Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Ivy
Icrouch on the ledge in the pre-dawn darkness, watching a devout cross the main temple room in the glow of the single, central lantern. He vanishes through the back doorway.
Like all towns and cities of decent size, Pima has one temple dedicated to the All-Giver and the nine lesser gods together. It’s nowhere near as impressive as the Temple of the Crown in Florian, but the vaulted ceiling and the statues watching from the alcoves below me still set my nerves wobbling.
I’m about to steal Nikodi’s greatest religious treasure from right under all the gods’ noses. Or right over their noses, as the case may be.
Hopefully they’ll feel the ends justify my means.
My ghostly passenger seems to be feeling similarly apprehensive.
Julita’s presence shivers in the back of my head. This is where I had my dedication ceremony and made my sacrifice to Creaden. I never thought I’d be back here just to pillage the place.
I speak under my breath, so quietly no one other than the soul lodged in my head could possibly hear the words. “They’ll get the artifact back afterward. I’d imagine Creaden would approve of you making sure your county isn’t taken over by questionable leadership.”
Julita makes a skeptical sound, but she doesn’t argue as I creep along the narrow ledge toward the decorative shield mounted on the wall high above the floor. The aged wooden surface tells the story of its significance with its carvings.
Supposedly, many centuries ago, the neighboring country of Bryfeen tried to steal Nikodi and the other nearby counties away from Silana.
As the legend goes, the locals weren’t well-prepared enough to fight off the Bryfesh army on their own, and they were worried the royal forces wouldn’t reach them in time.
So they prayed to the godlen of leadership and justice for help.
The current countess woke from a dream of Creaden to find she had a plan for securing Nikodi’s freedom in her head—and this shield resting against her bedframe as a symbol of the godlen’s support.
She led her supporters to push back the Bryfesh soldiers and ensure the people of Nikodi got to choose who governed them.
From what Emor and Voleska told us and Julita confirmed, the people of Pima still avidly celebrate that long-ago triumph.
They have a festival in honor of the countess every year, and people who feel oppressed by their circumstances come to the temple to pray both to the statue of Creaden and beneath the shield.
As a symbol to convince the citizens that they should resist the Order of the Wild’s mutinous rule rather than bowing to them, you couldn’t ask for much better. But it’s a shame the artifact might end up damaged in the process.
The ledge takes me to just beneath the shield. Ever so carefully, I slide my fingers beneath the wooden surface and detach it from the hooks that hold it in place.
Thankfully, the leather arm strap must be periodically replaced or kept in good condition through magic. I slip it over my arm almost to my shoulder without any fear that it’ll crumble.
Julita lets out a nervous giggle.
Keeping my own mouth clamped tight, I brace the shield against my back and slink along the railing to the main entrance. Then I pull out the canvas sack I brought and wrap it around the shield to hide my cargo.
With a deft leap, I land on the stone floor near the entrance with only a soft thud. I hurry out into the city without waiting to see if anyone will come to investigate the sound.
Creaden forgive us, Julita murmurs. I have the vague impression of her making the gesture of the divinities, as well as she can in her current state.
It’s dark enough that I don’t need to use my magic to conceal myself. Which I’m grateful for, since I’ll need it later this morning. Sulla’s warnings linger in the back of my mind.
I haven’t felt any negative effects from the ways I’ve worked my power since leaving the Haven, but my attempts have been fairly minor. I’d like to keep it that way.
I dart through the streets to the café where I’m supposed to meet the others. The storefront is shuttered, but the door around back opens at my tug.
A small crowd is waiting for me in the room beyond. Stavros insisted on joining Casimir, Rheave, and me for this undertaking, since we’re expecting to do at least a little fighting. I can’t help being glad that Alek is off on his research trip so he won’t be caught up in the violence too.
Near my men, Emor and Voleska stand in a cluster with a few of their associates. They turn to face me with eager expressions.
“You got it?” Voleska asks as she takes in the sack, her tone hushed.
I suspect the shield is pretty meaningful to her too, even if she’s willing to use it for this gambit. When I nudge down the canvas fabric to reveal part of the wooden surface, she, Emor, and their companions go still with awe.
I nudge it toward them. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before the temple staff notice it’s missing.”
Emor hums dismissively, his attention still fixed on the shield with a reverent air. “To avoid creating a panic, they’ll keep the disappearance quiet for at least the first few hours while they search. By then, we’ll have already shown everyone why they should be panicking.”
Finally, he tears his gaze away to consider me and my men. “We’ll set up in the square at the ninth bell. Everyone’s clear on what they’re meant to be doing?”
We all nod. As far as the local rebels know, I have a gift for moving things with my mind, which covers both of the purposes they want from me. Once the expected chaos starts, the three men will join in, working on cutting down the scourge sorcerers’ support.
If we can turn the tide here, maybe word will spread and more of the province’s people will reject the Order of the Wild’s claims.
Voleska pauses to peer at Rheave. “You’ll help us identify these… daimon in conjured bodies? We don’t want to hurt anyone who was simply duped by the traitors.”
Her group took the news about what Rheave actually is—and how many others like him the scourge sorcerers are manipulating—with a certain amount of skepticism. But this is the perfect chance for us to free some of those captured daimon.
