Chapter 30

Torrea had his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “What? How? What?” He kept trying to speak between his panting but failed each time. He stared at the grand doors of the Great Hall and then at Zuri a few times.

“This building is all walls and no windows. I believe the miasma can be contained if the door was sealed unlike the Hall of Ascension that was truly open to the air,” Zuri said as he watched for signs of the great doors shaking.

“The Hall of what?”

“It’s not important to you. I was thinking out loud as bigger and bigger pieces of the puzzle fall into place. I told you that I’m not Gura anymore,” Zuri said, feeling the sunlight on his face. What Guras were still in the vicinity were across the boulevard and clearly not considering approaching the two. Zuri wondered how long it would take for someone important with soldiers and weapons to come storming to the site. “What did he mean when he said they took the base formula?”

“He was bragging he took the elixir from the Sacred Guardians,” Torrea said. “The four who make the formula year after year.”

“We need to find them or the Chancellor,” Zuri said as he examined the edges of the great doors for leaks. “They’re the only possible ones who have the knowledge we need to contain the miasma.”

“They are hidden near the Seminary campus, but no one knows where,” Torrea said.

Zuri thought for a moment. “I think I know, but not a direct route. Is the Patriarch’s Residence near here?”

“Of course, he has a house in the Lesser Royal Ring,” Torrea said with heat.

“Hey, as the Provost said, ‘I’m a sewer rat,’ and sewer rats don’t know where the high and mighty live,” Zuri said.

“I heard, and I heard what he did to your girlfriend,” Torrea said, as he looked both ways. “We go right, and I think it is three or four estates down and there is a government building too.”

They ran. Four manor houses and one imposing Treasury Building later, Torrea called out in victory as he pointed to the modest one-story building resting between towering trees. They went up to the front door and barged in. Zuri was explaining they needed to find the garden in the back corner when they were challenged by a man holding a hoe who acted like he knew how to use it.

“The Patriarch is dead,” Torrea said. “We need to get to the garden, now.”

The man did not believe them, refusing to give way. Zuri grabbed the statue on the table and heaved it at the man who brushed it out of the way with his hoe. Zuri jumped with the distraction and took out the man’s legs with his staff while Torrea tackled him from above.

They heard an older woman screaming from the kitchen, but Zuri was focused on his task. They ran through the house into the back.

“I’ve never been here,” Torrea said, looking around. “He lived well.”

“He was an idiot,” Zuri said. “See that stone they’re using for a coffee table? The engravings on the side are the secret of the Gura progenitors and he had no clue. The most important artifact in the city, and they put their drinks and their feet on it. In here.” He marched into the ornate shed.

“He has an Anointing Chair,” Torrea said. “How odd.”

“Yes, you’re clueless too,” Zuri said. “The device is a Pointing Chayre. Hold down the fort until I return. I don’t think any of the high and mighty survived to come around, but you never know.”

Placing his staff in his lap, he brought up the globe and the stick, watching Torrea’s eyes bulge out. Zuri tapped the top of the stick.

After surviving the Great Hall, the pillar of skulls gave Zuri chills up and down his spine as the hairs on his arms stood on end. Swallowing his fear as the adrenaline slowly ebbed, Zuri stood and walked out the front door. He called out from the portico, “Hello, is anyone here?”

He thought he heard a shout from his right. He hopped down into the garden and made his way to the path. Once he got through the dense shrubs and a couple of trees, he saw two buildings. One was a boarding house. Another shout reached his ears and it appeared to come from the second floor of the house. Zuri rushed to the door only to find it boarded up from the outside.

Charging his staff again was draining and he felt a weakness begin to creep into his limbs. Drawing the deepest breath he could, he swung his staff, smashing a hole in the barrier.

“Here, take this,” a voice called out from the hole. A long curved hardened metal rod emerged with a flat tapered end. Zuri put down his staff and took the tool. He shoved the flattened end under the nailed wood before using the leverage of the long rod to pry the wood from the frame of the house. He worked solidly for ten minutes before the barrier finally gave way to the body banging against it from inside the house.

“Thank God,” the young man said as he stumbled through the doorway. “We’ve been trapped in here for days. Thank you, good sir.”

Zuri nodded, looking the man up and down.

“You’re a Gura,” the man exclaimed but then he stopped himself. “You’re not a Gura.”

“You are the first one to figure it out,” Zuri said. “First Master Zuri of the Ghura at your service. I presume you are a Sacred Guardian?”

“I’m Journeyman Guardian Barjardi. They killed the Master Guardian. I think they killed the Chancellor too, but he was in the Apothecary next door.”

“How many of you are there?” Zuri said.

“Three: me, the Assistant Guardian and the Guardian,” Barjardi said. “The Guardian was struck on the head. He is bedridden, but he awoke late yesterday. The Assistant Guardian has two broken arms and they lopped off his pinkie. How did you get here? How did you find us?”

Zuri pointed out towards the ossuary, explaining that he came via the Pointing Chayre. Barjardi shook his head, as if the information was difficult to understand. Zuri picked up his staff, giving the man a moment to digest the implosion of his world.

“We must stop them,” Barjardi said. “They have violated the inner sanctum of the Gura. They do not know the danger they might have unleashed.”

“They know,” Zuri said simply. He gave the Journeyman a brief synopsis as they walked into the house and climbed the stairs. He helped the man with the broken arms down the stairs and sat him in a worn stuffed couch on the first floor. He left the two men to exchange information as he returned upstairs. He examined the aura of the middle-aged man, finding it damaged but healing. With his finger exuding only warmth and comfort, he lightly touched the poorly bandaged wound on the man’s head. The man instantly opened his eyes with wonder. “You have returned to save us,” he husked. “Thank God. I pray you are not too late.”