Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Ivy
The message didn’t say where to find my supposed co-conspirators, but I’ve only ever met up with them in one spot. They must figure if I can’t work out where to go at this point, I’m not worth initiating after all.
I hustle the last short distance to the campus woods with all the stealth I can bring to bear. My magic unfurls in my chest, niggling at my nerves. Not demanding release yet, but testing me, stirred up by my apprehension.
Julita’s presence is still faint. I don’t know what the godlen who’s pushed me this far wants from me next. None of my allies in the college have any idea I’ve been called on.
I don’t even have the extra knives I meant to bring along for this event.
But the Now that glowed on my palm didn’t offer any room for argument. I assume they’re giving me a little grace so that I can get to the meeting spot from wherever I was before, but not much.
They could be watching me already, taking note of any diversions.
So I stride straight down the path between the trees, fighting the urge to shiver as the cool shadows swallow me.
It’s windier than usual today. The gusts of breeze whip my cloak to one side and then the other, whirling through the panels of my skirt. The leaves hiss overhead.
Either the male student who joined me last time didn’t make the cut or the conspirators have whisked him away from someplace else. I come to a stop fifty paces in alone. Immediately, one of the shrouded scourge sorcerers steps from the depths of the forest to receive me.
The figure doesn’t speak, only beckons me to follow. I catch a faint rustling behind me that might be another conspirator bringing up the rear. Making sure I’m not being followed?
But no one has any idea I’ve been summoned. Even if one of my men was going to ignore my protests and try to watch over me, they never had the chance.
We pass through the back wall again and traverse the river on the concealed boat, the second shrouded conspirator joining us there. Like last time, my guides lead me to a cart, though only one other person is waiting—the teenaged girl who was part of our expedition last time.
As the horses set off, she studies me with wary eyes. Our escorts still haven’t spoken to us.
It seems wisest not to break the silence. I’m not sure what I’d say anyway.
At least no one’s pressed a cup of mind-addling drugs into our hands.
I close my eyes as if to get some more rest, which honestly I could use. But instead, I do my best to chart every shift in direction, every slight sound that reaches my ears from beyond the cart.
As far as I can determine, we’re heading on a northeasterly course from Florian. As we leave the city farther behind, the cart veers more to the east, and the driver taps the horses to a faster pace.
The cart jostles, my tailbone jarring against the boards. Would it kill these people to give their newest recruits a cushion or two?
We must travel longer than last time. We’re still moving when I pick up the second-hour peal of a bell from some distant temple, and we keep going for long enough after that I start listening for the set of three peals.
The cart slows. One of the scourge sorcerers ducks into the covered part of the cart with us, carrying a lumpy bundle.
“Put these on,” he says, handing part of the bundle to each of us. “You’ll become part of the Order of the Wild by tapping into your most primal self. Welcome to the salvation of Silana.”
These murderous assholes do think highly of themselves, don’t they?
I restrain a derisive snort and paw through the objects I’ve been given. There’s a black cloak, thinner but longer than my own, folded around a simple clay mask designed to cover the upper half of my face.
A quiver of magic radiates off the mask into my soul. It’s been enchanted in some way.
The consequences of refusing to put it on are almost certainly worse than the consequences of wearing it, though.
I ease the mask over my eyes and fasten it in place with the two ribbons that wind around the back. Then I swap my brown cloak for the black one.
The billowing wool fastens down the front with a series of clasps, covering my clothing completely. I pull up the hood instinctively.
The girl across from me has donned her own costume of sorts. I can’t see any magical effects from the mask on her. Perhaps the vibe I got had to do with how the clay was sculpted rather than any continuing impact it might have on the wearer.
The cart continues on for several minutes longer, until I do pick up the bell for the third hour. Moments later, the wheels jar to a stop under us.
I hear the fire before I see it. We step out from under the cart’s covering to see an enormous bonfire crackling only twenty paces away.
It wafts not just heat but prickles of magic as well. The conspirators are probably using their sorcery to conceal the light. I can’t even imagine how much power that’s taking.
