“It’s supposed to be.” He grinned. “The story’s legendary. Mother Dolours got around it by handing in her curist’s robes to join the Gray Sisters—that was the only way she could defy the vote and continue to practice healing…”
Charles trailed off. He halted in the middle of the lane and began rapidly unbelting his sword. As I watched in bewilderment, he shoved the whole mess into my hands—belt, scabbard, and all. “Hide that,” he instructed, and nodded in hasty approval as I dubiously placed the sword behind my back.
Ravens took off from a nearby roof, cawing harshly. They had been disturbed by an enormous shape rising from the building’s shadows. Someone cried out in fear as the figure took a lumbering step into the light, revealing a huge, muscular frame swathed in bandages. He was the largest man I had ever seen, nearly the size of a rivener. His strangely blank eyes were trained unblinkingly on me and Charles.
“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you,” Charles assured me, and then went to the huge man and put a steadying hand on his arm. “Jean, it’s all right. The sword’s gone now. Jean? It’s me, Charles. Your friend.”
His pleas seemed lost on the giant, who continued to lumber forward, dragging Charles with him. Swollen patches of blight, dark against his pale skin, distorted his already ugly features—small eyes, a heavy jaw, a nose flattened by a poorly healed break. He was so tall that as he approached, I had to lean my head back to keep looking at him.
“I promise, he won’t hurt you.” Charles sounded desperate now. He frantically cast around, and understanding dawned as his eyes alit on my face. “I think it’s the blood. Jean? You can calm down. She isn’t hurt.”
The man—Jean—didn’t give any sign of registering what Charles had said. His stark, wild eyes were still fixed on me unblinkingly. Seeing him up close, I realized he was near Charles and me in age; his imposing size only made him appear older. And it was also obvious, at least to me, that his gaze wasn’t angry or threatening. It was haunted.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “Look,” I told him. “It’s just a nosebleed. It’s already stopped. See?”
Jean’s expression didn’t change, but some of the tension left his broad shoulders. Judging by the gratitude in Charles’s eyes, I guessed that this wasn’t normally the way people reacted. Based on personal experience, the normal way probably involved screaming.
“He’s a soldier?” I asked.
Charles hesitated, then said in an undertone, “He got possessed in the battle yesterday. He… he hurt a lot of people. Our friend Roland…” He didn’t need to finish. One look at Jean’s size and obvious strength made it clear Roland hadn’t survived.
“Fascinating,” the revenant put in. I felt it inspecting Jean. “He still smells faintly of Old Magic. That might prove useful to us later.”
“He hasn’t spoken since,” Charles went on, thankfully unaware of the revenant’s remarks. “Things keep setting him off. Mother Dolours thought it would be best to keep him here, since there are so many weapons in the garrison. Not that he’d use them to hurt anyone,” he added quickly. “They just—”
“Upset him. I understand.”
He let out a breath, relieved. “The way some people react to him, after hearing what happened—you’d think he was still possessed.” He lowered his voice further, looking pained. “Whatever’s wrong with him, Mother Dolours can’t heal it. She says it’s an injury of the mind.”
“I used to know someone like him,” I said. “He just needs time.”
Charles’s face brightened. “They got better?”
I remembered hiding under the bed from Marguerite. Jerking away whenever the sisters tried to touch me. Sitting alone in the refectory while the other novices whispered. “Mostly,” I said at last.
* * *
“What did you mean when you said that Jean might prove useful?” I asked once I had shut the stable’s door and found myself alone with the horses. Most were the large, well-muscled draft type bred to pull the convent’s corpse-wagons. Their heads hung inquisitively from their stalls, greeting me with soft snorts and nickers.
“Not now. The brute might overhear you. He’s standing right outside.”
“Don’t call him that,” I replied, but I moved deeper into the stable until I found the ladder leading up into the hayloft. The revenant winced as a rat fled squeaking across the rafters.
“You aren’t planning to sleep in here, are you?” it asked in disgust.
I shrugged, peering into the loft’s murky darkness, trying to make out whether I would bang my head against the slanted ceiling if I straightened to my full height.
“I suppose it is filthy and depressing, just the way you like it. Open that window,” it demanded, a trace of urgency entering its tone. “You might thrive in this vile miasma, but I don’t have to suffocate to death while you’re at it.”
I decided not to point out that the revenant was already dead. I went to the loft door and cracked it open. The revenant relaxed as clear sunlight and a flood of cold, fresh air swept inside. Looking out, I saw that Jean was still standing in the yard below. He had followed Charles and me all the way to the stable.
Charles was still there too, wandering aimlessly around the muddy yard, kicking bits of straw and pointlessly examining the chickens. Stalling for time.
“I’m leaving now, Jean,” he said at last.
Jean didn’t move. I could only see the top of his shorn, blight-mottled head, but it was enough to tell that he wasn’t paying attention, staring instead into nothingness.
Charles looked down and took a deep, reinforcing breath. Then he squared his shoulders and raised his head. “That’s all right, Jean. Maybe tomorrow.” He came over to give Jean a pat on the arm before he went to retrieve his sword from where I had stowed it behind a water trough. I watched him walk away, defeated.
Jean might not have been possessed if I had woken earlier and reached Bonsaint sooner. Their friend Roland might not have died. If I hadn’t paused to eat those apples, if I hadn’t sat gaping at the sight of the city on the horizon…
I could drive myself mad thinking that way. With the power I had now, I could measure every choice I made in human lives.
Exhaustion crashed over me. I slid down the wall, feeling splinters catch in my cloak, and thumped into the hay. My eyes felt gritty, as though they were full of sand. I squeezed them shut before I said, “We can talk now. Jean won’t be able to hear anything from down there.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“You always want to talk.” I knew that much about the revenant by now.
“Perhaps I could use a little peace and quiet during the rare moments in which you aren’t trying to get yourself killed.”
Ignoring it, I said, “I don’t think you’re right about Leander being the one in control of the spirits. They attacked him when they ambushed the harrow. And back in Naimes, he was surprised to learn about the possessed soldiers.”
“I didn’t say he was controlling them,” the revenant snapped. “Not all the time, at least. I said he’s been practicing Old Magic. Do you know the least thing about Old Magic? It’s a notoriously fickle art. If it has one rule, it’s that it always—”