Master Shivu wrinkled his nose. “What cause would a Kishion have of interfering with your return journey?”
“My uncle found us. I believe it was tracking him some way. Paedrin was already injured from our journey into the mountains, but he tried to defend us and was thrown down; his arm was broken cruelly. He and the Kishion disappeared through some form of magic, but the Kishion said the word ‘Kenatos’ before he left, so I assumed he was brought back to the city, that I would find him here.”
Shivu shook his head. “I must speak to the Arch-Rike.”
A pulse of alarm ran through Hettie at the words. “Tell me what happened to my uncle after we left. I have only just heard word that there was some destruction at the tower. Do you know what happened?”
Master Shivu folded his fingers above his mouth. “Your uncle was declared a traitor to Kenatos, child. There are accusations that he was plotting with our enemies to overthrow the city.”
Hettie exhaled deeply. What else would a Bhikhu master believe? She hesitated a moment before replying. The truth was a careful balancing act. “I have no knowledge of such a thing. The treasure he sent us to find was gone. There was evidence all around the entrance that others had been there long before we arrived. I think he was sending us far away to protect us from harm.” She sighed deeply. “If the Arch-Rike wants my uncle, he may want me as well. I should be going.”
Shivu gave her a wan smile. “I will not send you to the Rikes, child. You are under my protection. Even the Arch-Rike himself has no authority within these walls. He relies on the Bhikhu to keep the peace. May I assume you are here in peace?”
Hettie nodded. “I only came because I thought Paedrin was here.” She bit her lip. “It would relieve me greatly to know that he was safe.”
“I am sure that if he was wounded, as you say, the Arch-Rike is tending to his injuries as we speak. I will send word in the morning and see what I can learn. You look tired. Why don’t you rest for the night?”
“Thank you,” Hettie said, trying to hide her smile. These Bhikhu were so easy to manipulate that it almost wasn’t fair. But still, there was a part of her, deep down, that nagged her. Why wouldn’t the Arch-Rike have sent word that Paedrin was back in the city? She was certain she was imagining the trouble. Borrowing worry where there was none. He would show up, smug and confident and boasting of his duel with the Kishion. That was just his way. She was sure of it.
A day passed. Then two. Hettie stalked the temple grounds, lingering for word. A runner had been sent to the Arch-Rike and returned with word that the master of Kenatos was dealing with pressing matters of state and had not found the time to reply yet. There was a trade interruption from Havenrook, and shipments of grain and fruit were delayed and spoiling, causing prices in the city to bob on the rising tide. He would inquire about the missing Bhikhu, he promised, and send word in a day or two.
After two days, Hettie was impatient and started off on her own again, seeking after the ruins of the Paracelsus Tower herself. Approaching it from the west, she saw it was clearly a work of immense power or magic. The tower where she had last met her uncle was gone, with only loose fragments of broken stone showing the remains. She was in awe at the power involved in such a manifestation. The tower had been a massive stone bulwark, suspended high in the air. All that remained was a warped iron stairwell protruding from one of the four corners, a little nub displaying to witness what had been there before.
“By degrees the castles are built,” Hettie whispered, staring at it as she approached. “How fast they fall.” Bricks littered the street all around. The front windows of shops were being repaired. In some, blankets had been nailed over to cover the void. Broken crockery and pit-marks covered the homes and shops facing the tower proper.
There were many people milling around, but most were repairing the damage with plaster and cobbled stone. She ventured into the main gate, which was open, and found the interior courtyard full of workmen and wheelbarrows, carting off broken fragments of stone to be reused elsewhere. There were a few taskmasters at hand, but they were primarily ordering low-paid folk doing the work. Hettie studied the ruins of the tower and saw a steady stream of men venturing in and out, carrying bricks in their arms.
There was a giant dead oak tree in the middle of the courtyard. Amazingly, none of the branches had fallen as a result of the explosion. Nor had fire touched its bark. She stopped, staring at it curiously.
How peculiar, she thought. She began walking the perimeter of the oak, beneath the veil of branches, and saw not a single brick or stone beneath the boughs. There were bricks littered elsewhere, but none directly beneath it. The branches were bare of leaves, which would not have been the case normally due to the season. But as she scrutinized it, she did see a few scattered branches with foliage, and some with clumps of lush mistletoe. The presence of the mistletoe meant the tree was still alive, if barely.