We married in a simple ceremony held in St Baimio’s Cathedral the very next day. My new husband spent the time in between confined to the Liberigo residence, and after our exchange of vows he was sent on to a monastery amidst the mountains of the interior.
His father said it would be best for all of us, especially me, if Pedro’s selfishness was broken in such a place. He assured me that his son would return a new man.
In truth, I feared what might come of it. Would the monks catch the scent of ritual magic? A commoner would be burnt alive for such heresy, but the son of the Lord of Ossard?
Could I be fated to be a widow before I became a mother?
There had been a time, albeit for only half an evening, when I’d been infatuated with him and hostage to all his charms. It seemed an age ago. Since then I’d changed, becoming something other than the childish girl who believed in lotus-fuelled dreams. Now I stood determined to control my future. Never again would I submit to him, but to ensure that I needed to awaken and master my own power.
Throughout the term of my pregnancy, I sought more knowledge of the arcane. My mother was horrified at my interest. She begged me to abandon my search for answers. When I asked why, she’d just whisper the name of the Inquisition. At such moments I saw something in her eyes, something terrible.
I asked, “Grandmother?”
Tears came, running fast to flood down her cheeks. “Oh Juvela, they came for her. They took her away and burnt her at the stake!”
I was stunned.
The little they’d previously said about her death had led me to believe she’d died in the chaos of the riots, not in the mass burning that had triggered them.
And all the while a new life grew within me.
I prayed for goodly souls for my new family, for all three of us, but not to the Heletians’Krienta.
I followed Schoperde, the god of life. She’d given life to all of us, and the world about us; that included her divine children, Krienta and so many others. She was one of the two original powers of the universe, and partnered to the other, her husband, Death. Together they’d made all that followed.
Schoperde’s faith arrived in Ossard with the Flet refugees. While my people found themselves grudgingly accepted in the city-state, their gods were not. Officially they converted to the Church of Baimiopia, but their beliefs survived in secret.
At the time, after having fled the bloody events of Def Turtung, enduring a harrowing sea-crossing, to only then be faced with the zealous Inquisition, the exhausted refugees of two hundred years ago had found the decision easy to make. Still, deep down, we Flets longed to practise our faiths openly.
Ironically, my faith stood as forbidden as whatever dark religion stained Pedro’s soul. His spirituality was about death and power, while mine was about love and life. They couldn’t have been more different, but not in the eyes of the Church.
The thought always brought a bitter smile: Pedro and I had more in common than we realised.
I never received any report on Pedro’s progress. It left me wondering if his heresy had been discovered and fiery redemption granted, yet no word came.
My feelings for him were confused. At the same moment I felt repulsion and hope, anger and anguish, but certainly no love. To make this work I needed to be strong, but also to soothe my bitterness. We had to coexist and build a life tolerable for each other and our coming babe. Together.
Regardless of that understanding, even lukewarm feelings for my new husband struggled to find vigour.
In the meantime, the marriage had restored some of my dignity, was profiting Father’s business, and had legitimised my coming child. I told myself that that was enough, but in the dark of night, I wondered if the best outcome was for Pedro simply never to return.
The passing months became seasons, and so my belly swelled. I thought of Pedro often, him carrying his own burden as he no doubt suffered through demanding religious training and trials. Sometimes I worried that he’d return charged with the zeal of a missionary.
He didn’t.
Even ice holds more fire than what came back.
He arrived a few days before the birth, at a time when I was plump and rosy. He stood with slumped shoulders, ragged hair, sunken eyes, and pale sagging skin that let his bones show through. He’d lost a lot of weight, but a good deal more spirit. It was as though Death had taken him for a lover, and when done, spurned him.
His father was appalled.
Pedro would say little in general and even less to me. He was empty and broken. The playboy was dead.
I’d wed a phantom.
The birth came when expected, was thankfully easy, and almost beautiful in its own way. I think that deep down I’d feared that I’d bear some kind of cult-spawned devil, instead I delivered a little girl, an angel with a thick crop of red hair.
