As he moves around, his robes swishing, I am certain that we never would have located this information without him. Because of that, I doubt that the people who murdered the priests found what they were looking for, either. The slow murders were likely punishment for a lack of cooperation. The serene faces were because the priests had won in death.
There’s a small comfort in that.
Aeri and I bring the books to a reading table far from the bloody scroll room. Luhk deposits ten other volumes on the table alongside the many scrolls.
It’s a lot.
Aeri opens a book on the Rule of Distance and frowns.
“This is in Khitanese,” Aeri says. “I can’t read it.”
She hands me the second volume while she opens a scroll. Luhk comes back with five more volumes on the Dragon Lord relics. I begin to read. I don’t speak enough Khitanese to decipher all of this, so I will have to wait for Mikail or Euyn, but I skim what I can and mark places I think will be relevant. I don’t want to prove Euyn right.
Some of the scrolls are written in Weian and old Gayan, and I’m not sure if even Mikail will be able to read them. But we have to try.
Aeri and I quietly read. It’s almost peaceful, except for the shuffling out of bloodied bodies and Royo cursing between grunts.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Euyn
The Temple of Knowledge, Khitan
I never expected to haul as many corpses as I have with Mikail. We bring the priests out of the temple, up the stairs, and onto the ice. It’s easier said than done with their robes, wounds, and the winding staircase. It takes a while, but we get all nine onto the shore.
Now we have a new quandary of creating a funeral pyre in all this snow. The four of us stand, puzzling over it, but I keep looking around. We need to move. We’re too exposed out here, and I can’t shake the sensation that we’re being watched.
“Can’t we just use the books as kindling?” Royo asks.
I think the priest might faint from the suggestion. He shakes his head vigorously, and his breath comes out in spurts.
“I mean the ones they tore apart…” Royo adds and then trails off, kicking at some snow.
The priest continues to shake his head, a man of few words even when he’s not under his vow. I assume he’s going to salvage what he can and rewrite all the materials that were destroyed—if he lives that long. Something tells me he will not.
“We can take apart the warming hut and use it,” Mikail says. “It might just be enough.” He stares down the shore and then at me. “Euyn, cover us. The priest says he hasn’t been here in a week. It’s hard to say when the others were killed, but I estimate it’s been less than a day.”
“Yours in this life and the next,” I say, lifting my bow.
He doesn’t say it because he is busy directing Royo and the priest. Or at least that’s what I want to believe.
I thought we were back to normal after the zaybear attack, but we are not. I can feel him pulling away from me, like the tide slipping through my fingers, and it’s maddening.
Regardless, I will always protect him. I take up a position on the side of the nearest slope and build a quick snow wall in front of me. I crouch behind it and wait with my bow on my shoulder. It’s cold and uncomfortable, but I am used to sitting like this from my hunting days. My legs are deceptively strong from crouching for bells and bells—it’s how I was able to lift and carry Mikail in Fallow.
Who would’ve thought that would be a simpler time?
The other men get to work on building a pyre. They bring the benches, firewood, and even drag the stove out of the hut. The stove is clever. It will help get the fire hot enough, since all nine bodies will have to burn together.
Royo lumbers back to the shed, stares at it for a moment, then rips the door off with just his gloved hands. Mikail shakes his head, laughing to himself as he carries the wood over to the pyre.
Royo swings his axe and hits the corner of the hut. The entire structure begins to buckle. A few swings later, it’s in manageable pieces.
They work efficiently, but it’s solidly dark by the time the pyre is ready. I keep a sharp eye out for any signs of danger—a lantern, a glimmer of steel, a clang of armor. Mikail estimated a day since the killers were here. I think it’s less than that—half a day at most, given the state of the bodies. I expect to see shadows creeping along, spies or assassins hiding. The hair on the back of my neck stands. But the only thing of note is a tiny moon owl circling the lake multiple times.
The priest brings a torch and a vase of oil out of the temple. He says prayers to Lord Yama for each of the priests, even the female ones. He then says another prayer to the God of Knowledge and one to the Sky King. I start to get antsy, tapping my foot as he begins yet another prayer. We really don’t have time for a full funeral, but a deal is a deal.
I just don’t understand why Mikail agreed. We had the muscle to force his hand.
