When Jacen asked Urien, “How did you come to Zivora?” it was with genuine curiosity.
“It’s a very long story,” Ogden cut in. “And it will have to wait until we’re on the river.”
Jacen said, “I look forward to hearing it.”
Jacen’s attempts to help Ogden with the boat seemed to annoy the old man more than anything, so he soon gave up. He found Seth farther down the path, alone by the river, crouched on a rock and letting murky water run over his boots.
Seth had the look of a man at prayer. He did not stop Jacen as he approached, and for a time, they lingered there in companionable silence.
At last Jacen said, “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Me, too.” Seth stood, still fixating on the rocks with a troubled expression. “Ged was right to call him a coward. But me, too.”
Jacen had counseled congregants through grief before, but those had been believers. They took comfort in assurances about the continuity of the human soul, the promise of a reunion in paradise, and some greater plan into which their loss might fit. Seth had never been one for any of that, and Jacen . . .
Jacen no longer knew what he believed. He stood there, useless as he had not felt since he was a novitiate, both of them watching the river run by into the dark.
Then Seth said, “What if Ged was right about the rest of it, too? What good have I done for Zivora, playing politics, trying to instill Knight Candidates with a sense of justice, when none of it mattered? Not a blasted thing I ever did made a difference, because the gods aredemons from another world.”He exhaled, incredulous, and shook his head. He finally looked at Jacen. “How are you holding up?”
“Honestly? I want a drink.” Jacen paused. “Don’t let me do that.”
He had to say it now, seize hold of his courage before it slipped away from him once more. For now, it was enough to focus on the task at hand and let the forward momentum carry him. But he knew himself well enough to realize moments like this never lasted, and what was enough to keep him sober today would no longer suffice tomorrow.
Seth’s red-brown eyes warmed. With the solemn air of one sealing a pact, he said, “I won’t.”
Jacen nodded his thanks and averted his gaze.
“You truly believe in this, don’t you?” Seth remarked. “You’re willing to risk your life for whatever’s in the Shrouded City.”
“I do.” If the truth was not worth Jacen’s life, what else could be? “I wish I had your optimism,” said Seth.
Jacen was unaccustomed to being called optimistic,and the look on his face forced a chuckle from Seth. “Maybe not, then. But I admire your capacity for faith.” His smile disappeared. “You said I don’t believe in anything, but I do. I believe in protecting the ones I love. I believe that Ged and my father are both wrong and we can find a path to a better world in which we don’t lose who we are.”
“I’m not sure the man I was would be worth mourning,” Jacen muttered.
“To me, you would be.” Seth added, more gently, “You have always been more than just a Priest of the Black Sun. Do you think I’d be here if you weren’t?”
Jacen had no response, because he feared Seth was wrong. The moral ground on which he’d stood had been the gods’, and with that ripped out from underneath him, maybe he was only a monster.
But now the illusion was gone. Jacen was sober, and for the first time in years, his head was clear. If that was possible . . . so too might be that better world of which Seth spoke. Perhaps they could look toward the future not with dread, but with hope.
Perhaps.
“We have to find Neri,” Seth said. “After that . . . I don’t know.” “We’ll have to fight,” Jacen realized aloud. “We have no choice now.” “That does seem to be about the size of it.” Seth managed a crooked smile, though it contained more than a hint of sadness. “Do we even stand a chance?”
As he began to head back up the path, Jacen clasped Seth’s shoulder. “I suppose we’ll have to have faith.”
27
EXILES
JACEN
Seth took the stern position as Jacen took the bow, manning the oars while Nines, Ogden, and Urien huddled awkwardly with the cargo. The boat had just enough space for the five of them and supplies for two days’ journey downriver. Jacen suddenly found himself with too much time to think, facing the freedom—the terror—of a wide-open future.
He could do anything. He could throw himself into the deepriver. He could take this boat all the way to Lun or to the plague-riddled north beyond the Burning Hills. He could take up carpentry, raise pigeons, write poetry. Next time they made camp, he could corner Seth, close the distance between them, and run his hands over every inch of his body, just as he wished he could have years ago. Nothing stood in his way now. Not his vows—nothing.
Jacen tried to focus on the rowing, the rhythmic back-and-forth along the lazy current, but it was no use. He had only a fragile hold on his self-control, a filament of spider’s web all that kept him from doing something insane.
