In Her Shadow(34)

The girl babbled off an explanation that passed by Britta as a mush of words.

"She's burning up," said the soldier.

"We need a doctor," said the priestess.

"No," said a third voice that pierced the echo and mist surrounding Britta's thoughts, a voice she'd so often heard without seeing – the Abbess of Night. Britta felt her nearing like spilled ink on fresh parchment. "Tell me, New Moon, can you see?"

"No," Britta said, forcing the word out for fear it wouldn't come if she didn't put her all behind it.

"Take her to my room," said the Abbess of Night.

They did as the Abbess commanded. The jostling of being carried by her shoulders and feet was all that kept Britta conscious. They set her in the Abbess of Night's bed. Or was this her own room? Her own bed? The world danced and twirled. Whose room was it? The room of her childhood, before The Siege, now only glimpsed faintly through the fog of distant memory. It was every child's room, throughout time and place; after mother had gone to bed and the light was low. Shadows of innocent things elongated into monsters. The settling floorboards howled for young blood. Where was she? Who was she?

The Abbess of Night's voice cut through the dark. "It is not that the New Moon should wane," she said.

Britta wanted to say something, to ask what was going on, but the heat bore down on her, pressing her into the bed.

"No, the New Moon should only wax strong until she is full," said a second voice. Whose? It was so cool, commanding. Was it also the Abbess of Night's? Yes. Why was she talking to herself?

"I'm not talking to myself. We are all talking to you."

"You can hear my thoughts?" Britta asked, or had she? With tongue leaden and mouth dry, her jaw shut taut with fever and pain, she wasn't sure she was capable of speech any longer.

"We know all things done in the dark."

"Goddess," Britta said.

"That is the secret, New Moon, the lie We told you before. We need no spies, though We have them. This was Our city once, but that time has passed. We go to live among the Regnal pantheon now, subjugated to the whim of their emperor-god."

"No–"

"Yes, such is Our fate. But Our part is not done, New Moon, because We will always lurk in the shadows to protect Our city."

"You keep saying 'Our.'"

"We. Us."

"I don't understand."

A gnarled hand pressed against her eyes. "See," said the Abbess of Night.

And she did.

The image of the child's room resolved, came into focus. She saw every such room in the city, and the children in them. They huddled with their parents in the darkness as Ankshara fell apart around them. She saw Weboshi, tied up in some dripping old warehouse. She saw the Governor, alone in his office, pacing as he waited for news. She saw ship captains on decks commanding their men to pull anchor and slip away before they fell victim to the growing violence. She saw her mother on the abbey steps, dragged away by soldiers. She saw a young couple making love in a public park despite, or perhaps because of, the chaos.

Britta saw each and every thing happening in the dark. She saw so much it impossible to parse all but the most relevant information.

The Abbess of Night had known where Weboshi was the whole time, knew about Weboshi's plot to kidnap Ava. She had known and chosen not to intervene. If the Abbess hadn't died a moment before, Britta would have asked why. But she saw the answer to that question too: because that's the way it had to be. A long shot on the Goddess's part. To save the city, She had to let these things play out and hope, pray (could a goddess pray?) that Her plans came to fruition. That in this crucible, a union would form between Her city and the Regnals that might save them both. Britta understood she and Lucius represented that union.

She saw him too, among his bloodied men, sword in hand, sweat pouring off him as he shouted orders. Strong and stern, he radiated confidence outward. In the darkest part of his mind, however, festered the guilt of what he and his men were about to be forced to do to save the Ankshara from itself.

Alive, she thought. Britta's chest pounded with excitement, worry, relief and thanksgiving. Alive for how long? The crowd grew more and more organized as its more outrageous fragments tossed themselves against the cohort's shield wall, leaving only the smarter ones able to act. Its members, some of them having taken leadership, organized ad hoc arson brigades. Goddess, Britta thought as they tossed a torch into the home of the family that had sheltered her. She didn't have to see what happened next. She knew.

And then she was back in the Abbess of Night's bed. Her bed.

One of her sisters rushed through the door to say something. She glanced around the room, eyes wide. "Where – where's the Abbess of Night?"

"Hidden in Her shadow," Britta said as her eyes adjusted to the light. She could see again, really see, but it hurt with all these candles blazing. Is this why the old woman always kept it dark? Not just for religious reasons but practical ones?

For her part, the sister didn't say anything, but bowed her head. "New Moon?" she said.

"I am now waxing."

"Blessed Abbess of Night."

"We have to act, before the city burns. But first the girl who helped me here. Quickly, quickly."

A moment later they brought the girl into the room. Britta knelt before her, doing her best to muster up her most reassuring smile. It felt fake, weak. "I'm sorry," she said. "Your parents. . ."