Sirn gave her a small shrug, and then looked at the others, "Sirn Moss," he said, "I was good friends with Kenneth Arris, and I miss him a lot. I don't have any love for the soldiers here, and I suppose that's a good enough reason to do what I can."
"Thank you," Penny said. She looked over at the others.
"Sara Burke," said Penny's fellow Priest, "The soldiers took everything from me. It's time that I take something back from them. I don't care what we have to do. I want to make them pay, and I want it to hurt like hell while it's happening."
Chrissa grinned at Sara. Penny could tell that the two of them would make good friends.
"Jonathon Lend," said one of the others, "and this is my brother, Sam. Sam don't talk, but I know he's right up there with us."
Penny looked between Jonathon and Sam. She'd seem them around the city before the attacks. They were both fisherman's boys, and poor as dirt. She'd never bothered to give either of them the time of day before. She'd known Sam was a mute, and that had been enough for her to keep her distance.
But here he was in her home, willing to help how he could, in a revolution she'd once been to afraid to be part of. She swallowed another mouthful of tea to wash away the lump in her throat, "Well thank you for coming. Both of you."
Sam gave her a brief smile. He was holding a hat in his hands.
"That makes it my turn," Allen Jens said, "I'm Allen, but some of you probably know me. My ma used to serve lunch to the fishermen down by the docks every day."
Sam tugged Jonathon's arm. He mouthed something, gesturing with his hands at the same time.
"Missus Jens?" Jonathon asked, looking back at Allen, "She was a good woman. Made the best apple pie I've ever had, tell the truth."
Allen chuckled, "That was my ma," he agreed, "May she rest easy. She was killed when the soldiers came in. I guess that's why I'm here. She wouldn't want me to sit on my backside, doing nothing."
Sam reached out and patted his arm.
Penny cleared her throat, "I guess that leaves me. Penelope Belmonte. The soldiers killed my husband, but I'm not here just because of that. They also started the war that took everything we loved away from us. That's why I wanted to start this."
Nobody said much to that, and Penny realized she didn't need to give these people a speech. They were here already, with her. They didn't need to be convinced.
"So, part of what we need to do is work on recruitment," Penny said, leaning forward and clasping her hands together, "but that has to be done very carefully. Every person we recruit is a necessity but also a risk. There are certain types of people we need to target."
"Certain types?" Sara asked.
"There are skills we need," Penny said, "I'm a Priest, and so are you, but it would be nice to have some more. It would also be nice to have people who've learned how to use manipulation. People who know how to fight. People who can teach us."
"So we're going to be recruiting?" Chrissa asked, "That's it?"
Penny shook her head, "Of course not. There are several things we're going to address, but for now, we need to figure out what everyone here knows, and what we need to learn before moving forward. You all heard Dalton -- we take a step the wrong way, we end up dead."
"I know how to hunt," Sirn said, "I'm good with a bow. I can teach that."
Penny nodded at him, "We'll keep that in mind. Good. What else?"
Everyone started talking at once, so Penny leaned back, picking up one of the biscuits. She took a bite, and watched how they interacted together. There was a chance everyone in this room could end up dead; it was a very real possibility.
Sara threw her head back and laughed at something Jonathon had said. Sam was giving a silent, rueful smile. Chrissa was talking animatedly with Sirn about the proper way to string a bow. Allen was sipping tea and interjecting occasionally.
They seemed so normal that it was easy to forget they were there to drive the soldiers out of Arinford, and take back Valishna. Penny couldn't forget it, though. She was their leader, and their blood would eventually be on her hands.
The shop was set away from the others on the street, forcing Penny down several different alleyways. It was an interesting area, and part of her wished she'd insisted that Joanna go with her after all. It wasn't somewhere a lady should be seen on her own.
The building was dingy and didn't stand out from the others, despite the set-back locale. Penny found herself hesitating outside the wooden door. Then she took a deep breath and let herself inside without knocking.