“I know them as soon as I see them,” he assures her, and pats the quiver on his back. “I’ll only shoot the captured daimon. I can guide the arrows well with the power I have. If my effort doesn’t break their body, the arrows will show you which ones you should go after.”
Emor raises his eyebrows. “What if you run out of arrows?”
It appears Rheave has already considered that possibility, because he answers without hesitation. “I’ll send my power on its own. I don’t want to burn anything too badly when there’ll be a lot of people around, but I can char their hair as a signal.”
He sets his fingers against the wall with a spurt of crackling energy. When he lifts his hand, a small scorch mark remains.
The rebels stare at it for a moment, Emor’s shoulders stiffening. This is the first time they’ve seen his daimon powers in action.
“It’s a good thing we have Rheave on our side,” I remind them. “Otherwise we’d have no idea who the Order conjured out of clay.”
Emor gives a rough laugh. “True, true. Well, we’d better wrangle some breakfast before we wage our little war.” He tugs one of his companion’s sleeves. “Come on, you can help me whip up some of my famous scrambled eggs.”
Most of the rebels duck into the next room, which I guess is the café’s kitchen. Voleska remains, crouching down to study the shield where she’s propped it against the wall.
I move to the window, peering out into the faint dawn glow that’s just touching the streets. Casimir starts helping Stavros with the false hand he’s made to help him blend in—a leather glove partly stuffed to fill out the fingers, that they’re hoping to fit over his metal prosthetic in disguise.
Rheave ambles over to join me. He gazes out into the back alley for a few moments before saying, “I wish we could give them the choice.”
I glance over at him. “Who?”
“The other daimon. I’m sure some of them simply want to be free. That’s all I wanted at first. But they’re not getting the chance to really own these bodies if they’d like to experience this kind of life for a while.”
My stomach twists. I hadn’t thought of the situation like that. “If there was a way we could simply snap them out of the scourge sorcerers’ control…”
Rheave aims a quiet smile at me that suddenly makes him look much older than his youthful looks suggest. “But there isn’t.
I know. And it’s better for them to be free in their usual state than forced to do horrible things for the sorcerers.
Once we’ve defeated the Order of the Wild, though, we should let the ones who are left decide what they’d prefer. ”
“Of course.”
He lapses into an unusually pensive silence before turning his gaze more intently toward me. “You’re sure this is a good plan, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.” I furrow my brow. “Why—do you think it isn’t?”
The daimon-man shakes his head. “I don’t know either way.
It’s only that… I realize that in the long time I was in this world before, I wasn’t interacting with humans the same way I do now.
I didn’t fully understand what I saw happening between them.
But there was an atmosphere around them sometimes…
When they become angry, it’s difficult to predict how they’ll act.
And anger seems to keep going and going until someone stops it. ”
Hmm, Julita says. That’s rather wise from a being who’s only been semi-human for a few weeks.
It is. I can’t deny that he has a point.
Sometimes I forget that as young as Rheave can seem with his inexperience in the physical world, he really is much older than the rest of us. By human standards, I’d imagine his spirit self is nothing short of ancient.
“That’s true,” I say. “But sometimes you need to stir up that anger if you want to shake people out of complacency or fear. The important part is directing it at the right targets.”
“People aren’t that easy to direct when they’re upset, are they?”
I grimace. “No. We’ll do our best. We have to do something, and this seems like our best shot at making a significant difference quickly.”
Rheave offers me a wider smile, with a gleam of affection in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat. “Humans are always doing something. All that sense of purpose used to confuse me. Things didn’t matter the same way to me before.”
He hesitates and then pats my shoulder. “But now that I understand, I like it.”
Something about his vocal appreciation makes my pulse wobble more—and a glow of hope light in my chest.
Yes, human beings are pretty amazing. They can create all kinds of horrors, but they can also fight with so much conviction to see those horrors overturned.
I don’t ever want to forget that.
Emor’s voice carries from the kitchen, calling us to breakfast. We eat standing along the counters, anticipation thrumming through the air. I barely taste the eggs, as good as I’m sure they are.
Casimir rubs my arm, pitching his voice so it’s just for me. “Are you okay with everything you committed to?”
I let myself lean into his warmth briefly. “Yes. I really am getting a handle on things. It’s… it’s good to be able to help without constantly worrying about doing damage at the same time.”
I glance down at the short sword he’s wearing on his belt and then over at Stavros, who’s drawn closer. “Are you two ready? It could be a mess.”
Stavros smiles grimly. “All the better for us to get in there and thin the scourge sorcerers’ numbers without being obvious about it. It’s about time they realized they can’t conquer Silana so easily.”
Casimir touches the hilt of his sword. “I may not be anywhere near as experienced in combat as our general is, but I’ll put what skills I do have to good use.”
It makes my heart ache to think of this sweet man spilling blood for the cause, but I know there’s no point in protesting. The scourge sorcerers set the tone with all the violence they’ve already carried out.
We all have to give this attempt everything we have. If it goes well, most of the beings we cut down won’t die, only fly free of the bodies that caged them.
If it doesn’t… I can’t afford to worry about that right now.