Divad led her into a large cabin. The bunks inside were not military — that was obvious from their rumpled sheets — so Jyllith suspected this was where the members of Divad's cult slept, like a Solyr dorm. The floor was cluttered with scrolls and half-burned candles.
How many lived here? There was Calun, of course, but he had mentioned others. Xel. Rala. How many more? How many more people must she murder before she died?
Divad closed the door and slid a heavy brace into place. Trapping her inside? She considered going after Divad while his back was turned, but demurred. There was still too much she did not know.
“Easy, Spike.” Divad stared at someone or something behind her. Jyllith felt eyes on her back.
She turned slow. A davenger with one missing eye crouched at stairs leading to a second floor. This was an ape demon, and Jyllith was very glad she had not attempted to overpower Divad. That demon could tear her arms off in less time than it took to breathe.
“Why do you name them?” Jyllith asked. “They're tools.” Like Calun and his precious Torch.
“Even tools deserve names.” Divad walked to his davenger and the demon lowered its head. “Spike has been with me since the beginning.” He scratched it like he would a loyal dog. “He lost his eye in a challenge two years ago, when an old friend decided we weren’t friends any longer.”
That set Jyllith's heart racing. Divad had made this davenger years ago, but no Mavoureen possessed him. That meant Divad had used the cure for the Demonkin curse, traded some innocent soul for his own.
How many here had done the same? How many innocent souls had these monstrous people sent to torture in the Underside? Was their “cure” permanent, or did it only last until they scribed their next demon glyph?
“We'll have time enough to talk at supper,” Divad said. “Rest. You've had a long trek.”
“I ate before we arrived,” Jyllith lied, “and I got more than enough sleep. So tell me. How can I help you?”
Divad pulled back his cowl, revealing a bushy black beard and tangled gray hair. His narrow brown eyes looked her over, not a lecherous gaze — more like examining a new horse. Jyllith refused to look away.
“Help me?” Divad said. A white scar stretched from his left eyebrow, past his nose, and through both lips. “What leads you to believe I need your help for anything?”
“I didn't wander here on accident.” Jyllith shaded the truth in case Divad, like her, could pick out lies. “I came because someone told me I'm needed here.”
“Someone?”
Jyllith tapped the side of her head. “Why am I here? What did Cantrall order you to do and how can I help you do it? I've been running from the Mynt long enough.”
She knew Divad's plan, already, of course — Cantrall's spirit had revealed all it could — but getting Divad to admit he had opened a portal to the Underside would be the first step in building trust between them. Opening a portal was something the Terras elders struggled with for years.
“I have letters to write and reports to fake,” Divad said. “The Mynt still believe this outpost to be loyal, and our shipments and my letters ensure that stays the case. I will be occupied for some time.”
“That's not an answer.”
“There is a washbasin in the room to the east. I ordered Rala to bring clean water.”
Jyllith grimaced, but Divad had a point. She remained filthy from the road and probably smelled worse than a slathered horse. Pressing Divad on his plan now was dangerous, and Jyllith had to admit the thought of a bath was appealing. It gave her time to plot.
“Fine. Find me when you're done with your chores. Just don't mistake my intent. I'm here to hurt the Mynt. If that's not your plan, I'll find allies elsewhere.”
Divad smiled, a tired smile on a tired man. “One day,” he said, “you may not be so eager for blood.” He started up the stairs. “We'll talk soon.”
Spike lumbered after him, a davenger docile as a family dog, and that made Jyllith shudder. Perhaps docility came with time and training. Had Divad really seen his wife and child murdered, as Calun claimed?
A door clicked open in the east wall. A short, buxom woman who could not be much older than Jyllith emerged from a shallow but serviceable wash room. This must be Rala.
Rala had dirty-blond hair, a thick nose, plump lips, and ample curves. She evaluated Jyllith and smirked. “How ... wonderful to have another woman around. We'll be such marvelous friends.”
Jyllith refused to take the bait. “I'm sure.”
“I drew you a bath. Clean robes and a towel wait as well.” Rala strolled past Jyllith and wrinkled her nose. “Take all the time you need. Please.”
