Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [76]
Dartun frightened her with his ambitions.
These were things that ought not to be decided by one man alone. Others should be warned, and if she—his lover—suspected it was immoral to proceed in such a way, then she should at least find a way of opening it to debate, shouldn’t she? It was after all a decision that could affect her home.
She passionately loved Villjamur, with its antiquated buildings that leaned on each other through neglect and decay. Amid architecture that often contrasted violently in places, centuries of history were jammed in together, tens of thousands of diverse inhabitants crisscrossed in a mosaic that made up the daily life of the city. Without a family to now call her own, the city represented that familiar link to her childhood, her anchor, something she could always turn to in comfort. No one in her order liked her due to her proximity to Dartun. All she had in her life was the city. She would often walk across the bridges alone, looking down at the hundreds of citizens surging past, lost in their own thoughts. Nothing should be allowed to threaten their world. Orphaned at a young age, she had been passed between people she did not know, never feeling settled, never appreciating the love or guidance of a mother or father, or those gestures that defined who you were. Villjamur alone gave her context. It was while growing up on the streets of the city that she became involved with the cultists. It was in Villjamur that she learned about right and wrong. The place had taught her who people really were, no matter what strata of life they inhabited. And Villjamur had taught her that most fundamental truth—that most people were the same, because of experiencing similar sufferings, pains, and pleasures of existence. In the end they were all of them equal.
She asked Dartun what if something came through the doors that he would open into new worlds? And he had told her, quite simply, that if something escaped into this world, if something contaminated the islands and then Villjamur, so be it. His life and the importance of furthering knowledge was more important.
So torn between her lover and her city, she had chosen Villjamur. That was not because she loved him less, but because she had to weigh up the happiness of more than one person. Here, she told herself, was a whole city to potentially protect.
Verain’s destination was a featureless stone building, located somewhere off the usual avenues. She knocked on the door and a hatch slid open. To the questioning face behind it, she displayed her cultist medallion. She hoped that the mathematical equal symbol would be enough to declare the importance of the matter.
“What?” the face asked.
“I need to see Papus, Gydja of the Order of the Dawnir. It’s urgent.”
“Wait there a moment.”
Minutes later the door opened, and three cloaked and hooded figures stepped out into the darkness of the street. “We’ll need to search you before you can enter,” one of them explained.
Verain nodded, handing over her blade. Three pairs of arms worked her over, prodding at her in vaguely abusive ways, but, eventually, when they were satisfied she carried no relics, she was led inside. She was made to sit on a simple stool in a bare, wood-paneled room, the only light coming through the open door from a lantern hanging on the wall. Since there was no fire, she watched her clouded breath catch this dim light.
Nearly half an hour passed before a silhouette appeared in the doorway. It paused, clearly examining her, then demanded, “Why are you here?”
“Who wants to know?” Verain stood up.
“I do,” the figure replied sternly. “I’m Papus.” She carried a candle into the room and began to light others until eventually Verain could see her face clearly.
What Dartun had told her about Papus had not been complimentary, but then he would say such things, because apparently she was a strict woman with so many ethics and morals that even her own sect feared her. There were stories though of her connections to those high up in the Empire, so she clearly was the right