8

Cineste, northern Khale

DUSK HAD FALLEN, BATHING the streets of Cineste in cool, gray-violet light, as Gord and Eranda led Winter to a tall, unassuming building at the border of the tiellan and merchant sectors of the city, not far from the Wolfanger Inn. A tiellan man stood at the doorway, short but thickly muscled, and eyed Winter uneasily. She could almost see him squirm, trying not to look at her bare neck, the clothing she wore that he must surely find strange, if not outright offensive. The man’s gaze shifted to Gord. “She’s with you?”

“Aye, Talian, she’s with us,” Gord said.

“Very well then,” Talian said, glancing again at Winter’s neck and then quickly away. “Ain’t gonna turn any tiellan away. Need all the support we can get.”

Talian stepped aside, allowing Gord, Winter, and Eranda to enter. Darrin had stayed home with the children, while Galce and Urstadt had stayed at the inn they shared with Winter. Winter wanted to introduce them to her old friends, but it was not yet time. She wasn’t ready.

Inside was a wide room, full of tiellans. The space was larger than Winter would have expected. A few long tables had been pushed entirely to one side of the room near a set of stairs leading to a second level, leaving the other side relatively open. A small wooden platform opposite the door through which they’d entered stood at the front of the large open space. Tiellan bodies milled together in front of the platform, chattering together. Winter noticed more than one tiellan staring at her unusual appearance.

“How many come to these meetings?” Winter asked. She could not think of the last time she saw so many of her people gathered together.

“More than a hundred,” Gord said. “This serves as the headquarters for the movement, but it is just one of the many meeting places in Cineste, these days. Some of the Druids estimate over one thousand tiellans have joined the movement.”

“They really call themselves Druids?” Winter asked. The term seemed so… archaic.

Before Gord could respond, a handful of tiellans approached the platform, and the crowd cheered. Winter inspected the group carefully: three men, two of them quite old, climbed onto the platform ahead of two women. Each of the men wore an araif, pulled slightly back on their heads to let the light shine onto their eyes. This wasn’t unusual—it was considered impolite to shade one’s eyes indoors.

“Are they elders?” Winter asked, leaning towards Gord. Elders were the cultural leaders of the tiellans; ages ago, they had held real power, but now the name was nothing more than a formality. Too often, they and their female counterparts, the matriarchs, had seemed a superfluous, outdated remnant of a lost past to Winter.

“The two older are, but not the younger. The younger is Ghian Fauz.” Gord said the name as if Winter should recognize it, but the man meant nothing to her. He was older than Winter, but not by much, and handsome, with silver hair cut short above a round, handsome face and long, sinewy limbs.

“Goddess, is that Matriarch Esra?” Winter asked, her eyes widening. The older of the two women—though both had clearly waxed long in age—looked very familiar. Long, auburn hair streaked with gray. Firm, smooth features. And the way she carried herself… Very few tiellans moved as confidently as Matriarch Esra, her back always straight, shoulders square, neck long and proud even beneath her siara.

“Aye,” Gord responded quietly. “Was wonderin’ if you’d recognize her.”

Matriarch Esra had lived in Pranna for years, when Winter was young. But she left before Winter had seen her fifteenth summer.

“So the Druids are just… elders and matriarchs?” Winter asked.

Gord grunted. “Not exactly. Ghian is the true leader of the Druids. When the elders and matriarchs started to see the popularity of the Druid movement, they attached themselves to it.”

“And Ghian just… allowed this?”

“Ghian believes the Druids must unite tiellans,” Gord said. “He wants to include all who are willing.”

Or, she thought, he knows how to stay in power.

That thought brought a frown to her face. It sounded very much like something Daval would say. Surely she had left all of that behind, in Roden.

Esra stepped forward, hands raised, and the crowd quieted.

“My brothers and sisters,” she said, her voice firm and strong. “Welcome. We like to see so many of you. Our numbers continue to grow. A welcome to those of you who are new here.”

Winter could not be sure, but she thought Esra met eyes with her when she said that. Winter could not pretend she was surprised; she stood out in the crowd. She wondered if Esra had recognized her as Bahc’s daughter, or simply as a newcomer.

A round of gentle applause and muted cheers greeted Esra’s welcome. She lowered her hands, and the crowd quieted once more.

“Tensions keep risin’ between humans and tiellans. We’ve received word of more atrocities, and our people keep bendin’ their backs beneath the hand of human persecution. Many of you know of the long walk of Sazar Mekeen.”

