When Nua entered Hessa’s chambers, the huntress was sitting on pillows by the low table with an opened bottle of date wine. Judging from her looks, it was not the first one. She had no cup and no water to dilute her drink, and her hair was disheveled.

“Sit down.”

Nua sat with trepidation on the opposite side of the table. For a moment, there was silence. Hessa put a bottle to her lips and took a long sip.

“So. Shit’s out.”

“Not completely,” Nua tried to argue.

“In my books, that’s completely. Pee in the water, and it won’t stay in one place for too long.”

Silence again.

“So. What’ya wanna do? Stay in the caravan? Or do you have other plans?”

The girl blinked. Hessa glared.

“Well…” Nua started. “I have other plans.” She was looking at her knees. She couldn’t tell her that she wanted to upend a whole Guild of astronomically rich sorcerers. That would sound stupid, now that she had thought about it. “Long-term plans.”

The huntress gave her a bitter smirk.

“I can read you like an open scroll. I’ve heard your story. Raya’s, too. I agree with your sentiment toward them. But…”

“Hessa. I know. I know, all right?” Nua put her hand on the table. “Someone has to start somewhere. Or we’ll be up shit’s creek forever.”

“Oh, child.”

For a while, they were sitting without speaking a word.

“I said I owed you a story, one I shouldn’t tell while sober,” said Hessa, then partook in her wine. “But you should give it your undivided attention, so forgive me if I don’t share. Hear about the champion of the oppressed, the Soaring Falcon.”

*****

You will meet people who still call him a savior, a hero, a successor to our legendary kings, and the leader of the first true Unsagga rebellion since time immemorial. They’ll sing his glory and praise his deeds. Some of them were even real. There was a time I believed in him without a reservation, even after I learned about his past, as he was honest in his passion. There are evenings I believe it still.

His real name was Scipio Falco Vergilius. A Tiberian name. Not a bad one. His father was Tiberian, a noble of birth, a prominent customs officer. The leader of a whole branch, in fact. A distant relative of a family from the Center. Political ambitions. Very rich. Very corrupt. Could get away with anything.

His mother was one of the palace slaves. As it happens, one thing led to another, but strangely enough, the father had sentiment for his concubine and his son. Something about the kid resembling dad more than the other siblings, or what. Had he inherited our golden eyes, father would’ve got him a military post far away, peaceful enough to age and get fat. But his eyes were Tiberian brown, and so he was guaranteed a minor clerkship somewhere in the city. Well cushioned. With a bride matched from a merchant family. Not a bad life, really. If only he had no one else to compare himself to.

But he had four other siblings, and he was the only one out of wedlock. Once he grew older, he started asking questions. Why do they get the best paid tutors, while I have to attend the temple school? Why does everyone praise their smarts while I learned my letters much earlier? And last, but not least – why does their mother get invited to all the dinners and banquets, gets to wear silk and attend with his father in public, while mine still meets my dad in secret, as if it was something to be ashamed of? He knew other bastards. Sometimes, their mothers were made official concubines or replaced the previous wives. Some people even took second wives in the Old Azurian fashion.

The sewage of hatred and exclusion directed toward our kind was not exactly a secret. Ironically, he didn’t fully realize it until he got older. You see, he did not look Unsagga enough to draw the ire of his school peers, and his parents tried their best to protect him. He was quite spoiled by then and in the rebellious phase. His father encouraged his intellectual pursuits, but there was one thing he expressively forbade. Sorcery. So naturally, the kid dug up some old scrolls – it wasn’t hard with his father’s resources - and started learning.

And unfortunately, he turned out to be a prodigy.

Soon, he was armed with ether and a strong preoccupation with the injustice toward his oppressed brethren. At this point, he did not have much love for the Tiberian father who clothed and fed him. He chose a vigilante name Soaring Falcon, and he amassed a crowd of impressionable youths to act as his small army. Robbing the rich Tiberians, gifting the spoils to the impoverished Unsagga. Pranking the officials. Spoiling festivities. Camping in the caverns to assault tax collectors. If you know any “noble bandit” kind of story, that’s what we were, or at least we aimed to be.

We had no idea how in the world he knew some things he did. That all of us could use sorcery. His methods of training. Some of the old legends he told. It reeked of forbidden knowledge. But he was educated, and resourceful, and charismatic, and he had those “revelations”. We were enchanted. Feverish.