The inside of the store wasn't much different from the outside. It wasn't anything extraordinary and the lighting was darker than she was used to, casting shadows around the room. There was a tall, muscular man behind the counter with a bald head and bored expression.
When Penny came in, he looked up briefly then gestured at the display counter. It was full of hand-carved wooden animals, "Looking for a figurine?"
"No," Penny said. She hoped she remembered what to say correctly, "I'm actually hoping to find something a bit more modern. Perhaps you could help me out?"
That seemed to get his attention. He straightened, eyeing her, "You don't seem the type."
Penny shrugged. "A lady has to be able to defend herself," she said, her tone light. When he still didn't move, she approached the counter and placed both hands atop it, "I know you have what I'm looking for. A good friend of mine referred me here. Corriton, isn't it?"
Mike scowled at her for a moment and then sighed. "Lock the door."
When Penny shot the door a nervous look, Mike glared at her, "I'm not going to kill you or rape you, girl. I don't want my store getting robbed while we're in the back." Penny felt her face fill with color and she hurried to follow his directions.
The backroom of the store was much more crowded than the front, and well-lit. It was stockpiled with different sorts of weaponry. There were knives, bows, swords, shields, and other miscellaneous weaponry.
Mike folded his arms and looked at Penny again, "What do you want?"
Penny was shocked by the vast amount of weaponry in the room. She remembered that Matilyn had used a sword and shield, and Eldrin had preferred long dagger-like swords, but aside from that, she was a novice. She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. "I don't know."
"Gods," Mike said, "What are you even doing here?"
"I told you," Penny said, "a lady has to be able to defend herself, and you were the one that was referred to me."
Mike shook his head, "I'm going to need a bit more than that. You clearly have money. Look at your clothing. Ladies don't need to defend themselves. They hire people for that."
Penny was silent for a moment, remembering what Joanna had said. She looked around the store again, "Does Lamonte know this is here?"
"Are you kidding?" Mike chuckled. "This used to be my business. Weapons. Self-defense. Fun. Whatever people wanted. Anyway, Lamonte comes in, shuts me down, says I'm a bad example to the community, thinking I might try and instigate something. Like I'm trying. Now I have to make a living off those damned figurines."
"Right," Penny said.
Mike glared at her, "You don't want it getting back to the soldiers that I've got a place behind the counter though. I don't give a shit if you've got money. If the soldiers coming knocking, claiming I sold you shit, you're going to find yourself in a lot of trouble."
Penny shook her head, "I'm not reporting to Lamonte," she said. She shifted her feet and sighed. "You probably knew my husband. Kenneth Arris."
Mike was silent for a moment and then burst into peals of laughter, "Oh gods, you've got to be kidding me. Not again."
"Not again?" Penny asked.
"I mean, not again," Mike said. He went to the door of the shop that led to the front, "Kenneth spent way too many hours down here trying to convince me to join his little club, and then he wound up dead. I'm not playing this game with his widow."
Penny stared at him.
"I'm sorry," Mike said. He gestured to t
he door.
"There's a group of us," Penny said, "It's not just me. There's an entire resistance. We're doing things."
"Doing things," Mike said, "Well that's just great. You're doing things. Good for you. Don't care."
Penny glared at him.
"I'm sorry," Mike said again, "but this is the kind of thing that ends up getting people killed. You oughta know that by now."
"At least sell me a weapon," Penny said when he continued to point at the door. "I'm not here to try and convince you to help, Mike. I've heard plenty from Kenneth about how much of a coward you are. I wouldn't waste my time. I just need something to fight with."
Mike glared at her, "I'm not a coward."
"Right," Penny said, holding up her hands, "Sure. Not at all."
"I like being alive," Mike said.
"Right," Penny said, keeping her hands in the air, "I understand."
Mike glared at her for a minute longer and then slammed the door shut. He strode up to her, then grabbed her shoulders, "Straighten up. I need to see how tall you are."
