"Might," Dansally replied. "We'll be puttin' in three times between St.-Mere-Abelle and Palmaris, where Adjonas means to dock for winter."
"I have to . . . " Avelyn began. "I mean, there is no choice before me.
Father Abbot Markwart will need a full accounting, and I will be at work for months with the stones I collected —"
She silenced him by putting a finger gently across his lips, her eyes soft and moist.
"Would that I could come and visit ye then," she said quietly. "Might that be allowed?"
Avelyn nodded, fairly stricken mute.
"Would ye be bothered?"
Avelyn shook his head rather vigorously. "Master Jojonah is a friend," he explained. "Perhaps he could find you work."
"On me back in an abbey?" the woman asked incredulously.
"Different work," Avelyn answered with a chuckle, hiding his discomfort at the notion. Those wicked stories of Bien deLouisa flitted through his memory.
"But would Captain Adjonas let you off the ship?" he asked, to change the uncomfortable course down which his mind was flying.
"Me contract was for the isle and back," she replied. "We'll soon be back.
Adjonas got nothing on me after Palmaris. I'll get me pay — and more for the favors I did for the rest of the crew — and be gone."
"Then will you come to the abbey?" Avelyn asked, showing more emotion, more hopefulness, than he had intended.
Dansally's smile was wide. "Might that I will," she answered. "But first, ye got to do something for me." As she finished talking, she leaned closer, putting her lips to his. Avelyn recoiled instinctively, out of shyness. When he thought about his hesitation, it only strengthened his resolve. His relationship with Dansally was special, was something different from the physical connection she had with other men. Surely his body wanted what she offered, but if he gave in now, then would he be lessening that special bond, reducing his relationship with Dansally to the level of all the others?
"Don't ye pull away," she pleaded, "not this time."
"I could bring Quintall to you," Avelyn said, a bitter edge to his voice.
Dansally fell back and slapped him across the face. He meant to respond with an insult, but by the time he recovered, he noted that she was kneeling on the bed, head down, shoulders moving with sobs.
"I — I did not mean ..." Avelyn stuttered, feeling horrible about wounding his precious Dansally.
"So ye think I'm a whore," she said. "And so I am."
"No," Avelyn replied, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"But I'm more a virgin than ye know!" the woman snapped, head coming up so that her gaze, her proud gaze, could lock with Avelyn's. "Me body does its work,
'tis true, but me heart's never been there. Not once! Not even with me worthless husband — might that be why he threw me out!"
The thought that Dansally had never loved caught Avelyn off his guard and settled him back for a bit. Though he was completely inexperienced in physical lovemaking, he understood what she was saying.
And he believed her!
He didn't answer, except to lean forward and offer a kiss.
Brother Avelyn learned much about love that day, learned the completeness of body and spirit in a way more profound than his morning exercise could ever approach.
So did Dansally.
The Windrunner was welcomed at St.-Mere-Abelle with understated efficiency, just a handful of monks, Masters Jojonah and Siherton among them, coming down to the docks to greet the returning brothers and their precious cargo, and to direct the lesser monks in carrying aboard ship a pair of heavy chests. A new wharf had been constructed, reaching far enough out into the bay so that the Windrunner could dock.
To mollify his crew, Adjonas had the chests opened as soon as they were brought on deck, and how the men gasped!
Avelyn did, too, noting the piles of coins and gems and jewelry, such a treasure as he had never before seen. Something beyond the rich materials caught his eyes, though; as the lids were being secured in place once more. He didn't quite understand it, nor could he make out the aura of magic surrounding Master Siherton. The man had one of his hands behind his back, and Avelyn noted that he was fingering a pair of stones, a diamond and a smoky quartz.
Suspicious, but wise enough to keep his mouth shut, Avelyn bid farewell to Adjonas and the others — though not a man aboard the Windrunner regretted the departure of the three monks — and went ashore. His thoughts were on Dansally, hoping she would indeed leave the Windrunner at next port and make her way to St.-Mere-Abelle. Logically, Avelyn knew that she would indeed, knew that they had shared something precious. But still his doubts lingered. Had their encounter really been special to Dansally? How had he measured. up against all the men she had known? Perhaps he hadn't really done it right, or perhaps Adjonas had ordered her to bed Avelyn, or even had made a wager with her that she could not bed the man.
