Iris looked at Exill in shock, suddenly understanding his nervousness and line of questioning. ‘Did he falsify his miracle? No, but his Witchdoctor job is genuine.’ Her mind raced with possibilities before finally choosing to withhold judgement and answer his question truthfully.
“It depends on the severity of the crime. Most people who lie are fined and publicly ridiculed, but some are exiled or even executed.”
“Then what does it mean to be hated by the World?” He hesitantly asked.
Iris tried not to laugh and covered her mouth, “It’s a bunch of old wives tales. I know Diviners like to spout that all the time, but it doesn’t really mean anything.”
Exill let out a soft sigh, it wasn’t as bad as he feared. Some of the earlier tension dissipated as he spun the mug around in both hands. “Thank you, I just wanted to know what would happen if they came to the wrong conclusion over the investigation.”
Iris laughed into her steaming mug, relieved that he was just being cautious, “Oh you don’t have to worry about them getting it wrong! Oracles are the final arbiter of blessings. They commune with the Spirit and are different from Diviners - they don’t see probabilities, only certainties.”
Exill returned her laugh with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘How could I have forgotten that?’ It was one of the first things he learnt in the Library while studying Diviners. If the Oracle knew he had lied about the blessing, it would likely result in a slap on the wrist. Where things got tricky was explaining how he replaced [Blacksmith] with [Witchdoctor], and there was a high chance that it would be interpreted as Heresy.
He suddenly felt trapped and had the urge to flee. ‘How far can I run away if I fled right this moment?’ he thought in rising panic.
‘Should I risk unlocking ‘Dimensionist’ to learn [Warp]?’
His mind raced with possibilities as he smiled and nodded along to Iris reciting miracles that had been verified by the church. However there wasn’t much time to waste. Quickly finishing the cup he rose, startling her. “I’m sorry but I need to head back, I have an early appointment with the church tomorrow.”
“Ah, sure… Come by anytime Exill.” Iris was disappointed that her first visitor had to leave so soon, but she stood at the doorway and saw him hurry down the stairs.
Exill nearly sprinted home, his heart gripped by ice. Fumbling with the latch, he ran up the stairs into his bedroom, rummaging around in his rucksack. The runic throwing bones lay untouched at the bottom of the bag. His eyebrows twitched while reconsidering his plans.
‘They’re the reason I nearly killed myself in the Labyrinth… as Iris said, Diviners deal with probabilities, not certainties.’
The divination bones were like a crutch, a brutal addiction that he had been trying to kick like a bad habit. However, after a long moment of indecision, he channelled mana through trembling hands and asked the burning question, allowing the glowing bones to slip through his fingers. The runes flashed too fast to see, their message a blur as the mana immediately dissipated. Frowning deeply, he tried again.
‘Why do they say nothing is wrong?’
He sat on the edge of his bed for precious minutes growing steadily paranoid, wondering how the divining tools were planning to kill him this time. ‘If the bones… or perhaps the Spirit wanted to kill me… this would be the perfect opportunity. To lull me into a false sense of security.’
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
But something didn’t make sense.
Having met Inquisitor Deroch, he was under no illusion that if the unsettling man wished it, he would be dead this very moment. The urge to flee far away from Ark consumed his soul, but he was faced with the same dilemma as before with the Arena duel.
‘What do I do with Envy?’
Bound by his contract to guarantee freedom at the end of two years, he was in a tricky situation. There was no way he could make payments to Diallo after fleeing the city. The terms of the notarized contract with the slave trader simply stated, ‘Exill of Lindtree must return the slave when he is unable to make the monthly instalments.’
There were no specified penalties, or what would happen should he fail to abide by the contract. In some ways this made the implications even scarier, and he was reminded of the snippets overheard during meals back at the refugee camp.
The most prevalent of these was the anecdotes of soldiers abruptly paralysed from the waist down while deserting the battlefield or disobeying orders. Sure, these stories could be dramatized, but he suspected there was a terrible grain of truth in them.
‘I really need to prioritise paying off Diallo’s loan. I can’t even run away properly.’ He thought bitterly to himself.
After a long period of introspection, Exill grunted as he stood up, putting weight on his tired knees. Sometimes, it felt like he was bearing the brunt of the world’s misfortunes and it reflected on the condition of his scarred body. He entered the living room and stood outside Envy’s door, hand hovering over its surface before knocking twice. He heard no answer.
Climbing down the stairs, he saw light peeking out from under the treatment room’s door. Knocking again, he entered to find Tsarra carefully grinding dried roots into a powder with one hand. There was a guilty look in her gentle jade eyes.
“You should be resting, not working.”
Hearing his chiding tone, Tsarra played with the bandages on her stump, smoothing them down in embarrassment. She couldn’t tell him that the throbbing pain made it difficult to sleep. She just nodded, putting the pestle to one side.
“Why didn’t you take the bliss root to relieve pain, you know you aren’t saving me any money that way.” Exill sighed while grabbing the leaf sachet of powder that had been set aside for her. The Dwarf was timid and conservative to a fault, trying to save him money at every corner. She had even begun reusing her old poultice to save a few Denars!
He knelt in front of her, placing the sachet in her remaining palm. “Take this and go to bed, we need to be up early to visit Diallo tomorrow.” After a moment of indecision, he added:
“You’re finally going to be free.”
***
The next morning, Exill embraced the slightly chilly morning air, striding with purpose towards the Inner City. Tsarra hurried to keep up, her breath slightly frosting in the air. Dark circles hung under his eyes and a throbbing pain assaulted his temples, the early symptoms of mana abuse. He had spent all night asking variations of the same question, getting the same answer each time from the runic bones.
He stopped at the gate to display the red citizen token, while Tsarra displayed her own. The dwarf’s token was coloured green, and indicated she was a registered slave of an Ark resident, exempting her from the entry fee. Envy carried a similar one.
Exill hadn’t freed Tsarra immediately because he knew Envy would throw a fit. She was right of course; he had an obligation to free her first before doing anything else. However the latest threat to his wellbeing threw all the carefully laid plans out the window. In spite of this, he didn’t plan on leaving loose ends. Not when it cost only 700 Denars to resolve.
“Remember, if I return safe, you cannot let Envy find out you are free. She will kill me.”
Tsarra was both exhilarated and confused by his instructions. She was finally going to be free!
“Um, if you return safe?”
“You know my power to reassign jobs... It is unnatural and I fear the Inquisition is after me. If I don’t return before midday, you should make your way to Savta’s Clinic and ask Luna for an apprenticeship. She is a close friend of mine.”
Tsarra abruptly stopped in the middle of the deserted alleyway, shocked as she absorbed this news. Exill slowed down, waiting impatiently for her to catch up. They needed to go to the Magistrate’s after this to establish her temporary residence, there wasn’t a lot of time remaining.
“Why would the Church go after you for helping people?” she nearly shouted, confused by the injustice. Exill turned away, a pained look crossing his face.
“It’s… complicated. Let’s just say the Spirit doesn’t like me.”
Tsarra was about to disparage the all-encompassing Spirit when a chill ran down her spine, the familiar fetid stench and groans wafting through the air. She clung to Exill’s arm tightly, her feet refusing to move.
“It’s alright, just this once and you won’t have to ever return.” Exill squeezed her shoulder and hurried into Diallo’s compound.