Chapter 21

The young Mrs. Ornerter insisted they call her 'Shell. Her bright, pretty smile was reminding Danil and Conir of their present decrepit states. They smiled back as she passed them food across the white marble table. Conir shared a lonely glance with Danil as sunlight flitted in through a large, open window and lit her hair in soft amber. Flowers wavered in their vases, touched by the breeze.

Kandais took her place in front of a plate of fruit. She smiled at Danil and Conir, who nodded, their smiles craggy on their aged faces. 'Shell dropped a plate of eggs and sausage and toast next to the fruit.

“Good morning,” said Kandais. “Any word from Mr. Ornerter?”

“No, babe. But it won't be long, I'm sure,” She answered returning to her own food. She grinned roguishly at Kandais. “ 'The mister', isn't exactly a favorite of the Council, but they'll heed his word.”

“Is it because of the Master?” asked Conir.

“Partly. After the dust had cleared and everyone decided that things were safe again, the mages who allied themselves with your master were treated like pariahs . There was tremendous pressure put on our highest ranking memebers to exile those who had come in contact with the vampires. Mages are really no different than normal people when it comes to things like prejudice and hatred. The council members couldn't do much against such a strong public outcry. Some of them were even for the motion,” she replied. "They watched Orni and the others like a hawk for any reason to eject them from our Order."

“That must make it hard for you,” said Kandais.

“I don't pay them no mind, Kandais. I can't let them tell me what's right. There's but a few mages in Magehall that can compare to my Orni.” She blushed. “Not to boast.”

Conir and Danil got slowly from their seats, groaning with the exertion of their stiff joints. They cleared their dishes and excused themselves. Kandais chewed her food silently.

“Something on your mind, Kandais?”

“Considering the last few days, I think I'm fine”

“I didn't ask if you were ok..” Shell smiled, “... but what's on your mind?”

“It's what you said about Ornerter, just a little different.” She finished her fruit then started into the main course. “What made you go for him?”

Shell's laugh was a glittering sound. “Well, when I first met him, I was at my first twenty and he at his second thirty.”

“His what?”

“That's not for me to say. But he was over seventy and I was twenty.” 'Shell stretched back in her chair. “The council kept an eye on him damn near all the time.

“My father sits on the High-council, so I would always hear these stories about him. They weren't ever positive stories, but most of the Council's complaints were completely unfair; Some of them were skewed in such a way that even a child like myself could see that they were the effect of bias and political pressure. So when I met him it was.. I don't know... it was like a meeting a legend. The Nosferati lord was only one of his many victories. And to top it all off, he had another to add to the count on the night I first met him. We were at a gathering for the hmm.. Conjunction. A fire demon went out of control, and Orni took him, no sweat. He did that, then he just went back to enjoying the party. He only gave his little smile when people thanked him or congratulated him, and he refused to shake the hands of anyone that held rank with the council. That was basically the clincher for me.”

“So you didn't care at all that everybody suspected him.”

“Shit no girl!” 'Shell chuckled, “I don't take too much notice of what comes out of people's mouths. I'd rather see for myself.”

“And if you were wrong?”

“Judgment, my dear, gotta learn to use it. I didn't let him get me into anything I couldn't get myself out of. As long as you do that, you'll be fine.” 'Shell stood, went to Kandais, and laid a hand on her shoulder. She rubbed her thumb over the scabbed symbol behind the young woman's neck. “Relax, girl. It's hard to hide who you are; always comes right on out. I know this is all new and frightening to you, but you won't find the sun by hiding your face, right? Besides, it wouldn't be so hard a choice if it wasn't worth it.” She let Kandais's hair fall back over the glyph.

“C'mon now,” she said, taking up her own dishes, “I gotta take care of some mortuary matters, and I think you could use some fresh air, no?”

---

Batzuga marked off the third day of waiting on his bicep. He took another bite of a cold, stale sandwich and counted on his fingers; A week of travel, five days following a trail to Theyeark, a day to set up the failed maze and now three in the basement of an abandoned apartment building. He choked on the dry sandwich and washed it down with lukewarm tap-water.

'Almost three weeks... still better than the abbey,' He thought ruefully, and looked to Zourdan, who had been sitting cross-legged beside the entryway since Father Saul left to find the Vampire. He didn't say a word, and only opened his eyes when someone came near. Batzuga assumed that Zourdan snuck off to the restroom while everyone was sleeping, or maybe he did it right there in his breeches.