Jyllith walked inside and closed the washroom door. Steam rose from a large iron tub. Jyllith doubted Rala was happy to be drawing her a bath, so should she have been friendly instead? What would a real spy do?
She breathed in the smell of clean, warm water and decided she no longer cared. Not for the next few moments. For the next few moments she would forget about her mission, the demon in her head, and the people she had murdered. She would not think.
She stripped, tossed her hunting leathers on the floor, and slipped into the tub. It was warm heaven, and feeling such luxurious comfort dredged up all her old guilt. When she opened her eyes and saw the once clear water clouded, she realized just how dirty she had been.
Jyllith slid all but her face into warmth and let her dirty red hair float free. She closed her eyes and breathed ... just breathed. How was she going to stop Divad, stop his cult, stop the Mavoureen? How could she do that when she remained hopelessly, utterly alone?
Their faces came unbidden. Marel's, stained with blood as she bolted the door. Yara's wet eyes as she pushed Jyllith into the cupboard. Jyllith remembered her father hugging her when she was little, remembered playing with Nat and Lehma in the small yard behind their home. An all too familiar lump rose in her throat, the only friend she still had.
Jyllith held that lump, embraced it, refusing to weep or release anything. She deserved the pain she felt now. She deserved that and far more. She should have died with her family. If she had just died in Talos, crushed by revenants, she wouldn't be the monster she was now.
Finally, after a long soak filled with memories of her dead family, she sat up in the now lukewarm water. She scrubbed the road from her body until her skin felt raw, did the same with her hair, and stepped from the iron basin into the chill mountain air.
Jyllith stood for a moment as the chill claimed her, stood until her teeth chattered, and only then did she grab the wool towel. It scratched worse than the soap.
She donned the frayed gray slip Rala had left, added a heavy brown robe over that, and pulled on her worn leather boots. Her hunting leathers had seen her through years on the road and they were comfortable, but she had forgotten what it felt like to be and smell clean. So different.
She emerged from the washroom to an empty cabin. If Divad had departed, could she sneak into his study? Jyllith took the dream world and found Spike crouching in the hall on the second floor. Of course it would guard Divad's study. The demon couldn't be seen in town.
Voices grew audible outside the cabin and Jyllith focused her dream world sight. Three orange dream forms walked beyond the cabin wall, two tall and one short and curvy. Rala and two others. Jyllith dropped the dream world as one of the men opened the cabin door. A tall man she did not recognize walked inside, followed by Rala and Calun.
Calun's face lit up. “Jyllith!” He actually looked happy to see her. “Feeling better?”
“Well enough.” Jyllith pretended she hadn't been watching them through the wall. “Where's Divad?”
The man she didn't know moved past a scowling Rala and offered his hand. He was rake thin and probably a few years older than her, but moved with a confidence that was rather alluring. Jyllith didn't trust that at all.
“I'm Xel.” The man took her hand and bent at the waist to kiss it. “A true pleasure, Miss Malconen.”
His elegant bow reminded her of Malkavet.
Jyllith snatched her hand away. “That's not necessary.” She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her robe.
If Calun told her true, Xel was the man who had sent a child's soul to Hecata in exchange for his defiler. He stared at her like a cat, hungry and eager. Rala harrumphed, loudly, but Xel ignored her.
“Elder Divad will be occupied for a bit longer.” Xel offered his arm. “It would be my honor to show you around our fine little town.”
Rala stared daggers and Jyllith only then realized why. Rala and Xel were the only cultists of age in this village, and Rala had claimed Xel as her own. Jyllith was a woman, too. Rala felt threatened.
Jyllith almost laughed. She had been alone so long that the notion of any sort of romance seemed ridiculous. Rala was as stupid as she was petty.
Jyllith debated taking Xel's arm — letting him lead her around town could be a good opportunity to gather information — but the thought of being alone with this child murderer made her skin crawl. When it came time to end this cult for good, she would murder Xel first.
“Calun,” Jyllith said. “Where do the soldiers train and spar?” There was honesty in a soldier's work.
“Um...” Calun glanced at Rala. “The eastern gate?”
