Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 375
basement of Brendan Sheia’ home. A single window-slit let in
the wan sunset, and a trickle of cold air that teased at him,
making him shiver now that he had noticed it.
They had taken his possessions, including Calandria’s
golden gauze. He was irrevocably visible to the Winds now.
The sights and sounds of Armiger’s experience began to
recede. He willed them away entirely. It didn’t matter how
compelling them were. It didn’t matter that he wanted to fall
into Armiger like a refuge, the way he had on his long walk
south from the disaster of the Heaven hooks. He wished so
much that he could be somewhere else right now--be someone
else.
"Too bad," he said angrily. Jordan was furious with
Brendan Sheia--just furious enough, for now, not to be afraid.
He was also angry with himself, though, and right now that
was worse.
After all, there had been a moment in his life when he
thought he was going to put aside all the habits of denial and
retreat that he had despised in his father. When Emmy ran into
the night, Jordan had lain in bed for long moments, waiting for
someone else to act responsibly and follow her. He still
remembered those few seconds; something had broken in him,
setting him free. And so he thought afterwards that he would
never fall back into those family patterns again.
He’d been fooling himself. He felt now as if he’d been a
leaf in a river these past weeks. Calandria’s abduction, his
terror of the visions, the whirlwind visit to the Boros where
intrigue, murder and disguise were daily companions--these
events had all given him excuses to feel helpless. He had let
Calandria lead him, had accepted her stories; he had let Suneil
lull him into complacency. He was a blank page on which
others had signed their names, and that was just the way his