Chapter 195

“Hey there, sugar bear.”

“Do you not tire of these inane rhymes?” Nyssira asked.

“Nope. I stay up all night thinking of new ones. Just for you.”

The stars comprising her face completed a slow revolution before settling back into place - the cosmic equivalent of an eye-roll.

“I brought something for you.” I crossed to the transfer pillar and set down a block of wood, a journal, and several sticks. A pulse of mana and Faith flowed into the mechanism. The items vanished from my side of the barrier and reappeared inside the warded circle with a faint shimmer.

Nyssira watched them suspiciously.

“A journal,” I explained. “I figured you might want something to write in. I'm sure you can figure out how to char the ends of the sticks.”

I smiled. “You did reduce your bed to splinters and ash, after all.”

“And the wood?” she asked suspiciously.

“I thought you might make more sculptures. Your previous work showed promise.”

A tiny armored head burst from her shoulder. “Slay him!” it demanded. “Grind his bones to dust and use them for mortar!”

Without looking, Nyssira grabbed the miniature god by the helmet and shoved him back into herself.

The head disappeared with an indignant squeak.

“Are we finished today?” she asked, venom dripping from every word. “I am not in the mood to endure your moronic pandering. Go bother one of your thralls.”

“I actually had a question,” I told her.

“Keep it to yourself.”

“I think you'll want to hear this one,” I replied.

“I assure you I will not.”

I pulled the key from my pocket. “Have you ever seen something like-”

The moment the key emerged, the stars of her face froze. Every orbit stopped. Every constellation locked in place. For a single heartbeat, even the faint shimmer of starlight seemed to die.

Then motion returned. Slowly. Deliberately. Too deliberately. “I don't know what that is.” She tried very hard to sound bored.

“That’s a lie.” Lunythera's face rose from Nyssira's shoulder. Her lantern-bright eyes were fixed on the key.

Nyssira immediately shoved her back down.

“Uh oh,” Vaelis observed.

The goddess of rumor had barely managed to emerge before Nyssira stuffed her back inside as well.

A moment later part of Lunythera surfaced again. Not from her shoulder this time. From the middle of Nyssira's back. The moon goddess kept her voice low. “You found it.” Then she vanished again.

“Does that happen often?” I asked.

“What?” she asked

“The arguments.”

“What arguments?”

I frowned. The gift Solenna had given me allowed me to sense lies. Not perfectly. Not all the time. But usually. Yet somehow she wasn’t triggering my Spidey-sense. Either she was telling the truth…

Or something stranger was happening.

“Are you fucking with me?” I asked. “Or do you genuinely not remember what just happened?”

The stars of her face tightened into a dense cluster. Several small novas flared near where her temples would have been. “We have discussed this before.” Her voice turned razor-sharp. “We will not be fucking. Not now. Not ever.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “That's not what I meant.”

I sighed. Whatever was happening inside her was getting worse. The stacking. The simplification. Whatever the hell it actually was.

I still didn't understand it. I wasn't even sure the gods understood it. But I knew enough to be afraid. If the aspects she'd absorbed were released all at once...

The consequences could be catastrophic. Potentially world-ending.

I lifted the key again. “Right. Back on topic.”

The stars in her face drifted uneasily.

“The moon key.”

For several seconds she said nothing. Then, “Destroy it.” The words came flat and immediate. No hesitation. No uncertainty. “Before it's too late.”

“Too late for what?”

She stopped. The stars spun faster. Several collided and detonated in silent flashes. “I don't know.” Another nova. Brighter this time. “I don't know!”

The constellations making up her face dissolved completely before reforming in a chaotic swirl. “Figure it out yourself!”

She turned away and strode to the far edge of the warding circles. As far from me - and the key - as she could get.

I watched her for a moment. Then nodded. “Okay.”

My voice softened. “We'll stop here for today.”

* * *

Iolite and I made our way to Crownreach, then continued south to a city called Stormwall.

That was where Harrowd Bram - the first noble on Amberleigh's list - lived.

Stormwall sat atop a broad hill and could be seen from miles away. Rolling fields of wheat and barley stretched across the surrounding countryside, broken only by orchards and the occasional cluster of trees. Several lakes glittered in the distance, feeding irrigation canals that helped sustain the region's farms.

Like the other cities of Arvellia, Stormwall was encircled by a thirty-foot wall of seamless white stone. Magic had shaped it from a single mass, leaving no mortar lines or individual blocks. Unlike the walls of Crownreach or Northgate, however, this one was absurdly thick - nearly twenty feet at its base.

There wasn't a sharp corner anywhere. The wall flowed around the city in broad, graceful curves.

Even the gates were different.

Massive reinforced doors stood open, but the entrances didn't pass straight through the wall. Instead, each followed a winding S-shaped path before emerging into the city proper.

Inside, six enormous towers dominated the skyline. They were wide at the base and narrowed as they rose, like gigantic stone stakes hammered into the earth. Scattered between them were dozens - possibly hundreds - of bell towers.