For the next hour, the man measured Penny, asking different questions about her health, about her physical fitness levels, how she carried herself and a dozen other things that sounded irrelevant to her, but apparently gave him the information he needed.
"Alright," he told her, "Now go find a place too sit down for a bit while I hunt down what I need."
Penny nodded, looking around. There were now chairs, but there were plenty of crates. She sat down one of them, watching him. He walked around, sifting through some different boxes and muttering to himself. It was clear he was passionate about his work. It raised her hopes even higher.
"How's it been since Kenneth's death?" Mike called over his shoulder, "Them soldiers leaving you alone?"
"For the most part," Penny said. She thought about the one on the beach but didn't mention him, "They're still in Valishna. They don't really leave anyone alone, do they?"
Mike grunted.
"That's why we're trying to do something," Penny said, "Work together, try and stop them. We can't let things continue to go on the way they have been. It just doesn't work."
He didn't say anything to that, just rifled through another box. After a few minutes, he came back to Penny, holding a staff. "This is what you need to learn to use," he told her.
"It's a stick," Penny said, caught off-guard, "I was thinking of a blade, or maybe a bow. My eyesight is pretty good and--"
"It's a staff," he said grouchily, "it's a deadly weapon in it's own right. Look here..." he tapped the end of the staff, "See that silvery part? That's thick metal. It'll crush a man's skull."
"And here? These are the handgrips. That's going to make it easy for you to hold without getting blisters or splinters. The staff is made out of a lighter wood, easy to hold. Go on, try it."
Penny sighed and stood up. She took the staff from him and held it experimentally.
"You're gripping it wrong," he said. He quickly slid her hands down into the proper grooves, "Now. Go ahead, bring it out. No, not like that. In more of an arc. There you go."
"It does move easily," Penny said, taking a few practice swings. It felt nice to have something in her hands. She felt less out of control.
The man nodded, "Of course it does. It fits you perfectly. Right weight, right height, you can knock someone out with it, kill them, take their legs out from beneath them... you can learn how to block swords, deflect arrows... it also doubles as a maneuvering staff. You can climb with it, jump over things... it makes you athletic. I'd bet a month's wages that you're a natural too. I can always tell."
"Help us," Penny said. "Please. You know so much and you can help us. You really can."
"I'm sorry," he said, "I can't do that. I can't risk--"
Penny shook her head, angry, "I'm not going to accept that. It is a coward's excuse!"
"Stop saying that," Mike said, "Stop calling me a coward. You don't know anything about me."
"I know what you're acting like. I know that you won't help us, and that we need you," Penny cried out, "Everyone in this gods' damned city has the same excuse. They're scared, the soldiers frighten them, they don't want to get into trouble, they like their lives. Of course, nobody likes the way they're being lived. It's just not worth the risk. Good gods, I've seen a teenage girl with more guts than anyone in Valishna."
Mike was silent for a moment, his teeth gritted. He was red in the face, angry as well. Penny felt her heart speed up; this was the moment she'd been waiting for. The moment that would determine so much. Finally he let out a long breath. The anger seemed to fade away.
Penny nodded slowly, "Mike. Help us, Mike. I haven't seen anyone with your eye or expertise. We need someone like you. No. We need you."
Mike sighed, "We don't have a place to practice, even if I did want to help."
"We can use my estate," Penny said. She could feel her hope rising again, "I have a large garden that's secluded. It's the late Arris estate."
"You get people there in a week's time," Mike said shortly, "and I'll be there. I'm not promising anything but that. I'll find out what weapons would help everyone the best. That's it. You got that?"
Penny nodded. "I got it. No obligations."
Mike gave her a short nod, his expression a mixture of thoughtful and pissed off. "Now. Get out of my shop."
The next few days were full of preparations. Despite Craig Dalton's suggestion of keeping their gatherings small, Penny sent messages for everyone that had been in the Chapel to come to her estate in a week's time so they could meet with Mike. When Craig had found out, he'd reluctantly agreed that it was a good time to make an exception.