Avelyn fought hard to dismiss all those ridiculous notions and doubts.
Whatever logic assured him, Avelyn knew that he would not relax until he saw the dark-haired woman's blue eyes again, eyes to which Avelyn had brought back a good measure of sparkle, at the gates of St.-Mere-Abelle.
The reception awaiting the three returned monks inside the abbey was more in tune with what they had been expecting. The chapel hall was lined with the finest baked goods from all the region — muffins and sweet rolls, cinnamon and raisin breads — all to be washed down with mead and even some of the rare and precious wine known as boggle. The choir was there, singing joyously. The Father Abbot watched from his high perch on the balcony, and all the monks of the order and all the servants of the abbey danced and sang, and laughed the whole night through.
How Avelyn wished that Dansally were there! That thought led him to wonder why she and the others of the Windrunner had not been invited. With the tides, the ship could not put out Until after midnight, so why hadn't the thirty, or at least the captain, been included in the much deserved festivities?
The last bite, of a cinnamon roll turned over in Avelyn's stomach, a sinking feeling. A group of monks were walking toward him — he recognized Brother Pellimar among them — no doubt to pester him about the events on the island. Avelyn knew that he could say nothing about that time until he had reviewed his words with the Father Abbot.
And at that moment, the young monk had other things on his mind. He considered the stones Master Siherton had carried to the ship: a diamond and a smoky quartz. He knew the properties of diamonds, the creation of light, but had never used quartz. Avelyn closed his eyes, ignoring the call of his name by Pellimar, and reviewed his training.
Then it came to him in a sudden, horrifying rush. Diamonds not for light but sparkles! Quartz to create an image that was not real! The crew and captain of the Windrunner had been cheated! Now Avelyn knew why Adjonas was not at the gathering, and as he considered the implications, his gut churned violently.
Avelyn rushed past the approaching group, muttering something about speaking with them soon, then ran about the room, taking a mental count of those in attendance. He noted with mounting trepidation that not all of the monks were in attendance, that one group in particular, the older students, tenth-year immaculates, those men on the verge of becoming masters, were absent.
Neither could he find Master Siherton.
Avelyn ran from the chapel, skittering down the empty halls, his footsteps echoing noisily. He didn't know the hour but suspected that midnight was near or that it had come and gone.
He ran for the south side of the abbey, the seaward side, and turned into one long corridor, its left-hand wall dotted with small windows that overlooked the bay. Avelyn rushed to one and peered out desperately into the night.
Under the light of a half moon, he saw the outline of the Windrunner gliding out into the bay. "No," he breathed, noting the bustle on the deck, tiny silhouettes rushing past a small fire near the stern. He saw a second fire on the water.
"No!" Avelyn screamed.
Another ball of flaming pitch soared out from the monastery, skipping in along the starboard rail of the vessel, igniting the mainsail into one tremendous flame.
The barrage intensified, more pitch, great heavy stones, and giant ballista bolts battering the ill-fated craft. Soon the Windrunner was adrift, the strong currents of All Saints Bay taking her toward a dangerous reef. Avelyn winced, seeing men leaping from the deck, their doom at hand.
The screams of the crew drifted across the dark water; Avelyn knew that the other monks, at their celebration, would not hear. He watched helplessly; hopelessly, as the ship that had been his home for nearly eight months jolted and listed, then broke apart on the reef as still more missiles soared in. Tears ran freely down his cheeks; he mumbled the name "Dansally," over and over.
The bombardment went on for many minutes. Avelyn heard the people in the cold water, and hoped against hope that some of them, that his dear Dansally, might make it to shore.
But then came the worst thing of all — a hissing, sizzling noise. A bluish film covered the dark water, snapping and crackling off the stones and the sailors, off the remnants of the proud ship. A sheet of conjured lightning silenced the screams forever.
