Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [77]
“My name’s Verain Dulera, from the Order of the Equinox.” She followed Papus as she placed the final candlestick on an empty shelf on the wall.
As the woman turned to face her, Verain was surprised by her masculine features.
“I know who you are,” Papus said.
Verain pulled back her hood.
Papus said, “And I see Dartun likes pretty ones.”
Verain was suddenly conscious of her own attractiveness. Not that Papus herself was ugly, but Verain had learned from other women that beauty was something everyone reacted to differently. “It’s because of Dartun that I’m here, actually,” Verain said, crossing her arms in front of her defensively. “I’ve got some news I must give you.”
“And I’m expected to trust this news from a rival sect? Furthermore, news about the least trustworthy man who ever handled a relic?”
“Please listen to me,” Verain said. “If he knew I was here then my life would be in danger.”
Papus gestured her to silence. “I know plenty of things regarding Dartun Súr, many you wouldn’t want to know. I doubt what news you have will change my opinions of him. But what information could you possibly have that would make me detest your lover even more than I do already?”
Verain explained to her Dartun’s plans to open a door to another world.
Papus snorted laughter. “And you yourself believe that he will actually find these doors?”
“He’s had a long time to find out about these things.” Verain wilted internally, having hoped that this woman would appear more receptive and reassuring.
“Why are you telling me this?” Papus demanded, propping her chin on her hands with her elbows on her knees, producing a defeated kind of body language.
How could she relate that she was scared of someone she loved. “Because I care for him,” Verain replied. She didn’t think Papus would understand, so she went on to explain. “I care for him a great deal, despite the way he is to me, or rather isn’t. Dartun may seem languid to these matters, but he’s not cruel or anything. I’m starting to think a lot of other men are the same as he is—just too caught up in his own world.”
“I think you’ll find,” Papus said, “that most people are rather caught up in their own world. Men and women, rumel and human, that way they can escape the real one.”
“I just wanted someone else to know, who could do something about the situation if something came through into this world. And since yours is the biggest order, you’re obviously the most influential.”
“Apparently so.” Papus sighed. “Thank you for reassuring me.”
Dartun hunched in one of his special chambers. There were several lock mechanisms to pass through, with complex codes. He needed sanctuary at times, a place in which he could retreat, a place that more importantly offered somewhere for him to work in peace. No one knew of this place, and they would not have been able to find it. It was where he kept his more important relics. This small, dark metal-lined room was it, deep underground in his order’s headquarters. He lit a candle and set about his search.
He was looking for the uphiminn-kyrr. It was a relic pioneered initially by one of the legendary underground cultists, the ones who worked alone without a sect but were skillful and elusive. Feltok Dupre was sometimes thought to be more a rumor than a person, a cultist who was said to have taken to alcohol and operated now in Villiren for coin to get by. The uphiminn-kyrr was his development, and he had sold the designs to a handful of cultists. Dartun was one, and he had been able to construct the device himself from complex plans that he thought initially were impossible to work with, written in old text and with root words he could barely understand. It took several years before he realized he had not in fact been conned.
Where is it? For a moment he leaned against the wall, pressure suddenly escalating in his head. It hit him just how much he wanted to do this, to find a new world, and to find a cure for mortality