Vespertine (Vespertine #1)(45)
“Wait! You haven’t been assigned a place to sleep. I think they’ve started setting people up with pallets in the refectory. Anne, you really look like you should sit down.”
Ignoring him, I glanced around. The more mobile refugees had been given small tasks helping the sicker ones—carrying blankets, distributing bowls of pottage. There were too many outsiders in the convent for the sisters to keep track of everyone. Their attention would be divided between accommodating the refugees and caring for the city’s dead. If I looked like I knew what I was doing, which wouldn’t be difficult to feign, the sisters would probably leave me alone.
Besides, I couldn’t sleep in the refectory. I remembered how crowded it had been in Naimes when we’d hosted the novices for the evaluation. I wouldn’t be able to speak to the revenant if I was surrounded by people, and someone would eventually notice that I never took off my gloves. Also, there was the part about being surrounded by people.
Charles trotted up beside me. “Anne—”
“How is Mother Dolours able to speak against the Divine like that?” I asked to distract him. An abbess ranked far above a pair of lectors, but challenging a Divine bordered on treason.
He gave me a speculative look. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but everyone in the city knows by now, so it isn’t much of a secret. Mother Dolours was almost elected Divine four years ago. Her Holiness only got the position because Mother Dolours turned it down.”
I paused in surprise, considering what I knew about the Holy Assembly in Chantclere, who were responsible for electing new Divines when the old ones died. “Isn’t the Assembly’s vote binding?”
“It’s supposed to be.” He grinned. “The story’s legendary. Mother Dolours got around it by handing in her curist’s robes to join the Gray Sisters—that was the only way she could defy the vote and continue to practice healing….”
Charles trailed off. He halted in the middle of the lane and began rapidly unbelting his sword. As I watched in bewilderment, he shoved the whole mess into my hands—belt, scabbard, and all. “Hide that,” he instructed, and nodded in hasty approval as I dubiously placed the sword behind my back.
Ravens took off from a nearby roof, cawing harshly. They had been disturbed by an enormous shape rising from the building’s shadows. Someone cried out in fear as the figure took a lumbering step into the light, revealing a huge, muscular frame swathed in bandages. He was the largest man I had ever seen, nearly the size of a rivener. His strangely blank eyes were trained unblinkingly on me and Charles.
“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you,” Charles assured me, and then went to the huge man and put a steadying hand on his arm. “Jean, it’s all right. The sword’s gone now. Jean? It’s me, Charles. Your friend.”
His pleas seemed lost on the giant, who continued to lumber forward, dragging Charles with him. Swollen patches of blight, dark against his pale skin, distorted his already ugly features—small eyes, a heavy jaw, a nose flattened by a poorly healed break. He was so tall that as he approached, I had to lean my head back to keep looking at him.
“I promise, he won’t hurt you.” Charles sounded desperate now. He frantically cast around, and understanding dawned as his eyes alit on my face. “I think it’s the blood. Jean? You can calm down. She isn’t hurt.”
The man—Jean—didn’t give any sign of registering what Charles had said. His stark, wild eyes were still fixed on me unblinkingly. Seeing him up close, I realized he was near Charles and me in age; his imposing size only made him appear older. And it was also obvious, at least to me, that his gaze wasn’t angry or threatening. It was haunted.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “Look,” I told him. “It’s just a nosebleed. It’s already stopped. See?”
Jean’s expression didn’t change, but some of the tension left his broad shoulders. Judging by the gratitude in Charles’s eyes, I guessed that this wasn’t normally the way people reacted. Based on personal experience, the normal way probably involved screaming.
“He’s a soldier?” I asked.
Charles hesitated, then said in an undertone, “He got possessed in the battle yesterday. He… he hurt a lot of people. Our friend Roland…” He didn’t need to finish. One look at Jean’s size and obvious strength made it clear Roland hadn’t survived.
“Fascinating,” the revenant put in. I felt it inspecting Jean. “He still smells faintly of Old Magic. That might prove useful to us later.”
“He hasn’t spoken since,” Charles went on, thankfully unaware of the revenant’s remarks. “Things keep setting him off. Mother Dolours thought it would be best to keep him here, since there are so many weapons in the garrison. Not that he’d use them to hurt anyone,” he added quickly. “They just—”
“Upset him. I understand.”
He let out a breath, relieved. “The way some people react to him, after hearing what happened—you’d think he was still possessed.” He lowered his voice further, looking pained. “Whatever’s wrong with him, Mother Dolours can’t heal it. She says it’s an injury of the mind.”
“I used to know someone like him,” I said. “He just needs time.”
Charles’s face brightened. “They got better?”