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“What do you think you’re doing?” Yamal cried. “She’s still alive, gods dammit! She's still alive!”
The Rector regarded him with as much consideration as one would give a pile of rotting trash.
“Our god has spoken. The Swarm has judged her and found her guilty. She is forsaken.”
“Please, hand her to us” Yamal pleaded. “Do not do this.”
Yamal had known that blasted tree was no good the moment he'd set his sight on it. When Maiya had lost consciousness after touching it, Yamal feared the worst. And while the worst hadn’t happened—Maiya hadn’t perished—Yamal was beginning to wonder if it might’ve been better if she had. At least it would have been painless.
No. I refuse to let her be burned alive.
They—or rather, The Silent One—had acted immediately back then, in the room with the strange tree. He’d checked Maiya for a pulse before deftly slinging her over his shoulder. He'd done it with such grace and precision, it made Yamal wonder—not for the first time—what exactly the large man's background was.
He'd never had a chance to ask, for they had been too busy running to think about anything else.
The cave’s corridors were a maze, oftentimes leading to hallways that led to rooms and yet more hallways. Most looked as though they hadn’t been occupied for centuries, judging from the thousands of cobwebs and the piles of dust. Had there been more light, they would have noticed their robes had turned entirely white from running into the things, and Yamal had to move his hands continuously to prevent the silk from covering his face. The light of their Magic Lamp orbs had only barely pierced the darkness, proving entirely insufficient to drive back the crushing eeriness of those halls.
It was Yamal’s idea to finally halt, and though he’d made the decision partially out of fear, even upon reflection, he could not find fault with it. Despite the dire consequences it’d brought upon them.
Those tunnels were a labyrinth. Delving recklessly into them might’ve kept them hidden, yes, but it’d also have gotten them lost. They nearly were lost as it was.
He’d convinced the Silent One to finally stop. They’d backtracked to a known passage, then hidden until the Children had finished snooping.
Yamal had hoped to sneak by after they’d left. That way, they could monitor the flow of guards and simply follow after them.
What he hadn’t anticipated was the zeal with which the guards protected that entrance to the labyrinth.
They’d posted two dozen zealots, priests, and who-knew-else at the only exit.
And so, they’d waited for Maiya to wake up. A day had passed. Then two. Their situation grew dire with every hour. Neither had brought with them supplies, but Maiya, ever the careful planner, thankfully had. She’d packed a sizeable waterskin and some emergency rations, along with magic orbs. Many, many orbs, in fact.
Yamal’s merchant eyes had widened further with each one they’d found. After having witnessed them all, he was almost sure they’d fall out of their sockets.
There was so much wealth on Maiya, in fact, that Yamal didn’t doubt she was richer than everyone within a hundred miles—combined.
The woman grew more and more mysterious with each passing day, and even the ever-placid Silent One couldn't hide his surprise.
Unfortunately, no amount of wealth would’ve gotten them past their predicament. They’d given Maiya almost all the water they could, and though they’d carefully rationed her snacks, dehydration began to take hold.
Unable to endure any longer, they’d finally given in and surrendered to the cult.
The Children of Ash didn’t have a jail, per se, so Yamal and the Silent One had been allowed to wander. Just that their days of being a part of the organization were over. For Maiya, as well. They’d all been excommunicated, but as the perpetrator of the crime, Maiya was to be executed.
No amount of lying and pretending that Yamal or the Silent One had been the one to touch the strange tree convinced them. It seemed everyone who ever did had died immediately.
Which brought them to their current predicament—the priests refused to accept that Maiya was still alive. A simple test of her pulse would prove it, of course, but these weren’t rational human beings. They were the craziest, most twisted group of people ever to roam the Known World. Reason had no power here.
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Yamal clutched his hair. He stood around a dusty old table with the Silent One in one of the many abandoned buildings in the village of Bahurai.
“We cannot stop them once their ‘ceremony’ has started,” Yamal spat.
As was customary for the Children, Maiya’s cremation—no, execution—was to be a ritual.
The Silent One scribbled a sentence in his notebook. ‘We find where they’re keeping her. Take her back.’
Yamal shook his head. “I considered that already. It’d be good if we could find her, but I suspect they’re keeping her in that labyrinth. You know as well as I that there is no returning to that place. And even if she’s not inside, they could be hiding her in any one of the houses around here. It’d take far too long to search them all. We have only a few short hours.”
The Silent One stared at Yamal in expectation.
“Our only opportunity is when they take her from wherever they’re keeping her to the ceremony, but before the actual ceremony begins. She’ll no doubt be under heavy guard, but convoys are at their most vulnerable while moving.”
The Silent One raised a brow.
“I used to be a merchant. It’s been several years now, but merchants are always regularly attacked while traveling. Much easier to defeat a few guards on the move than it is to break into a storehouse inside a city. Usually. Still, we’ll need to get past the guards. Think you can knock them out?”