The buildings themselves were practical. They rarely rose above two stories - stone ground floors supported timber-framed upper levels. Roofs were steep and heavily reinforced. Nearly every window was flanked by sturdy storm shutters.

At the city's center lay a massive open field. Not a market. Not a park. Just a broad expanse of flat ground.

It looked oddly out of place.

The Bram estate stood near the western wall. A large manor house sat at its center, surrounded by several outbuildings and enclosed by a ten-foot limestone wall. Like the city's defenses, the wall possessed no sharp corners. Thick buttresses jutted from its exterior every thirty or forty feet, anchoring it firmly to the ground.

The estate looked old. Not neglected. Not impoverished. Simply weathered. The sort of place that had stood for generations.

Dark rain stains streaked portions of the southern wall, and stubborn patches of moss clung to the stone despite someone's best efforts to remove them.

The gates were practical rather than impressive - heavy oak reinforced with iron bands. Beyond them stood a secondary lattice gate of black iron.

Another layer. Another precaution.

I didn't know much about Stormwall, but everything about it suggested a city accustomed to hardship. To my knowledge, Arvellia hadn't fought a war against Caldris in over two centuries. So whatever had shaped this place, it wasn't fear of invasion.

As I studied the estate, I considered my options.

I couldn't simply kick down a door and start punching people. That was generally my preferred investigative method, but Amberleigh had been very clear.

I needed proof. I needed discretion. I needed to do this properly.

The problem was that I had absolutely no idea what “properly” looked like.

I wasn't a spy. I didn't have informants hidden throughout the city.

I was just a guy completely out of his element.

So we started simple.

We approached one of the nearby bell towers.

The keeper turned out to be a pleasant older man named Richerd. Once I explained that we were visiting Stormwall for the first time and that my girlfriend was fascinated by the bells, he eagerly volunteered to give us a tour.

And a history lesson.

Apparently many of the bell towers belonged to the city and served as warning systems and communication hubs.

Stormwall, it turned out, had earned its name honestly. The city wasn't merely plagued by storms. It was plagued by tornadoes.

Late spring and early autumn brought them regularly.

The massive towers built into the city walls - known as the Anchors - were used to watch for wall clouds, which apparently preceded tornado formation. When dangerous weather approached, the bell towers rang warning signals and residents headed for shelter.

That was another interesting fact about Stormwall - nearly every building had a cellar.

Stormwall's people weren't hiding from armies. They were hiding from the sky.

The large field in the center of the city was called the Commons. When storms destroyed homes, displaced families camped there. Livestock could be gathered. Supplies could be stored.

The entire city seemed designed around the assumption that disaster wasn't a matter of if - only when.

Eventually Richerd led us to the top of the bell tower. The view was impressive.

The Bram estate stood clearly visible beyond the rooftops. Two guards watched the gate. A stable occupied one side of the compound. I counted roughly half a dozen horses.

“Is that the lord's estate?” I asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Richerd said. “Governor Harrowd Bram. Owns half the farms around here.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Never met him myself, but he seems alright enough. Helps out after storms. Not afraid to get ‘is hands dirty. Folks say he's fair with taxes. Least as fair as taxes can be.”

He chuckled. “‘Is great-great-grandfather built that bell tower over there.” He pointed toward the manor grounds. “Bit strange wanting one all to yourself, but that's nobles for ya.”

“Looks like you can see half the city from up here.” I leaned against the railing. “What's the strangest thing you've ever seen?”

“Rained frogs.”

I blinked. “I'm sorry?”

“Twenty years ago.” Richerd nodded matter-of-factly. “Tornado came through. Missed town, but went right over Briar Lake. Sucked up a bunch of water and more frogs than ya could count.”

He grinned. “Well, what goes up's got to come back down. Rained frogs for half an hour.” He laughed. “Damnedest thing though? Bunch a the frogs survived. Hopped all over the place for days.”

I stared at him. I'd heard stories like that before, but they were always in those Mysteries of the Unexplained books and TV shows. Never from someone who had actually witnessed it. “That is not remotely what I expected.”

“That's storms for ya.”

I gestured toward one of the massive Anchor towers. “Who do we talk to if we want a tour of one of those? I imagine the view is incredible.”

“Don't need permission.” Richerd waved dismissively. “Open to the public. Usually there's a watcher and an apprentice inside. If they're not busy they'll happily tell ya stories all day.”

His face brightened. “My son's a watcher in the north Anchor.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sounds like an interesting job.”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Took him years at the college just to qualify as an apprentice. Then another five years before they promoted him. Pay seems good, he enjoys it, and it’s respectable work. Beats being a shoemaker like me.”

* * *

We made our way to one of the western Anchors and climbed to the top.

From there, nearly the entire city lay spread out beneath us, but our attention was fixed on a single patch of ground.