Rala harrumphed. “Off to play in the mud? Shall I draw another bath?”
“It was nice to meet you both.” Jyllith walked for the door.
Rala blocked her path. “You're not going anywhere, Malconen. Not yet. I've got questions.”
Jyllith ground her teeth. “Yes?”
“Don't think because Divad accepted you so easily the rest of us will.” Mala jammed two fingertips against Jyllith's breastbone. “We don't know you. For all I know, you're here to betray us to—”
Jyllith snatched Rala's fingers and twisted, sending Rala to her knees. She towered over Rala as the woman stared and gasped. She could not risk even a whisper of betrayal, not now.
“I'll say this once, you pampered sow.” Jyllith twisted Rala's fingers further, forcing her eyes wide. “I don't know what kind of life you've lived while I was out there fighting your war for you, but if you question my loyalty again, I'll break you in half.”
Every time Rala struggled to rise Jyllith twisted fingers and drove her to her knees. She pushed so hard Rala gasped. Wet welled in her eyes.
“You're here to protect Knoll Point,” Jyllith said, “aid Free Rain, and serve your elder.” She wondered if she should break Rala's fingers. “Not moon over boys.” She twisted and Rala cried out. “Do you understand me?
Jyllith checked the others in her peripheral vision. Calun stared, slack-jawed, and Xel just smirked. He liked watching this, liked watching Jyllith hurt his girlfriend. She was giving them a show.
“Do you?” Jyllith demanded.
“Yes,” Rala whispered. “Please, I'm ... I'm sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” Jyllith dropped Rala's mangled fingers and strode out of the cabin. “Thank you for the bath. Don't ever touch me again.”
She slammed the door and strode off, but she only made it down one house before she darted between them, out of sight. Jyllith trembled, hugging herself tight. She felt so cold now, so monstrous. More demon than the thing scratching around inside her head.
Every time she gave herself to her old rage, she saw the faces of her many victims. They hated her and she deserved their hate. She had thrown innocent people into eternal torture, and she could never forgive herself.
Jyllith allowed herself twenty breaths of shaking and pain until she made her face hard and strode from the buildings, east. Had hurting Rala like that ruined her last chance to gain this cult's trust? Would smiling and making friends work better?
The Jyllith that commanded gnarls and slaughtered Sentinels would have broken Rala's arm when the other woman questioned her loyalty, not twisted her fingers. That Jyllith would have kicked her in the face and broken her nose. She was not that woman anymore, but she needed to be if she wanted to maintain her ruse among these cultists.
Yet despite their bravado, these Demonkin were children. Children who had seen their families murdered, had their memories twisted by Cantrall. Even Rala. What right did Jyllith have to hurt Rala or hate her?
Who had Rala seen murdered before Cantrall stole her away? Her parents? Her sisters? Did she mourn for them as Jyllith mourned at night?
Why had Cantrall chosen Jyllith as his apprentice instead of Rala, or Xel, or Divad? Was it because of her talent with Aerial glyphs? Or was it because he had always known she was evil, deep down, and all he had to do was draw that evil out? A monster waiting to be called?
The sound of an arrow thunking into a target echoed from ahead, followed by two more. Archers at work. Rain's freedom fighters favored archery over spearplay and daggers to swords. Honorable combat against the Mynt resulted in death, and Free Rain did not fight to die. They fought to kill and most were very good at it.
Jyllith skirted a cabin and came upon a dirt courtyard marked off by a two-post fence. It held worn archery targets — round wooden plates wrapped in punctured animal skin — and a single two-armed practice dummy impaled on a wooden pole. Three more hard cedar poles stood in the yard, with smaller sticks emerging from their round bulk in all directions, like some sort of wooden cactus.
Jyllith remembered where she had last seen those poles. In a small camp of Free Rain, when she was fourteen, killing the Mynt alongside Cantrall. Rain soldiers often fought as well without weapons as they did with them, and so Mynt had outlawed those poles. These were stained from the oil and sweat of countless hands.
