Chapter Five

IOANNA

 

Vitaliya’s grass beds were unquestionably the strangest place Ioanna had slept in her entire life, but she supposed she preferred them to the wagon, all hard wood slats and chicken feathers. In any case, the grass nests weren’t terribly uncomfortable, just odd. Her only real complaint was she could never shake her worry that insects were crawling across her body and burrowing into her hair.

“Do we have eggs?” she heard Vitaliya ask. “Chickens! Do you have eggs? Yes! Eggs! Eggs for us!”

Ioanna opened her eyes and pulled herself free of the odd nest. Vitaliya sat in the wagon while Otho tended to the small fire they had built. Ioanna rubbed at her eyes and glanced toward the road, but once again, there were no signs of the priestesses.

“Ioanna! Look! Eggs!” cried Vitaliya eagerly, holding one up in the air like a prize. “We can have eggs!”

“Do you know how to cook?” asked Ioanna.

“No! But I’ll work it out!” A cast iron pan clanged against the back of the wagon. “You just take food, add fire, and then it just sort of comes together—”

“Let me help you with that,” said Otho, hurrying over. “Don’t want to burn yourself.”

“Burning is learning.” But Vitaliya let him take the pan away and went back to cradling her eggs.

Two eggs among three people was not a very generous meal, but Otho had a loaf of bread, which was only stale on one side. Vitaliya had spotted another orange tree yesterday, and the wagon now held a generous pile of fruit. Tiring quickly of oranges, though, Ioanna decided she would keep alert for vineyards today. She could not identify fruit trees out of season, but anyone could spot the special trellises farmers built to grow grapes.

After a quick and not terribly satisfying breakfast, they set out again, headed north. Otho said they would probably reach another settlement before noon, a larger one where they could purchase hot meals at the inn. Ioanna suspected he didn’t frequently indulge in such things but perhaps was trying to accommodate the two princesses traveling with him.

Ioanna appreciated the effort but wished she had the confidence to tell him it was not necessary. Only her fear he’d find her rude or ungrateful stopped her.

After a few, uneventful hours, they came upon an obstruction in the road. At first, Ioanna took them for more travelers, coming from the other direction. But it didn’t take her long to realize they weren’t moving, and there were quite a lot of them, though all on foot.

“Ah, yes,” said Otho. “Let me handle this.”

“Who are they?” asked Vitaliya. “Soldiers?”

“Bandits,” said Ioanna.

“Don’t worry. Once they realize we’re with a temple, they’ll probably let us go without any trouble,” Otho reassured them.

“Probably?” whimpered Vitaliya.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen any this near to the capital. Most have the sense to keep out of sight.” Otho shook his head minutely. “Let me do the talking. I can handle them.”

Bandits were a fact of life, but the high percentage of the population with blessings from the gods meant they were not as common as they might have been otherwise. It was a risky line of work, and not just because the Xytan military would kill any they found and not bother with trials. There was no telling when an ordinary traveler had enough magic to fight off an entire gang with ease.

“Hold,” called one, stepping forward. Ioanna supposed he was probably the leader. “This is a toll road. If you want to go any further, you’ve got to pay.”

He was not, Ioanna realized, the burly, middle-aged fighter she’d been expecting. In fact, his face appeared soft and fair like a child trying on his father’s helmet. He was about the age he would probably be drafted into the army, if anyone could find him. Ioanna looked away from him and studied the other bandits gathered behind him. Some held bows, and others had short daggers, and all had hard, angry expressions on their faces. But nevertheless, there was no hiding the fact they were all young.

“But you’re hardly bandits at all!” Ioanna exclaimed before she could stop herself. “You’re children!”

“You—you’re children!” sputtered the leader. “Shut up! Or I’ll slice you open!” But Ioanna had spent a great deal of her life hearing threats far more detailed and credible than this, and so it had little impact.

“Now, wait,” began Otho. “Let’s not lose our tempers.”

“You shouldn’t have to resort to banditry at your age,” Ioanna said earnestly. “I’m certain we can help you.”

