out of curiosity or fear, and they weren’t happy with what they read?”

  “It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” he said, straightening his back. “We’ve traveled thousands of kilometers to get here. It’s taken many months. I’m sure as the bloody Core not turning back now!”

  “Poor choice of words,” she said weakly.

  Gerard looked over at her, his eyes softening. “Sorry.” He rested his hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  The lump that had been building in Melia’s throat overcame her voice. She nodded instead of replying, her eyes remaining fastened on the undulating darkness just outside of her vision. As she and Gerard slowly approached, the door resolved itself into focus. The shadows retreated from the gourd’s intrusive twinkle, and the bright expanse of polished elderwood jumped forward as the light of Melia’s gourd danced on its surface. The gold flecks in the wood shimmered with each step they took, and the intricate carvings—symbols of the old lineages of Lumin—seemed to move with them. She released the long breath she’d been holding, a sigh escaping her throat.

  “’Tis quite lovely,” he said, his mouth turning up in a bemused smile. “That door is Mother all over.”

  “It’s a beacon of civilization in the grayness,” said Melia, smiling as she saw House Kannon, House Draca, House SainClair, and the others, each worked into the smooth wood. Her body softened at the familiar trappings of the Lumin she missed dearly.

  They were only a few steps from the mouth of the cavern when Melia heard a noise. Before she could turn, Gerard shrieked beside her, going down on his knees. She screamed reflexively and knelt beside him. A wicked-looking arrow stuck out behind him, lodged deeply in his right shoulder. She dragged him toward the door as quickly as she could.

  “I may have missed my mark on the first shot, but you’re trapped now, my friends,” a deep voice called out. It echoed inside the cave entrance while Melia frantically tried to stem the blood seeping from Gerard.

  “It’ll be fine,” he muttered. “It’s just my shoulder.”

  “I can’t lose another SainClair,” she said through clenched teeth, as she pressed her hand to the wound. “How the blast do we get in this door?”

  Footsteps rang out on the path as their pursuer advanced at a leisurely pace. “Rosewater sends his regards,” said the voice.

  Melia paled, her brown skin feeling clammy. He couldn’t have escaped. He couldn’t have.

  “Then why doesn’t he tell us himself?” she called back. She pushed Gerard into the corner next to the door and stood before him, shielding his body from further arrows. If this stranger wanted Gerard, he would have to pick her off first.

  “I think you know the answer to that. The ministers weren’t the only ones to leave instructions. Rosewater was every bit as prepared for this as Draca and SainClair were,” he said, coming to a stop right at the entrance to the cave. The sun was at his back, but Melia held up the gourd to gaze upon their attacker. He was a young man with hatred in his eyes and a sneer on his face.

  “Our dear friend Gerard looks like he’s losing a bit of blood. What say you hand over the key, and I’ll be on my way? Neither of you has to die this day, but I’m leaving with the key one way or the other.”

  Melia tensed and pushed back against Gerard, shielding him as best she could. She started to slide her hand into her tunic, when the stranger cocked his bow once more.

  “I’d think again if I were you.”

  “Do you want the key or not?” she asked. “Am I supposed to teleport it over to you?”

  Sneering, he started toward her, bow taut. “I’ll just see to that myself then.”

  Five, four, three, two… She counted down his approach with each step he took. One!

  Melia dropped toward the stone floor, kicking her leg to the side and giving his knee a good punch with her foot. He lost his balance, his arrow dislodging and bouncing off harmlessly to the left of the door. The man fell backward onto the ground with a grunt and a curse. He tried to roll to his side, but Melia sprang on top of him, pulling a dagger from her robes. He grabbed for the knife, wrestling her arm. She fought him, thrusting the dagger with both hands toward his heart and kneed him in the groin. He groaned, and his grip spasmed.

  “You tiny mongrel,” he growled. “You had your chance, but now you’ll die.”

  “Not this day.” She leaned down on the knife, the weight of her body overcoming the strength in his arms. The knife was almost to his chest when Gerard came up behind his prone form and smashed a rock into his head. The man went limp. With no resistance to keep Melia’s dagger from plunging, it slid into his flesh. She rolled off the man, breathing raggedly, and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

  “Is he dead?” she finally asked.

  “Surprisingly, no,” said Gerard, his voice thin but alert.

  “Good. I have some questions for our guest,” Melia said, sitting up. “Assuming he continues to breathe. But first let’s get you inside, if we can figure out this damnable door.”

  6 The Compound

  Lumin Cycle 10152

  Blast them to the Core! How dare they?

  Even though they were balled into tight fists, Mia Jayne was sure her shaking hands betrayed her fear and rage. Standing before the Order of Vis Firmitas, she found no solace in the rough-hewn walls of the chamber; the dim yellow glow of the gourds resting in their sconces; the somber, coarse robes; the craggy faces; and the multitude of inscrutable eyes that bored into her from the dais at the front of the room. She felt exposed by those eyes.

  One of the clerics, an older man with grizzled blond hair, pale skin, and hawkish features, openly sneered at her. Hate emanated from his cold blue eyes. They were pale, almost colorless. She swallowed hard, but the challenge of it lodged in her throat. The silence was large and round in the room.