Two archers took turns on the targets, a man and a woman in brown forest garb, and Klyde hammered away at a practice dummy with his battered cudgel. Each impact shook the dummy hard. Andar stood in the center of the wooden poles, bare-chested and covered in sweat.
Jyllith would start with him. Andar was Knoll Point's leader and there had been no true malice in him when she arrived — simply caution. What would he think if he learned about Divad's true nature?
Would he turn if she told him Divad wanted to enslave their world? Could he become her ally? She was not here to betray Free Rain, after all — she was here to betray the Demonkin. That was a distinction.
As she approached Jyllith couldn't help but notice that Andar's chest rippled with muscle, slick with sweat and covered in scars. The tattoos that mottled his face glistened in the light. His eyes remained closed, his breathing even and calm.
Jyllith knew she shouldn't stare, but Andar made it difficult not to. He was actually a fairly handsome man, if one appreciated that sort of thing. Which she did not. He was also way too old for her.
Andar opened his eyes and struck with his right hand, a blow that set the nearest pole to quivering. He spun in place and lashed out with one bare foot, and that strike rattled the neighboring pole. Jyllith stopped, transfixed, as Andar battered all three poles in a dervish of flying limbs, each strike hard enough to shatter bones, smash knees, and knock men flat.
Andar finished with a spinning kick that slammed into a pole so hard it tilted. He landed with feet even, arms straight and shoulders taut. He closed his eyes, pushed his muscular arms straight out, and breathed deep. He flexed, relaxed, and bowed to the poles.
When he opened his eyes, Andar was staring right at her. Grinning. Jyllith cursed herself and strode forward. She was not here to moon over boys. She was not Rala.
Klyde turned from the battered dummy and sighed. “I just straightened those damn things. Really? Keep at them and they’re liable to snap.”
“Plant 'em deeper, then.” Andar turned his smirk on Klyde and grabbed a linen shirt off a narrow bench. “Something I can help you with, Red?” He eyed her up and down as he pulled on his shirt. “I see you got inducted.”
Jyllith did not know how she felt about the way he looked at her. At the robes, of course, not her. “I wanted some time with Free Rain's leader.”
“No leaders
in Free Rain, dear heart. Just cutpurses and killers. I happen to be one of the better ones.” Andar chuckled as he walked back into town. “I don't know why these idiots keep asking me for orders.”
Klyde had a good laugh at that, slapping one of his beefy knees, and Jyllith made herself smile as she fell into step behind Andar. He had an honest, fatalistic calm she found appealing. All Ghost Cats knew they would die, eventually. Everyone else knew many would die with them.
“I was at Firstwood the day before it fell.” Jyllith jogged to catch up. “Where were you?”
“In the woods.” Andar slowed his pace. “Killed a few dozen that day. Where were you?”
“I held Firstwood’s walls with Cantrall. My teacher. We slaughtered a good number of climbers before they stopped trying.” They walked on. “We left after Garret the Hammer died attempting to break the siege.”
Jyllith vividly remembered the last day before Firstwood fell. Mynt legionnaires stood beyond the walls in countless rows, glittering ants devouring her world. They ate well, resupplied from Mynt convoys floated across the Layn, while those inside Firstwood ate rats or starved.
Jyllith had eaten rat herself and would not recommend it. There was no flavor to it. Rat was gamey, tough, and more like leather than meat.
“How'd you get out?” Andar nodded to a cabin and its soldiers nodded back. He owned the town's loyalty. No surprise there.
“Same as you, I expect.” Where was he leading her? “We walked out.”
Cantrall had summoned Jyllith the night of the new moon, when only Mynt watch fires lit the dark. Together, they had walked right through the siege lines, concealed by astral glyphs. Leaving the city to fall without them.
Jyllith hated running, but they had watched Garret and his army die bloody only hours earlier. With the death of the chief's last son, Cantrall knew it was only a matter of time before Chieftess Shara surrendered. They had fought well and bravely, but Firstwood was lost.
Cantrall had assured her they would one day avenge Firstwood, with the help of the Mavoureen. He never revealed he was the reason for the Mynt assault. He never told her it was his revenants, burning Mynt and Rain villages, that incited the entire bloody war.
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