Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(76)

“We can’t leave Jannoula in your head, Ingar,” said Paulos Pende, speaking slowly, as to a child. Camba copied his inflection in her translation; neither of them realized Ingar didn’t need it. “The more ityasaari Jannoula catches, the more powerful she grows. I must unhook you and deprive her of your strength.”

Ingar, on his knees, tried to back away. Camba planted herself behind him.

“You don’t understand,” Ingar whispered shakily, his spectacles slightly askew. “I was lost and she found me. I was monstrous and she cared for me. I am nothing without her, and I will die if you remove her. I don’t know how to live in this world.”

Camba’s brown eyes filled with an unexpected sympathy. “It only seems that way,” she said, bending over Ingar protectively, like a tree.

Ingar bowed his head, muttering as if in prayer, slapping at his temples. Camba’s voice sharpened again: “Don’t summon her to you. Pende can’t unhook her if she’s fully present.”

Camba wrenched Ingar’s arms behind him and hauled him toward the bench. Ingar wailed; Camba whispered in his ear, which didn’t seem to help. Paulos Pende grasped Ingar by the forehead and nape; the old priest’s lips pressed together with effort and his hands slid right, as if he were straining to twist off the top of Ingar’s bald scalp. Pende mimed lifting a heavy crown off Ingar’s head and triumphantly held it high.

From the way Camba watched, I deduced that there was something to see between Pende’s hands, some mind-fire perhaps. Then Pende brought his hands together with a thunderous crack, far louder than any mere handclap. The sound echoed off the garden walls and left my ears ringing.

Ingar collapsed against Camba, who did not let him fall. Ingar’s face was slack and vacant; his eyes rolled behind his spectacles.

“You’re free, friend,” said Camba, setting him upright. Ingar fell back inertly. Camba determinedly propped Ingar up again. Ingar balanced better this time, but Camba’s strong hands hovered behind him just in case.

Pende stroked his red wattle and closed his eyes. His face had gone gray, and he swayed in his seat, as if the effort of unhooking Jannoula had exhausted him. I didn’t like to pester him when he was tired, but a much dearer friend than Ingar was struggling far harder with Jannoula: “Camba, would you tell him Abdo has also been seized? I want to bring him, but he’s anxious about facing Pende again.”

“We should wait to discuss that,” said Camba, glancing apprehensively at Pende.

Pende’s sunken eyes had popped open at the sound of Abdo’s name. He began to speak, quietly at first, then with growing vehemence. His Porphyrian was opaque to me, but his tone grew transparently angry. Was this about Abdo?

Camba left Ingar’s side and sat at the old priest’s feet. She touched his feet and spoke in low tones, but Pende would not let himself be calmed. His complaint reached a climax; his eyes reeled and spittle flecked his lips. Finally, he turned his baleful gaze on me and shouted in heavily accented Goreddi, “And you! You want to take the rest from me. I do not permit this.”

I recoiled as if struck. He’d grown angry so quickly. What had I done?

Camba rose to her feet, cutting short a new tirade, I suspected; she bowed deferentially, and the old priest lightly touched the crown of her towering hair. I wasn’t sure what to do, if I should bow or say something, but Camba hauled Ingar to his feet and held out a strong arm to usher me away. “Don’t speak,” she whispered. “Follow me.” I did as she asked, but kept my eyes on Pende as long as I could. He did not meet my gaze but closed his eyes and folded his limbs as if settling in to meditate.

“I should have warned you not to talk to him after the unhooking,” muttered Camba as we made our way back through the priestesses’ cloister. “He’s two hundred years old; he can’t keep his temper when he’s tired, and Abdo is the sorest of subjects.”

“What did Abdo—” I began, but Camba cut me off with a hiss and a finger on her lips. I followed her gaze toward one of the veiled priestesses. Could that be Abdo’s priestess mother? I watched her pass, but the god did not open her eyes.

Camba, bearing Ingar on one arm, pulled me with her free hand. “He broke Pende’s heart,” she whispered. “Abdo was to be the priest’s successor. Now Pende has no one.”

“He has you,” I hazarded, hoping I’d interpreted their relationship correctly.

She flashed a mournful look from under her lashes. We’d reached the anteroom, where our shoes waited; Camba slipped on her sandals and helped Ingar with his scuffed ankle boots before answering: “With luck, I can be a stopgap until the god grants us another, mightier mind. Which he may or may not do. Such is the nature of Chance, may he strike us softly.”

I followed Camba through the dim, smoky sanctuary, occupied with my own thoughts. Pende clearly didn’t want me to take the other ityasaari south. How much power did he have to enforce his wishes? If he said the word, would the ityasaari agree? Even if they didn’t agree, were they bound to obey?

Camba had seemed deferential and protective, yet acutely aware of Pende’s limitations as an irascible old man whose strength was failing. Besides, the ityasaari could return to Porphyry after assisting Goredd. Maybe I’d once hoped we’d all be together forever, but that seemed naive and foolish now.