I wondered about that, thinking of the Flet boy who’d died at her conception. Any worries about her true nature faded after they gave her to me to hold. She was amazing, both cute and so very helpless. I knew then that nothing diabolical could hide in such a fragile shell. She was beautiful.
Pedro had been aloof prior to the birth, but the change was stark.
The maid and midwife wiped her over and checked her. They cleaned me, and then brought up the covers, while giving me a damp towel to refresh myself with. They were quick at it, getting us ready to receive my husband, parents, and in-laws. The midwife took the babe, wrapped her in fresh linen, and then sent the maid to fetch them.
I looked to the open doorway, apprehensive. How would he react to his daughter, to the very thing that had imprisoned him? I tensed, trying to lean forward and get the midwife’s attention; perhaps she should just let him see our babe, but not hold her.
He stepped through the doorway, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, ready to receive the ultimate reminder of his shame. Not a trace of interest or care marked his sallow face, he just wanted this over, not just the day, or the matter of his daughter’s birth, but I think his entire existence.
He stumbled forward, pushed by two sets of grandparents trying but failing to hold themselves in reserve. Three more steps brought him to the midwife.
I opened my mouth to warn her, yet my voice faltered.
She offered him our babe.
I tensed, reaching out a hand.
He finally looked up.
Her eyes remained closed, but her mouth occasionally opened. She didn’t make a sound.
His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, but he didn’t move to take her.
The midwife held her out to him afresh.
He raised his hands, his shoulders squaring.
The midwife asked, “My Lord and Lady, what will you call her?”
We hadn’t even spoken of it.
My father looked over Pedro’s shoulder. “She’s beautiful.”
The baby then yawned, leaning a little back as she opened her mouth. Her arms appeared, rising out of the linen wrap.
My mother giggled. “She’s gorgeous!”
And Pedro smiled.
Lord and Lady Liberigo crowded past my father to also look upon their grandchild. My father-in-law said, “Beautiful indeed, and red hair – that’s not quite a Heletian trait!”
His wife laughed.
I found my voice, “Perhaps she needs a good Heletian name?”
Pedro looked to me. “Yes?”
I smiled, trying to offer something of a peace between us. “How about Maria?”
His mother smiled. “A good name, your late grandmother’s name.”
My mother added, “And the middle name of your grandmother, Juvela.”
Pedro straightened his back, raised his head, and grinned as he drew his daughter to his chest. “She is beautiful.” He chuckled and then looked to me. “Our little Maria.”
I nodded as both sets of grandparents gave a cheer.
He said, “It’s a good name for such a beautiful little girl.” And with each word his voice grew stronger, finding some of its old depth.
He stood there stroking her, marvelling at what had been made. I saw love in his eyes. My own heart softened at the sight.
He had changed.
In time Pedro and I built a better relationship.
I think he came to respect me; my strength and determination, but there was certainly no love. Maria had bonded us together. Sometimes I wondered if he loved her more than I did – and that would have been a marvel!
In her first season of life, she lost her red hair to have it replaced with something closer to Pedro’s dark locks, and that better matched her olive skin. From me she carried a Flet’s blue eyes and a petite nose. A child of two cultures, a bridge, she bound us together.
My parents forgot their shame, and their household thrived with its close association to Lord Liberigo as did the family business. In so many ways I’d achieved everything I should have. All that was missing was love and its peace.
I came to trust Pedro with Maria, anyone watching them could see the love there. He and I were another matter. Sometimes we sat and talked a little, managing to be company for each other, but more often we didn’t. I could never forget his part in the boy’s murder and the way he’d treated me, but I realised that I could live with it.
As the years passed, he began to talk about his experiences at the monastery, something he shared with me bit by bit. I pitied him when he told me of the season he’d spent enduring confinement in a cramped cell, it damp, dark, and cold, and with the barest of rations. That imprisonment had ended when he finally accepted and confessed his sins.
When he talked of these things he looked to me for understanding. Never did he mention the cults, and I still couldn’t get the words out of my ensorcelled mouth to ask, but I knew he stood ashamed. I think that’s why he wanted to tell me of his bleak time in the monastery. He wanted to show me that he’d not only been punished, but that he’d accepted that he deserved to be.
