Chapter Eleven #2
Nolan grunts in agreement. “Thank the Goddess for small miracles. Magda, we are going to ask you questions. You are going to answer them. Do you understand this?”
Two bright eyes peer up at us, and though that look is guarded, there’s a sheen of defiance. A minute ago, I would have called this woman broken. Now, I’m not so sure.
“I answered all of his questions,” she croaks. “Please, I told him everything I know.”
“Then tell me too,” says Nolan. “You were an associate of Emmaus, who willingly allowed himself to be captured in order to poison hundreds of the Goddess’s devotees on the day of his execution.
” The lie flows so smoothly from him that I almost forget that it is, in fact, a lie.
But what does Magda know? Was she even aware that Emmaus’s capture was planned, and not plain misfortune?
Or that Nolan’s mentioning of the “poisoning” is pure horseshit?
Her swollen features betray nothing. “Emmaus,” Nolan continues, “who tried—and failed—to assassinate the Goddess.” Magda shows surprise at that.
I’m a little shocked at Nolan’s bluntness myself.
“Did you know about that part of the plan, Magda?”
His voice is gentle, but as Magda processes what he’s said, she trembles. “When the last deity falls, when the Butcher Goddess is gone…” Words trickle from between her lips, thin as tissue. “They will all be remade into flesh once more.”
Pure heresy. Those words alone would have earned her execution. Not that it matters now. She’s already condemned, so what’s a little more blasphemy? But her belief in those words is powerful, an undying whisper among the heretics. The prize that awaits them, if they simply keep the faith.
It’s also, according to every scholar who serves Tempestra-Innara, utter tripe.
The dead gods are dead. And while I don’t exactly trust them to offer up a truth that doesn’t serve the Goddess, in this particular case, I agree.
If any of the gods were able to come back from the “dead,” they surely would have done so by now.
Magda remains quiet for a few more moments. Then she shifts, shivering with the pain of that movement. “I didn’t know they were trying to kill the Goddess. Had no idea they could even…” She stops herself. “I didn’t know anything at all. I told the Arbiters, I was a waystation, that was all.”
“So, what?” Nolan presses. “Someone shows up at your door, you feed them dinner and make their bed up, and that’s it, no questions asked?”
“Yes,” says Magda, but bitterly. “Emmaus was hiding; he knew he was being tracked. He was supposed to have moved on. But the Executrix, she… she arrived sooner than expected.” Her voice drops even quieter. “Please, I am no one. Only the waystation, nothing more.”
She’s telling the truth. She didn’t know Emmaus had the means for an assassination. She’s no one important, at least not when it comes to any heretic conspiracy.
But she’s also lying. It’s there, hidden behind those truths, doing its best not to be spotted. Maybe Caius didn’t see it, or maybe he simply didn’t care and eventually grew bored of trying to pull the information out of her, but she is certainly, most definitely, holding something back.
“This is pointless.” I push Nolan aside. “She’s not going to tell us anything useful like this.”
I reach for the door. It’s metal, but old, corroded by centuries of damp and rust. One good yank from me and the lock snaps, the door swinging inward into the cell. Magda lets out a wretched squeak as I enter, shrinking back into her rags.
I stop a few paces away and sink to the floor. It’s dirty with the sort of filth I don’t want to think too hard about, but I do it anyway, crossing my legs and resting my hands on my knees. Magda blinks at me.
“This is better, huh?”
Her confused gaze moves from me to the open door, and then to Nolan before coming back to me.
“You can’t run,” I say. “You know that. We’d catch you before you finished deciding to make a break for it.
So please don’t try. You’ve clearly been through enough pain already.
” Her puzzlement remains, but she knows I’m right.
“There’s something you aren’t telling us.
Something I think can help us find out more about what Emmaus did.
I get you don’t want to betray your associates, but you are here, and they are not.
And even if you don’t help us, they will be found eventually.
Right now, me and Nolan here are a surgeon’s knife.
We can make a few quick, clean cuts to deal with the problem.
But if that doesn’t happen, I can guarantee you the Goddess will send more, larger knives, and swords, and cannons.
Which will mean a lot of innocent people caught in the crossfire.
We’d rather that not happen—not to the devoted, nor to heretics. ”
I know my words have an effect because her expression hardens slightly behind her greasy strands of hair. “Don’t pretend to care about anyone you consider a heretic. To you, we are rats to be exterminated.”
Torture hasn’t fully smothered the fire in her, that’s for certain.
Caius is clearly more enthusiastic about it than competent.
“That’s not true. I… I was a heretic too, once.
My people gave tribute to the Storm Goddess.
Prayed to them. I’ve seen the Endless Storm.
” I sense the slightest tensing from Nolan at this tidbit, there and gone.
