Chapter Nine
Nine
I found the village today, deep in the woods, over a week’s journey north of Ignarin.
It could barely be called a village. A settlement really, likely no more than a season or two old.
I saw no one, but the hearths were still warm, so they weren’t far.
I waited for hours before leaving. I have marked my map.
In another season, I will return, and bring the Goddess’s love once more.
—from the diary of the Cleric Caroso
OUR TRAVELS ARE, IN a word, quiet.
I don’t bother trying with small talk, content to take in the sights that unfold with a pleasant newness.
A bubbling stream, a large rock, a pasture of grazing cows…
mundane as they are, they are not the gray walls of the Cloister or the oppressive loom of the Cathedral.
I am not choked by the thick perfumes of the devoted or the sweaty reek of a hard day’s training.
I am not watched. I am not constantly measured.
I breathe easier, in a way I must have known at some point but can’t recall when I last experienced.
The thoroughfares we follow wind themselves through the Devoted Lands.
At each crossroads, cut stones point the way: to Aerdis, to the north and west, where the Bellators gather and train their legions; east to Siscia, the city governed by the Clerics of the Blood; to the smaller towns and villages that fill in the gaps between the Ordained Cities.
And always, always, back to Lumeris, beating heart of the Goddess’s empire.
I note each option with a twinge of curiosity.
I know these names like I know my own, but only as spots of ink on a map.
Now, they take on a fuller existence, as tangible as the other travelers we pass along the road, who smile warmly as they call out “May the Flame warm you.” It’s a refreshing change from the cautious, isolating reverence of the Cloister attendants and citizens of Lumeris.
I return the greetings, as does Nolan, albeit with far less enthusiasm.
The sun is high in the sky when we round a bend of road to find a small wagon leaning precariously to one side.
It stands out from the surrounding forest like an exotic bird that’s gotten lost; swaths of bright colors streak the exterior beneath a shockingly purple roof.
Squatting by its back end is an older, bony man in a threadbare coat, leaning fruitlessly on a metal bar wedged beneath the wagon’s body.
Quickly, I see why: The spokes of the back wheel have splintered. A replacement sits nearby.
He looks up as we approach, cheeks flushed with exertion, smiling broadly and hopefully.
I pull Mortimer to a stop. “Do you need some help?”
Nolan stops as well, though I can tell by his bearing that he’d prefer to keep moving, as the man clasps his hands together, wringing them dramatically.
“May the Flame warm you and more. The Goddess has answered my prayer!” He spins, gesturing at the mule hitched to the wagon.
“Lulu and I were beginning to think we’d be stuck here all night.
The ruts in these roads! They get worse every year.
Can’t go anywhere without half a wagon’s worth of extra parts, I swear to the Goddess! ”
I dismount. Up close, the colors painting the wagon are even more vivid, the abstract designs nothing like the ornate but solemn stylings I’m used to. “I love your wagon; did you do the painting yourself? It’s so…” I search for the right word. “Alive.”
“Oh,” chuckles the man. “An offer of help and a kind lie. Too generous, my dear, but I’m certain you’ve seen a hundred other tinker’s carts with a finer presentation than this humble pile of sticks.”
Except I haven’t. I smile, as if caught in a polite mistruth. If such wagons were allowed in Lumeris, it certainly wasn’t anywhere close enough to the Cathedral complex for me to be familiar with them.
“But while my adornment may be lacking, my selection of goods is unparalleled in the Devoted Lands.” He goes to the side of the wagon and throws open a hinged panel, revealing shelves packed full with all manner of goods.
“Anything you need. Soap. Reveries. New saddle straps. Tools of both iron and steel. Authentic embroidered fabrics from the Riverlands. I even have a sauce made from peppers carried across the Unlit Seas.” He leans in and drops his voice.
“They say the only thing hotter is the divine flame itself.”
“We don’t need anything.” Nolan cuts in before I have a chance to inquire more about the gourmet delicacy. His tone is curt, but he’s dismounted as well, giving me a Let’s get this over with glare as the tinker closes up his wagon again. “Lys, help me lift the wagon.”
I obey, taking the end of the metal bar. We lean into it, the wagon bed creaking as it rises. Either one of us could have done this easily on our own. But the tinker doesn’t seem to notice our lack of effort as he removes the broken wheel and replaces it with a practiced efficiency.