“Shut up!” said their leader again. “Give us—just give us whatever you’ve got!”

“You can have some oranges and these lousy boots, but you’re not getting the chickens,” said Vitaliya. “You don’t deserve them.”

The bandit leader swung his sword in a wide, unpracticed arc. Ioanna was ready as it came around toward her. The sword was clearly cheaply made, and somewhat rusted as well, for the blade broke cleanly from its hilt as it collided with her shield.

“What—?” he began, and the bafflement on his face made him look younger still. “How’d you—you can’t—”

“Now you don’t have a sword,” observed Ioanna. “You should probably let us go.”

“But you can’t do that!” cried the young man. “That’s not Cyne’s blessing!”

“Well, that’s what happens when you accost strangers on the road. You’re bound to get surprised. Now, why are you doing this? You’re too young to be living this way.”

“Maybe we want to! Not everyone is content staying in a boring town, working a boring farm, and having boring children. Out here, we’re nobody’s slaves. We do as we please and don’t answer to any priests or nobles.”

The young man delivered the words confidently, but they were all lies. These children had turned to banditry because they had no other choice.

“Where are your parents?” Ioanna asked.

“Who cares? We don’t need those either!” That, strangely enough, was not a lie. Ioanna supposed these children had been alone for so long they legitimately believed they didn’t need guidance from their elders.

“I expect they were all drafted,” said Otho. “And with no one to provide for them…”

“Why are we drafting parents with children to care for?” Ioanna demanded of nobody in particular. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, you go on and tell the emperor that, then,” sneered the young man. “Sure he’ll be properly impressed and send everyone back home.”

“Haven’t you heard?” asked Ioanna. “He’s dead.”

The young man was so taken aback that he didn’t reply. But one of the children behind him lowered their bow and said, “He is?”

Ioanna looked at the child, dressed in a short but billowy robe, sewn in the style of those frequently worn by neutroi in Xytae. Clothing was not always a reliable indicator of gender, but in this situation, she could only make her best guess until she had a chance to clarify.

“Yes,” said Ioanna. “We received the news only yesterday.”

“She’s lying!” cried the young man. “She’s just tryin’ to distract us! Don’t listen to her!”

“Cassian, we’re not gonna rob her,” said the child patiently. “She’s got magic. Good magic. We don’t have a chance. I wanna hear if he’s really dead.”

“He was killed in battle,” explained Ioanna. “In a duel. One of the Masimi challenged him, and he accepted. Or at least, that’s what I heard.”

“Who cares?” demanded Cassian. “So a rich man died! What does it matter? The next one’ll be just as bad as him! Nothing’s gonna change! They’re all the same in the capital! We might as well be dead if we’re not fighting in their wars or paying their taxes.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ioanna, stricken. “I had no idea things were this bad.”

“Then you don’t have eyes, do you?”

“Don’t be rude, Cassian,” said the child. “She’s just a priestess. It’s not her fault the nobles—”

“She talks like the nobles.”

“Well, nobles are allowed to become priestesses if they want.”

Cassian eyed Ioanna warily. “Is that true? You’re a noble?”

“My family,” said Ioanna. “But I don’t agree with them on many things.” She waited for the pain to hit her, but it did not. It was all technically the truth. “I wish I could do more to help you.”

“We’re all right,” said the child, which was also a lie but a soft one. “It’s the priestesses of Reygmadra we have to watch out for. If they see you, they’ll bring you in to help the soldiers—taking care of horses, carrying things, or doing the washing.”

“What is the Temple of Pemele doing to help you?” asked Ioanna. Orphans ought to fall under their jurisdiction, not the Temple of Reygmadra’s.

“The priestesses are nice, but they warn you if you go to their temples for help. They warn you that if you stay, you might get taken, and they can’t do anything about it. Some children decide it’s worth it. We didn’t think so.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Ioanna again, and it felt so pathetic and inadequate against everything she’d just been told. “I didn’t know.”

