Chapter 17 #3
“We’d like the princess to come with us,” the man remarks.
He’s dressed in the black robes of a cleric, though the edges are worn and tattered.
At the side of his neck, his crescent tattoo is lined with red.
Whether it is a design choice or an infection, Calla can’t quite tell. “It’s for her safety.”
“She will be perfectly safe under my eye in the palace,” Bibi replies. “Please, excuse us.”
Woya tucks his hands into his pockets. “I like you a lot, Bibi. But I don’t like you enough to ignore cross-temple agreements. It’s only until we have the barrier in place.”
“You are not to shut off San-Er’s access to qi,” Calla interjects. “I forbid it.”
Bibi sighs. She’s tried her best to prevent an altercation, but there is only so much she can do.
“You are not in a position to forbid it,” Woya replies. “The heretics are beyond powerful. This is the only way to stop them.”
Calla frowns. She exchanges a quick glance with Anton, who has caught the same oddity. He asks, “Why are you using that term?”
A pause. Perhaps the Crescent Societies were not aware that Anton Makusa fed this into their news stations. Old gods, new heretics.
“I know why we condemn the heretics,” Calla adds lightly. “We can’t have them threatening my rule here. But why are you questioning a potential god’s power? You are believers, are you not?”
“There is no such potential. The earthly realm is for mortals. The heavens are for gods.” Woya waves his hand. His Crescents—three on either side of the door—start to move forward. “We do not worship pretenders wanting to muddle the designation.”
“Ah,” Anton says. “I see. You are like us too.”
“We are nothing—”
When Woya steps forward, Calla takes the opportunity.
She lets power pour forth from her, from the divine crown.
She identifies the qi that the cleric occupies in the physical world, then his Crescents too, and she shoves them all to one side of the alleyway, pressed against the wall.
They make no sound. They are not capable of making a sound.
Calla says, “Let’s go,” and Anton strides through, Bibi following a second later with a wince.
Anton pulls the door, and they slip inside. When Calla releases the Crescents outside, she turns her attention to the door, shoving at the latch hard. The metal distorts, holding the door in place.
“If the Crescents want you under their care,” Anton says, “that’s not going to hold them off for long.”
It’s dark in the passageway. A smell wafts around the walls, different from the stench of the qi block, but unpleasant all the same.
How long until the Crescents manage to put that into effect properly?
Calla expected that the Crescents would turn on her, but she thought they would at least have the foresight to wait until August was gone.
Until August was no longer a threat and could not decimate the capital with his superior resources.
Instead, they have taken a whole new route, one she hadn’t even considered as a possibility.
Block the qi in San-Er; equalize everyone before the clerics can be taken off guard.
All who march into San-Er will be as powerful as a regular shopkeeper.
Their adversaries must fight with blades or gunpowder, and the Crescent Societies have that battle secured.
“No, this won’t hold them off,” Calla agrees. “But I have the divine crown. Harming me is akin to closing the banks in San-Er ten times over. I only need to keep evading capture until I can detangle myself.”
Bibi blanches at the thought, but she does not protest. Her eyes only flicker quickly, up to the crown. A reminder, perhaps, that though she aided the Crescent Societies in taking the capital, she swore to serve Calla’s war upon her reentry. And when those elements are no longer one and the same…
The world inside the wall and the world beyond it are not so different after all. Those in the provinces pray to the heavens for guidance; those in San-Er kneel to the crown’s heavenly mandate. How did the palace ever think it could erase its gods when its very throne was built on divine selection?
“We should set up in the war room,” Anton decides. “Bibi, who’s watching Venus Hailira?”
“An attendant. I’m connected to a camera in her quarters.” She brings out a remote device, glancing at the blurry screen. “Did you want her released?”
“Why don’t you check on her?” Calla suggests. “Anton will send word shortly on how to proceed.”
Bibi nods. She seems relieved to be excused. Her steps are soft along the passage, echoing until she hits the door at the end, and then a loud slam takes her through, into the palace proper.
In her absence, Calla and Anton stay put. Their eyes meet. One bulb on the wall ripples blue-white, casting their faces in a pallor. There is something about their conversation with Bibi that has left Calla unsettled. She can’t put her finger on it.
The first thing the elders did was show me his letters. They hoped I could follow in his footsteps.
“What are you thinking?” Anton asks.
Calla snaps out of her reverie. There will be time to unravel this later.
“That we need to plan fast,” she says. “We’re losing San-Er.”