Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(102)

Is that your mother? I asked silently.

Abdo only gave me a remorseful look.

We reached Pende’s topiary garden. The priest was there, sitting cross-legged on his bench. Camba knelt on the moss in front of him; she turned irritably at the sound of our approach, but her expression softened when she saw Abdo. “By the twins,” she said, getting to her feet and extending a hand to him. “It is good to see you up and about.”

Even Paulos Pende could not look stern at Abdo’s approach; the corners of his mouth actually twitched upward, the shadow of a smile.

Abdo kept his eyes on the ground.

“So you’re back,” said Pende, rubbing his wattle absently, his voice tinged with sadness. “You’ve pushed her aside; that took some doing.” He waited, sucking gravely on his false teeth, while Abdo gave some answer in his mind. “Unhooking others is not so difficult,” said Pende at last. “Unhooking yourself, as far as I know, cannot be done. If, through meditation, one could turn the mind to water, perhaps the hook might fall out on its own, but … it has never been tried that I know of.

“Camba,” Pende said, turning toward her, “tell me what you see.”

“I see the bare hook,” said Camba, examining the surface of Abdo’s head as if it were a map of the heavens. “The glow is faint, like a candle. She isn’t present.”

“Correct,” said the old priest. “And praise Chance for that. She’s got him on the thinnest of lines. I think you could release him, Camba. It’s your first opportunity.”

Camba’s face held a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty; she narrowed her eyes, studying Abdo’s hair knots as if looking for just the right one, and the uncertainty grew. She met my eyes briefly, and I wondered whether we harbored the same doubt: Abdo had struggled with Jannoula for weeks, so how could he be bound with the thinnest of lines?

“Father,” said Camba in a hushed voice, “I’m worried that this connection is more complicated than it appears. Is it possible for Jannoula to disguise—”

“Chakhon’s knees, child!” cried Pende, gripped by the sudden wrath I had seen before. “This is why I should be training Abdo, not you. He wouldn’t hedge and hesitate and overthink. He would see instinctively what to do, reach in boldly, and—” The old priest gesticulated wildly, too irked to explain; Camba pursed her lips and lowered her eyes, clearly embarrassed.

“Come closer, Abdo!” cried Pende, and Abdo knelt before him. Paulos Pende placed one hand on Abdo’s forehead and one at the nape of his neck, just as he’d done to Ingar, and then slowly spread his fingers, pulling Jannoula out of Abdo’s mind. Once again, I saw only Pende’s bony hands, which mimed crumpling something and raising it above his head. I braced myself for the thunderclap I knew would follow.

It never came. Pende lowered his hands, his eyes vague, as if he’d forgotten what he was doing. Camba and I exchanged a perplexed look. Paulos Pende gave a startled mewl like a kitten, pitched backward onto the mossy ground, and began to seize.

Camba rushed around the bench and dropped to her knees beside him. I helped her roll the priest onto his side so he wouldn’t choke. I tried to unfold Pende’s legs, but he thrashed and kicked uncontrollably. Abdo sat frozen, staring in horror.

It seemed to go on forever, but the mind storm, whatever caused it, finally burned itself out. Pende lay limp and unconscious, but breathing evenly.

“What happened?” I asked in a squeaky voice.

Camba shook her head; a lock of hair had come loose and curled down in front of her eyes. She didn’t answer me, but muttered to herself, “No. Impossible. Not Pende.”

It’s my fault, said Abdo in my head. I looked up sharply; his face was gray.

“He unhooked Jannoula from your mind, and then what happened?” I asked.

Abdo’s head bobbed, as if it were too heavy for his neck. He didn’t unhook her all the way. She fooled him. She’s still got me.

“Oh, Abdo,” I whispered, but he wasn’t finished.

He pointed a trembling finger. And she’s got him, too. She’s outmaneuvered us all.



Two novices helped Camba move Pende to his cell and lay him on his low bed; I followed. The temple sent for a physician, none other than Ikat, the leader of the exile council, mother of Brisi. She took Pende’s pulse, raised his eyelids, and palpated his sack-like throat.

“His pupils don’t respond to light. For someone this old, a stroke is likeliest, but we can’t be sure until he wakes. I’ve brought analgesic powders in case he has pain,” said Ikat, her calmness a balm.

As she began explaining the doses to one of the novices, Camba pulled me out of the room and closed the door.

“We are in terrible trouble,” Camba said quietly, folding her arms. Another priest hurried toward Pende’s cell; Camba waited until he closed the door to speak again. “If Jannoula does succeed in seizing his mind completely, she will try to use his power. None of us are safe from her then.”

“She had so much trouble controlling Abdo,” I whispered. “Do you really think she can bend Pende to her will?”


“It’s impossible to tell, unfortunately,” said Camba. “We all resist her to different degrees. Pende was good at keeping her out, but what defenses does he have once she’s breached the walls? He’s so old. You’ve seen how he can barely control his own temper.”