You know, we really did think that we had avoided the full attention of the military. That we were crafty and just that good. In fact, it was only thanks to the Falcon’s father's protection we got away with our misdeeds for so long. He covered his son’s involvement and downplayed our movement as much as he could. The skirmishes with us became a game of sorts. At some point the guards were turning tail as soon as they saw us, nobody got hurt and we thought this was because we became that much feared. Perhaps Falcon’s father really had a sentiment toward us and he thought it was charity. An unofficial tax. This was what he was accused of later. But I get ahead of myself.

First, we got unlucky. A few people died in a raid and Falcon turned serious. He was growing up, and our “noble bandit” movement was slowly maturing into a real rebellion. With his new zeal, our numbers grew, our fighting prowess increased and we were not squeamish of blood anymore. We planned our attacks more carefully and hit where it hurt. We’ve assassinated a few especially abominable officials. We started teaching, and preaching, and bribing. So it was very fitting that soon enough we fell into a trap.

I won’t get into details. Not now, maybe not ever. Let it suffice that we have succeeded at taking a remote military outpost. It was very brazen. It was perhaps too much. Next thing we knew, the Falcon was captured during a secret meeting, all his acquaintances taken. Then, secret military agents rounded us up like cattle. And would you guess? They knew the names and hideouts of all the important people in our organization, and especially of the Falcon’s inner circle.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

They made a public example of him. Poked his eyes out and cut off his tongue. For seven days, he stayed shackled in the marketplace. Then, they sent him to die in the mines, claiming that he was spared from the immediate execution thanks to his cooperation.

*****

Hessa paused and closed her eyes. She was sipping her wine through the course of her story, and Nua was concerned she’d fall asleep before the tale ends.

“Did he do it? Did he betray you?”

The huntress shuddered, startled. Then she looked at her student.

“At the time I thought so. I was in hiding for a long time. I’ve been close enough to him to be recognizable. They tried taking me and they failed.” She pointed to her missing eye. “Not without a loss.”

“But there was more.”

“Yes. There was. After I dared to lift my head, it turned out that the city-state of Vengeance changed hands. Or heads. The Tiberian giant, I mean the Empire, has awaken and sent its legions with a couple of imperial goliaths to boot. I will never be certain, but I think they moved out even before Falcon got arrested. The former Overlord was convicted of conspiring against the Center by harboring a cult of the Forsaken. The principal accused was Falcon’s father, and because he was the Overlord’s trusted man, the responsibility fell on the leader. There was word in the streets that the new Overlord was a proficient mage-engineer who maintained good relationships with the Guild of Antiquarians.”

Hessa sighed.

“Then I did some digging. All the scrolls and all the knowledge Falcon was getting was black market contraband allegedly stolen from the Guild. They have shaped him. He did not betray us – he was unaware. They had agents in our midst. They were manipulating our movement from the very beginning.”

“That’s… that’s rough.”

“That it was.”

“But… Hessa. You told me they believe any Unsagga who uses ether is a threat. A future Autarch, a nightmare come true.”

Hessa glanced at her from the corner of her eye. She was keeping her head in a vertical position by supporting her forehead with her palm.

“I wondered about it. I think none of us was that good. The Antiquarians took an acceptable risk of growing a small rebellion to use us as pawns in a larger game, then got rid of us when time was ripe. I believe Falcon could’ve been at the brink of awakening, but he never made it. You will hear stories; our propaganda inflated his abilities.”

“You said that the organization still exists.”

“There were survivors. But… you can never tell. Were they lucky? Or…” Hessa allowed the question to hang for a while. “Does the organization exist only to draw out anyone…”

“Who sticks out,” Nua suggested.

“That would be the word, yes.”

“So why did they target me? I was not that good. It’s not like they knew I was making my own ether.”

“You said you’ve uncovered a machine. What was that?”

Nua fiddled with her thumbs.

“An ush… a goliath.”

“Are you serious?” Hessa gave out a brash laugh. “That machine owned by Overlord’s Mercy right now is an ancient goliath? A walking apocalypse, that’s what I’d call it.”

“Um. Yes. No. They can’t use it yet. I mean they would if they caught me, but they didn’t think about it.”

“Doubtless, their mages believe they can make it fly. You have found a whole freaking goddamned Forsaken goliath, you could operate it right off the bat, and you were able to use ether, with nowhere to get it from” she huffed. "And you wonder why you’re a target. Let’s hope no one recognizes you once we reach Vengeance.”

Nua thought about Zaina, but she kept quiet.

“Now,” Hessa waved her hand. “Go. Think through my story. And do it properly. Because starting tomorrow, I am going to teach you everything I know.”