The crowd murmured at the mention of that name, though it was another that meant nothing to Winter. She glanced at Gord.

“A tiellan man from Farahle City in southern Khale,” he whispered. “Physician’s assistant who eventually became a physician himself.”

Winter’s eyebrows raised. Tiellans never became full physicians. That was a human’s job.

“He saved many lives, human and tiellan,” Gord continued, “but was, of course, unable to save everyone. A few human patients of his perished, and then the humans turned on him. Put him through a farce of a trial, and then made him walk Farahle’s streets, naked and beaten, stripped of honor, until they finally executed him.”

Winter stared forward, eyes unfocused. How could such a thing have happened? What could possibly possess the humans to hate a tiellan man so much—a tiellan man who had helped them, no less?

At the head of the crowd, Esra continued speaking. “Here in Cineste, we’ve had our own Sazar Mekeen. Jemmen Kantrel was beaten to death in the street just last week.”

The crowd’s murmurs transformed to shouts, and, looking around, Winter saw the anger on the faces around her. Gord’s face was red as he shook his fist in the air. Eranda, on Winter’s other side, was quiet, her jaw set.

Goddess… Beaten to death in the street? What has happened since I’ve been gone?

“And we’ve just got word of a massive attack on the west coast,” Esra continued. “A mob of Kamites—more than one hundred, if the rumors tell it true—attacked and slaughtered dozens of our people near the town of Tinska just a few weeks ago. An attack of such a blatant and malicious nature ain’t occurred yet in Cineste, but I fear it’s only an omen of what’s to come.”

An attack. Winter could hardly believe it. There had been nothing like this, not since the King Who Gave Up His Crown.

“Make no mistake, brothers and sisters,” Esra continued, “things’ll only get worse before they get better. We must band together. Show our strength. And we have strength. I know it.”

Winter’s hand strayed to the pouch at her belt as the crowd murmured in agreement. On either side of her, Gord and Eranda were nodding.

She was not sure what to think of any of this. The persecutions, murders, and attacks might have horrified the girl Winter had been in Pranna. But the woman she was now looked at them differently. Tragic, to be sure, but no worse than some of what she had seen—some of what she had done—in the past year of her life.

Which, perhaps, was all the more reason to help these people.

Esra pursed her lips. “I’ve said enough. Here’s a man who needs no introduction.” She looked behind her at Ghian Fauz.

“Although I do wish you’d let me say a bit more every once in a while. Some of the newcomers ain’t heard all you’ve done for your people, Ghian.”

Winter could not tell if the matriarch’s words were sarcastic or genuine. A low murmur of polite laughter rippled through the crowd. They, at least, read it as praise.

“Suppose they’ll find out, one way or another. Brothers and sisters, I give you Ghian Fauz.”

Ghian stepped forward to take her place. “Thank you, Matriarch Esra,” he said, smiling at her. He removed his araif.

Winter tensed, looking around her. Had he removed it because of her? But the rest of the crowd did not seem put off by the gesture. Was this something he did frequently?

And yet, as Ghian began to speak, Winter felt his eyes rest on her. He looked right at her, it seemed, almost through her. He spoke with confidence, his voice assured, his words clear and concise. He, like Winter and her father, did not speak with the typical tiellan drawl, and immediately Winter felt a sense of kinship with him, something she had longed for since she’d reunited with Gord, Eranda, and Darrin but had not yet found.

She turned, suddenly, looking at the door behind her. She’d thought she heard voices outside, but as she strained her ears, she sensed nothing out of the ordinary. The guard was probably still posted outside the door; maybe it was a short exchange with someone in passing.

“Make no mistake,” Ghian said. His accent was that of an educated human. “A war is coming. We cannot avoid it. We cannot stop it. We will have to fight for our families, our way of life, and our very lives.”

Winter blinked. A war. Between humans and tiellans?

“We have already begun preparations for that war: we are learning to fight, to defend ourselves. Many already participate in our Ranger training programs. I encourage the rest of you men to begin as well. We are stronger when we are together, and when we fight at our full strength, there is nothing on this Sfaera that can stop us.”

Ranger training programs? Tiellan Rangers had been the great warriors of the Age of Marvels, the militaristic counterpart to the mystical Druids, but they were warriors of legend. It seemed a bit pretentious to use the name. And he’d invited only men to be “Rangers,” something that made Winter bristle.

She flinched as three loud, sharp knocks rang through the large meeting space. Everyone turned to look at the door. Winter instinctively slipped a frost crystal into her mouth.

