Volinette's Song (10 page)

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Wait,” Volinette pleaded as the Inquisitor strode forward. “I can explain. Please! This isn’t what it appears to be.”

“I hope not,” the mage said, taking her by the arm. Link-shock surged down her arm and into her chest, making her cry out. The
Inquisitor paid no attention. “I hope not, for your sake.”

Chapter
Ten

Volinette sat squished all the way to one end of the narrow cot in her cell. Thick granite slabs surrounded her, embracing thick steel rods that completed the prison and made her head ache. No windows graced the room, which was no larger than her cubicle in the infirmary had been. Only a dim, flicking light from a torch in the hallway beyond lit the space.

Tremors wracked her thin frame, as much from the cold as from fear of the unknown. She’d never seen anyone as angry as the Inquisitor had been when he’d found her standing in the Hall of Wonders. She’d done her best to explain things on their way to the Great Tower. Her version of events and her pleading for mercy had both fallen on deaf ears. He’d propelled her through the corridors and courtyards with a vice-like grip on her arm. After a while, she gave up trying to defend herself and just went where she was guided.

After what seemed like both an eternity and a blink of an eye, he’d pushed her into the cell, slammed the door closed, and disappeared without another word. How long ago that had been, she could only guess. There weren’t any clocks or hourglasses in the cell or near enough to see
, and there were no windows for her to see the sky. She would be here until someone decided to let her out.

At least she wasn’t alone. In the next cell over, there was a man with wild white hair that stuck out all
over his head like a dandelion gone to seed. He hung from the bars as they entered the Inquisitor’s dungeon, oblivious of the pain that the contact with the metal must be causing him. He howled and screeched at the Inquisitor, proclaiming loudly and repeatedly that ‘they’ were coming and that ‘they’ would kill everyone. The Inquisitor ignored the madman, locked Volinette in her cell, and left the dungeon.

With s
ilent tears streaming down her face, Volinette hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth. She’d done nothing wrong. No, she thought with an angry toss of her head, that wasn’t true. She’d done a lot of things wrong. She’d trusted Janessa. That was wrong. She’d gone with the girls to the Hall. That was wrong. She had done many things she wasn’t supposed to, but she didn’t steal the artifact. They couldn’t kick her out of the Academy for that, could they?

As if in answer to her unspoken question, there was a metallic squeal from the corridor. Soon after, she could hear two voices in conversation. They were both men, she could tell from this distance, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She was almost positive that one of them was the
Inquisitor who had put her in the cell.

“Every apprentice in the Academy has snuck into the Hall of Wonders at some point or another, Olin,” the unknown voice was saying as it came nearer. “Need I remind you of your own exploits in places where you shouldn’t have been?”

“That’s not the point, Adamon, and you know it. Sneaking in for a look around is one thing. Theft, especially theft of such a powerful artifact, is something entirely different.”

Their conversation stopped as they reached the door to Volinette’s cell. They stared in at her like the caged animal she was. She was right. The taller of the men was the
Inquisitor she’d had the misfortune of meeting earlier. The other was younger, thinner, and totally at odds with everything Volinette thought of when she thought of an Inquisitor.

His limp brown hair hung down, partially obscuring his storm-gray eyes from view. Instead of the traditional robes of the Order, he wore plain breeches and tunic, both in stone gray, cinched around his middle by a thick leather belt. From the belt hung some sort of contraption unlike anything Volinette had ever seen. There were small brass cylinders in a dozen leather loops that rolled over the surface of the belt like tiny waves. He wore a black traveler’s cloak, fastened at the throat by his
Inquisitor’s brooch.

The younger
Inquisitor extended a hand, flicking it to the side as he whispered a word of command. The cell door sprang open, banging into the stone wall with enough force that the sound made Volinette wince. The pain in her head worsened. Just that minor change in the proximity of the metal was enough to make her grind her teeth against the ache in her skull.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Volinette, Sir.”

“You understand the depth of the hot water in which you find yourself, Volinette?”

“I do, Sir, but—”

He raised a hand, cutting off her explanation as effectively as the other
Inquisitor had done before him. Would she never get a chance to tell her side of the tale?

“Good. I am Grand Inquisitor Adamon Vendur, of the Order of Ivory Flame. I am the Head Master’s right hand in all matters of crime and justice within the Imperium, do you understand?”

Volinette nodded, swallowing against the lump that had snuck into her throat. Even if she had tried to answer, she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to produce more than a whisper. Adamon gestured to the older Inquisitor beside him.

“This is Olin Oldwell. I understand that he caught you in the Hall of Wonders when the
Transcendental Prism went missing?”

She nodded again. Volinette had read dark tales of mages censured. Like many of the other things she’d heard
of, she had gone to the library and found stories of the ghastly ritual and its outcome. Those stories usually ended with the mage dead by their own hand, or mad, roaming the world, forever severed from the rapture that came from their connection to the Quintessential Sphere. Is that why they were here, she wondered? To censure her?

“Very well. You’re to come with us.”

Adamon motioned for her to leave the cell while Olin looked on. He looked as if he’d just tasted something bitter, Volinette thought. Of the two of them, she decided that she’d take her chances with Adamon. At least he seemed to understand that there were differing degrees of guilty.

They led her from the dungeon and up through the tower. When she had arrived in Blackbeach, the Great Tower in all its obsidian glory had been a source of
comfort. It seemed like the only place in the whole of Solendrea where she felt like she might belong. Now she felt none of that comfort. Instead, a sick feeling of fear and foreboding coiled around her stomach, squeezing it with its frozen tendrils.

