“One to be admitted,” said the Door, heavily.
The Book (titles were shortened, for convenience’ sake) nodded and rang a small silver gong that sat on her desk.
Another Kenkari, the Keeper of the Soul, entered from a side room. The Book rose respectfully to her feet. The Door bowed. Keeper of the Soul was the highest rank attainable among the Kenkari, A wizard of the Seventh House, the Kenkari who held this title was not only the most powerful of his clan, but also one of the most powerful elves in the empire. The Soul’s word, in times past, had been enough to bring kings to their knees. But now? The Door wondered.
The Soul held out his hand, reverently accepted the box. Turning, he laid the box upon the altar and knelt to begin his prayers. The Door told the maiden’s name and recited all he knew of the young woman’s lineage and history to the Book, who jotted down notes. She would record the details more fully, when she had time.
“So young,” said the Book, sighing. “What was the cause of death?”
The Door licked dry lips. “Murder.”
The Book raised her eyes, stared at him, glanced over at the Soul. The Soul ceased his prayers, turned around.
“You sound certain this time.”
“There was a witness. The drug did not take complete hold. Our weesham has a taste for fine wine, it seems,” the Door added, with a twisted smile. “She knew bad from good and wouldn’t drink it.”
“Do they know?”
“The Unseen know everything,” said the Book in a low voice.
“She is being followed. They have been following her,” said the Door.
“Here?” The Soul’s eyes flared. “Not onto the sacred grounds.”
“No. As yet the emperor does not dare send them here.”
The words as yet hung ominously in the air.
“He grows careless,” said the Soul.
“Or more bold,” suggested the Door.
“Or more desperate,” said the Book softly.
The Kenkari stared at one another. The Soul shook his head, passed a trembling hand through his white, wispy hair. “And now we know the truth.”
“We have long known it,” said the Door, but he said it quietly, and the Soul did not hear.
“The emperor is slaying his own kin for their souls, to aid him in his cause. The man fights two wars, three enemies: the rebels, the humans, the Gegs below. Ancient hatred and mistrust keeps these three groups divided, but what if something should happen and they should unite? That is what the emperor fears, that is what drives him to this madness.
“And it is madness,” said the Door. “He is decimating the royal line, lopping off its head, cutting out its heart. Who does he have slaughtered but the young, the strong, those whose souls cling most stubbornly to life. He hopes that these souls will add their strong voices to the holy voice of Krenka-Anris, give our wizards more magical power, strengthen the arms and wills of our soldiers.”
“Yet for whom does Krenka-Anris speak now?” asked the Soul.
The Door and Book kept silent, neither daring to respond.
“We will ask,” said the Keeper of the Soul. He turned back to the altar.
The Keeper of the Door and the Keeper of the Book knelt alongside, one to the Soul’s left, the other to his right. Above the altar, a pane of clear crystal permitted them to see within the Aviary. The Keeper of the Soul lifted a small bell from the altar, a bell made of gold, and rang it. The bell had no clapper, made no sound that living ears could hear. Only the dead could hear it, or so the Kenkari believed.
“Krenka-Anris, we call to you,” said the Keeper of the Soul, raising his arms in appeal. “Holy Priestess, who first knew the wonder of this magic, hear our prayer and come to give us counsel. Thus we pray:
Krenka-Anris,
Holy Priestess.
Three sons, most beloved, you sent to battle;
around their necks, lockets, boxes of magic,
wrought by your hand.
The dragon Krishach, breathing fire and poison,
slew your three sons, most beloved.
Their souls departed. The lockets opened.