Power they mostly stole from their sacrificial accomplices. Are some of them here too? How soon will they reveal that horrifying part of their practices to the new members?
A softer tingling of magic flows down over my body. I tense instinctively, just as the girl next to me lets out a gasp.
When I spin toward her, her form has changed, and not merely because of the eerie, wavering light from the bonfire. Her mask appears to have stretched and morphed, covering her whole face and jutting up above her forehead with the pointed ears, mottled fur, and yellow eyes of a wild cat.
She’s staring at me with as much shock as I feel. I touch my face, but can’t feel anything strange about my skin. My mask is still where it was before.
Oh. Her mask won’t have changed either. Her new “face” must be an illusion, triggered by our arrival.
More cat-like features sprout from her cloak—furry stripes and a sinewy tail, a flash of claws when she reaches her hand from between the folds. A little of the light shines through those surfaces, confirming that they’re illusionary rather than solid.
What creature have the scourge sorcerers concealed me as?
My skin itches at the idea that their magic is all over me. But our guides usher us forward, and I push myself toward the fire.
Now that my vision has adjusted to the blaze, I take stock of the ring of figures around the fire. Some twenty figures are waiting for us, all dressed in the same black cloaks we are, their faces obscured with images of wolves and bears, owls and falcons.
Tapping into our inner wildness. That’s what the conspirators told us in the cart.
Which means I still can’t see any of my new colleagues. How long are they going to keep us new recruits in the dark about who we’re actually working with?
Where have all of these people come from? There are far more than can be just from the bug club. How many are past students, how many other followers Torstem drew in from across the city—and who knows where else?
I have no way of knowing when I can’t see their faces.
When I glance at our escorts again, they’ve drawn back the lower part of their shrouds’ hoods to fix their own masks in place. One appears to be a stoat, while the other looks like a snake.
It takes all my self-control not to shudder.
“Join us!” The call goes up from the figures already around the fire, first from one and then echoed by a dozen other voices. We hustle over to fill the space that opens in the ring.
The fire’s heat crackles against my face through the illusion. Sweat trickles down my back beneath my gown.
A particularly imposing form whose illusion makes him look like a hawk steps closer to the fire and walks along the inside of our ring of bodies. He holds up a large clay carafe.
They might be casting illusions on our faces, but they aren’t bothering to disguise voices any longer. I recognize Ster. Torstem’s authoritative tone the instant the first word leaves his mouth.
“Greetings to the newcomers and those already initiated! Tonight the Order of the Wild joins together in our worship of the gods and the old ways that have been forgotten. We’ll tap into the essence of who we are and what the world should be. Let us Wildings drink to that!”
He stops by my companion from the cart first and taps her chin. The girl tips her head back, farther at his second nudge, her lips parting.
Torstem holds her chin in place as he pours a dollop of the liquid in the carafe down her throat. My stomach twists, watching.
She has no choice but to swallow. Even through the illusion, the bob of her throat is visible. And Torstem doesn’t release her until it happens.
He turns to me next. My magic flares between my ribs, urging me to propel him away, to knock the whole lot of them down.
Would it be enough to destroy this group? Is everyone important here? Could I put an end of the conspiracy just like that?
Even if I could, what would happen after? I don’t know where I am, don’t know what’s nearby, and have no way of communicating with anyone who’d care.
Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but images from the stories of evil riven who slaughtered entire villages flash through my mind. I balk, and Ster. Torstem’s hand comes to rest against my jaw.
My head tilts automatically, away from his touch. I force myself to open my mouth.
If I can manage to swallow only a little and spit out the rest after…
But the sour liquid sloshes into my mouth so forcefully it’s either swallow or choke. I gulp, half gagging, and an unsettling lightness sweeps through my body before the stuff has even hit my gut.
The law professor pats my shoulder approvingly and lets me go. I clamp my mouth against the urge to vomit.
If I did, I suspect he’d come back to insist on another dose.
As he prowls on around the circle, distributing the drugged drink to disciple after disciple, my head spins. The figures around me expand and distort, like monstrous versions of the animals they’re hiding behind.