The Bram estate.

It sat only a short distance away, and the height of the tower gave us an unobstructed view of the manor and its surrounding grounds.

Iolite and I played the role of young travelers visiting Stormwall for the first time. Curious. Harmless. Exactly the sort of people nobody paid much attention to.

Over the course of the afternoon, I spoke separately with both the Watcher and his apprentice. Neither knew why I was really there, and both offered much the same opinion of Governor Bram. He was respected, competent, and fair. Not beloved, perhaps, but trusted. Which wasn't exactly the sort of thing I wanted to hear.

At one point, when both men were occupied elsewhere in the tower, Iolite and I slipped up to the roof. No one bothered us. No one questioned us.

And from there we could watch the estate as long as we wanted.

So we did.

Well, I did. Iolite fell asleep on my lap sometime after midnight. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close against the night's chill. She slept peacefully, her head tucked beneath my chin while I kept watch.

The estate itself was disappointingly mundane. A few servants came and went carrying sacks and baskets - shopping, most likely.

A rider arrived sometime during the afternoon. The gates opened for him, and he remained inside for about an hour before leaving again. Nothing unusual.

A wagon arrived shortly before sunset - that was slightly more interesting. It didn't depart until just before dawn, and both the driver and wagon spent the night in the stable yard.

Still, that wasn't enough to mean anything. Travelers stayed overnight all the time.

The only thing that genuinely caught my attention happened well after midnight. A light appeared in the manor's bell tower - a lantern, I assumed. It hovered in one of the windows for several seconds before vanishing. Then it reappeared. Vanished. Reappeared.

Not like a flame being extinguished. Like someone was deliberately covering it.

I sat up straighter.

The pattern repeated. Twice. Pause. Once. Pause. Three times. Then darkness. Several minutes later the exact same sequence appeared again. Two. One. Three. The lantern disappeared.

That wasn't random - it was a signal. I was almost certain of it. Unfortunately, I had absolutely no idea what it meant.

When morning finally arrived, Iolite and I stepped down.

One unexpected benefit of my Faith-scape remaining permanently open was that stepping had become significantly easier. If I could physically see a destination, I could usually reach it without much trouble.

Places beyond my sight remained more complicated. Those felt less like navigation and more like intuition. Like reaching toward a distant resonance and hoping I'd interpreted it correctly.

Lately, those resonances had been changing. When I'd first learned to step, my Faith had pulled me toward literal crossroads, city gates, bridges, harbors at dawn and dusk. Places where paths converged.

Now it seemed increasingly drawn toward figurative crossroads instead. Arguments between spouses. Acts of betrayal. Private moments between parent and child. Abuse. Forgiveness. The moments where relationships changed. The moments where bonds were tested, strengthened, broken, or reforged.

That was where my Faith seemed strongest now.

The old places still existed. I could still reach a city gate or a bridge. I just couldn't tell the difference beforehand. Couldn't distinguish one resonance from another. At least not yet.

Yveth and Miralis had always made movement seem effortless. Even the ferals appeared to grasp it more intuitively than I did.

Maybe gods were born with knowledge I lacked. Maybe the ferals benefited from spending most of their lives as ascended beings rather than mortals.

Or maybe it was simpler than that.

Maybe I was just a man from Earth. A world with almost no mana and almost no Faith. Maybe I'd spent my entire life stumbling through darkness and was only now learning how to see.

Eventually hunger won out over introspection.

The streets were already coming alive as merchants opened their shops and workers began their day.

Iolite and I found a tavern called the Crooked Bell and settled in for breakfast.

The place was quiet at this hour. A few small groups occupied scattered tables, but most of the room sat empty.

The owner shuffled over to take our order. He was a narrow, aging man with a noticeable limp. His thinning hair had been carefully combed back, and one side of his face sagged slightly, as though he'd once suffered a stroke.

After ordering, I struck up a casual conversation.

Like everyone else I'd spoken to, he seemed to think well of Governor Bram. The Bram family had governed Stormwall for generations. They'd remained through storms, plagues, and even the brief war with Caldris two and a half centuries ago. The governor helped rebuild after disasters. Paid fairly. Showed up when people needed him. At least according to the locals.

The problem was that none of this actually helped me. Talking to random citizens wasn't producing anything useful.

If Bram was involved with the Covenant, he hid it well.

I could probably get onto the estate. The question was whether I'd be able to learn anything once I got there. And if his own staff thought highly of him, getting information from them would be even harder.

I pushed my empty plate away and considered my options. Subtlety wasn't exactly my specialty. Neither was espionage. But sitting around waiting for answers clearly wasn't working.

I glanced at Iolite, then toward the window. Toward the distant manor. Toward the bell tower. The lantern signal still lingered in my thoughts. Two, one, three.

It wasn't much, but it was more than I had yesterday. And right now, that was enough.

I paid for breakfast. Then Iolite and I headed out to begin the next phase of the investigation.