She took out a small vial made of alchemical glass and put it on the table. Opalescent liquid sloshed inside.

“I’d rather spend money than borrow yours,” she said. “I get a bit… prickly when I take it.” There was a bad look in the huntress’ single eye, a hint of pain and barely contained madness.

Soon enough, Nua would learn to fear it.

*****

The door closed. Nua let out her breath.

“That was an enlightening tale,” a familiar voice said.

She almost jumped.

“Anki!”

An errand girl passing by with a basket of laundry gave her a surprised glance, then continued on her way.

“You aren’t asleep anymore.”

“I was not sleeping,” a blue cloud coalesced in front of her. “Spirits do not sleep. I was… meditating. Oh, all right. I was… distracted.” He sighed. “I had a lot to think about.”

“I imagine.”

The ghost darkened.

“I apologize for my outburst in the facility. I have monitored your mind’s activity while you were listening to Hessa’s tale and I could tell that fortunately, I did not give you any new brain damage. And thank you, Nua, for being sympathetic to my plight.”

The girl glanced at him, furrowing her brow. For Anki, that was plenty of empathy.

“At this point my plight is yours, I guess. Think about it. You do not need to take revenge on the world, or Azurians in general. There are very specific someones to stick goliaths up their asses.”

Silence.

“Let’s go to my room. I need to pack my stuff for tomorrow.”

“If I may, I will return later. I wish to look around and catch up. I’ve… lost a couple of days due to my distraction and that is unnerving.”

“When you come back, please tell me how to use this artifact,” Nua touched her arm.

“Hmm. Give it a bit of ether, would you?”

The girl did so.

“Now repeat after me, infusing the word with ether,” Anki said something in the ancient tongue, transmitting the knowledge about the accent just like back then in the market of Overlord’s Mercy.

Nua looked around for stray passerby, then she obliged.

A transparent pattern of glowing symbols sprung up to life in thin air. Nua yelped.

“Anki! How do I turn it off?!”

“The same.”

“And what does it even mean?”

“Password.”

“I know it’s a password. What does the word mean?”

“I told you. Password.”

“The password was password?!”

“You wouldn’t guess how often that happens.” The ghost puffed up. “I am glad we did not need to crack it. I will be back very soon.”

Then he was gone.

*****

Back in her room, she spread her belongings on the mattress. Her best clothes were already cleaned and repaired after she had put them to test in the ruins. Of two changes of her old garments brought from the Overlord’s Mercy, one was so threadbare that after some consideration she had cut it into strips, making herself a new set of monthly rags. Another, which she was using to work in the stables, was in the laundry; she would pick it up tomorrow morning. Together with the shirt she had on her back, that meant she owned three changes of clothes, which was more than a lot of people she knew back home.

Of course, that did not compare to a pouch full of gold.

Nua wondered briefly how she was going to conceal it. Boot soles were out of question. She scratched the artifact wrapped around her arm, then she paused, her gaze directed first at the invisible device, then at the bracelet made of wooden beads, the one she got from Hala.

Bracelets.

Gold was heavy, but it didn’t take that much space. She could reinforce her muscles with ether, but it would work much better if she grew more muscle. Hessa was going to teach her how to fight with a whole new dedication; why not use leather bracelets filled with coins to help gaining strength?

She laughed. Way to go, Nua, you’ll always find ways to make your life harder.

She arranged her other odds and ends. Her new knife, which she did not intend to break this time. A couple of thin metal wires that could act as lockpicks. That was a new purchase, bought with the thought of Zaina’s performance in the ruins. Smallclothes. She definitely needed more smallclothes, and a strophium. She could do without it, but wearing one had advantages, like padding one’s assets. She was gradually shedding her childish appearance; why not embrace the change?

Between the linens, there was a small package that contained the dark blue patch of cloth, embroidered with ancient emegir symbols, cut out from her mother’s dress. Nua unwrapped it as she often did and she ran her fingers through the silk.

Then a stray thought hit her.

The color of the night sunless sky.

Her mother’s sickness. The plague.

Twenty years since the earthquake.

Since the Antiquarians invaded the temple, slaughtered the sleeping Autarchs and died themselves.

She slowly turned her head in what seemed to be the direction of the ruins.

But that was a ridiculous thought, and a far-fetched idea, born from Raya’s suggestions and Hessa’s forlorn hope. She would never mention it to Anki, not after his breakdown. That would be profoundly stupid. And didn’t the king tell her that the contagion affected everyone? She would have got it, too. The chance was greater that her mother arrived from the North.

She shook her head and moved on.