He truly was a different man.
To see him remorseful gave me hope; maybe I could share my life with my husband and perhaps even come to enjoy it. But such remorse came couched with what had delivered it, the dogma of the Church.
We lived in a grand old house in Newbank not far from my parents. Pedro began working for my father, acting as a liaison between his own father’s contacts and my father’s business.
My own time was lost in setting up our household and tending Maria. I often visited my mother. We saw less and less of Pedro’s family as they realised how much of a shadow he’d become; a man with no spirit.
All the while the kidnappings continued to not only plague the city, but worsen, yet my own magic lay stubbornly idle.
Four years after our marriage day, I took Maria to see an Evoran herbalist down near the docks. She suffered from a regular chill, something that came on seasonally, and that I’d come to think might be brought on by the flowering shrubs that covered the surrounding valleyside.
I took our coach and driver, Kurt, and Maria’s bodyguard, Sef, who’d joined our own household. Ossard’s children were still being stolen, the problem now so bad that it even plagued the Heletian districts.
The thefts occurred in groups twice each season. In each group five children would be stolen, all on the same day between sunrise and sunset. Lord Liberigo had tripled street patrols and called up the militia, yet the diabolical crimes persisted.
On the day of the kidnappings, the Cathedral bells would toll out the number of children missing with each newly discovered crime. The macabre practice meant that the people of the city knew on the fifth ring that the danger was over – until next time.
Despite the patrols, and the offering of a generous reward, none of the children were ever found. Rumours circulated the restless city, some blaming the Evoran slave trade, others the Lae Velsanans, or witches, and on occasion even the forbidden cults of the Horned God.
On this day, such a day of misfortune, the Cathedral bells had already rung out four times. It meant that Maria never left my sight, and that we were always accompanied.
The visit to the old Evoran’s shop had been successful. The dark owner had sold me some herbs to stew and give to Maria as a watered broth. As I left the store, I asked Kurt to take us home via the waterfront only streets away. It had been a long time since I’d escaped the confines of Newbank, and I was eager for some of the city’s other sights.
The coach rumbled down the cobbled street and soon rounded a bend to reach the port. On one side stood tightly packed warehouses, stevedoring businesses, and a few rough taverns, on the other the wharves busy with a maze of moored ships and labourers.
A spectacular ship lay moored alongside one of the main piers. Its three masts stood tall, sloping gently backwards, and all cut of silver timber that caught the sun. The graceful lines of the ship meant it could have come from only one place – Lae Wair-Rae.
Lae Velsanans!
My Flet blood cried out at their presence, a chill reminding me of the dark history our two peoples shared. Despite it all I was curious, curious to see a Lae Velsanan first hand, and to have a closer look at their sleek ship.
In the cab of our coach, I leaned across to slide open the port and called to Kurt, “Take us towards that great ship and draw us near. I want to have a closer look.” Sef was sitting opposite Maria and myself, he shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t protest.
Kurt brought us closer before coming to a stop.
The crew hurried about the deck of their great ship and also up a gangplank linking it to the wharf. The uniformed Lae Velsanans carried aboard crates and sacks of supplies. To my surprise, it seemed to be a military ship and not a merchant vessel.
Feeling relatively safe and with my curiosity only starting to stir, I said, “I’m going to get out and have a look.”
Sef helped me dismount, and then lifted little Maria down to put her on the cobbles beside me. She looked about with big blue eyes, setting her long curls to bounce.
I said, “We’re going to look at the ship, Maria.”
“Why, Mama?”
“Because I haven’t seen one so big before. Come along now.”
Kurt stayed with the coach while we walked forward.
I held Maria’s hand tightly as if some part of me expected the Lae Velsanans to turn from their duties and charge. Despite their apparent ignorance of our approach, I just couldn’t forget that these exotic foreigners had tried to destroy my people.
We stopped half a ship-length from the gangplank.
Intricate rigging webbed over the magnificent vessel, all of it artfully reinforcing the ship’s picturesque lines and curves. It may have been built for war, but I felt it could also manage a great speed out on open water. Festooned with brightly coloured flags and tattooed with intricate carvings, it was as much a ship of art as of war. It was amazing.
