She shook him by die collar. "Who was it? Who did he dig up!"

"I asked him. I asked him who it were they wanted back. He told me, he says, They didn't care who, I'm just to bring 'em, wrapped up all pretty in clean winding sheets. "

Verna worked her fingers on his collar. "Are you sure? You were drinking — he might have just been making up drunken stones."

He shook his head as if he feared she were going to bite it off. "No. I swear Ham don't make up stories, or lie, when he drinks. When he drinks he would tell me anything true. No matter what sin he done, when he drinks he confesses it u me true. And I remember what he told me; it was the last night I saw my friend, remember what he said.

"He said to be sure to get the tally to the palace, but to wait a few weeks a-, they was busy, they'd told him."

"What did he do with the body? Where did he take it? Who did he give it to?

Milton tried to back away a bit, but her grip on his collar didn't allow it."; don't know. He said he took 'em to the palace in a cart covered over real gooo. and he said they give him a special pass so as the guards wouldn't check his loac He had to dress in his best clothes so people wouldn't recognize him for what he was, so as not to frighten the fine people at the palace, and especially so as not tc upset the delicate sensibilities of the Sisters, who were communing with the Creator, He said he done as he was told, and he was proud that he done it right, 'cause no one got disturbed by his going there with the bodies. That's all he said about it. I don't know no more, I swear it on my hope to go to the Creator's light after this life be done."

"Bodies? You said bodies. More than one?" She fixed him with a dangerous glare as she tightened her grip. "How many? How many bodies did he dig up and deliver to the palace?

"Two."

"Two…" she repeated in a whisper, wide-eyed. He nodded.

Verna's hand fell away from his collar.

Two.

Two bodies, wrapped in clean winding sheets.

Her fists tightened as she growled in a rage.

Milton swallowed, holding up a hand. "One other thing. I don't know if it matters."

"What?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"He said that they wanted 'em fresh, and one was small, and weren't too bad but the other gave him a time, because he were a big one. I didn't think to ask him more about it. I'm sorry."

With great effort, she managed a smile. "Thank you, Milton, you've been a great help to the Creator."

He scrunched his shirt closed at the neck. "Thank you, Sister. Sister, I've never had the nerve to go to the palace, being what I am, and all. I know folks don't like to see me around. Well, I've never gone. Sister, could you give me the Creator's blessing?"

"Of course, Milton. You have done his work."

He closed his eyes with a murmured prayer.

Verna gently touched his forehead. "The Creator's blessing on his child," she whispered as she let the warmth of her Han flow into his mind. He gasped in rapture. Verna let her Han seep through his mind. "You will remember nothing of what Ham told you about the tally while you were drinking. You will recall only that he said he did the work, but you know nothing of its nature. After I've left, you will not recall my visit."

His eyes rolled beneath his eyelids for a time before coming open at last. "Thank you, Sister."

Warren was pacing on the street outside. She stormed past him without sloping to say anything. He ran to catch up.

Verna was a thunderhead, "I'll strangle her," she growled under her breath. "I'll strangle her with my bare hands. I don't care if the Keeper takes me, I'll have her throat in my hands."

"What are you talking about? What did you find out? Verna, slow down!"

"Don't talk to me right now, Warren. Don't say a word!"

She swept through the streets, her fists whipping in time to her furious strides, a storm rampaging across the land. The churning knot of fury in her stomach threatened to ignite in lightning. She didn't see the streets or buildings, or hear the drums thundering in the background. She forgot Warren trotting behind her. She could see nothing but a vision of vengeance.

She was blind to where she was, lost in a world of rage. Without knowing how she had gotten there, she found herself crossing one of the back bridges onto Halsband Island. In the center crest above the river she stamped to a halt so abruptly that Warren almost collided with her.

She snatched the silver braiding at his collar. "You get yourself down into the vaults and link up that prophecy."

"What are you talking about?"

She shook him by his robes. "The one that says that when the Prelate and the Prophet are given to the Light in the sacred rite, the flames will bring to boil a cauldron of guile and give ascension to a false Prelate who will reign over the death of the Palace of the Prophets. Find the branches. Link it up. Find out everything you can. Do you understand!"

Warren snatched his robes free and tugged them straight. "What's this about? What did the gravedigger tell you?"

She held up a cautionary finger. "Not now, Warren."

"We're supposed to be friends, Verna. We're in this together, remember? I want to know — "

Her voice was thunder on the horizon. "Do as I tell you. If you press me right now, Warren, you are going to go for a swim. Now go link up that prophecy, and as soon as you find anything, you come tell me."

Verna knew about the prophecies in the vaults. She knew that it could easily take years to link branches. It could take centuries. What choice was there?

He brushed dust from his robes, giving his eyes an excuse to look elsewhere. 'As you wish, Prelate."

As he turned to go, she could see that his eyes were red and puffy. She wanted to catch his arm and stop him, but he was already too far away. She wanted to call out to him and tell him that she wasn't angry at him, that it wasn't his fault that she was the false Prelate, but her voice failed her.

I She found the round rock beneath the limb and sprang up the wall. Bothering with only two branches on the pear tree, she dropped to the ground inside the Prelate's compound and, when she regained her feet, started running. Panting in hurt, she slapped her hand repeatedly against the door to the Prelate's sanctuary, but it wouldn't open. Remembering why, she dug in her pocket and found the ring. Inside, she pressed it against the sunburst on the door to close it, and then with all her anger and anguish, heaved the ring across the room, hearing it clatter againsi the walls and skitter across the floor.

Verna pried the journey book from the secret pouch sewn on the back of her belt and plopped down on the three-legged stool. Gasping for her breath, she fumbled the stylus from the spine of the little black book. She opened it, spreading it flat, on the small table, and stared at the blank page.

She tried to think through the rage and resentment. She had to consider the possibility that she could be wrong. No. She wasn't wrong. Still, she was a Sister of the Light, for what that was worth, and knew better than to risk everything on presumption. She had to think of a way to verify who had the other book, and she also had to do it in a way that wouldn't betray her identity if she was wrong. But she wasn't wrong. She knew who had it.

Verna kissed her ring finger as she whispered a prayer beseeching the Creator's guidance, and asking, too, for strength.

She wanted to vent her wrath, but before all else, she had to make sure. With trembling fingers, she picked up the stylus and began to write.

You must first tell me the reason you chose me the last time. I remember every word. One mistake, and this journey book feeds the fire.

Verna closed the book and tucked it back into its secret pouch in her belt. Shakingv she pulled the comforter from its resting place atop the box bench and dragged it to the fat chair. Feeling more lonely than she had ever felt in her entire life, she curled up in the chair.