Page 103 of By the Horns
“I need to go visit Sparrow at the archives.” I pause and then add, “And if either of you mentions any of what we do this afternoon, I’m going to deny it all and say you were drinking. Understand?”
Arrod’s eyes go wide. “Deny what?”
Kipp studies me and then points a finger in my direction.
I nod. “It’s me. I’m the mancer, and I’m not waiting for the guild. We’re going to get Sparrow, and then we’re going to talk to Hemmen and get the answers we need.”
“Oh, thank all the gods,” Arrod breathes, relieved.
Forty-Five
Gwenna
Hours later, we’vemet up with Sparrow at the archives. She’s hard at work, surrounded by no less than four cats sprawled across her desk as she pores over a large book with cribbed handwriting, her glasses perched on her nose. The archives are bustling, with most of the other archivists currently documenting a large haul that one particular Five just brought in for cataloging. Her husband is busy training his fledglings, and she’s surprised to hear that Raptor’s been pulled for a retrieval mission. “That’s strange that they’d call a repeater and not a guild master.”
I shrug. “It came with an official-looking wax seal on it. Maybe they thought Hawk was busy? Either way, we need your help.”
I explain to her the situation—that Rooster refuses to use my mancer abilities, that he’d rather wait until someone else is dead, and that we’re going to take matters into our own hands. Before I can even finish, she’s nodding her head and grabbing a book off her desk. “Yes, of course I’ll come with you to brush up on your Prellian glyphs,” she says loudly. “Anything for a friend.”
“That’s not why we’re here—” Arrod begins, frowning.
Kipp pushes against his leg while I elbow him. Seriously, and this guyis going to keep my secret? I’m doomed. But that’s a problem for me to worry about in the future.
“Right, sorry,” Arrod whispers and gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Glyphwork.”
Oh boy. “Are you sure this is a good time, Sparrow? I don’t want to be a bother….”
“Follow me,” Sparrow says, ignoring my words of protest. “I know just the place we can study. It’ll help you think to be outdoors and enjoying the afternoon sunlight. I know I always study best with a delightful breeze on my face.”
It takes everything I have not to snort with amusement at that. A breeze on her face? Please. Sparrow is very much an indoor sort of woman, and she absolutely hates the wind when she’s trying to read something. But if someone else notices the strangeness of this declaration, they don’t say anything. They’re too busy unpacking and talking amongst themselves as we head out of the archives, following Sparrow.
She marches with authority down the street.
I follow her, doing my best to wear an “I’m about to study now” expression on my face. We head through the central plaza at the heart of the city, past the statue of Sparkanos the Swan, and then head away from the guild buildings entirely. We pass several nests and the training grounds, and when we get to the outer wall, I eye Sparrow. “Where are we going exactly?”
“You need his body, right? He’s going to be with Romus’s people.”
“Oh, mucking hells,” Arrod moans from behind me.
All five hells indeed. Of course he’s at the god of the dead’s temple. All the dead go there to have blessings said over them and to be interred in one of the god’s sacred houses so they can be welcomed into one of his five realms. It just didn’t occur to me that when I said I’d be speaking with the dead, I’d be going to their house. My skin prickles with goose bumps.
I rub my arms, shivering despite the warmth of the sunshine. I wish Raptor were here.
A small hand touches my knee. I look down at Kipp, who’s trotting at my side. He glances up at me and gives me a reassuring lizardy nod. Evenif my lover—no, mymate—isn’t here, I’ve still got friends at my side. “Thank you, Kipp. I can always count on you.”
He gives a reassuring little huff and nods again.
We approach the temple of Romus, Lord of the Five Hells. Sparrow takes the lead, and we step inside. The moment we do, my skin prickles with awareness, as if the dead in the vicinity are suddenly becoming alert to my presence. I dig my fingernails into my palms and pretend to admire the temple. All buildings of Romus are created in the same manner—there are rows of benches like church pews, all facing the murals of the five hells. In front of each mural is an altar, along with the offerings for each realm. Worshipers give offerings to each realm to push them away, and there are no offerings in front of the Hell of Release, because everyone wants to pass through its gates. The Hells of Misery, of Despair, of Penitence, and of War are all flooded with offerings of rotten foods and aversion symbols. Near the doors to the temple stands a nun in front of a stand with a basket of old vegetables. “Rotten turnip for hell?”
I’m tempted to purchase a few myself just out of superstition. It’s tradition, after all.
In her heavy archivist robes, Sparrow flounces up to the nun and gives her a haughty look down her nose. “My friends and I have come to pay our respects to one of the deceased. Where can we sit with him and pray for his Divine Release?”
The nun points to the back of the temple. “You’ll want the head priestess. She’s in charge of purifying the bodies.”
“My thanks.” Sparrow nods at her and then flicks a hand at us, indicating we should follow close behind.
A shiver moves up my spine as the faint nonsense babble of the dead begins to whisper in my ears. I don’t recognize the voices, but then again, the dead never sound familiar. We follow behind Sparrow, bowing to the nun as we pass by her. “She’s a little scary like this,” Arrod comments. “Mistress Sparrow. I thought she was an archivist.”