His tall friend nodded.
Yamal sighed.
“What a mess. Who would’ve thought I’d be the brigand, plotting a raid on a convoy? Life truly takes us to some strange places, doesn’t it?”
The Silent One chuckled silently, which was the biggest physical reaction Yamal had seen the man give him.
Maiya, you owe us for this. And I, at least, intend to collect in full.
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The moment arrived. Yamal had initially feared the Children would make this a private, unannounced ritual. If that happened, there would have been no chance of saving Maiya.
Thankfully, the Children of Ash were not ones for subtlety. With much fanfare, priests marched through the streets of Bahurai. It reminded Yamal of a parade, yet instead of flower throwers, they poured blood. They were followed by yet other priests and a few Sisters of Gray, who all wore dark, hooded robes.
Finally, the procession bearing Maiya arrived. They’d bound her wrists and ankles to a thick bough and carried her horizontally, with one man hoisting the bough over his shoulder at the front, with another at the rear.
“Well, we found them,” Yamal murmured to the Silent One. “That’s the good news. The bad news is… How in the realms are we going to escape with her in this throng?”
It wasn’t the guards that worried him. Most were far enough away that Yamal and the Silent One could reasonably escape before they could react. The crowd of Initiates that thronged around the group, however, was another story. Even if the mob didn’t actively try and stop them, their presence alone would slow the two down.
The procession marched steadily to a pyre that had been erected in the center of the village. As per cult tradition, it, too, had been soaked in blood, and also oil. Very much oil. It would light quickly, and once lit, there would be no putting it out.
Yamal’s frustration grew with each step they took.
She’s right there! Why do you always hesitate in times like these?
Yet, the feat looked impossible. What was the point of sacrificing their lives if it didn’t even help Maiya? No reward was worth his life!
The Silent One witnessed the spectacle with his typical lack of emotion.
Does nothing faze him? Just who is this man?
If someone were to open the man’s head, Yamal suspected they might find steel instead of flesh. He’d encountered no one his entire life with such composure. Well, perhaps excepting Maiya.
The procession finally arrived at the pyre, and Maiya’s bough was raised vertically. She hung from her wrist bindings, and her raised position meant all who’d gathered could witness the horror that was about to unfold. The dreaded torches arrived—no less than a dozen of them—and the pyre lit.
It took only moments to spread like a ring, heating the fuel rapidly. The fire grew hotter as the wood began to burn, and Yamal knew it was over.
I’m sorry, Maiya. I’m sorry we couldn’t—!?
The Silent One moved. He pushed through the crowd with quick, efficient motions, which parted like water before him. Before Yamal knew it, he was following in the large man’s wake.
“W-wait for me!”
By the time Yamal arrived—and by the time anyone had processed what was happening, the Silent One had already leaped onto the platform, cut Maiya from her bindings, and was in the process of jumping back down.
Yamal felt the heat of hope light within his chest.
We can do this! I can help!
He turned, intending to pave their escape route through the crowd, but was instead met with a column of armed guards rushing up to them.
In the span of a single moment, victory had turned to defeat. They were surrounded, and with the Silent One carrying Maiya, he couldn’t fight like normal.
Yamal finally unsheathed his dagger.
When his life had fallen apart, he’d broken. He’d become indecisive, aimless. Wasting each day drinking and wondering what even the point of living was. On more than one occasion, he’d considered taking his own life. Who wouldn’t, after watching their own wife die with their unborn child? After losing his business, his home… his everything?
Now, Yamal felt none of that. If only for a moment, the man he once was surfaced again. Yamal was never a warrior. He barely knew how to carry a blade, but it didn’t matter.
With a roar, he plunged the dagger into the nearest guard.
His aim was true, but the cultist flinched away at the last moment, and his knife dug into their abdomen. Though it sunk deeply, the cultist grabbed the hilt, preventing him from retrieving the blade.
Yamal let go of the weapon and stumbled away in shock.
I just… stabbed someone!
“Kill them!” the man screamed. “Kill them all!”
The crowd erupted in shouts and cries for blood as they swarmed around them. Talwars, daggers, and spears point inward, promising death.
Yamal backed away, sidling up to the Silent One. This was it. This was where they’d make their glorious stand. Fighting to the death to defend Maiya.
The blades closed in. Yamal couldn’t say which was more terrifying—the instruments of death, or the deranged grins of the ones who held them.
No, it was neither. It was the fire that licked their boots. Closing, creeping, with the inevitable promise of a horrible death.
The fire raged so thickly that they could no longer even see the cultists.
The heat was unbearable.
Snap. Snap.
A strange sound came from behind them. Yamal turned, fearing more enemies from behind. Instead, he found Maiya. She was standing. On her own.
His eyes widened.
Maiya rubbed her head. “Somebody mind telling me what’s going on here?”