Read Online Silent Hall by NS Dolkart - Free Book Online

that would never happen.
    Hunter did not reappear until the evening, and when he did, he paid for another night’s stay for them all and then went straight to bed. He was grieving in his own way, perhaps, but neither he nor the others could possibly feel the pain Criton did. Narky hardly reacted at all. It would have made Criton angry, if he had been able to think of anything but his poor mother.
    The next morning was dreadful. All of Atuna seemed intent on talking to them about what had happened, crowding into the inn’s taproom to argue about which God had punished Tarphae and why. Some claimed that Karassa was being punished by Her father Mayar for some reason. They said that the king had only survived by treacherously rededicating his sacrifice to the angry Sea God. Others insisted that it was Karassa who was punishing Her people for not obeying their king. Each story seemed somehow darker and truer than the last, as human minds struggled to conceive of an answer terrible enough to justify the calamity that had befallen the island. And behind each story was the same assertion, spoken with the same brittle confidence: such a thing could never happen here. Atun would protect His city.
    â€œI’m leaving today,” Narky told Criton over a late lunch. “It’s not safe here. Plagues jump from person to person – what if that fisherman brought it back with him? It could be in Atuna already, looking for us.”
    Criton gulped. Could the plague really be seeking them out?
    â€œWhere will you go?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Away from here.”
    Criton looked down at his food. It was his second lunch. Eating was better than thinking, and besides, he never seemed to stop being hungry these days. Ma would have said he was hungry because he was growing, but he was already taller than most everyone in Atuna. How much taller could he possibly grow?
    A man at the next table raised his voice, angrily repeating his own disgusting theory of Tarphae’s demise. Narky was right. It was time to go.
    â€œPhaedra is on a pilgrimage for the Traveler God,” Criton told him. “We could go with her.”
    Narky shrugged. “There’s safety in numbers, I guess. When’s she leaving?”
    â€œI’ll ask her. Have you seen Bandu?”
    â€œYes,” Narky answered reluctantly. “She’s out in the woods, looking after her wolf. She wouldn’t leave it after we burned its wound.”
    â€œYou burned out her wolf’s wound?” Criton asked incredulously. “Together?” He was surprised that Bandu would ask Narky, of all people.
    Narky lifted his hands in acknowledgment of the absurdity. “Don’t ask me why she chose me. It’s not like I’d done it before.”
    Criton nodded. As little as he and Narky understood her, Bandu probably understood them even less. She seemed to have the same grasp of language that Criton had possessed at the age of three or four. How long had she lived alone in the woods, with only that wolf to talk to? It struck him how hard it must be for her now, out among society.
    â€œSee if she’ll come with us,” Criton said. “Phaedra’s pilgrimage was going to be to an abbey of Atellan friars. They could be good healers.”
    â€œAll right,” Narky said with resignation. “You talk to Phaedra, I’ll talk to Bandu.”
    Criton watched him leave, unable to focus his thoughts. What would he say to Phaedra? Ever since he had met her, she had filled him with – well, something. He had certainly never felt anything like it when he was living with his mother. He loved the shape of her face, loved the way her hair had been woven into hundreds of tight braids and piled elegantly on her head in such fascinating patterns. Her voice was clear and sweet, and she seemed to know something about everything. All this made it hard to imagine what he would say to her.
    He found her upstairs,