Doormaker: Tower of Shadows (Book 2) by Jamie Thornton

Author:Jamie Thornton [Thornton, Jamie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Igneous Books
Published: 2018-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Two torchlighters stood guard around the beds, watching for any eyes or ears that shouldn’t be near, while the others argued in hurried whispers.

“It might mean nothing.”

“Nothing? That is not a pattern to ignore.”

“Patterns are not reliable.”

“I say we take our chances.”

They spoke like they had debated the points many times before. There was a togetherness about them that intimidated Maella. They were lean with muscle, hardened by the wind that blew outside the tower, and had a sort of confidence about them that felt strange in a place that seemed intent on controlling and dominating its workers.

Even Torian, who remained silent and was both the smallest and youngest torchlighter, had a hard light in his eyes that was difficult to reconcile with the half-smile on his face.

Claritsa scanned the paper shapes that covered the wall in a vivid display of art in a place that otherwise lacked it.

“Are these all patterns Torian has stolen?” Claritsa said, wonder filling her voice, as she ran her fingers along the rounded edge of a heart.

“They are scraps he finds,” Dev said. “Everyone knows he folds them, even the guards. They ignore it. This is how we were able to hide the pattern after he stole it. Here, in plain sight.”

“Who’s pattern is this?” Sethlo said, pointing to Maella’s marching line. “Whose blood caused this pattern to be drawn?”

Maella was glad he could think enough to ask it. All she could do was sit there stunned while her brain tried to process the picture or how it could possibly come about.

She came up empty each time.

Completely, absolutely, empty.

“It was Junle’s,” Dev said. “Weeks ago, Torian saw it on the machine before Master Hull did and knew it would send many of us to the Circle—so he stole it. You can see Junle there.”

Senta pointed to the second person in line behind Maella.

Maella was first, leading them, then in that line was Feren, Junle, Torian, and two other torchlighters.

“But Junle is dead. And so is Feren,” Maella said, forcing the words out. She wanted to help, but what this drawing showed—it was insane.

“What does that do to her pattern?” Claritsa said. “She’s in this picture, but she can’t be—”

“Patterns change,” Dev said. “They are possibilities. Chances of what might be.”

“But,” Maella said, finality in her voice. “This pattern has already been proven wrong.”

“The caravan will not return with supplies for many days,” Dev said. “The wagon in this picture is well known. It comes from the Library of Souls. Master Hull gets books from there sometimes.”

“And how do you know such a thing?” Sethlo said. “Are you and Master Hull friends?”

“You already know Master Hull likes his philosophy,” Dev said, without missing a beat or changing his expression. “He hopes to train discipline into his son someday.”

“Not going to happen,” Deep said. “But Master Hull likes to indulge his pets. We are his pets. Some of his favorites.” There was disgust as well as acceptance in Deep’s voice.

“The usefulness of a cup is in its emptiness,” Dev said.

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