The door burst open, and Talian, the short, stout man who’d been guarding the door from the outside, tumbled into the room. From her position close to the door, Winter could clearly see the blood on Talian’s face. He groaned, writhing on the floor.

A dozen humans strode into the room, armed with cudgels, clubs, and rods. As faltira took effect in her veins, Winter was suddenly acutely aware of the vulnerability of the tiellans around her. None of them were armed, at least as far as Winter could tell, and despite the fact that they outnumbered the humans almost ten to one, they shrank back towards the platform.

Almost before she was aware of it, Winter extended one of her tendra before her, snaking towards the club held by the human closest to her. But, before her tendron made contact, she stopped herself. She knew nothing of the Druids, nothing of their true goals or motivation. She had only just arrived in Cineste, only just reunited with Gord, Eranda, and Darrin. She had sought them out to let go of all she had done in Roden and Navone. Despite that not going as well as she would have liked, she hesitated.

Slowly, her tendron retracted, and she closed her eyes. There, Chaos awaited, smooth and pearl-white. It was not her time to intervene.

“What do we have here?” one of the humans asked, swinging his club with a flick of his wrist.

“An elf orgy, by the looks of things,” another said. A few of them chuckled, but most of the men were straight-faced. Angry.

“Can I help you folk?” Ghian stepped down from the platform and walked through the parted crowd towards the humans. Ghian did not seem a coward. That much was in his favor, at least.

A human stepped forward. “You can shut this shit down.”

“We’re within our rights to meet here,” Ghian responded, walking up to the man. Ghian was of decent size for a tiellan, about the same height as the man he faced. They looked at each other eye to eye.

“Your rights don’t concern me. What does is the safety of those I care about.”

Ghian smiled. “We do not mean any harm to you, and certainly not to those in your care.”

Winter scoffed. Had Ghian not just been advocating war with the humans? How did that not invite harm towards them?

“Your ‘training programs’ tell a different story,” the man said.

Ghian’s smile faded.

A lanky man laughed. “What, didn’t think we knew what you people were up to? Trying to train yourselves to fight against us? Take everything that’s ours and claim it for your own?”

The man facing Ghian raised a fist, and the lanky man closed his mouth. “I have nothing against any of you personally,” he said, looking around the room. “But I will protect my family. And I’ll cross any line to do that.” He dropped his club and snapped forward in a smooth movement, twisting Ghian around and wrapping one arm around his head. In the other, he brandished a thin-bladed dagger.

The tiellans gasped, stepping back, and once again Winter instinctively activated her tendra. She could stop this. She had the power to do it. She could show Gord, Eranda, and the Druids her power.

And, at the same time, show them the monster she had become.

Again, she consulted Chaos. The sphere remained solid in her mind, unfalteringly white. Winter forced herself to relax. She had no part in what was about to happen.

“Any one of you tries to leave, any one of you even moves, and your leader dies,” the human leader shouted. He nodded to his fellows, who stalked slowly forward.

“We’re going to make examples out of a few of you,” he said. “The rest of you should consider yourselves lucky. You will go home to your families tonight.”

Winter, Gord, and Eranda stepped back, away from the advancing humans with the rest of the crowd. Winter’s chest was tight, constricted, but she felt no fear for herself. She would be all right, whatever happened. But the feeling was there, all the same.

“Each of you choose one,” the leader said to the men advancing on the tiellans. “Choose one, bring them up here with us. We’ll do it in front of everyone.”

Tiellans screamed, clinging to one another, but the humans tore them away one by one, forcing them to the front of the room near the door, compelling them to kneel.

“Take men or women, young or old, it doesn’t matter,” the man said. “This lesson is for all.”

Winter, Eranda, and Gord huddled together, Gord wrapping his arms around both Winter and Eranda in a vain attempt to protect them. Now, twelve tiellans knelt before twelve humans, not including Ghian and the human leader who threatened him, near the doorway into the building. People wept, but none of the tiellans moved to stop what was being done to them.

They are weak, Winter realized. Centuries of captivity had done this to her people. Even after emancipation, decades of persecution and derision and hatred had made them soft, brittle. They knew nothing but submission.

“Now,” the human leader began, but before he could continue, one of the kneeling tiellans, a young man, turned on his captor and lunged. He took the human to the ground, but as quickly as he did the human standing directly beside them swung his club down on the young man’s head with a sickening crack. The young tiellan buckled to the ground. The club swung again, this time with more of a crunch than a crack. It swung again, and again, until the tiellan’s body was a bloodied mess on the floor.

