9: The Iron Temple by Ginn Hale

Author:Ginn Hale [Hale, Ginn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blind Eye Books
Published: 2011-11-07T20:28:42+00:00

Chapter Ninety-Four

Outside the tunnel twilight shadows filled the streets. Yellow lamplight glowed from the windows of houses. The number of people out on the streets surprised John. Most of the men rode bicycles. Clusters of women walked close together on the walkways. John caught glimpses of bright staff uniforms under their dark wool coats. They were returning to their homes after a day’s work. To John their relaxed expressions and lively conversations seemed almost surreal.

Threads of ice water pooled beneath their feet. Chambers of iron gaped through miles of granite. The air curled and twisted, warm breezes fighting up through the settling cold winds. Somewhere in the distant north, ushiri’im tore the fabric of space and time.

The world around these people writhed with power and life. And they were all so unaware of it. They struck John almost as sleepwalkers, moving senselessly onward. And yet he could see that they had their own concerns—a group of older women studied the new black tattoos on a young girl’s fingers with expressions of tender melancholy. One man knelt beside his bicycle, fighting with the rusty chain. A young girl rushed out from a doorway and woman swept her up into her arms.

It wasn’t that these people were strange. It was him. He’d become so distanced from daily life that now normalcy struck him as unreal.

John suddenly became aware of the odd figure he presented. His dazed expression probably made him seem drunk. The dry clothes Saimura had given him were the ones that he’d worn the last three nights. They reeked of wine houses and sweat. The water in the tunnel had rinsed the stain from his hair. John pushed the damp blond curls back from his face. He pulled the hood of his coat up over the tangled mass.

“Is there still blood on my face?” John asked Saimura quietly.

“No.” Saimura glanced to John’s face. “There was a lot of blood on your old clothes, but you look fine now. You don’t still have any injuries, do you?”

“No,” John said. “I was worried that I looked strange.”

“Not too odd,” Saimura said. “You look like you could be one of the big men the house stewards hire for day labor. I don’t think anyone will take too much notice of you.”

Still, they kept clear of the larger crowds of people. Saimura led him west, past closed shops. Painted signs hung over doorways, advertising jewelry, feather hats, embroidered coats, and tapestries. They passed a pastry shop. The smell of the wood oven and taye flour still hung in the air. John felt a brief nostalgia for the evenings he used to spend with Samsango in the monastery kitchens.

“We aren’t going back to the Hearthstone?” John asked.

“No, it’s too far from the prison,” Saimura whispered as they cut across a street. They stopped at the back gate of a large squat building that seemed to be another hostel. Plumes of smoke pumped up from the rows of chimneys that studded the building’s roof. Saimura pulled a service bell and then leaned back against the iron bars of the gate.

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