Blood of the Fold (Sword of Truth 3)

Since Sister Simona was deranged, that was to be expected. The question was, why wasn’t it working? Verna recognized the shield around the door as simple one used to keep young wizards confined when they were being mulish.

Verna opened herself to her Han and stepped through the shield. Warren followed as she knocked. The flickers of light coming from under the door cut off.

“Simona? It’s Verna Sauventreen. You remember me, don’t you, dear? May I come in?”

No answer came, so Verna turned the knob and eased the door open. She held the lamp out before herself, sending its yellowy glimmers ahead to break the darkness within. The room was empty but for a tray with a pitcher, bread, and fruit, a pallet, a chamber pot, and a filthy little woman cowering in the corner.

“Leave me be, demon!” she shrieked.

“Simona, It’s all right. It’s only me, Verna, and my friend, Warren. Don’t be afraid.”

Simona blinked in the light, as if it were the sun just risen. Verna set the lamp behind, so as not to blind the woman.

Simona peered up. “Verna?”

“That’s right.”

Simona kissed her ring finger a dozen times, gushing thanks and blessings on the Creator. She scurried across the floor on her hands and knees to snatch up the hem of Verna’s dress, kissing it, too, over and over.

“Oh, thank you for coming.” She scrambled to her feet. “Hurry! We must escape!”

Verna grasped the small woman’s shoulders and sat her down on her sleeping pallet. With a gentle hand she smoothed back the shock of gray hair.

Her hand froze.

Simona had a collar around her neck. That was why she wasn’t able to break the shield. Verna had never seen a Sister wearing a Rada’Han. She had seen hundreds of boys and young men wearing one, but never a Sister. The sight of it turned her stomach. She had been taught that in the dim past, Rada’Han had been put around the necks of Sisters who had lost their minds. Having one with the gift afflicted with insanity was like loosing lightning in a crowded market square. They had to be controlled. But still…

“Simona, you are safe. You’re in the palace, under the watchful eye of the Creator. No harm will come to you.”

Simona broke into tears. “I must flee. Please, let me go. I must flee.”

“Why must you flee, my dear?”

The woman wiped tears from the dirt on her face. “He comes.”

“Who?”

“The one from my dreams. The dream walker.”

“Who is this dream walker?”

Simona shrank back. “The Keeper.”

Verna paused. “This dream walker is the Keeper?”

She nodded so hard Verna thought her neck might come unhinged. “Sometimes. Sometimes, he’s the Creator.”

Warren leaned in. “What?”

Simona flinched. “Is it you? Are you the one?”

“I’m Warren, Sister. A student, that’s all.”

Simona touched a finger to her cracked lips. “You should run, too, then. He comes. He wants those with the gift.”

“The one in your dreams?” Verna asked. Simona nodded furiously. “What does he do in your dreams?”

“Torments me. Hurts me. He…” She kissed her ring finger frantically, beseeching the Creator’s protection. “He tells me I must forsake my oath. He tells me to do things. He’s a demon. Sometimes he pretends to be the Creator, to trick me, but I know it’s him. I know. He’s a demon.”

Verna hugged the frightened woman. “It’s just a nightmare, Simona. It’s not real. Try to see that.”

Simona almost shook her head right out of its skin. “No! It’s a dream, but real. He comes! We must run!”

Verna smiled sympathetically. “What makes you think that?”

“Told me, he did. He comes.”

“Don’t you see, dear? That was just in the dream, not when you’re awake. It’s not real.”

“The dreams are real. When I’m awake, I know, too.”

“You’re awake now. Do you know now, dear?” Simona nodded. “How do you know, when you’re awake, if he isn’t there in your head to tell you, like when you dream?”

“I can hear his alert.” She looked from Verna’s face to Warren’s, and back again. “I’m not crazy. I’m not. Can’t you hear the drums?”

“Yes, Sister, we hear the drums.” Warren smiled. “But that’s not your dream. It’s just the drums announcing the impending arrival of the emperor.”

Simona touched a finger to her lip again. “Emperor?”

“Yes,” Warren comforted, “the emperor of the Old World. He’s coming for a visit, that’s all. That’s what the drums are.”

Her brow creased in worry. “Emperor?”

“Yes,” Warren said. “Emperor Jagang.”

With a wild shriek Simona leapt into a corner. She screamed as if she were being stabbed. Her hands flailed. Verna rushed to her, trying to catch her arms and calm her.

“Simona, you’re safe with us. What is it?”

“That’s him!” she screamed. “Jagang! That’s the dream walker’s name! Let me go! Please let me go before he comes!”

Simona tore away, careering around the room, sending flashes of lightning flicking everywhere. It raked the paint off the walls like glowing claws. Verna and Warren tried to calm her, tried to catch her, tried to stop her. When Simona could find no way from the room, she began bashing her head against the wall. Simona was a small woman, but she seemed to have the strength of ten men.

In the end, and with great reluctance, Verna was forced to use the Rada’Han to gain control.

Warren healed Simona’s bleeding forehead after they had quieted her. Verna remembered a spell she had been taught to use on boys newly come to the palace, when they were having nightmares from being taken from their parents, a spell to calm fears and let the frightened child sleep a dreamless sleep. Verna clasped the Rada’Han between her hands and sent a flow of her Han into Simona. At last, her breathing slowed, she went limp, and she slept. Verna hoped it was a dreamless sleep.

Shaken, Verna leaned against the door after she closed it on the dark room. “Did you find out what you wanted to know?”

Warren swallowed. “I’m afraid so.”

That wasn’t the answer Verna had expected. He didn’t offer anything more. “Well?”

“Well, I’m not so sure Sister Simona is insane. Not in the conventional sense, anyway.” He picked at the braiding on the sleeve of his robe. “I’ll need to do more reading. It could be nothing. The books are complex. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Verna kissed her finger, but felt the still unfamiliar touch of the Prelate’s ring under her lips. “Dear Creator,” she prayed aloud, “keep this foolish young man safe, for I may snatch his head bald and then strangle him with my bare hands.”

Warren rolled his eyes. “Look, Verna—”

“Prelate,” she corrected.

Warren sighed and at last nodded. “I guess I should tell you, but understand that this is a very old and obscure fork. The prophecies are clogged with false forks. This is doubly tainted, because of its age, and its rarity. That makes it suspect even if it weren’t for the rest of it. There are crossovers and backfalls galore in tomes this old, and I can’t verify them without months of work. Some of the links are occluded by triple forks. Back-tracing a triple fork squares false forks on the branches, and if any of them are tripled, well then, the enigma created by the geometric progressions you encounter because of the—”

Verna put a hand to his forearm to silence him. “Warren, I know all that. I understand the degrees of progression and regression as they relate to random variables in bifurcations of a triple fork.”