Behind us, I could hear the banter of a more refined tongue than that of fast-flowing Heletian or rugged and blunt Fletlander. I turned to see three uniformed Lae Velsanans walking towards their ship. They looked to be officers with bands of copper at their shoulders, it clamped over leather armour and sea-green tunics. Nervous, I watched them as they passed.
They all stood lean and tall, taller than men, or the common or middlings that they called us, and moved with powerful grace. One of them even smiled at me.
My nerves faded.
We watched them board their beautiful ship while the air sang full of their noble tongue. I wondered at my fear; they seemed so civilised. Finally, I said to Sef, “It’s fantastic.”
He nodded, but it was a stranger’s voice that answered, “Thank you.”
We both turned to see a silver-banded Lae Velsanan. His sea-green uniform, light armour, and helmet spoke of his heritage, but his strong face, blonde hair, and blue eyes, startlingly, were those of a Flet. Unlike the others, he stood thickly muscled with a broad chest, and barely reached my own height. He seemed at ease, but still radiated quite a presence.
He reached up with one of his muscular arms and removed his helmet to reveal the small pointed tips of his ears. In a moment, the resemblance to a Fletman was gone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He spoke in Quorin, Dormetia’s common language.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your approach,” I answered.
“I was just heading back to my ship when I heard your kind words.”
I smiled, he seemed friendly enough.
He continued, “We’ve just resupplied and are about to leave.”
And then, from across the city, we heard the Cathedral’s bells toll.
Dong…
The deep ring rolled out, seeing everybody stop and wait.
Dong…
And so we counted.
Dong…
Maria looked up to me. I bent down and picked her up.
Dong…
The Lae Velsanan officer watched us intently. About us, the people of the port tensed.
And then it came.
Dong…
Sef shifted, relaxing. I could feel my own demeanour change, a great weight lifted.
Thank Schoperde, Maria would be safe!
To temper the thought, the sound of sobbing arose in the distance.
Slowly, mournfully, people went back to work.
The Lae Velsanan asked, “Excuse me, but why does the bell toll?”
For a moment, with my relief making me giddy, I had to fight to maintain my composure. “There’ve been some kidnappings.”
He nodded, looking to Maria. “We have heard as much. We were warned of this place. I can see pain in your eyes, the kidnappings have already touched you. Take comfort; those responsible are being hunted by more than your own kind.”
For the first time in seasons, I heard the voices rise within me to whisper their support.
They liked him.
His words seemed simple, but they gave me hope. It was then that I realised it’d been a long time since I’d tasted such a thing.
I had to stop myself, suddenly taken by the urge to embrace this Lae Velsanan and thank him for his soothing words. Perhaps I was no longer alone in holding some of the truth and guilt.
Perhaps there was hope.
He gave a little bow and gestured to the ship. “I must go, it has been a pleasure.”
I nodded, and even Sef wore a smile.
The officer had indicated another Lae Velsanan waiting for him on the ship’s deck, his senior.
He stood there watching us, stark and handsome like a crisp winter day. Tall and lean, with a powerful frame, and all of it topped with cropped black hair and cold eyes of grey.
Within me the voices’ whispered chorus fell from warmth to an empty silence. There was no doubt, the officer was beautiful, but it was a beauty of a chilling kind.
The strongest voice within me hissed, “Soul Eater!” And for a moment I felt overcome. I still held Maria, but pushed her towards Sef. He grabbed her, surprised but ready. I put my other hand on his shoulder to try and steady myself.
I was going to faint.
“Juvela!”
And the Lae Velsanan we’d been talking to stepped forward and reached out with strong hands.
I wanted to refuse him, to say that I was fine, but the next moment my legs buckled. I’d barely begun my fall when the officer caught me.
Maria cried out.
The Lae Velsanan said, “Careful now.”
Sef tried to comfort Maria as he said, “Please Sir, I have my hands full, could you help her to our coach.”
“Of course.”
