Chapter Twenty-Four
I STAND IN the middle of an agora on the other side of the city the following afternoon.
No armor today, just a simple tunic and sword; Helia insisted on that, especially given the context that we might be going up against the Solonites who have been hunting me.
I swirl a cup of wine, failing to distract my mind as I scan the crowd.
The plan was simple; be seen, look drunk, and eventually stumble down an alleyway at night.
The budding scar on my cheek itches like a summer nettle, inexorably calling to my hand.
As I make to relieve the itch and my anxiety, I catch Bellius giving me a disapproving glare from across several vendors away.
Members of the Spears are dispersed around the agora in simple disguises and cloaks, ready to strike when needed.
Achingly, I lower my hand and take a long pull from the cup I was supposed to not actually drink from.
He had given me a lecture after the planning last night about letting the scar heal normally.
He failed to mention how much it would itch.
Solon begins to set, the warm rays disappearing, retreating for the night.
It’s time.
I make a show of stumbling out of the agora, bumping into people, uttering slurred apologies, and spilling a little wine on the edge of Andra’s cloak as she stands fuming by a stall selling the last of their grape bunches for the day. Absolutely worth it.
It isn’t hard to stumble around the city until the night is fully formed.
After only a few days, I had barely scratched the surface of the city and the busy agora was intentionally chosen in the hopes of drawing eyes.
The flap of fabric several steps behind me reaches my ears and I fight the urge to look behind, faking ignorance as I spy an upcoming alley. Perfect.
I stumble into the corner of the turn, fake vomiting and dropping my cup, nothing but a drunk fool to any eye. The fast crunch of gravel under sandal follows my quick entrance into the alley. Halfway down, the shadow draws closer, I drunkenly turn, forcing the figure to stop in their tracks.
“Whhoose sat?” I slur, trying to lure them in closer. The figure pulls their hood, revealing a young, square face dimly lit by the budding moonlight.
“You can drop the act, Conduit. You don’t really think we wouldn’t see your friends?
” His oily voice matches the icy breath of fear that touches my neck.
I see two more figures step into the mouth of the alley, neither wearing the cloaks of my allies.
Uttering a silent curse, I draw my blade as all three of them do the same.
Unlike my blade polished and gleaming in the moonlight, theirs are stained black; perfect for this kind of work.
I reach inside, pulling my power together into the now familiar ball of energy.
It is getting easier with each attempt; I’m not sure if that should frighten me or not.
I shut my eyes hard before releasing my power in the alley, freezing everyone in place.
I watch through straining eyes as each of my attackers start to vibrate and then slowly move as if through mud; just like the other night.
Without thinking I rush forward and stab the one who spoke in the throat. I feel the initial bite and resistance before his neck gives way. His hand starts to move as though trying to block my strike, but he hasn’t freed himself from my power in time
I watch, unblinking, unfeeling, as blood oozes out from the wound and onto my blade. The light goes out of his eyes as I pull away, turning to face the other two; just in time to see them rushing down the alley toward me, completely free of my magic.
Breathing out, I release the spell but keep my power and emotions flowing. The frustration and anger at being dragged around by Lunos, the sadness at the deaths caused by my passing; all of it. I need it all.
Flooding my muscles with power, a quick kick launches me off the ground meeting them halfway, bloody blade whistling through the night air.
My wrist strains under the speed of my amplified strength, made worse by the contact of one of their black knives.
The shock of the parry reverberates down my arm, the man flashing me an evil smile.
“Looks like ya don’t quite understand yet, do ya?
” Compared to the oily voiced man from before, this one’s voice was like shuffling across gravel.
A malevolent smile peeks out from under his hood, certain of my imminent demise.
I lunge back to disengage, narrowly missing the other assailant stabbing me in the side.
“You’re not the only favored by the gods. And believe me when I tell you that the reward for killing you would make anyone sharpen their blades and hunt.” The gravel in his voice becomes a landslide as his grin widens as he readies himself.
Damn these blessings! Solon must be eager to kill me.
The thought turns in my brain, while frantically fending off the two men; blade in one hand flashing back and forth, the other hand striking out at their wrists slapping their blades off the mark.
They don’t work that well together, missing opportunities to corner me or attack at the same time, giving me breathing room.
Not enough to make the difference. Air starts coming in gulps, my lungs desperate for fuel, forcing me back and releasing the supernatural strength from my body, head pounding at the effort.
Now it doesn’t matter if they don’t coordinate well; I’m barely able to dodge and parry.
My back hits the wall as I run out of strength, crimson rivers dripping off my hand. Cruel smiles wide on my attackers faces, their blackened swords approaching. Acceptance weighs down my shoulders, thoughts drifting to Helia.
I wish I had told her how I looked forward to seeing her every morning in camp. How I often catch myself just staring at her beauty and memorizing every line I can see. How I love listening to the way she leads and inspires. How her acceptance empowered me.
I wish I told her what she meant to me.
I wish I had told her my name.
It’s a bubbling sensation at first; small, simple. Like sweat pebbling across your arm. The bubbling becomes a rippling across my skin, crimson heat, fiery and igniting. It turns into an ache, a sizzle of lightning, a pulsing at my temples.
Rage. Pure, untainted, unhindered rage.
Rage. At the pantheons for their damned wars of power.
Rage. At Lunos for this cursed journey.
Rage. At myself.
Rage.
I have no intent, no focus; only a pure surge of power a scream ripping out of my lungs, throat raw with the strain.
Instinctively, I raise my bleeding arm to the night sky and open my palm.
A thread of power connects me to the clouds forming above.
Silvery power floods my eyes as I stare at the two men who have taken several steps back, fear etched in the hesitation.
My hand falls, summoning the wrath of the heavens.
Light illuminates the alleyway as if Solon himself had come for a visit.
I can’t hear their screams, but I imagine them as the lightning roasts them where they stand.
Their skin reddens like a heated iron in a blacksmith’s forge before turning blacker than the night.
The crack of thunder fades slowly as the lightning subsides.
Dimly, I realize I had blocked my ears with power somehow, instinctively knowing I would need that.
I watch as the ashes of my enemies smolder in the crater. The crater I made. The silver touched flood of godly power stems to a calm stream, satiated with the results, oddly not taxing my body the way it had before. Because I hadn’t let go of it? Is that the answer?
“SKION!” I look up to the sound of Andra’s panicked voice at the mouth of the alley. There’s a tear in her cloak and splatters of blood across her face. Panic gives to relief, in turn yielding to fear as she beholds the simmering power in my eyes, all within the blink of an eye.
“Is everyone safe?” The voice is not my own. The fear filling the air between us thickens as Andra visibly swallows.
“Y-yes. We were ambushed but suffered only a few injuries; no deaths. We did manage to capture one of them and killed the rest. He’s being taken back to the estate. Are you—” Her unfinished question hangs in the charged air, unsure of what to ask. I’m not sure I can be able to answer anything.
“Let’s head back then.” Let’s see if I’m right. I release the flowing power within. Pain blossoms everywhere, limbs flailing as I fall to the ground. Heat ignites my bones, sweat a poor salve. I’m in too much pain to laugh at my idiotic test. Blissful darkness takes me, a naive reprieve.