DREAMS
I dreamed of Tanzi again. She was shouting for me from behind the water. “Find me!” she cried. “Please, Ryber, before it is too late!”
Again, I tried to grab her, but as soon as my fingers touched water, pain shot through my hands and into my skull. So fierce, it woke me up.
Now I sit here in bed, sweating and breathing fast while the dawn birds chirrup outside as if nothing is wrong.
MEMORIES
I went to the Crypts for answers. The ghosts are lonely with no one to visit, so they cloyed and choked as soon as I passed through the chapel.
When the Sightwitch Sisters claim the memories of the dead for their Records, some memories tug free. Snippets of soul that don’t want to be scrawled down. Wisps of glowing light that twirl and ooze, they flitter for all eternity in the Crypts, waiting to help any Sisters who ask for it. You give them a word and off they careen, searching the endless array of records and volumes and documents for any appearance of that word.
There are so many of them, though, and they get so excited. This is why the Order of Two exists, for even with the Sight, the ghosts can quickly overwhelm the senses.
Leaving a lone sister lost.
But I have to understand my dreams, and the best place for answers—the best place in all the Witchlands—is the Crypts.
Besides, the Order isn’t an official Rule of the Convent. It’s just a guideline.
Look at you, said a voice in the back of my mind as I stood at the threshold from chapel into the Crypts. Breaking the Order of Two. What wild rebellion will you commit next?
“Hush,” I ordered the voice. It sounded a little too much like Tanzi, and I didn’t need this hot wave of guilt building in my belly. Shoving it aside, I strode through the door.
Where the ghosts promptly swarmed. Their cold whispers took root in my mind, growing and pressing down. Slippery, wordless voices. It felt as if I’d dived underwater. My lungs started to cave and my ears to pop.
Thank the Sleeper I like being underwater, though. Diving with cave salamanders has always been fun to me—though Tanzi thinks it miserable. She rarely joined me in the cold pools beneath the Convent.
She rarely went into the Crypts with me either.
Eventually, when the ghosts grew tired of swishing and swiping against me, I was able to suck in a breath. Able to get my bearings.
I stood on the balcony that overlooks the topmost level of the Crypts. Level 1 is like all the levels below it. (Well, at least until Level 5. I’ve never been below that, so I can only assume they look the same.)
Row upon row of packed stone shelves spanned the roughly hewn cavern. Far, far in the shadows at the other end, a staircase spiraled into the stone and led to a new level, a new balcony.
I picked my way down the ancient steps to Level 1, wishing all the while that my eyes would adjust faster to the dim Firewitched light of the Crypts. Though hundreds of sconces line the walls, most of the spells faded years, perhaps even centuries, ago. Now there is more shadow than light.
And of course, more ghosts than people.
At the foot of the stairs, they awaited my command. I’d never done this by myself before, and it took me a moment to gird myself. To make sure I was ready to follow wherever they led. At last, I puffed up my chest and declared, “Show me all Records on Sightwitch dreams!”
I realized almost instantly, as my words passed from ghost to ghost, rustling outward, that I’d made a mistake.
I had broken Rule 9.
In my defense, I normally excel at using proper, precise language. But dreams were new for me. As was navigating the Crypts alone.
And now it was too late to stop the ghosts from running wild.
Off they went, dragging me with them. They shoved and guided, towed and chanted, “Dreams, dreams, dreams.” They swept me from one record to the next. Hide-bound, wood-bound, parchment, cloth—hundreds of Memory Records. Any and all that mentioned the word “dreams” they led me to.
I withdrew no tomes from the shelves. I could barely remain standing. The ghosts were a tempest of cold and strength and loneliness.
It was a feeling I knew all too well. I didn’t need more of it to scrabble over my skin or grapple down my throat.
Yet there was no escaping that hollow cold, nor breaking out of the ghosts’ frantic pull. Until eventually, we reached the end of Level 5, and here, they all stopped at the dark mouth of a doorway that led farther into the mountain. The deeper levels of the Crypts.
Beyond were steps. Beyond were older ghosts. Beyond were dangers that Serving Sisters could not face without the Sight.
Yet beyond, there might also be answers …
Panting from all the running, yet also shivering from all the ghosts, I gaped at the shadowy doorway, my feet nailed to the floor.
I wanted to descend. Of course I did. I had been alone for forty-one days, and I wanted Tanzi back. I wanted all the Sisters back—especially if my dreams might actually mean something.
You have already broken the Order of Two, said the voice like Tanzi’s. You might as well break Rule 16 and go below Level 5. No one will know you did it, Rybie-Ry.
“No one except Sirmaya,” I muttered.
Sure, but what good has following the Rules done so far? You’re stuck up here, and we’re all stuck down there. Besides, I still don’t think the Rules are even real.
Such a compelling argument from my imaginary Threadsister.
I leaned toward the doorway. The ghosts gusted up. My left foot lifted. The ghosts swirled and nudged. They wanted me to keep going. They wanted me to see what waited beyond—
A shriek crashed through the Crypts behind me.
I reeled about, grabbing for my knife. Someone was with me, someone was coming for me. Danger in the Crypts!
But it was just the Rook, tangled with ghosts. Lots of them. His heat and life must have lured them close, and no matter how hard he flapped his wings, they only clustered tighter.
Curse that bird. He had scared me. So badly I had to stand there for several ragged breaths, hand to my throat as I waited for my pulse to slow.
And curse that bird again because now the ghosts were too addled to be helpful.
I would have to return another time.