“Now let me handle this,” said the captain, as he knocked on the large, wooden door of the church. The air outside had turned chilly, the light all but gone from the island now. It wasn’t cold enough to see your breath, but crisp enough to remind Rolo how much he missed that wool around his crotch.
Dennis knocked again.
“Must I still wear this horrid sack?” said Rolo, adjusting his wings under cover. “My feathers are beginning to chafe.”
“Please,” said the captain. “Especially around the sisters. They spread rumors almost as ruthlessly as they collect tithes. Last thing I want right now is a town riot because you couldn’t keep it in your sack.”
Rolo opened his mouth, then closed it. There was an opportunity for a great retort to that comment, he knew, but being as agitated as he was, he couldn’t find it in him for a witty response.
All the good humor he felt this morning had vanished when he saw the blood on Felix’s back, replaced with a cold realization of how urgent the situation actually was. When he agreed to this quest, he assumed he’d be escorting the boy to the academy before the messy stuff happened. That was the plan. There were people on the archipelago who were adept at birthing wings. He was decidedly not.
“I’m not qualified to help the boy,” confessed Rolo. “Your letters were inaccurate about the size and state of his condition,” he accused.
Dennis looked at him with a stony glare, at least it appeared stony in the dark. “Well, pardon me for not being an expert on back lumps. You’ve popped a pair out yourself, haven’t you? I’d say you’re more qualified than anyone else here.”
“Birthing a child doesn’t make you a midwife,” said Rolo.
The captain opened his mouth to respond just as the door creaked open, revealing an old woman holding a lantern, dressed in a dark robe.
“Ah, Sister Darla,” said the captain.
“Dennis, is that you? Is everything alright?”
“Quite so, yes. I apologize for the late hour, but you wouldn’t have a couple spare beds for my companion and I, would you? Just for the night.”
She hesitated for the briefest of moments, glancing at Rolo with a suspicious frown. Rolo returned the look with a raised eyebrow.
“Our beds are strictly for the sick and afflicted, as you know, Dennis.”
The captain cleared his throat. “We lost track of time at the tavern, sister. And the journey back to the wall at this hour is, well, you know. Inconvenient.”
Sister Darla sighed, then conceded. “Come in, come in,” she said, waving away her initial hesitation and ushering the pair in.
“Thank you, sister. Uh, this is Mr. Rolo. He’s a … physician, of sorts. Come to help young Felix.”
“The hunchback?” said the sister. “That poor boy. Are you from Delamar, Rolo?”
“No,” said Rolo. “A bit further. Can we see the hospital wing please?”
Sister Darla blinked, looked at Dennis, then back at Rolo. “Of … course. Follow me.”
She led them through the foyer, through a long sermon hall, then into the central room of the church, which was typically known by the faithful as the Room of the Triad. Or the monument room. It was built as a triangle. In each corner there was a painting, and below each painting a small glowing blue crystal floating inches above a waist high stone pillar.
Propped up on a stone platform in the center of the room was an immaculately carved wooden globe painted a soothing cerulean color. The sphere was large enough to hold five or six people inside if it were hollow. Pinned to the globe were thin rings of thread with tiny pebbles wound into specific points. Each pebble, Rolo knew, represented an island following its set course around the world. There were many threads and thousands of pebbles. Most threads wound themselves around the entire globe, crossing paths with other pebbles at various points. A few rings made their way around vertically, passing through the world’s poles, but most wound horizontally, with the majority intersecting near the equator. Other threads only circled small areas instead of completing full cycles around the sphere, as if someone had pinned a handful of necklaces and charm bracelets to the side of the globe. Some pebbles were completely isolated, or were part of threads so sparse of pebbles they rarely intersected with any other rings. Bendel-helm was a part of one of these sparse threads, Rolo knew. In fact, it was obvious which little rock Bendel-helm, and the thread it followed, was since it was painted stark white, while the others were a light crimson. A chandelier of candles hung above the globe, illuminating the monument.
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A younger woman dressed like Darla stood on a stool and was carefully adjusting the threads, sliding them around in tiny increments according to the patterns of time, and then pinning them back down. Some westward, some eastward, and so forth. She had a book of crossings in one arm, which she used as a guide to check her work. It was, Rolo assumed, a much more comprehensive version of the tiny truncated reference pamphlet he kept in his pocket.
Rolo watched the woman slide a precarious looking black, jagged pebble closer to Bendel-helm before turning his gaze to the corners of the room. That pebble represented Karakis, that infamous island of spiders, he knew, which was edging ever closer.