“I didn’t worship Tempestra-Innara. And still, they chose me, blessed me with their divinity.
The Goddess can, and does, forgive all.” I can lie too, when I need to.
“No.” Magda’s eyes go terrifyingly distant. “No, there is no forgiveness. He judged me, saw the truth inside… I won’t… can’t…” Her words flake apart like ash.
I turn to Nolan, unsure of the next tactic. There’s something strange in his face, something I can’t quite read. He enters the cell and reaches for Magda. She comes alive again, a cry of horror catching in her throat, but he merely lays a hand on her shoulder.
“An Arbiter’s judgement is a harsh thing,” Nolan says, “but it is not nearly as bad as the divine flame.” He removes his hand. “I can tell you this with absolute truth, Magda—your execution will be a hundred times worse than anything you’ve experienced so far. Do you understand that?”
Instead of answering, Magda looks to me.
I’m not sure where Nolan is going with this, but I nod, having seen more executions than I care to remember.
“A thousand times. The flame purifies.” I can tell the truth too.
“And as it does that, it’s going to feel like you are being spit roasted while having your skin flayed as a bunch of angry rats chew their way out of you.
What I’m saying is that it’s going to hurt… a lot.”
Nolan kneels down beside me so that he is at the same level as Magda. “You don’t have to die like that. Whatever you owe the people you call friends, it is not the horrible fate that is waiting for you.”
Magda begins to tremble again, her veneer of strength cracking. As amazingly resilient as the human body and mind can be in the face of death, everyone has their limits. And Magda is nearing hers.
“What do you…” Her voice breaks. “I don’t understand…”
“Mercy.” Nolan offers the word like a gift.
“Whatever you may think or believe, Tempestra-Innara is merciful. And right now, we speak for the Goddess. Accept their offer of leniency: Tell us what we want to know, and your final judgement can happen here, and now. No more waiting. No crowd cheering for your death. No pain.” There’s an ache in his voice. “I promise.”
I hold still as stone as both Magda and I realize what he’s offering, something I should have caught on to ages ago. Once Nolan mentioned the assassination attempt, there was no chance we’d be leaving her alive.
Her eyes flicker between us—confused, frantic. “I… I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” Nolan reaches for his reverie, as if swearing on it.
“But do not deceive me. I’ll know it if you do.
This offer only works if we both tell the truth.
” His features are soft, glazed with a sort of tired truth.
His offer is both terrible and kind, and a testament to the lengths he’s willing to go in order to serve the Goddess.
Magda considers for a long time, the faint beat of her heart pounding at the cage of her ribs.
She is a heretic, one who believes the fallen gods still persist somewhere, kept at a distance by Tempestra-Innara’s existence, and though she’s still subject to the Goddess’s judgement in this world, does she believe she’ll face some others’ in the next?
One way or another, she is going to die.
Finally, her head drops. She takes a deep, rattling breath, one that probably feels as bad as it sounds.
“I don’t know much. I didn’t lie about being no one; all I did was like you said: hide someone, feed them…
that’s all. But sometimes, they’d talk. Or sometimes, someone else would arrive, never for more than a few hours.
I always left them alone when that happened, but the walls of my home were thin.
Sometimes… sometimes they’d talk about a meeting place, where some of our network can always be found if they are needed. ”
“Where?” prompts Nolan.
“They never called it by name,” Magda says. “Only by vague titles—‘where the Butcher Goddess fears to tread,’ ‘where the stones still weep.’ But once, one of them slipped, saying ‘the place where the trees weep’ instead of ‘stones.’ That was when I knew where it was.”
The place where the Goddess fears to tread. Where the trees weep…
“Novena.” I figure it out as she says the name, barely louder than a whisper. Suddenly, Magda’s attention is only for me. “You said you’ve seen the storm.”
Yes, I’ve seen the Endless Storm. I’ve seen a sepulchrae—the spot where a god died, where the remnants of their divine power still remain.
Novena is another, where Tempestra-Enoch waged battle against their last living sibling—Arcadius-Viktori, the Green God.
The city where that god once kept their temple and gardens.
“Novena,” Magda says again. “That’s all I know, I swear to the fallen gods.”
Nolan remains silent, then nods. “Thank you.”
He moves forward, taking her in his arms. She goes willingly, her body ceasing its shaking as his embrace tightens around her. For a moment, they seem like family, or even lovers, comforting each other. Then Nolan’s hands move up to cradle Magda’s head.
“May the lost gods forgive me,” she whispers, closing her eyes.
Nolan’s movement is quick, decisive. I hear a snap.
“There is no god but Tempestra-Innara,” he whispers, a calm expression on his face.
But Magda is already beyond those words, body slumping into him like a sleeping child.