Her thoughts kept returning to Craig. She still wasn't sure how she felt about him. There was no denying that she owed him for saving her from the Lamonte soldier. Then again for his help in her meeting in the Chapel. She was also forced to accept that he'd offered a lot of backbone to her sketchy plans of overtaking Valishna.
It was the way he'd walked away from their first conversation that kept bothering her; the way he'd acted like he already knew everything there was to know about her. He knew her somehow, and he'd judged her. She couldn't stand the thought of being thought ill of -- she never had. Of course, all their meetings after the first had been just icing on the cake.
The worst part was when she decided that it wasn't an unfair judgement. That was the same thought that kept circling again and again in her head. She'd run the last year of her life through her mind and think in Craig's position, she'd probably hate her too.
When she caught herself thinking about Craig for what felt like the hundredth time, Penny decided to busy herself with reading until the appropriate time to meet the others. Thomas had come to the house with a pamphlet earlier in the morning and given it to Penny.
"It's something to be discreet with," he'd warned her, "I'm not saying you should read it, as it's not something appropriate, but if you were to take a glance over it, I'm sure the authors would be proud."
Penny accepted the pamphlet and stored it in one of her handbags. Now she took it out, sat in her favorite chair, and looked it over.
The pamphlet wasn't titled but the front showed an artist's rendering of a man creating a ball of fire in his hand. Beneath that were the words, 'You can fight too'. In small letters at the bottom of the front page were the names of the men who'd put out the pamphlet. Penny recognized them as recruiters for the Arinford Guard.
She looked around for Thomas. She wasn't sure why he'd give her a pamphlet on joining the guard. She had things she needed to take care of in Valishna. He knew that.
He wasn't in the room, though, and she didn't want to go look for him. Penny looked back down. She flipped through the pamphlet, more out of a need for distraction than actual curiosity.
Inside there were more depictions of people. One was a woman moving a wave of water with a hand. There was another man, in priest robes, looking prepared to fight. There was another man w
ho stood on a brown surface that was supposedly ground. Cracks were beneath his feet.
The artwork was decent, which Penny appreciated, but she thought it a rather poor recruitment statement. She looked over to read the side flap of the broacher, which was where the information was written.
'Nobody has to be defenseless,' the pamphlet read, 'There are ways you can protect yourself. There are ways to protect your mind. Don't give up or give in. Learn to fight back. Learn to manipulate.'
Penny flipped the pamphlet over, looking for the rest of it. That's all there was. She frowned and reread the words. She knew everything that was drawn in the pamphlet was possible; she'd seen plenty of firsthand in Westwood.
She knew some manipulation herself, of course. All priests were taught how to mend flesh with concentration and faith. Penny had learned it quickly enough; the priest training her hand often said she had a strong will power that came from her Chakran.
Then Penny found out there were men who were teaching priests how to turn that knowledge backwards. If they could manipulate skin, tissue, and bone to heal itself, then they could easily learn to reverse it. They could learn to rip flesh open with their minds. They could learn to create wounds rather than heal them.
It disgusted Penny. Not the idea of manipulation itself; she knew you had to fight fire with fire, so to speak, but the fact that there were those willing to use their faith -- their faith in their Chakran and the purity of the world, to do something so sickening.
Eldrin and Matilyn had both learned it. They were soldiers, after all. Penny had refused to participate or encourage it. It made her feel ill to even think about.
Even now, Penny couldn't imagine using her faith in such a destructive way. It went against the basic premise of the Chapel's founding; do good. She understood there had to be exceptions. There were only so many times you could turn the other cheek after all. She was not, however, willing to use her faith in such a manner.
She closed the pamphlet. The man creating fire caught her eye and she found herself looking at him for a long time. It was just a picture, drawn by a decent artist, but there was something about the man's eyes that Penny couldn't stop looking at. It was a focused look; determined and sure of himself. There was something else though; he looked passionate.
Revolution (Cartharia Book 2) Page 15