I protested, “I’ll… I’ll be alright, I just need a moment…”
Sef said, “Lady Juvela, you’re unwell!”
The Lae Velsanan nodded. “Please, my lady, I’m used to much heavier burdens. You will be no trouble.” And with a quick nod to Sef he moved to lift me.
Kurt had seen me faint and already had the coach coming forward. In moments, I was no longer under the sun or being held by the officer, but being fussed over by Sef while my poor daughter watched. With a barely managed goodbye to my rescuer and a thank you Sef swears he gave, we were on our way.
Strangely, as we left the docks, my colour returned along with my strength. I wondered at that, but it wasn’t easy to explain. All I could say for sure was that I’d left something behind us, something at the docks – and it was hungry.
Soul Eater…
The name rang out in my mind, again whispered by the voices that seemed to be rising stronger with each visit.
Sef was staring at me. “Juvela, are you alright?”
“I…” My thoughts were confused.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“I don’t know. I mean, I feel much better, but before I felt…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Try,” he said, and there was something about the way he asked that made me realise that he thought it important.
“There was something back there…”
He interrupted, “Where?”
“Back at the docks.”
“Yes?”
“Something scared me, it made me feel weak.”
He frowned, but it wasn’t because he didn’t understand – it was because he did. It encouraged me to go on, “Well, it was not so much that it scared me, but that I could feel it threaten me. It felt like it was somehow feeding off me, stealing, sapping my strength…”
“Go on.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what to say, it sounds crazy.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, anyway, now it’s gone.”
He nodded and leaned forward, giving a sidewards glance to Maria who’d calmed and was now lost in the view of the passing street. “And where did that feeling come from, what was so hungry?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
I shook my head. “Whatever do you mean?”
“The Lae Velsanan?” he asked.
“No, he was nice! How could it be him?”
“Their ship?”
All this was only adding to my confusion. A moment ago I’d thought that I knew what I was talking about, but only for an instant. Now I was lost again. With my uncertainty came defensiveness and a guess that sprang from the anxiety that nurtured it. “The Soul Eater.”
“The what?”
I looked down at my hands, to where they sat in my lap fidgeting with the fabric of my dress. “I don’t know.” I was embarrassed.
“Juvela, who is the Soul Eater, who was feeding off all of us?”
Finally, after my confusion, another moment of clarity came: It hadn’t been the Lae Velsanan officer, but his senior, that’s what the strongest voice had hissed. I took a deep breath and said, “The ship’s captain, but I can’t say any more.” I shook my head. “I don’t know any more, I just know it was him. He was the one who drained me, though I don’t know if he meant to, or even if he knew that he did. There’s something hungry about him.”
“For souls?”
I looked to Sef, helpless. I didn’t know what I was talking about, I wasn’t even sure I was communicating my jumbled thoughts clearly.
A knock sounded. It was Kurt.
Sef opened the sliding panel at the front of the cab to talk to him. At the same time the coach slowed.
Sef asked, “What’s happening?”
“We’re at Market Square, but there seems to be some kind of problem ahead. We’ll get through, but not quickly. I just thought you should know seeing as our lady is ill.”
I spoke up, “I’m much better, thank you, so you needn’t hurry.”
“Good to hear, my lady.”
Sef said, “I’ll come out and have a look. Give me a moment.”
“Right you are.”
Sef turned back to me, his expression serious. “Are you alright, really?”
“I’m well enough, really. Have a look at what’s happening and let me know. If we’re going to be stuck in the markets for a while we might as well get out and have a look around.”
He nodded, smiled to Maria, who grinned back, and then opened the door and jumped down to the cobbles. I could hear him talking to Kurt and people in the crowd. Some spoke gravely of the latest kidnappings, others about the commotion ahead, but he got no straight answers.
I opened the door and called to him, “Help me, we’re coming down.”
He frowned.
“It’s safe enough.”
He grumbled, but helped me before turning for Maria. Looking up to Kurt atop the coach, I said, “Work your way through this mess and wait for us on the other side. We’ll go through the crowd.”
He glanced at Sef, but nodded.
I took Maria by the hand. “Let’s go.”