The stairs leading up from the
Inquisitors’ level seemed to go on forever. They marched relentlessly upward, passing several other landings. One of which, Volinette remembered, led to the High Council’s Concordance. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d been sitting at those tables, listening to the Head Master describe the journey she was about to undertake. So much had been different then.

They passed that level, continuing their way up through the tower, into the
Grand Entrance Hall.

Under any other circumstances, Volinette would have been mesmerized by the beauty of the entry chamber. Tapestries depicting the rise of the Quintessentialists and their impact on the Imperium were hung from the walls. Displays were peppered around the space, much as they had been in the Hall of Wonders. These, however, didn’t
just hold ancient and powerful artifacts. They also held intricate urns, the mortal remains of some of the most powerful mages in Solendrea’s history. Volinette hadn’t noticed that detail the first time she’d been escorted through the chamber. She’d been too caught up in thoughts of what her life would be like once she had been accepted into the Academy. She’d come so far to fall so fast.

They crossed the emptiness to the far wall and stood before what appeared to be a huge brass cage set in the wall of the tower. Adamon yanked the grate open and motioned for her and Olin to proceed him. Once
they were inside, Adamon entered and closed the grate. He pulled a few knobs and then yanked a lever.

Volinette couldn’t help but shriek when she began to fall. Adamon and Olin exchanged a knowing glance but said nothing. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t falling. Her feet were still firmly planted on the floor of the cage. It was the cage that was moving. She looked up and saw that they were attached to a pair of chains, each link as thick as a grown man’s arm. An opening passed the front of the cage
, and Volinette realized they were ascending higher into the tower.

At length, the cage came to a stop and Adamon opened the grate. Volinette and Olin followed him through a twisting maze of corridors, ending at a thick oak door. Adamon unlocked this with a key from his pocket and stepped inside without waiting for the others.

Adamon’s office wasn’t all that different from Master Casto’s, Volinette thought as she entered. The main difference was the amount of clutter. Where Master Casto’s office was a study in disorganization, it was clear that in Adamon’s space, there was a place for everything and everything was in its place.

The younger
Inquisitor took a seat at a wide desk, motioning for Volinette and Olin to seat themselves at a large square table. Adamon took a roll of parchment from the shelf beside his desk and plucked a quill pen from the inkwell on his desk. He wrote at a feverish pace for a few moments, the scratching of the feather across the parchment the only sound in the room. At the end of this burst of penmanship, he looked up at Olin.

“Well?”
he prompted the older inquisitor.

“I didn’t know you were ready.”

“I am,” Adamon said, indicating the parchment with the tip of the pen. “And you’re wasting time.”

“Fine,” Olin huffed. “I found this girl, one Volinette Terris, in the Hall of Wonders without permission. The
Transcendental Prism was gone when I found her there. I took her into custody and alerted you at once.”

“Does she have the
Prism in her possession?” Adamon asked, his head bowed toward his work.

“No.”

“Did she ever have the Prism in her possession?”

“I
…” Olin faltered. “What?”

Adamon sighed, looking up from the paper. He stabbed the feather end of the pen toward the older inquisitor.

“Did she ever have it in her possession, were there remnants or echoes of the Prism around her?”

Olin stammered and turned red. Volinette would have laughed had her situation not been so dire.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

Adamon looked at Olin for a long time. He reached across his desk and deposited the quill in the well.

“Must I do everything myself?” he asked, but Volinette suspected that he wasn’t expecting, nor wanted to receive, an answer.

Adamon extended a hand and commanded the Quintessential Sphere. Volinette felt queasy, as if her stomach had been picked up and tied in a knot. She closed her eyes and the feeling passed. When she opened them again, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

They were standing in the Hall of Wonders. They were also still in Adamon’s office. It was as if someone had sketched the Hall of Wonders over the physical realm. The lines of the walls, the displays, and the pedestal where the Prism had once been all glowed with faint luminescence.

Volinette watched in mute amazement as she saw Janessa, the other girls, and finally, herself, enter the chamber, all of them glowing echoes of their real selves. They moved around the room, just as Volinette remembered. Then they turned on her.

Now they’d understand, Volinette thought with relief. They’d be able to see for themselves that she hadn’t had anything to do with the theft of the Prism. For all her bad judgment and admitted trespassing, she hadn’t stolen anything.

Volinette rubbed her eyes with both hands. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. In the ethereal echo, Volinette’s shade had attacked the girls, knocking them off their feet with spell after spell. After Janessa and the others had lost consciousness, Volinette dragged them out of the room. She reappeared then, glanced around the room, and lifted the
Transcendental Prism from its pedestal. She shoved it into the fold of her tunic and with a furtive glance, dashed from the room.

There was another mild wave of nausea as the ethereal projection collapsed. This time, Volinette ignored the sensation altogether. The rage was enough to push it away without any effort on her part.

“That didn’t happen!” she shouted, shooting to her feet so fast that the chair she’d been sitting on clattered over backward. “None of that ever happened!”

“Sit down,” Adamon said, his voice cold and hard as ice.

Volinette struggled to set the chair on its legs before she sank into it, even more dejected than before.

“I think you better tell us exactly what you think happened,” he said, once she’d seated herself.

“I don’t
think
anything happened. I
know
what happened.”

“Very well then,” Adamon said with a sigh. He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Tell us what you know happened.”

The entire story seemed to tumble from her in one long sentence. Once she got started, the words flowed like an avalanche, gaining speed and weight as they tumbled from her lips. When she got to the end of the retelling, the moment when Olin had entered the room, she felt as if she’d been running for days. She slouched down in the chair, spent.