“So I gathered.”No, Erik decided, this guy probably hadn’t been on patrol.They had more than enough Sons here to run both city sweeps and guard duty, not to mention easily hold some in reserve for events like last night as well.An active temple had resources a frontier one couldn’t dream of.“Is she all right?Liv, is she?—”
“Our lady Stellack is being settled in the third primaryliraim; she has two temporary trios and our otherliraiare doing their best to welcome her.She asks after you constantly, I am told.I would suspect a fostered dependency, but this appears a most irregular situation.Therefore, we are reserving judgment for the moment.”
Mighty decent of you, sir.Erik swallowed the sarcasm.It was something Liv might have said, her chin lifted and that fire in her summerdusk eyes.Of course, she could say whatever she wanted here, and probably would.At length, and with all her arguments arranged neatly like anyone who spent any time around attorneys learned to in sheer self-defense.
Erik, however, was forced to different measures.He cleared his dry throat, winced, and pushed himself upright, swinging his legs off the cot.It evensmelledlike a Sons’ dormitory—stone, heatless low-level sorcery, the tang of men living together, working a dirty job and cleaning up as best they could.“Am I clear?”
“Yes.”Grigori nodded, but otherwise didn’t move.“The vehicle you used has been attended to, new gear has been issued you, and as soon as you finish debriefing I will be taking you to our newlirai.”
He hadn’t expected that.“She might not want to see me.”
“If so, she’s chosen a very strange way of expressing the preference.”Grigori gathered his long legs and rose with a Father’s restrained, eerie grace.No cassock, which was strange but maybe the fashion now.It looked like this man favored black linen button-downs, crisply ironed, jeans also ironed, and engineer boots.His signet gleamed reassuringly.“What is it you fear, my Son?”
The traditional question, an invitation to absolution.Ignatius hadn’t asked him in a long damn time, probably because the old man knew everything about his Elder, and vice versa.
Or did he?Now that Erik thought about it, there were some troubling things swirling in his skull where the Dreamer had gone looking, invisible fingers stroking a brain’s cargo of impressions and memories.“Failure,” he said, heavily, as he had every other time.
Except now, the fear was crystallized into a single form.He almost wished theyhadfound more than the usual garden-variety corruption in him.It would be better than suspecting a control liaison of treachery, and far more comfortable than suspecting men he’d fought with, trusted his life to, and lived with for so long.
“What manner of failure?”Grigori was ruthless, but then again, you wanted that in a confessor.No quarter given to others or himself made a Father, just as hair-trigger temper and self-assurance made a Younger Brother.
Erik didn’t want to answer.He perched on the edge of the cot, gaze dropping to his hands.Callus-hardened palms, blunt fingers of surprising dexterity, no healing scrapes across his knuckles because the Dreamer had flushed him with vital force at the end of questioning.Soon Liv would do the same as a matter of course after any engagement, and the thought sent a hot spear through his guts.
He was still in last night’s shredded T-shirt and dirty jeans.His socks were filthy with blood and grit; his boots were probably past repair.His skin crawled.
But when asked, a Son gave an answer.Otherwise, the slim chance of absolution whittled down to zero.“I should have sensed something.”He exhaled sharply.“I should have known.I failed mylirai.”
“Yourlirai.”Grigori paused.“Are you sealed, then?”
So that was why he was still here.He could lie, of course.If ever he was tempted, now was the time.“No.”If he had a useless mortal scruple or two, well, it was better than the alternative.Another Son might think differently, but Erik’s own line in the sand was clear.“There has been no consent.”
“I see.”No commendation, but no pity either.“Theliraijudged you clean, my son.Nevertheless, we will be watching.”
“Good.”Erik made his legs stiffen, forced himself fully upright.It was harder than he liked.The problem wasn’t physical—he was in fighting shape, ready to take on the worst.Rest and aliraiworked wonders, especially for a Son.“I made her a dreamstone, Father.If I…”If it turns out I’m not clean after all.Theliraihad cleared him, but he had to make sure.“Well, the setting will need to be destroyed, if the worst happens.Will you do that?”
“Of course.”The Father’s tone plainly said he considered the promise superfluous, but who cared?He’d given his word.
“She might fight it.”She’s a stubborn one,he almost added, but that was a step too far.Judging aliraiwas simply not done.
“They generally do.”A shadow of the man’s true age crept into his tone, and he rose several notches in Erik’s estimation.“You do not trust us or yourself, do you.”
Of course not.“No, Father.”
“Very well.”Grigori nodded.“In your case, I would not either.Come, let’s get you clothed.You’ll feel better with weapons.”
* * *
The machinery of the Sons was working at peak here, a welcome change.T-shirt, jeans, new jacket with the collar shape he favored, boots of the same make as his old ones.The weaponry was fine if a little heavy, and his familiar knives were burnished to a high gloss, handed over in a new harness that would creak until broken in.
The crystalline knives were utterly personal; you didn’t draw a new blade unless the old broke.Erik flicked them out in turn, tested the heft, scanned each from tip to pommel, nodded, and eyed the .45s.Thought they shifted to 9mms.“Haven’t carried those for about five years.”
“Your last requisitions sheet before Islington went dark had .45s,” Grigori said.“You would prefer something else?”
“No, thanks.They’ll do.”He rolled his shoulders, the harness buckling the way it was supposed to—looked like they’d made a couple changes to the design, but all to the good.The Younger behind the requisitions counter exchanged glances with the Father, and bright curiosity burned in the redheaded youth’s eyes.
Erik shrugged into the jacket, and tensed.“So my last few req-and-pref sheets haven’t come through?”When, precisely, had their temple been written off—and why hadn’t Ignatius known?
“Not since it went dark.Normally we would have sent a team to look for wreckage, but that was a bad year.We lost aliraihere, New York lost two, and Boston was under siege for six months.Chicago held out, but theirliraiboth unraveled a little from the strain; they’re still recovering even now.There was a traitor in Charleston, another in Des Moines, and a full-blown incursion in Dallas.We pulled severalliraiback in a hurry, including the one holding Rochester.Many other fringe temples went dark; Islington seemed a likewise casualty.”Grigori paused, his mouth tightening and pain flashing briefly in his gaze.“We mourned.”