“The priestesses of Pemele are nice,” the child said encouragingly. “Right, Cassian? And most of the other temples too, except Reygmadra’s. They don’t report us, and we try not to bother them.”

“Except now,” said Vitaliya. Then perhaps sensing she was being unkind, she added, “I meant it about the oranges, though. We’ve got lots. Or, no, wait! I can wake up the fruit trees for you! Are there any nearby?”

The child looked puzzled but nodded.

“Lead me to them, and I’ll make them grow some fruit. It won’t last more than a few days, but it will help you.”

“But that’s not Cyne’s blessing either,” said Cassian helplessly.

“There’s no rule saying you have to have Cyne’s blessing to join the temple,” Otho pointed out. “That’s just the assumption most people make. But we don’t bar anyone from joining.”

“I’ve got Eyvindr’s blessing, but you can’t hug a plant,” said Vitaliya. “Or maybe you can if it’s big enough. But it’s not the same.” She leaned forward and embraced her mount around the neck. “See? So much nicer.”

The children still seemed a bit uncertain, but Vitaliya said, “Never mind that. Show me where the trees are! You need to eat something.”

The children led them further down the road, though they refused to travel on it. Instead, they kept to the trees, ducking in and out of shadows and peeking warily ahead before continuing onward. Ioanna supposed she understood this and wondered what would be worse—being caught by soldiers or being caught by the priestesses of Reygmadra.

How had she failed to realize things were so terrible outside the capital? She spent every day at her mother’s side, and though she was concerned about the war draining their resources, she’d never had the slightest inkling things had come to this. Someone…someone ought to have said something.

Did her mother know things were this bad? Did her father? She might believe her father hadn’t known, for he was so seldom at home. But her mother had no such excuse. Unless the nobles had been deliberately keeping it from her, for fear that implying the war was having adverse effects on their people would provoke her ire.

Or perhaps she knew but did not care.

“Oh, very nice!” cried Vitaliya happily, pulling Ioanna out of her thoughts. Ioanna realized she was peering into the trees. She watched as Vitaliya got down from her mount and walked into the woods.

“What is it?” asked Ioanna.

“Fig trees. See those big leaves? That’s how you can tell. There’s a whole grove of them deeper in.”

Now that Vitaliya mentioned it, the leaves were a little odd, but Ioanna would have never noticed it on her own.

“Be careful,” said Ioanna. “Don’t, don’t drain yourself.”

“I’ll be all right.” But then she paused, considering. “I’ll have to go more slowly than I usually do and put less magic into each plant. They’ll take longer to give fruit, but they’ll have more in the end.”

“I’ll go with her,” Ioanna said to Otho. “Just…in case.” It was not that she mistrusted the children, for attacking them now would be the most foolish decision the group could make. But Vitaliya just seemed like the sort of person who needed looking after. There was no telling what she might do if impulse struck her.

Ioanna tied her horse and the one Vitaliya abandoned to the wagon, leaving Otho there on the road. Hopefully, if any travelers passed by, Otho would be able to think up an explanation for why they’d stopped.

She tried to step carefully, avoiding large stones that might cut her sandals and branches that might trip her, but she was unaccustomed to moving through such dense greenery. By the time she caught up to Vitaliya, she was already pressing her hands onto the trunk of the nearest tree.

But this time she did not remain at the tree for long before she removed her hand, still glowing green, and pressed it to the next tree, and then the next, and the next. Within minutes, Ioanna could see the start of new growth in the branches. Little green bulbs would soon darken to purple.

The children all began to shout eagerly, and Vitaliya laughed. She took a step backward but stumbled, and Ioanna rushed forward to catch her. Vitaliya laughed again like she was drunk.

“I think I’m out of magic now!” she cried. “I hope we don’t have to fight a…a something. Something that hates plants. What hates plants?”

“Come on. You can rest in the wagon,” said Ioanna.

“With the chickens!” But Vitaliya sounded excited rather than disgusted. “They’re so nice.”

“I suppose,” said Ioanna, who had no real opinion on this.

The children followed them back to the road but seemed reluctant to step out of the trees.

