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burned there the previous night. The roamers had been close indeed. In the distance Bosaru could hear voices, but unlike the night before, no one was screaming or shouting. The voices he heard were in conversation, no fear, no stress. As though the terror that ran through the night was of no consequence now, during the light of day. Bosaru turned on his heel and followed the voices wafting on the breeze, and didn t stop until he went around the corner. But no one was there. Where He could still hear the voices, but where were they coming from? Looking around, he saw& Nothing. The burned-out buildings were as silent as they had been before, with not even a breeze to move the weeds. There was nothing he could see offhand that could He heard it again a snatch of a conversation, a retort before he turned around, stepping out from the sheltered recess of the alley. A gentle breeze moved around him, stirring up the dust, making him blink. And he knew. The breeze had to be the conduit. It was the only logical answer. So the breeze had to be carrying the voices from somewhere somewhere with an entry point, somewhere with Bosaru looked down. A grate. 55 Eilis Flynn He knelt and tilted his head, willing himself to be still, to determine if there was any noise emanating from it. There was. Those tunnels, he muttered aloud. Nothing around him looked like an entrance, but there had to be something nearby. From what his cousins had said the night before, the tunnels had been a community effort, a way to avoid the roamers. Whoever whatever the roamers were, he assumed they did not have access to the tunnels. Where were they during the day? How did they survive? Who were they, really? He resumed his journey to the shrine. Now that he had seen one way to access the tunnels if you could count a grate as an entryway he could see other possibilities. There were other grates, and once in a while, he saw a shadow or a suggestion of a door. Could those be the entrances, easier to access? He should have asked Jenatt. Whereas the previous afternoon he had been intent on reaching the restaurant from the shrine, today, on his way back, he was in essence sightseeing. Not that there was much to see but now he understood it better. There had to be currently as many abandoned, burned-out lots as there were buildings still in use. Since it was still early morning, people were cleaning up around their homes in Vozuan Town, sweeping and washing the mess left by the roamers. He got a few curious glances, but no one stopped him. By the time the shrine came into view, he understood why it looked the way it did. It looked pretty much the same as it had the afternoon before except the fresh graffiti that had sprung anew overnight, scrawled across the wide stone fence that surrounded the shrine property. Traytors, someone had scrawled misspelled, distorted, and oversized but the why escaped him. Who were the traitors? Why would someone write it, and on the shrine fence? Were the shrine residents the traitors? To whom? The gates were open. Bosaru began to knock at the doors, but the doors creaked open on their own accord. He tensed. Hello? May I come in? Dame Mirel? Anyone? he called. He stepped in and looked around. No graffiti on the entryway inside. Nothing that looked like a struggle. So far, so good. He heard voices from down one of the corridors. He followed them. The high priestess the real one, Dame Mirel was standing in the corridor, hands on her hips. The younger priestess, Vozuan by the looks of her, whom she was scolding looked equally exasperated, shrugging. How could she not come back? From what I understand Bosaru cleared his throat. Dame Mirel? The high priestess looked up. Daegon, good morn, she said, breaking into a smile. He gestured to the packet in his hand. From Jenatt. 56 Echoes of Passion The priestess nodded. That was kind of her, and kind of you to carry it here. Please keep searching for her, Mirel said to the younger priestess. I don t know what she [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |