Chapter 22 #2
They don’t bother to answer, maybe waiting for companions to join them. I go back to my sort-of meditation, but I keep my ears even more pricked than before.
Sometime after the midnight hour has been rung in, a voice breaks the quiet again, surrounding me in the more usual fashion. “The All-Giver would appreciate your commitment, Ivy. We’d like to know what else you can do for the Great God.”
I ease myself carefully to my feet. “Did you have anything in particular in mind?”
“You made a small sacrifice of your finger, it appears. What godlen are you dedicated to, and what is your gift?”
My heart stutters for an instant before I remember Casimir’s gentle touch as he re-imprinted my false dedication brand yesterday night. When I looked at it this evening, the pink-toned mark between my breasts still looked completely believable.
How much can the conspirators even see in this darkness if they demand a peek?
“I’m dedicated to Kosmel,” I say, bringing out the answer I prepared. “I asked for a talent for forgery. There’ve always been things I wanted to do that my parents wouldn’t approve of. It’s helped… clear the way.”
I do have a talent for forgery, but it’s one I developed entirely without divine intervention. And the scourge sorcerers might see some use for it, sooner rather than later.
If I can get them to hand over any physical evidence of their plans—documents related to their schemes that they need false signatures on or adjusted duplicates of—that might be enough to bring the whole conspiracy down.
There’s a brief silence that makes me think the sorcerers are consulting with each other. Then one speaks up again. “Have you ever tried to create a forgery on a larger scale? An illusionary copy of a real object, for example?”
A shiver runs down my spine. Are they thinking I might be able to help with their clay creatures?
That wasn’t the kind of job I had in mind.
Well, I can answer honestly. “No. I’ll admit it’s a fairly small gift since it was a fairly small sacrifice. I was more cautious at twelve than I’ve become since.”
“Then if you could increase your power with a new sacrifice now, you would do it?”
My uneasiness grows, but there’s only one way I can answer that question that keeps me in the game. “Of course, if it’s for a good purpose.”
“This time, it’ll be for the purpose of showing us how committed you are to challenging what’s wrong in this world.”
I dip my head. “I can understand why you’d want to confirm that. But how would a new sacrifice work?”
“We wouldn’t ask it of you often,” the voice says. “Much can be gained by combining the gifts we already have. But what you can do on your own matters too. Come to the edge of the woods, and we’ll see what fits the moment.”
I don’t like the sound of this, Julita mutters as I tramp back the way I came.
Neither do I, but I don’t see how there’s anything she or I can do about it. At least I’m not having to kill living creatures with my bare hands tonight.
I stop in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the patch of forest. Moonlight streams down over the field between me and the back of the Quadring.
“We have decided,” the voice says as if from right behind me.
I suppress a flinch and glance backward, but no one’s in view. I will my muscles to relax. “What did you decide?”
“The Crown’s Watch carries out orders without concern for their legitimacy. They only care about their own power, not what pleases the gods. You’ve seen that, haven’t you?”
I let out a light guffaw. “Oh, yes.”
At least, I’ve seen them abuse their authority. I can’t say I’m sure of what pleases any of the gods.
“You could put a couple of them in their places. Remind them that there are greater powers at work in the universe.”
My gaze darts across the campus. The first figure it catches on has a pale face topped by glossy brown curls—the gifted guard who hassled me when I was stargazing. He’s walking next to the Quadring’s back wall.
Can I use any magic on him without his gift reacting? Do the scourge sorcerers even realize he’s got magic he uses regularly?
How deep a pile of shit are they going to throw me into?
“How should I do that?” I ask tentatively.
“On the eastern wall,” the voice says. “Do you see the two soldiers stationed there who are speaking to each other?”
My attention jerks to the outer wall with a jolt of relief. Not that I know for sure the two figures I spot atop the stone barrier don’t have gifts of their own.
I nod. At least one of the conspirators must be close enough to see me, because the gesture seems to be answer enough.
“You will ask Kosmel to expand your power so that you can ‘forge’ an object of your choice out of the air. You will use it to startle the guards. If you can start a fight between them, we’ll be even more impressed.”
I wet my lips. “I don’t think Kosmel will grant my request just because I ask nicely.”
“That’s why you’ll do more than ask. You’ll show how committed you are to the task with an offering.”
A figure shrouded completely in black steps out of the trees to approach me. I can’t tell whether they’re male or female, young or old. Even their face has been covered by a swath of black fabric that hangs from the edge of their hood, though it must be thin enough to allow them to see through.
The scourge sorcerer lifts their hand, and a knife glints in the filtered moonlight. My magic wakes up at the sight, squirming in my chest.
Julita shivers. I don’t know… I think this might be deep enough right here, Ivy. You could make a run for the college buildings—you’re fast.
And then what? The scourge sorcerers will want me dead for what I already know.
“What would you have me give?” I ask, managing to keep my voice steady.
The figure in black motions with the knife, but the voice that speaks comes from elsewhere, farther off in the forest. “You will give up your full forefinger from your left hand, with a plea to bolster your gift for tonight. We will not numb it and seal it immediately as the shirking clerics do. The blood and the pain show the depth of your sacrifice. The All-Giver wants us to feel.”
My breath catches in my throat. Not at the thought of the pain—I’ve experienced worse just this afternoon.
But if I give up my entire forefinger on my dominant hand… I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to learn how to handle a knife without it. Whether I’ll ever be able to effectively fight or steal again.
So many of the skills I counted on for survival in my old life—so many that have helped me survive even at the college—
Do they even realize how much they’re truly asking from me?
Ivy, no, you shouldn’t have to go this far, Julita is saying, at the same time as the voice from the woods demands, “Are you willing?”
I swallow a broken laugh. My power twitches in my chest, begging to thrash the sorcerers for even asking to harm me, but I clamp down on it tight.
Kosmel indicated I should go deeper—I should throw myself straight in. I did commit to this course, even if not for the reasons the scourge sorcerers think.
How much of a life will I have left if I refuse?
I extend my hand. “Absolutely. Thank you for the opportunity.”
Every word scrapes up my throat like a jagged stone, but I must have answered quickly and convincingly enough. I can almost hear the speaker’s smile. “You’re most welcome.”
It all happens so quickly I barely have time to second-guess my decision. The figure with the knife grasps my wrist, presses my other fingers and thumb close to my palm, and jams my hand against the nearest tree trunk.
Before I’ve so much as sucked in a breath, they swing the knife.
Gods help me, the blade is sharp. It chops straight through flesh and bone with a burst of pain.
As I clench my jaw against a whimper, blood streaks down the bark and across my hand. I keep just enough wherewithal to remember the plea I’m supposed to make.
My voice tumbles ragged over my lips. “Kosmel, All-Giver, whoever hears me: Give me the power tonight to forge so much more than I could before.”
I swing toward the guards on the wall, stretching out my bleeding hand.
I just want to get the trial over with. My head is whirling with pain and horror and a twinge of regret; I want to scream at someone for dragging me into this place.
I don’t have a normal gift anyway. I’ll try, and it won’t work, and the scourge sorcerers will make of it what they will. Or maybe Kosmel will step in and conjure up an illusion on my behalf.
But that’s not what happens at all.
My riven power surges inside me alongside the stream of blood pattering onto the forest floor. My head spins—and all at once I can’t contain the churning energy inside me.
I can’t plug all the holes. I can’t smother every shred of the magic jangling through my nerves.
A punch of the errant magic slips my hold. It flings through the air toward the guards, latching on to the intention I claimed to have, the image the conspirators put in my head.
I don’t know what illusion it forms. All I see is one guard lurching toward the other.
No, no, not like this. I hug my other arm around my gut, desperately scrambling to rein my magic in without giving away what I’m grappling with.
The ground bucks under me. I can’t tell if that’s scourge sorcery or the backlash of my own power, but it knocks me to my knees.
My magic flails out of me in one last attempt to carry out my will, whether I like it or not.
The guards stumble again—and one of them smacks into the low crenelation along the top of the wall with so much force she flips right over it.
The thud of her body hitting the ground carries through the night straight to my ears.
I gulp for air and shove my power down as far as I can go, fighting to keep my horror off my face so the conspirators won’t see my distress. My unwounded hand braces against the damp earth to steady me.
My magic tries to lash out again, but I clamp it tight. Its frustration reverberates through my bones.
I grit my teeth against it. No more.
Gods above, what did I do to her? Has she even survived the fall?
I never meant to—
The black-robed figure crouches in front of me. A voice rings out with obvious satisfaction from the woods beyond us. “An impressive performance. The gods look kindly on you. You don’t have to worry. For your service, we’ll see you made whole again.”
I don’t understand. I’m too scattered to even realize what’s happening until the figure who wielded the knife presses the finger they chopped off against the bleeding stump, and a hot tingling spreads through my flesh.
She has a healing gift. She’s melding my hand back together.
It shouldn’t surprise me. How would the conspirators expect me to explain away the sudden loss of my finger once I returned to school?
Healing me is for their benefit at least as much as my own.
But as the sinews and bones bind back together, my gaze returns to the wall. To the guard shouting for help from where he’s still poised at the top, peering down at his fallen companion.
The scourge sorcerers didn’t realize the true source of my magic or how little I wanted to let it loose. But I know.
I lost control, just for a matter of seconds, and this is what I’ve done.
Maybe Stavros has been right all along. Maybe I can’t be anything other than a monster.