  Mia grimly scanned the crowd of faces in hopes of catching Cedar’s eye. She frowned softly; he wasn’t there to provide friendly reassurance. She focused the fire in her gut and her gaze back to Dominus Nikola.

  “You must be mistaken, sir.” Although she attempted to keep her voice calm but firm, she was quite certain she was failing miserably. “My father is gravely ill, to be sure, but such claims as you’ve asserted just now are entirely outside the realm of possibility.”

  Dominus Nikola, the oldest of the assembled clerics—a withered, stooped-back man with piercing gray-blue eyes as clear as Mia’s favorite pond and disheveled silver hair that jutted at seemingly random angles—turned Father’s letter gently in his hands. He stood from his great chair on the dais, his height imposing even given his sloping shoulders and advanced age.

  “Miss Jayne,” Dominus Nikola said, his voice soft, with the slightest rasp. It was a low voice that weighed each word carefully and deliberately. It was a voice that commanded attention. “I assure you that the contents of the letter as I have described them to you are accurate in all respects.”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed in response. “Then, pray, let me read it myself.” She held out her hand.

  Father had sealed the letter with a sap mark, and she had respected the mark’s intent. It was galling that Dominus Nikola felt he could use the existence of the mark of privacy against her.

  “That won’t be possible, Miss Jayne. The letter provided specific instruction in that regard.”

  Mia’s composure slipped, and her attempts to collect herself gained no purchase. �
�So I’m to believe my father traded me for succor, and now I’m yours to do with as the Order commands?” she asked, her voice shrill. “I’m an adult. My service isn’t his to give.”

  The room was silent except for their voices reverberating along the walls. The group of eyes shifted back and forth at their exchange.

  “That your service is yours alone to give is certainly the way of it. That your father wishes succor is also the way of it.” He paused to scratch his ear thoughtfully. “No person can choose for you. The path is yours alone to take. Be that as it may, it’s the Order’s choice whether to provide the succor, and the only payment for such that you’ve brought to our doors is your person.”

  “What is this organization that it requires payment to assist a dying man who is reaching to you for aid? Perhaps you are monsters, as Father led me to believe.”

  The Dominus smiled softly at her words, his eyes clear as pools yet unreadable. “Ah, but your father would request charity from us where each person among those here serves a role of import. To send one of our own skilled clerics on a journey to your father to administer a speculative treatment when such person is sorely needed among us and to in turn leave you with no ascertainable competencies to fill such a valued role is charity indeed. To expect more is foolhardy, and your father is no fool.”

  “So I really have no choice then?”

  “One always has a choice, Miss Jayne.”

  It was done. Mia’s limbs moved woodenly and without input from her brain. A voice on the edge of her consciousness advised her to pay closer attention to the gravelly voice barking nearby. Brother SainClair, the sneering, hawk-faced cleric from the Great Hall, shoved her brusquely along the maze of carved stone passageways. He marched along the dim corridor deep in the depths of the stronghold and pointed gruffly at various doorways, each identical. Mia was fairly certain the noises he made weren’t actually words. SainClair was clearly just as unhappy with their present situation as she, but Mia was under no illusion that this fact created an alliance between them.

  As her mind sank down inside itself, Brother SainClair and the featureless caverns faded away.

  “Are you even listening at all?”

  The demanding bark ripped through the foggy haze of Mia’s memories.

  “Ah,” she said, struggling to retrieve SainClair’s words from the ether.

  “I thought not,” he said. He stopped abruptly and spun on his heels to face her.

  Mia almost collided directly into his chest.

  His already cold blue eyes narrowed further. “I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

  “Ah,” she said again, sliding her eyes downward to look at her belt.

  “You were full of grand words earlier,” SainClair said, clocking her on the shoulder, “but you have none for me now?”

  “I…um…I’m not sure what you’re expecting.” Mia cringed at the sound of her stuttering.

  Brother SainClair smiled slowly and malevolently, his teeth large and wolflike. “I don’t understand why you’re here among us,” he repeated slowly. “This isn’t a game, girl. This is no place for frauds or pretenders.”

  “It’s not as if I had a choice…” Mia said. Her voice trailed off as she spoke.

  “Were you not privy to your own conversation? You did have a choice. You just weren’t thinking. I still don’t think you’re thinking now. And I fear you aren’t much of a thinker at all. You don’t belong among us. It was unacceptable for Nikola to even entertain this ridiculous enterprise.” He practically spat the last sentence at her, his eyes glittering. “You’re a fraud and a pretender and a useless one at that.”

  “Apparently the Dominus disagrees with you,” she replied with as much steel as she could muster.

  “Well, unfortunately for you, going forward, I’m the one you’ll have to impress,” Brother SainClair said. He grimaced through clenched teeth. “The tour’s over. I’ll see you to your quarters.”

  Mia stifled a yelp as he grabbed her upper arm and dragged her along. She tried to remain stoic, but she winced when he wrenched her around the final corner to a hallway that looked identical to the one they’d just left. A large wooden door was set into the carved stone of the wall, and it looked like every other door they’d passed.