“She’s fine. Just drained,” Ioanna reported to Otho. Vitaliya pulled free of her and climbed awkwardly into the wagon.

“Wait. Let me put down a blanket first—” began Ioanna, but Vitaliya had already collapsed onto the dirty wooden slats. Her eyes were already closed, but one of her arms curled around a chicken.

“Is she all right?” called one of the children.

“She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest,” explained Ioanna. Did none of them have magic of their own? She supposed they must not, or they’d have gone to the temples instead of living out here. She pulled one of the blankets out and draped it over Vitaliya. Then she took as many of the oranges as she could carry and brought them back over to the group.

“Now, be careful in the next few days,” Ioanna advised. “The priestesses of Reygmadra might come back this way.” She wished she could do more for them, but her Truthsayer magic was worthless in this situation. Could she bring them to Oredia? No. A gaggle of children would raise countless questions and might cause people to look more closely at Ioanna and Vitaliya.

Ioanna told herself she had to be rational. If she was captured now, she would never be able to help these children as empress—or anyone like them. For she knew for certain these children weren’t the only ones who had been forced to turn to banditry to survive. If they’d made it for this long, they could probably survive a few more weeks.

She hoped they could.

With great reluctance they moved on, leaving the would-be bandits behind, but the matter weighed on Ioanna’s mind. Did her mother know about this? Did any of the nobles? First the abandoned villages, and now this. Someone had to know what was happening outside the capital.

The Temple of Reygmadra always spoke as though freedom was the most important thing in the world, and the only way to ensure it was with military might. But what about the freedom of those children? They’d been forced into banditry when their parents had been drafted, and they’d likely be drafted too if they were caught. Was that freedom?

She could visualize Archpriestess Seia’s sneer and her response. More proof that Iolar’s followers hate freedom. No, that was unfair of Ioanna. Seia could make better arguments. She would probably say the children could earn their freedom through military service, and it wasn’t the Temple’s fault they’d chosen to hide away.

Vitaliya remained sound asleep in the wagon, so still she might have been dead. Ioanna had no idea how anyone could sleep with the road so badly maintained, but Vitaliya did not stir.

Ioanna had never run out of magic before—at least, not by accident. There was never much reason to use her blessing for prolonged periods of time, and detecting lies did not seem to drain her the way actively conjuring shields did. The priests had forced her to drain herself once, though, just so she could see what it felt like. When she was about nine years old, she’d held a shield for hours while Archpriest Lailus read to her from a book to keep her entertained.

The exercise had not been done out of sadism nor scientific curiosity. The priests insisted she must know, for her own safety, what it felt like to become drained of magic. It had taken a very, very long time, but gradually the world had grown quiet, and Ioanna realized Archpriest Lailus’s voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away even though he sat directly in front of her. When she tried to step forward, she’d stumbled, and the world had tilted. This was what being drained was like, Lailus explained to her. And if she ever felt this way again, she must stop whatever she was doing and rest. If she carried on for too much longer, her life would be in danger.

It was rare for someone to die of overusing magic, but it did happen occasionally. Every temple had an anecdote about some foolish young person who had only wanted to prove they were more powerful or talented than their mentors. They would feel the drowsiness come on but convince themselves they could hold out for just a little longer. Soon the drowsiness would turn to searing pain, and by then it would be too late.

Ioanna looked at Vitaliya again. It was hard to tell, given the movement of the wagon, but she was still breathing. No doubt she had been just as carefully trained as Ioanna herself—if not more so—and underwent the same exercise as a girl, pulling up crops at accelerated speeds or making flowers bloom until she grew too tired to continue, followed by a stern warning to never forget the feeling.

Ioanna knew that if Vitaliya was not crying out in pain, she would be fine after she rested.

Still, it was very quiet without her around. Ioanna had nothing to distract her from her own thoughts and how dreadfully useless she felt. The Xytan people were faring badly, and there was nothing she could do to help them. Not in the way Vitaliya could.

The only thing Ioanna’s magic was good for was frightening people.