The three of us began passing through the crowd, the square abuzz with gossip and the sounds of relief. Spread amidst it were a few tightly packed mobs centred on weeping women and distraught men; the relatives of the missing. They headed for the Cathedral. The Church of Baimiopia’s head in the city, Benefice Vassini, would be waiting within to bless them and then join them in prayer.
Market Square would be busy on most days, but this day the area seethed under the crush. I said to Sef, “We’re not going to be getting anywhere quickly.”
“Are you sure that you’re well?”
“I’m fine. Let’s have a look at what’s causing the problem.”
He grudgingly nodded.
Maria walked between Sef and I as we headed towards the heart of the crowd. I still couldn’t see anything of what was happening.
Sef looked about, he seemed nervous.
I asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’d rather we were getting you home.”
I thought he was being silly, after all I felt fine and the bells had tolled their full count.
We continued on.
To my surprise, the fuss was over nothing being sold, nor the theatrics of a street troupe, just a lone monk. He wore a sash of red tied around the waist of a faded grey robe with his ruddy face crowned by a scalp of stubble.
Through yellowed teeth and waving arms he spoke while a small metal amulet bounced about on his chest to catch the light. “Dark days require strong protection, the protection of the saints! And nothing gains a saint’s attention and protection more than prayers. To them, prayers and the swearing of devotion earn favour, and favour is protection. Such sanctuary is salvation!
“In evil times all seek sanctuary, and prayers earn sanctuary. If a curse is upon a city, one such as we bear, surely one should seek the favour of the Saint of Children. Is there such a saint you ask? Of course; the most-holy Saint Santana. Offer her your prayers!”
He lifted a small wooden box, its sides lovingly carved and polished. “Behold, a relic of the mortal remains of our most holy saint! Pray to it, kiss it, or buy a blessed amulet of Santana’s Seal for you or your child to wear. It will secure safe passage through this life and the next!”
A table behind him held a pile of amulets and an assortment of boxes.
While I was not overly familiar with the Church, I knew I’d never heard of Saint Santana. It looked more like a way to get wealthy. I turned to Sef, unconsciously tightening my grip on Maria’s hand.
He grinned at my unspoken thoughts.
I nodded; it was time to go.
He led the way.
We left the monk behind us. He looked to be a Heletite, one of the missionaries the Church set loose upon the world. I found it hard to believe that the Church had sanctioned his actions. Yes, it was greedy, but this was just shameless.
We headed through the market’s bustle towards our coach, still a good two hundred paces away. The sea of people going about their business seemed so normal, so ordinary, but above it all lay a simmering tension.
The city couldn’t go on like this, not with the kidnappings, nor with charlatans profiting from such misery.
And that’s when it happened.
A voice whispered, “It comes!”
I turned to look for the speaker, only to realise it was one of the voices in my mind. The rest of them then rose loud and clear as a chorus, all becoming frantic, “It comes! It comes!”
They cried out within me, repeating again and again, “It comes! It comes! It comes!”
Then the strongest hissed, “Beware, it comes!” And the others fell into wailing.
Distracted, it took me a moment to realise that everyone about me had stopped and that the square stood silent – but for the tolling of the Cathedral’s bells.
Dong…
Sef tensed, placing a hand on Maria.
Dong…
I again tightened my grip on her hand.
Dong…
The very air chilled.
Dong…
People about us looked to each other with growing fear.
Dong…
Then silence.
Complete blessed silence.
Just five as it should be…
Dong…
And thousands of voices arose as women wailed and men groaned to drown out the sixth tolling of the bell.
Sef picked up Maria and put his other arm about me to shepherd us towards our coach. The square surged with people, and as we hurried, we passed a woman who’d dropped to her knees amidst the panic to clutch at her young daughter. She cried, “Only five, not six, you can’t take any more!”
As if in answer, the daylight dimmed about her. Black sparks danced and snapped on the cobblestones, and then in a swirl of chill darkness, a vortex opened up beside her to leak a celestial shadow. The form took shape; it was a man robed in black.
The woman cried out.
He stepped forth on to frosted cobbles, reaching out for her daughter’s hand.