  “Does the Order not believe in signage?” Mia said in a low voice.

  “My lady,” he said, and opened the door. With an exaggerated, deep bow and withering look, he shoved her through the door into a capacious room.

  The low chatter that moments earlier had filled the room ceased immediately, and fifteen pairs of eyes swung around to face in her direction. Uncomfortable, Mia grew self-conscious at the abrupt gazes.

  “The newest acolyte,” announced SainClair unceremoniously to the group. “Someone find the pretender a bunk.”

  With that he stalked out.

  Mia surveyed the barracks where Brother SainClair had deposited her. It was large and dim and carved of solid stone, much like, as far as she could tell, every other room in the Compound. This particular cavern room—for that was what it was—was carved smoothly at the ground level then rose into a rough-worked dome ceiling that yawned upward into the dimness. It was lined with bunks, ten on each side, with an additional five along the back. The center of the room housed a large wooden table fashioned from elder hardwood.

  The fifteen pairs of eyes studied her closely, and her face flushed hot at the scrutiny. In no time at all, they’ll be calling me “red ghost” or something else equally unflattering. At that glum thought, Mia took the opportunity to return the stares.

  The assemblage was a motley collection, composed of males and females. There were children as young as perhaps twelve cycles, ranging to adults older than Mia. Short, tall, skinny, meaty, light, dark, brown…

  Cedar! A jolt of surprise then anger at seeing him among the acolytes instead of the clerics coursed through her system when she recognized his face, which shared an equivalent look of shock at seeing her standing before him. From there, their emotions diverged. His large dark eyes softened, their thick lashes crinkling at the corners, and a small smile pulled at this mouth. Mia’s eyes narrowed, glowering, but she tried to keep her mouth neutral. Scowling at everyone would make a great first impression.

  “Mia,” Cedar said, coming forward, apparently unsure what she was doing here. He clearly wasn’t the only one. “Joining us, are you?”

  She responded with her best contemptuous look, trying to indicate that she didn’t much wish to speak of her circumstances at the moment. This gesture was also intended to convey that she didn’t much care for his hyperbole or his company.

  “Us? I rather thought from your—what was it?—important work, you’d be off doing something important.”

  His brown cheeks flushed rosy at the implication, and he cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, well, all service to the Order is important, no?” He directed the question to an older acolyte.

  While clearly surprised at being addressed, the man nodded solemnly.

  Cedar turned back Mia and smiled warmly. “Things went well with Dominus Nikola then?”

  It was her turn to be embarrassed. “Where am I to sleep?”

  From his vantage at superior height, he surveyed the large room. “It looks like the bunk behind Taryn is free.”

  “Yes, well, which bunk would that be?” Mia asked, suddenly very tired.

  Cedar moved away from her, down the left side of the room. She followed him slowly, lugging her lapin bag and pack, and surveyed each bunk as she passed. By this time, the other acolytes—that thought was still very odd to her—had returned to their chatter, and small groups whispered quietly among themselves. Here and there, she caught some of them glancing at her from the corners of their eyes. Whether it was her Hackberry garb or her translucent skin and bright-red hair that drew their looks, she couldn’t tell. It could just as equally have been her newness.

  The bunks themselves were constructed of stone. Each had a stone pallet
set against the wall at thigh height as well as a raw wooden shelf attached to the wall above each bed—if one could call them that. An alcove designed to house a gourd or some other light source was set into the wall below each shelf. At the head and foot of each pallet was a short wall that stood no taller than Mia’s chest and extended maybe three arm lengths past the side of the sleeping pallets.

  They were small cubbies, but each acolyte had taken great care to personalize his or her space. One had a colorful quilt made of exotic fabrics Mia had never seen before, cozily laid over the austere mattress. An extra-thick mattress overstuffed with something soft and cushy graced another acolyte’s bunk. Some people had pinned up drawings, possibly of family, others letters, still others scraps of colorful cloth.

  Most cubbies had books neatly stacked on a narrow shelf. Some had trunks or chests stowed below the bunk or tucked along the sides of the low walls. There was even one alcove with a narrow desk made of a heavy, orange wood oiled to a shine. It was stacked with open books and a quill and paper. Apparently many of her new bunkmates had arrived under markedly difference circumstances than she had. Mia sighed.

  After a laborious trek to the back of the large room, they arrived at an empty bunk. It wasn’t a particularly well-lit portion of the barracks and abutted the back corner. In both corners, where the clerics couldn’t fit bunks, they’d placed a series of bookshelves that rose almost to the ceiling. The shelves towered over the acolytes and required a ladder to reach the top shelf.

  “Well, here we are,” Cedar said, and made a noise with his throat to signal Mia’s attention.

  She looked at the referenced alcove then turned back toward the shelving in the corner. Anyone climbing the ladder would be able to see right to her bed. She was about to say something when she realized with a rising sense of panic that anyone could walk past and see her or walk up to either wall and peer directly over, ladder or no. Privacy was no longer a luxury she enjoyed.