Batzuga had been playing the role of restless boredom, not that it was hard to play. He kept his questions to himself, although he was sure it would not be out of character for him to voice the truth. Batzuga gave a look to Yamone and Waofin, and knew they probably had the same thing on their minds:

Had Father Saul fallen?

Batzuga lifted the water to his lips, and decided it was indeed warmer than his own saliva. Yamone lay staring at the ceiling, and Waofin was on the cot adjacent. Batzuga envied her; Her lucid dreams kept her thoroughly entertained. He sighed and wished, knowing it was mostly his present boredom talking, that he'd taken on a LoLox like her instead of a troll.

Of the four, Waofin was somehow the most expressive. He spent a large potion of his time sleeping, weakened by blood loss. He whimpered softly when he was forced to move, whether by hunger or by other urgent needs; Then would look around guiltily to see if anyone had noticed. When he was awake, his eyes were haunted and downcast. Batzuga knew his look; Waofin had assumed the blame for the fallen. Batzuga avoided his gaze altogether. He couldn't excuse the young Scion's Child for his emotional weakness, but he understood; It wasn't easy watching a friend die.

“Saul better bring back some good grub,” he said finally, “Yamone's sandwiches ain't aging' so well.”

No one made a move or peep. Batzuga sighed. “How long are we gonna sit here and stare?”

“Until our Prophet returns,” answered Zourdan curtly.

“And if he don't?”

Zourdan opened his eyes for the first time that day and favored Batzuga with a sneer, “Your faith is failing, not to wonder.”

“Maybe so,” Batzuga smirked in return, “but faith in the Scion and faith in Saul are two different things.”

Zourdan's eyes tensed. “Is he not the prophet? Then he is blessed of the Scion; They are one and the same.”

“Saul ain't nothin' but flesh and bone and sparkly lights. He's got all the same fails as you 'n me.”

“Blasphemy! Lies!” cried Zourdan who looked as if he would finally rise.

“Just layin' down the possibles, man. I ain't said it's the truth,” Batzuga replied. Zourdan's sneer returned. “Only thing we know now is we ain't seen Saul in three days. Say what you want about that asshole, but three days gone is cause for concern.”

“And you want to go and look for him,” Zourdan's voice dripped with sarcasm. “Do you think yourself dutiful?”

“He might need our help.”

“Disobedience is hardly-”

Yamone's voice was so unexpected, the two had to pretend they weren't startled by her words. “Do you think we can find him?”

“That is-” Zourdan began.

“Of course, we have Waofin, he can find anything,” Batzuga interrupted.

“He is hurt, and you...” said Zourdan.

“I am 'at risk,' right?”

“It'll be the Cloister of Silence for you,” Zourdan replied with a sort of cruel smile.

“Yea?” Batzuga nodded slowly. “It'll be the death of me to stay here while Saul rots in the sewers. I'd rather sit in that agonizing quiet than spend another minute in this shitty room, eating this slop.”

“This isn't helping, Batzuga!” said Yamone. She sat up and fussed with her mask, then looked to Zourdan. “But he is right, we can no longer be assured of the Prophet's safety.”

Zourdan unclenched his fists and laid his gloved hands on his knees. Batzuga smiled, though laughed on the inside.

“So you are prepared to assume control, Yamone? To take responsibility?” asked Zourdan, his tone considerably less contemptuous.

“If Father Saul has perished, then it that is my duty. My first act as Mother-by-Succession will be to search out the truth of our Prophet and confirm his status.”

“Have you a plan?” asked Zourdan.

“Search the sewers; Maybe we can pick up his trail.”

“Waofin, you think you're up for some hunting?” asked Batzuga. He began to check his daggers and equipment.

“I'll be fine,” came Waofin's stuffy voice.

“I think it'd be best if someone stayed here, in case Saul returns,” said Batzuga, plainly; He tried to avoid leering at Zourdan.

“I think this is a breach of the Order. If our prophet has died, the Mother is to return us to the abbey with all the remaining of the following.”

“As we will, once we are sure,” Yamone answered, rising from her cot. “But since you are so keen on protocol, Zourdan, perhaps you should stay here in case the Prophet returns. Batzuga, and Waofin, do what you must to prepare. I, for one, need a shower.”