He did not want to regress to that state. He did not want to go back to sleep.
Did he?
The damage he’d done to himself . . . Would it be like this for the rest of his life? Would he spend every waking moment staving off the temptation to slip back beneath the waves of blissful oblivion?
And—exactlyhow longwould he live? Jacen couldn’t tolerate another month of this, let alone centuries. Considering the mess they were in, at least, longevity seemed very low on his list of likely problems. He tried to find solace in that.
After another day’s travel downriver, they followed a twisting fork to an underground harbor. There, the water was shallow and turquoise, reflected on the sandstone cavern walls as a shining, shifting web. Seth and Jacen steered the boat into the dock, one of many in two parallel rows. Beyond the water, a tunnel curved up through the rock.
No sooner had they disembarked than a woman emerged. Two veiled, red-robed figures flanked her. One carried an ornate clay jar. The woman in the lead was tall and brown, with pale eyes, and?—
“Hesaya?” Jacen exclaimed.
At the sight of him, Sister Hesaya Jinaan’s demeanor grew cold. “Brother Kheris.”
Of all his Brothers and Sisters, Jacen would have guessed Hesaya among the least likely to be a resistance spy. But there she stood, dressed in red, carrying herself with an assured grace not at all like the rigidity she projected as a Priest of the Black Sun. All that had fallen away, just a mask she’d discarded.
Jacen had assumed she chose her assignment in the Knots out of genuine devotion, a desire to deepen the Church’s roots where they were weakest. Her true faith had been right under his nose all along, hidden among the syncretized rituals and symbols of the Zal.
“Youwere Ogden’s contact.” Jacen struggled for words. “You’re—” “A traitor?” Hesaya raised her eyebrows. “A heretic?”
“I didn’t mean . . .” Jacen shook his head. After Elyas, Hesaya must have resented Jacen foryears,far more than she’d let him see.It hurt in a way he had not anticipated, and all he could say was “I’m sorry.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Hesaya said to Ogden. She turned to Nines. “Welcome, child. You’ve had a long journey, but you’re safe here.” She motioned for the person with the jar to step forward.
“Drink, and have sanctuary,” they said in Zal. Nines stared at the proffered jar.
“It’s only water,” Hesaya explained. “A ritual of hospitality.”
Nines took a perfunctory sip. The veiled person offered Ogden the water next. Urien declined on account of his armor, and Hesaya did not so much as blink at him. Before Seth, though, she stopped her associate from lifting the jar.
“Semira. I assume you’re here for your nephew.”
“Where is he?” Seth’s tone, for the time being, was measured. “Is Ysira here?”
“You should know that if Var Naxal hadn’t asked for you personally, I’d leave you for the spiders,” Hesaya said. “But these are desperate times.” She took the jar and offered it to Seth herself. “Drink.”
Seth ignored it. “Let me speak to Ysira. I set out to protect Neri, and I won’t do anything else until?—”
Hesaya tossed the water in his face. Seth stumbled back, spluttering.
“Get your hand away from your sword,” Hesaya snapped. “It won’t help you against me. You will see your nephew at our discretion, in accordance with our rituals and customs, and you will not enter the Shrouded City until you demonstrate your willingness to cooperate.”
“If you think I’m subjecting myself to telepathic interrogation—” “This isn’t Zivora. I’m no inquisitor. But history has taught us that if we are to survive, we must be cautious.” Hesaya’s gaze lingered on Jacen. “We can provide sanctuary. Buthewill face judgment.”
Jacen raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I understand. I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I . . . I’m here to atone.”
Hesaya blinked at him. Ever so slightly, she inclined her head. “Good.” “Will you just—” Seth ground his knuckles against his forehead.
“Tell us whether Neri is possessed.”
Hesaya’s expression turned strange. “Yes.”
Seth remained outwardly calm, but Jacen knew him well enough to recognize the terror beneath the surface. “What does that mean to you?”
“It means he’s been chosen,” said Hesaya, “by the guardian of our people since the depths of history, long before Zivora’s gods invaded from the stars. After the Cataclysm, we thought Naxal lost, but no longer.” Her tone was deadly serious, even formal. “NeriVar Naxal will deliver us.”
Ogden and Urien exchanged a look. Nines said nothing at all. “Every time you performed an exorcism,” Jacen said slowly, “that’s what you hoped to find. The voice in the desert.”
