Кейт Новак - Finder's Bane

Joel shook his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do, Jedidiah. I don’t want Bane to be resurrected. But it’s not fair that you should be lessened just so he remains dead.”

Jedidiah held out the Hand of Bane once again. He looked more than tired now. He looked ancient and haggard. He said, “Joel, I only became a god because several good friends demanded I fight Moander. One even gave his life to show me how an unselfish man dies. But I lived, and I was given the gift of godhood. I’m still not comfortable with it, just as you’re not comfortable being a priest. I often wonder if the two aren’t related somehow. If I’m going to remain a god, I need friends to show me the way.”

Joel took the hand from his god. It was still warm from Jedidiah’s touch. “I need to think about this …” he said.

Jedidiah nodded. “Perhaps it will be easier to decide back at the Sensate safe house. Holly and Walinda will both have different answers for you.”

“And Jas,” Joel said suddenly. “She was here,” he told Jedidiah. “The Xvimists captured her and transformed her like they did Bear. But when she learned Holly wasn’t dead, she seemed to act a little more human. I think she’s headed to see Holly.”

“Let’s go, then,” Jedidiah said. “Before this city decides to spit me out.”

They climbed wearily up both flights of stairs. Dits was among the stacks of books and scrolls speaking with a customer.

“I’ll be back soon,” Joel called, waving the Hand of Bane at the bariaur. Joel stuffed the hand inside his belt and left the shop with Jedidiah at his side. They hurried through the streets of Sigil. Despite Jedidiah’s age, it was Joel whose strength began to flag as they reached the Sensate safe house. The wounds he’d received from the skeleton’s sword and Jas’s talons throbbed painfully, and his head was pounding from the stone idol’s blow.

Jedidiah ushered his wounded priest inside and sat him down in the parlor. “I’ll go see if Bors can do that golden thread trick on you,” he said.

Joel looked up at the picture over the mantelpiece and gasped. The picture had been slashed to ribbons. Lying on the mantel before it was a note written on a scrap of the painting’s canvas.

Joel leapt up and grabbed at the document. He read it quickly and then ran from the parlor, shouting for Jedidiah. He found the older man in the kitchen, leaning over Bors. The alien paladin had been knocked unconscious, apparently with a heavy frying pan.

Joel waved the note in the air. “It’s from Walinda,” he said.

Jedidiah rubbed at his temples. “Read it,” he ordered.

“I have the paladin in my possession. I will be in the astral plane with my lord Bane. Bring the Hand of Bane if you wish to negotiate. Walinda of Bane … She has Holly!” Joel exclaimed.

“And you have the Hand of Bane,” Jedidiah replied. “It’s the same game, but the stakes have just been changed.”

Bors soon regained consciousness. Aside from a ringing headache, he was no worse for wear. He sent a street urchin to fetch sedan chairs to take Joel and Jedidiah to the Shattered Temple, where they would find a portal to the astral plane.

“I can accompany you as far as the temple, but then we must part,” the alien paladin said. “I have an obligation at the Civic Festhall that I can delay no longer.”

Jedidiah nodded, and Joel realized the old priest was relieved that Bors hadn’t insisted on joining their party. Holly’s presence had already complicated their business. Who knew what trouble a second paladin could start?

While they waited for their transport, Bors saw to their wounds. With a golden hammer, he applied a blow to Jedidiah’s arm, relieving the numbness the older man felt, and with the golden needle, he pricked the bump in Joel’s head. The swelling quickly subsided. Then he washed and bandaged Joel’s wounds from Jas and the skeleton.

Two chairs arrived, each carried by two bariaurs. Bors instructed them to head for a tavern called the Soused Duck. The tavern, Bors explained, was as near to the Shattered Temple as any bearers would go. He wished them luck and sent them on their way.

As he rode, all Joel could think of was Walinda’s treachery and how stupid he’d been to trust her. She’d pulled the same trick her master had tried. Jedidiah had even warned Joel about her in the Palace of Judgment. Of course, Jedidiah had also been tricked, believing Bors could protect Holly from the priestess.

Although it was now day, the fog grew darker as they approached their destination, and the air grew much more foul. Their bariaur bearers stopped at the Soused Duck tavern. The two priests alighted and paid for their ride. The bariaurs hurried away, and Joel could see why.

Beyond the tavern was a blighted scar where there had once been a thriving area of solid buildings. Several city blocks had been destroyed a long time ago but had never been rebuilt. Collapsed and burned-out buildings dotted the landscape. Some of the buildings had been scavenged, but no one chose to live in this place.

The Shattered Temple sat in the center of the devastation. When they had spoken yesterday, Holly had told Joel that the temple had once belonged to a god named Aoskar, who had apparently made an attempt to control the city. The mistress of Sigil had destroyed Aoskar, his church, and his followers. The devastation remained untouched out of superstition and also served as a warning to all: Sigil was off limits to godly powers.

As Joel and Jedidiah approached the heart of the destroyed area, Joel grew aware of the quiet all around them. They had left the hubbub of the city behind. This area was a memorial to the dead.

The Shattered Temple sat on a low rise, surrounded by a small retinue of temple guards. Its roof and upper walls were gone. Its foundation had settled crookedly into the earth. At each corner was a half-razed tower. Graceful arched buttresses surrounding the temple held up only thin air. Any stone walls that remained standing were covered with thick, dark-leafed vines. Four paths led away from the temple in the front, the back, and to either side, down broad staircases. Each path ended in a broken and shattered terrace.

As they approached the nearest terrace, they were called to a halt by the temple guards. The guards were a motley lot. They were armed and armored in a haphazard fashion and wore no recognizable uniforms. They each wore a badge of the Athar, also known as the Lost—those who believed all gods were false.

The guards, while friendly, insisted that Joel and Jedidiah must wait for a guide to tour the ruins. Jedidiah paced the terrace while Joel tried to imagine what this place had looked like before its destruction. In a few minutes a tall, thin man, somewhat older than Joel, approached the terrace from the direction of the temple and spoke with the guards. Then he turned toward Joel and Jedidiah.

“Welcome to the Shattered Temple, headquarters of the Athar,” the man greeted them in a gruff voice. “I’m Adenu, and I’ll be your guide.” Adenu turned and led the pair up the stairs toward the temple. The steps were uneven and scorched, and where there were breaks in the stone, wild grass had taken root. Their guide continued his speech, his eyes half closed, as if he were reading it from the back of his eyelids. “On this tour, I’ll be showing you all the darks uncovered by our leaders, darks which prove the wisdom of the Athar’s teachings—the gods are charlatans, beings of false power and false promises.”

Jedidiah began to chuckle.

Adenu shot the older man a chill look.

“I’m sorry,” Jedidiah apologized. “I’m not laughing at your philosophy. It’s just that the irony is killing me.”