No one stopped, no one even seemed to notice – just me. Then I realised that no one else could see him. They were blind to the truth.
My accursed witchery had returned to burden me with yet more guilt!
Her daughter, with eyes sparkling amidst gathering tears, reluctantly reached out. She trembled with fear. Still, as if she had no will of her own, she moved to fulfil his unspoken command.
I couldn’t witness this, not again, not after the red-haired boy.
I had to do something!
I slipped out of Sef’s grip and snatched the knife from his belt.
Maria looked to me with her beautiful blue eyes while a voice fierce with love hissed in my mind, “Be careful!”
Witchery!
I was stunned. It was her, who else could it be? I nearly stopped, but the mother’s desperate pleas grabbed back my attention.
Sef yelled, “Where are you going?”
I ignored him.
The cultist looked down at the girl, waiting for her trembling hand.
Her mother held her tight, and though I didn’t think she could see him like I could, she somehow sensed his presence.
The voices cried out for me to hurry.
My vision then regained the clarity it had only once held before. With that finer view, the black celestial sparks became storms of energy cascading off the cultist and radiating out from the magic he cast to hide himself.
I was nearly there, each step closing the gap.
But how was I going to stop him?
The sounds of the crowd, the whirlwind of movement, and the dazzling flare of magic combined to be dizzying. Amidst it all I could still hear Sef yelling. “Damn it Juvela, wait!”
The girl reached out to the cultist.
I wouldn’t get there in time.
I called, “Get away from him!”
She seemed oblivious to me, and then took his hand, sliding her fingers across his own and deep into his palm.
He grabbed them tightly.
In an instant I saw her lose the colours of life.
Her mother howled.
Then, still charging, I finally arrived.
I slashed at the cultist with Sef’s blade while diving between them to force them apart. The knife clumsily cut into his shoulder.
He cursed and fell back.
I pushed the girl aside and broke their hands’ grip. At the same time, a shower of blue sparks flared to dance about us.
The crowd screamed and fell back.
They’d seen something!
I fell to the cobbles and rolled to a stop.
The girl lay limp in her mother’s arms, but with life’s colours returning.
In front of us stood the cultist, now back on his feet. For the first time the crowd could see him, I think they could even see the sparks spilling off from him as his broken spell bled away.
Sef ran towards me with Maria in his arms. He dodged around the cultist to stand between us, passing me Maria before turning back to face him. He looked to the cultist with threatening eyes, and in a slow but determined movement drew his sword. He mumbled a prayer, his words in Flet and their substance hidden under his breath, but every Flet in the square knew he’d just asked for a blessing from our battle god; Kave.
The cultist ignored him, instead turning to me. “And how will you explain this to the Church?”
A bitter stink grew, and in a swirling flash he was gone.
Beyond where he’d stood loomed the twin towers of the Cathedral. Priests crowded at the top of its steps, amidst them Benefice Vassini. They’d seen everything.
The woman beside me rose to her feet clutching her rousing daughter. Over and over she whispered, “Thank you.” But she was so shaken that all she could do was stumble away.
I got up off the cobbles with Maria. “Sef, we should go.”
People milled about, confused and frightened, many in a panic that only grew. They pushed past each other to knock others over, as well as stalls, and the fences of the livestock pens.
I risked a glance over the commotion, looking back to the Cathedral. Predictably, a group of priests advanced through the crowd. Benefice Vassini, robed and regal, watched over them from atop the steps, his face glowering.
Sef acted quickly, moving ahead to clear a path. With Maria in my arms, I darted after him with every pace putting more confusion between myself and the churchmen.
Finally, we reached the coach. Sef opened the cab’s door, helped us up, and then threw himself in. He yelled to Kurt, “Make haste!”
The coach lurched into movement.
Sef turned to me. “You saw him before the rest of us!”
Gasping after my dash through the crowd, I could only nod.
And behind us the Heletite cried out, “Witness the power of Saint Santana! She fights through her chosen Lady, bestowing blessings and wonders to protect those who accept her into their hearts!”
He was besieged by frightened people.