In one of the three corners there was a depiction of a winged man hovering above a woman, desperately pulling her skyward. In another corner there was a painting of a similar man but with the tail of a fish pulling the same woman down towards the ocean. And in the third corner, a painting of the same woman, her arms encircling a group of people on their knees, offering worship.
The doctrine of Gemma and her two jealous lovers was simple enough to understand. Every island possessed the spirit of Gemma, which was contained in the crystalline structures beneath each, so the story says. The god of the great global sea, Ashteral, and the god of the vast, infinite sky, Azural, constantly fought over Gemma, who represented each and every island on the globe. But Gemma knew she could never pick a lover, for if she did her children, who inhabited her many floating lands, would be forfeit. They would either drown in the depths or be lost in the stars. As a result, the islands sail through the air along their set paths forever.
Rolo never had much time for such nonsense like religion, but he did appreciate art, even if for the briefest of moments. There was a global monument at the academy, which was crafted of brass, its rings adjusted with levers and knobs instead of manually pulling threads and pebbles. But there were no beautiful displays at the academy, despite how much the god of the sky was intertwined with the Archon’s teachings and creed. The aesthetics of the archipelago were utilitarian and functional at best, unlike the quaint rural beauty here.
They passed through the Room of the Triad and into the hospital wing.
“This will do,” said Rolo, looking around. It was a rectangular hall lit by a flaming hearth in the corner. There were eight tiny padded cots, four on one side and four on the other. One of which was currently occupied. Rolo recognized the man as Tomel, the drunkard Felix tossed from the tavern earlier that evening. He lay on his back sprawled out with a leg hanging off the edge. “We’ll need to get rid of that,” he said, pointing to the snoring man.
Darla looked at the captain, confused, then back at Rolo. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“We’re appropriating this entire wing,” said Rolo. “We’ll need it for a few days, at least.”
The woman looked aghast. “I … what? I thought. For what purpose? The crossing with Karakiss is nearly here. We need beds for the injured and—”
“We have sufficient beds and supplies at the wall,” said the captain, trying to calm her. “The poor lad, Felix, he …” he turned to Rolo. “You sure we need the whole room?” he said.
“You’ve never seen the birth of wings before, have you?” said Rolo, flatly.
“I … no, but I—”
Rolo looked up and the other two followed his gaze. “You could be scrubbing blood off the ceiling for days,” he said, then cringed. “Not a fun task. Where’s your closet of ointments, woman?” he said.
“I … now, you listen to me, young man,” said Darla, shaking her head. “You can’t simply march in here and demand that we—”
Rolo flexed his wings and the sack on his back exploded. The woman stepped back, covered her mouth, and let out a squeaky gasp.
“Much better,” said Rolo, pulling two beds together, the wooden legs squealing on the floor.
The captain groaned.
Darla took a few steps backwards and addressed the captain in a whisper. “He’s … is he a—”
“An archon, yes,” he said, with a deep sigh. “I apologize for his abrupt manner, sister. But he truly is here to help young Felix. And he’s to fight for us on the wall. You know how much help we’re going to need this cycle. Please, if you would allow us this room, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Darla blinked, looked at Dennis, and scrunched up her eyebrows. She tilted her head than said, “Felix, he’s not a hunchback is he?”
They both looked at Rolo, who was aggressively digging through drawers and cabinets.
“No he is not,” said the captain.
“He’s …” started Darla, “A son of Azural?”
“If you could keep quiet about this, sister, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
Rolo turned to Darla. “Do you have any cansha root or vin-kit-gru oil? Or any pain ointment at all? Gemma’s skinny neck, what kind of hospital is this?”
“I … need to go,” said the older woman, then hurried out of the room.
As soon as the door closed, Dennis whirled on the archon. “Now look what you’ve done. No doubt she’s off to tell the whole town about the archon and the captain who’s commandeered the damn church … forgive my cursings, Gemma.”
“Oh, is she gone? Good. She was terribly unhelpful. Speaking of …” he said, eyeing the drunkard. Rolo bent down, picked up Tomel, and flopped him over his shoulder as easily as a man would haul a sack of wheat. He made his way to the back door of the room and wrenched open the handle. The door swung outward onto a set of steps. Rolo was about to drop the man on the steps when the captain intervened.
“I’ll handle this one,” he said, pulling Tomel off Rolo’s shoulder. He grunted as Rolo allowed the drunkard to slip off and into the old man’s embrace. Tomel was sputtering complaints now, but on his feet, albeit barely. “I’ll be back,” said the captain, Tomel’s arm around his neck, making his way down the steps. “In the meantime, please try not to make anyone trouble.”
Rolo slammed the door behind them without another word.