Except in Avelyn's mind.
More missiles went out, though their task was certainly finished. The strong ebb tide of All Saints Bay would collect the flotsam and jetsam and carry it out to the open sea. All the world, save Avelyn and the perpetrators, would think this a tragic accident.
"Dansally," Avelyn breathed. His shoulders slumped, the young man needing the stone wall for support. He rolled away from the window, putting his back to the wall, facing the corridor.
"You should not have come," Master Siherton said to him, the tall, hawkish man standing quietly.
Avelyn noted the considerable bag, of stones at his belt and the grayish graphite he held in his hand. Graphite was the stone of lightning.
Avelyn slumped back against the wall even more, thinking Siherton would use the stone to destroy him then and there and, in many ways, hoping Siherton would do just that. The master only reached out and grabbed Avelyn by the arm and led him to a small, dark room in one far corner of the massive abbey.
The next morning, a crestfallen Brother Avelyn was in Father Abbot Markwart's private quarters, Masters Siherton and Jojonah flanking him. It stung Avelyn even more to realize that the actions taken against the Windrunner had not been a rogue decision by brutal Siherton but had been sanctioned by the Father Abbot, apparently with Master Jojonah's knowledge.
"There can be no witnesses to the location of Pimaninicuit," Father Abbot Markwart said evenly.
As there will be no witnesses to my death, Avelyn thought, for the corridors of St.-Mere-Abelle had been deserted that morning, the monks and servants sleeping off their evening of revelry..
"Do you realize the implications to the world?" Markwart said suddenly, excitedly. "If Pimaninicuit became common knowledge, the security of the Ring Stones would be lost and petty merchants and kings would hold the secret to wealth and power beyond their comprehension!"
It made sense to Avelyn that, for the security of the world, the location of Pimaninicuit should remain secret, but that thought did little to erase his revulsion at the destruction of the hired ship and the murder of her crew.
And the murder of Dansally.
"There could be no other outcome," Markwart said flatly.
Avelyn glanced around nervously. "May I speak, Father Abbot?"
"Of course," Markwart replied, resting back in his chair. "Speak freely, Brother Avelyn. You are among friends."
Avelyn tried hard to keep his expression calm at that absurd notion. "All aboard the ship would have been long dead before the next occurrence of the stone showers," he argued.
"Sailors make maps," Master Siherton said dryly.
"But why would they?" Avelyn protested. "The map would be of no use to them, since seven generations —"
"You are forgetting the wealth strewn about Pimaninicuit," Father Abbot Markwart interrupted, "a treasure trove of jewels beyond imagination."
Avelyn hadn't thought of that. Still he shook his head. The journey was too treacherous, and if the crew had been well paid, as promised, they would have had no reason to dare the perils of the South Mirianic again.
"It was God's will," Markwart said with finality. "All of it. You are to speak nothing of what you have witnessed. Return now to the room that Master Siherton assigned to you. Your punishment will be determined and revealed later this same day."
Avelyn's thoughts whirled, too confusing a jumble for him to utter even a sound of protest. He staggered away as if he had been struck. Markwart verbally hit him again when he got to the door.
"Brother Pellimar succumbed this morning to his grievous wounds," the Father Abbot informed Avelyn.
Avelyn turned, stunned. Pellimar would carry scars forever, but surely he had mended. Then Avelyn understood. The previous night, at the party, Pellimar had been loose with his tongue. Too loose. Even to utter the, name of the island without Father Abbot's permission was forbidden.
"A pity," Markwart went on. "That leaves only you and Quintall of the four who went to Pimaninicuit. You will have much work before you."
Avelyn stepped out of the room, into the stone corridor, and vomited all over the floor. He staggered away, half blind, half insane.
"He is being watched?" Markwart asked Siherton.
"Every step," the tall master replied. "All along, I feared this response from him."
Master Jojonah snorted. "Avelyn worked alone on Pimaninicuit, yet the hoard he retrieved is inarguably the finest ever brought back from the island.