Blood of the Fold

Verna felt more than a little uncomfortable being the object of veneration, but she smiled and waved as the group headed off down the stone hall.

After they had rounded a corner, Verna pressed her hand to the cold metal plate set in the wall, the plate that was the key way to the shield guarding the vaults. The ground shook beneath her feet as the huge, round door began to move. It was rare for the main vault door to be closed; except under special circumstances, only the Prelate ever sealed the entrance. She stepped into the vault as the door grated closed behind her, leaving her in tomblike silence.

Verna passed the old, worn tables with papers scattered all over them, along with some of the simpler books of prophecy. The Sisters had been giving lessons. The lamps set about the carved stone walls did little to diminish a feeling of perpetual night. Long rows of bookcases stretched off to ether side among massive pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling.

Warren was in one of the back rooms. The small, hollowed-out alcoves were restricted, and so had separate doors and shields. The room he was in was one with the oldest prophecies written in High D'Haran. Few people knew High D'Haran, among them Warren, and Verna's predecessor.

When she stepped into the lamplight, Warren, slouched against the table with his arms folded atop it, only glanced up. "Phoebe told me you wanted to use the vaults," he said in a distracted voice.

"Warren, I need to talk to you. Something has happened."

He flipped a page in the book before him. He didn't look up. "Yes, all right."

She frowned and then drew a chair to the table beside him, but didn't sit. With a flick of her wrist, Verna brought a dacra to her left hand. The dacra, with a silver rod in place of a blade, was used the same as a knife, but it wasn't the wound it caused that killed; the dacra was a weapon possessing ancient magic. Used in conjunction with the wielder's Han, it drained the life force from the victim, regardless of the nature of the wound. There was no defense against its magic.

Warren looked up with tired, red eyes as she leaned closer. "Warren, I want you to have this,"

"That's a weapon of the Sisters."

"You have the gift, it will work for you as well as me."

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Protect yourself."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Sisters of the…" She glanced back into the main room. Even if it was empty, there was no telling how far one with Subtractive Magic could hear. They had heard Prelate Annalina name them. "You know." She lowered her voice. "Warren, though you have the gift, it will not protect you against them. This will. There is no protection against this. None." She spun the weapon in her hand with practiced grace, walking it over the backs of her fingers as it twirled. The dull silver color was a blur in the lamplight. She caught the rodlike blade and held the handle out to him. "I found extras in my office. I want you to have one."

He flipped his hand dismissively. "I don't know how to handle that thing. I only know how to read the old books."

Verna snatched his violet robes at his neck and drew his face close. "You just stick it in them. Belly, chest, back, neck, arm, hand, foot — it doesn't matter. Just stick them while you're shrouded in your Han, and they will be dead before you can blink."

"My sleeves aren't tight like yours. It will just fall out."

“Warren, the dacra doesn't know where you keep it, or care. Sisters practice for hours on end, and carry them in our sleeve so they will be readily at hand. We do that for protection when we go on journeys. It doesn't matter where you carry it, only that you do. Keep it in a pocket, if you wish. Just don't sit on it."

With a sigh, he took the dacra. "If it will make you happy. But I don't think I could stab anyone."

She released his robes as she looked away. "You would be surprised what you can do, when you have to."

"Is this what you came for? You found an extra dacra?"

"No." She drew the little book from its pouch behind her belt and tossed it on the table before him. "I came because of this."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Going somewhere, Verna?"

Scowling, she smacked his shoulder. "What's the matter with you?"

He pushed the book away. "I'm just tired. What's so important about a journey book?"

She lowered her voice. "Prelate Annalina left a message that I should go to her private sanctuary, in her garden. It was shielded with a web of ice and spirit." Warren lifted an eyebrow. She showed him her ring. "This opens it. Inside I found this journey book. It was wrapped in a piece of paper that said only 'Guard this with your life. "

Warren picked up the journey book and thumbed through the blank pages. "She probably just wants to send you instructions."

''She's dead!"

Warren cocked an eyebrow. "Do you think that would stop her?"

Verna smiled in spite of herself. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we burned the other with her, and she intended to run my life from the world of the dead."