Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [198]
“And her children will, no doubt, be happy to act as go-betweens to—” He saw the quick look that passed between Tarrant and Karril and felt something tighten in his gut. “What is it? What’s wrong with that?”
Karril said quietly, “We can’t stay here.”
Tarrant nodded. “The Iezu were bred to interact with humans, and must do so for their own survival. There’s no food here to sustain them, nor anything else that they require. And even if they could stay, what would become of the temples they’re nurtured, the cults that have declared them gods, the human symbionts they must support? Oh, some of them will remain here for a time, but will those few be enough? When will the critical mass of this gathering be weakened enough that the mother’s voice loses its coherency, and humanity loses its most valuable ally?”
Speechless, Damien turned to Karril for support. But the Iezu only nodded sadly, as if to say, Yes, he’s right. It’s only a matter of time. “So what?” he demanded. “You’re going to stay here? There’s no food here for you either, Gerald, do I have to remind you of that? And what the hell are you going to do for them, anyway?”
“I’m not going to stay,” he said quietly.
He forced himself to breathe in deeply. “Well. That’s something, anyway.”
“Humanity will need a means of translation. So will the Iezu for that matter, at least the ones most human in aspect.”
“So what do you propose to do? Work some kind of translating pattern? You know that’s impossible right now. You said yourself that until you had a chance to test the currents you wouldn’t know why they had failed to respond to us, much less be able to Work them again. So what then?”
“A Working isn’t what’s needed now. Not as much as a sound understanding of who and what the Iezu are, and how their mother’s need was expressed through each of them. They are her true language, Vryce, her cries of desperation rendered in fae and flesh. What form did each one first appear in? What pattern did their learning take?” He looked at Karril. “At what point did they first express emotions outside of their aspect, and what prompted that change?”
“You’re talking about a complete family history,” Damien challenged. “Going back—what—nearly a thousand years?”
“Nearly that,” Karril agreed.
“No one’s going to have that kind of information just sitting around. If you want those kinds of facts, you’ll have to do research, and for that you need to go back to where there are people and libraries and loremasters to help you.” Ciani had kept notes on everything, he remembered suddenly. Perhaps other adepts did the same. “We can look for some sorcerer who specializes in demon lore—”
And then it hit him. Just like that. One moment blissful ignorance, and the next, stunning truth. “Shit,” he whispered. “No.”
Tarrant said quietly. “I’m afraid so.”
“There’s a war on in the Forest. Have you forgotten that? More enemies than you can count, all focused on your destruction—”
“And they mean to burn the Forest to the ground when they’re done, and all my possessions along with it. Which means that in a few days’ time my notebooks will be ash, and the lezu’s history lost forever.”
“We can work a Remembering—” he began.
And then he remembered what the fae was like now. How hard it was to Work. And he knew that they dared not count on being able to use it in the future, not for a matter this complex.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Shit.”
“I told you I have a tunnel, Vryce. It comes in under my keep, to a chamber so well warded that even if my enemies gain access to the building itself, they will never find its entrance. We’ll come in and take what we want and be gone again before the Church ever realizes we’re there, I promise you.”
“And do you know for a fact that your wards still work?