“There!” He straightens again and grins. “Only one thing eases life’s trials as much as wealth, and that is the vitality of youth.”
“May the Flame warm you and the Goddess’s favor keep you safe,” Nolan says flatly, returning to the horses. “Lys. We need to keep moving.”
“Please. You must let me reward you for your kindness.”
Nolan scowls. “That’s not—”
“A new whetstone for your blades,” continues the tinker, going up the small set of stairs on the back of the wagon and ducking through the door there.
“Or here, one of my regular customers is a baker, a far too generous one.” He reappears and presses a loaf wrapped in sackcloth into my hands.
It’s still warm. “Baked fresh this morning. Half of what she gives me ends up going stale. Better to share it around than let it go to waste.”
“Really,” Nolan says, “there’s no need to—”
“Thank you,” I cut in, accepting the bread. Though, if I were to be honest, I’m more interested in the sauce he mentioned. “Fresh bread certainly won’t go amiss—”
“Quiet!” Nolan’s head snaps toward the road ahead of us.
I hear it an instant later: a low rumble, and the jingle of tack. Horses, a number that can mean only one thing. A regiment of soldiers clears the bend ahead, coming straight toward us. Three riders lead the pack; upon spotting us, one urges their horse faster.
“Clear the road!” The man is lightly armored, but their Flame insignia is clear. “Make way for the Goddess’s Chosen!”
Nolan has already backed away to the tree line, but the tinker isn’t so fast, stumbling as he rushes to close the wagon door and get to the driver’s seat.
He doesn’t move swiftly enough, and the rider draws a long leather wand.
Penitent’s crops, they are called, used primarily in disciplining their namesakes—mainly petty criminals and other minor offenders of the Goddess’s grace.
I’m moving before I realize it, arm raised as I put myself between the tinker and the soldier.
A sharp line of pain lights up across my forearm, though my jacket offers enough protection to prevent bloodshed.
Anger flares in the rider’s eyes, but I speak first. “Hey! There’s no need for that. His wagon was just barely fixed; he’ll move it aside if you let him.”
Again, the crop rises, but by now the rest of the legion has drawn close.
Including its leader, who draws their muscled black stallion to a halt.
And though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t resist: My gaze finds the Bellator’s.
There’s only faint relief when I find the face unfamiliar, a woman of around Petronilla’s age, nearly as pale as Nolan, with dull brown hair.
Her blue eyes are icy as she takes in our gathering, betraying no emotion.
I do not know her. But I know this moment.
“Is there a problem?” The words are simple, disinterested, but heavy in a way that seems to press on my already tight chest.
“No.” Her lieutenant’s arm drops, but it’s clear he’s not done with me yet. “I can take care of it.”
“You can try.” The words are out before I can stop them. Stupid, a tiny voice says within. But it’s a whisper against the rush of blood filling my ears.
The Bellator stares down at me. Now and in another time.
Crack.
The lieutenant raises the crop again.
“Please, wait!” Nolan jumps forward, hand held out pleadingly. “My friend chooses her words poorly, but we’re only trying to assist one of our fellow devoted.”
Friend. It sounds so sincere woven into the humble appeal.
“A thousand apologies.” The tinker echoes the tone.
“Bad luck hobbled my wagon but the Goddess’s favor brought two fine citizens to help me.
It is only for that reason that I would ever delay one of their children, even for a heartbeat.
” Without waiting for permission, he climbs back into the driver’s seat and directs the wagon off to the side of the road as quickly as the mule will move.
Beside me, Nolan’s eyes are lowered respectively again, face carefully neutral.
I bow my head. “Like he said, a thousand apologies.”
“Remorse after insolence,” the lieutenant scoffs. “At your word, Bellator, I will see she is genuinely sorry.”
I swallow a snicker. No one’s managed that yet. But as the seconds tick by, I have to admit I could have handled this better. The Bellator would be well within her power to punish me. Which wouldn’t exactly help our mission.
But she only sighs impatiently. “We’ve been delayed in reaching Lumeris enough. Get out of the way, girl. And if you are making your way to Aerdis, understand this first: Sharp blades are a boon, a sharp tongue less so.”