All around Winter, the other tiellans were hysterical, weeping and crying, but they seemed frozen in place, as Winter herself felt frozen, too. She shed no tears, made no sound, but the constriction in her chest had magnified, and her arms and legs felt very heavy. The one tiellan among them that had the courage to stand up to the humans had been slaughtered.

What hope was there for the Druids?

“It’s unfortunate he chose to do that,” the leader said, looking back into the tiellan crowd. “Because now that one doesn’t count. Rudd, go find another.”

The tiellans began screaming again as, silently, the man who’d been tackled walked forward, glaring into the tiellan crowd with hooded eyes. He stopped directly in front of Winter.

Winter, oddly, wanted to laugh. Let this man take her. Let him see what she would do to him.

But when he reached out he did not grasp Winter. Instead, he dragged Eranda with him to the front of the room, forcing her to kneel down next to the sickening remains of the young tiellan man they’d already killed.

A host of emotions burst inside of Winter. Anger at the helpless tiellans around her. Frustration at her inability to feel at home with Darrin, Eranda, and Gord, and fear that such a thing would never be possible again. Shame, knowing that what kept her from those she loved was what she herself had done. The person she had become.

She had come home in an attempt to let go of her past, to give up being a weapon. But she’d been wrong. More than anything, these people—her friends, her family, her people— needed a weapon.

Winter stepped forward. “You should have chosen me,” she said.

This time, Winter did not consult Chaos. She did not hesitate, and reached out with thirteen tendra, one for each human in the room. Her first plucked the thin dagger out of the hands of the human leader. The man stared at his hand in shock. Her other tendra yanked the weapons away from the other humans, sending the clubs and cudgels and rods clattering, then lifted each human up by their clothes, and the building shook with the force of thirteen men slamming against the walls.

“You think you have the power here,” Winter said. She heard Gord whisper her name, but ignored him. She was a monster, and he would have to grow used to it. She walked right up to the ringleader of the humans. “You’re wrong.”

She stabbed the man’s own dagger through his neck, in one side and out the other. He fell to the floor with a gurgle, blood spouting from the wounds as he choked.

Then, keeping the other humans pinned to the wall, Winter did the same thing to each of them. The act was simple, pushing the dagger in with one tendron, pulling it out with another, until each of the men was dying or dead. Then she dropped them all to the floor at once.

Silently, Winter approached Eranda, helping the woman to her feet. They turned to face the other tiellans. Her people stared at her, wide-eyed, shocked, frozen. No one said anything, not Gord or Eranda or anyone.

Winter did not care whether they said anything or not. It would not change what had happened, or what was about to.

“They will not be the last,” Winter said. She glanced at Ghian. “You said a war was coming. It’s already here. You have multiple meetings like this that occur in the city?”

Ghian only stared at her.

Winter resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m told you do. You need to band together. No more meeting separately. No more secrecy. Declare yourselves, make yourselves a force to be reckoned with. They will come after you now, there’s no stopping that. You need to be prepared.”

“Who are you?” Ghian rasped, finally rising to his feet. He looked around at the bodies slumped against the wall. “How did you…” He glanced up at her, eyes wide. “Are you a goddess?”

This time, Winter could not stop herself from laughing. I’m a daemon, she wanted to say. But to you, what is the difference?

“Danica Winter Cordier.”

Winter turned at the sound of Matriarch Esra’s voice. No one else here could possibly pronounce her name in that tone.

“Hello, Matriarch. I wasn’t sure you would recognize me.”

Esra approached, meeting Winter face to face. “I didn’t, not ’til just now. You… you’ve got your mother in you.”

She had heard that before, time and time again.

Gord had put his arm around Eranda’s shoulders. “Winter, we have much to discuss, you and me. But I fear you’re right. We ain’t got much time. Need to band together, as you said.” He hesitated, and in his eyes Winter suddenly saw a host of emotions she could hardly begin to understand. Fear. Pain. Horror. Love. “Will you stay with us?” he asked.

Winter looked around, at Eranda and Gord and Matriarch Esra, then at Ghian and the matriarchs and elders and other tiellans in the room. She looked at the bodies, the men she’d killed.

She did not belong here, just as she did not belong in Izet, or Pranna, or anywhere. But she wanted to belong here, and that hint of connection she’d felt with Ghian, through his speech and the removal of his araif, kept her here. Her desire to protect her old friends kept her here. She was a weapon, but she was the weapon her people needed.

“I will,” Winter said, touching Gord’s arm. “I will, for now.”