Blood of the Fold

"Verna," he stammered, "I feel so alone. I'm afraid to talk to anyone. I feel like everyone's watching me. I'm afraid everyone is going to ask me what I'm studying, and why, and under whose orders. I've only seen you once in three days, and there's no one else I can talk to."

She patted his back. "I know. Warren. I've wanted to talk to you, too, but I've been so busy. There's so much work to do."

"Maybe they're giving you work to keep you occupied and out of their hair while they go about… business."

Verna shook her head in the murk. "Maybe. I'm afraid, too, Warren. I don't know how to be Prelate. I'm afraid I'll bring the Palace of the Prophets to ruin if I don't do the things that need to be done. I'm afraid to say no to Leoma, Philippa, Dulcinia, and Maren. They're trying to advise me in how to be Prelate, and if they really are on our side, then their advice is true. If I don't take it, I could be making a big mistake. If the Prelate makes a mistake everyone pays for it. If they aren't on our side, well, the things they ask me to do don't seem as if they could cause any harm. How much ruin can reading reports cause?"

"Unless it's to keep you distracted from something important."

She stroked his back again before pushing away. "I know. I'll try to go for more 'walks' with you. I think the fresh air is doing me good."

Warren squeezed her hand. "I'm glad, Verna." He stood and straightened his dark robes. "Let's go see how Simona is faring."

The infirmary was one of the smaller buildings on Halsband Island. The Sisters could heal many common injuries with the aid of their Han, and illnesses beyond the power of their gift usually ended all too quickly in death, so mostly the infirmary housed a few elderly and feeble of the staff who had spent their lives in their work at the Palace of the Prophets, and now had no one to care for them. It also was where the insane were confined. The gift was of limited use for sickness of the mind.

Near the door, Verna sent her Han into a lamp and carried it with her as they moved through the simple painted corridors toward where Warren said Simona was confined. Only a few of the rooms were occupied, their residents sending snores, wheezes, and coughs echoing through the dim halls.

When they reached the end of the corridor that housed the old and feeble, they had to pass through a series of three flimsy doors, each shielded with powerful webs of varied composition. Shields, however, might be broken by those with the gift, even the insane. The fourth door was iron, with a massive bolt protected by an intricate shield designed to deflect attempts to open it from the other side with the use of magic; the more force applied, the lighter the bolt held. It had been set in place by three Sisters, and so could not be broken by one on the other side.

Two guards came to attention when she and Warren rounded the corner. They bowed their heads, but didn't move away from the door. Warren greeted them pleasantly and motioned with a flit of his hand for them to lift the bolt.

"Sorry, son, but no one is allowed in."

Her fiery eyes fixed on the guard, Verna pushed Warren aside. "Is that right, 'son'?" He nodded confidently. "And who gave those orders?"

"My commander, Sister. I don't know who gave the orders to him, but it had to be a Sister of some authority."

Scowling, she thrust the sunburst ring in front of his face. “More authority than this?"

His eyes widened. "No, Prelate. Of course not. Forgive me, I didn't recognize you."

"How many are behind this door?"

The bolt sent a clang echoing down the hall. "Just the one Sister, Prelate."

"Are there any Sisters attending her?"

"No. They've gone for the night."

Once on the other side and out of earshot, Warren chuckled. "I guess you've found some use for that ring, at last."

Verna slowed to a puzzled stop. "Warren, how do you suppose the ring came to be on that pedestal after the funeral?"

Warren's grin held, but barely. "Well, let's see…" The grin finally vanished. "I don't know. What do you think?"

She shook her head. "It had a light shield around it. Not many can spin such a web. If, as you say, Prelate Annalina trusted no one but me, then who did she trust to put the ring there, and spin such a web around it?"

"I can't imagine." Warren hiked his damp robes up on his shoulders. "Could she have spun the web herself?

Vema lifted an eyebrow. "From her funeral pyre?"

"No, I mean could she have spun it, and then had someone else just put it there. You know, like investing a stick with a spell, so that someone else can light a lamp with it I've seen Sisters do that so the staff can light the lamps without having to carry around a candle dripping hot wax on their fingers, or the floor."

Verna raised the lamp higher to look into his eyes. "Warren, that's brilliant."

He smiled. The smile faded. "The question remains: who?