As Inna and Myshkin knelt with their foreheads in the dry earth, certain facts known to everyone from princes to paupers rushed through their minds.
Magical power was a powerful and restricted tool, one which could only be lawfully and safely cultivated under the guidance of the church. First among the nobility’s many duties was to hold their subjects to these laws and aid the church in stamping out heresy and witchcraft.
At the same time, demons offered power to the weak-willed and ambitious in order to spread chaos, and those witches granted their power to others in exchange for fell prices.
Agatha, the witch Inna and Myshkin learned from, hadn’t made any fiendish bargains, at least not with them. Being rough, poor outcasts from society who could only earn their keep by herding on ever smaller lots of common land, they might not have even refused.
But they must have expected a price would be exacted at some point, and now they would pay for heresy with their lives. Worse, the whole village of Inillo, almost everyone they had ever known, might perish with them.
When Inna’s spell was discovered, her first thought was to flee. When her pursuer proved too quick to escape, going down fighting and keeping Myshkin out of it was the best choice.
But the twin lions were the symbols of the Holy Son and his faction: anyone who could conjure them was, at the very least, raised within the house of Gulphay and trained to uphold its hegemony, if not a vassal or relative of the Gulphay princes or the Holy Son himself.
Any backwoods witch who defied someone of this stature wouldn’t just be executed; they would seek out their families, their communities, anyone who so much as bought a lamb from them, and put them to the sword. Before such power, immediate submission was their only chance to placate his wrath and contain the bloodshed.
So they knelt with their foreheads in the dry earth and waited. The agonizing moments stretched out and they trembled inside, though they dared not show it. After far too long, they saw the light of the golden lions dissipate, but did not raise their heads.
“Tell me,” intoned an imperious and threatening voice, “where the hell am I?”
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Cato was completely at a loss.
First, he found that the eyes watching him over the hills belonged to a peasant woman. Then, before he could even ask a question, she started running away from him like a bear was nipping at her heels. Right as Cato caught up, she stopped and for all Cato could tell tried to fight him, just before this other guy appeared out of nowhere, howling like a wolf.
And now, just as he cleared his head, the two of them were kneeling down in front of him.
Cato was dimly, distantly aware that he was, in fact, holding a dagger. But that was just because it would have fallen out of his belt loop otherwise. Surely, these two didn’t think he was threatening them?
And yes, maybe he got a little carried away testing out his body’s abilities… and maybe he was acting in an odd, animalistic way that made him nervous. So he could see how it might have given these two a fright.
But to go from trying to pick a fight to kneeling just because-
Cato jumped to the side and nearly fell over. A low roar rumbled through the air and made his insides jitter, and he found himself flanked to either side by a pair of golden lions made entirely out of light. He tensed for a moment, but neither paid him any attention, instead fixing their gazes on the kneeling pair. With their eyes fixed firmly on the ground, they hadn’t noticed him jump.
Cato slowly realized that the lions were emanating from him, and the same warm energy which healed his wounds earlier was flooding out of him, from two points on his back.
It struck him that these two might not be the strange ones here.
That powerful, reassuring will in his gut… it didn’t whisper to him. It just directed his attention to certain sensations and feelings. Even now he reveled in the exhilaration of movement and the subtle satisfaction at seeing people kneel in front of him.
But Cato also knew that there was something perverse afoot here. Though the bright, cold presence he felt at the river tickled the edge of his consciousness, he didn’t wait for it to act. With a deep breath he pushed back against the other will in his body; he only needed to brush against it, and it retreated to god-knows-where.
A sense of clarity- no, that wasn’t it. It was just a dark cloud which had been lifted from his thoughts. He had barely been thinking at all for the last few minutes. That incredible sense of mastery he’d felt when the peasant’s spell fell on him was an illusion. He hadn’t been in control, he’d just given control over to a much more powerful and coordinated force that knew exactly what it was doing… and knew how to persuade him to give up control without even speaking a word.
Cato needed to get some information of his own.
He didn’t have the faintest clue about what this world and its laws were like, but he could make some solid guesses based on the people in front of him. They were rugged and coarsely dressed, with dirt on their faces even before they pressed their heads to the ground. They smelled like goat—Cato wondered idly whether his sense of smell had gotten better or they just stank—and unlike his present body, which clearly used to be in great shape but was abused recently, they looked a great deal more like how Cato remembered himself: sinewy and lean, the mark of a life spent not eating quite enough and working hard for very little. Also, his present body felt and smelled quite clean, even fragrant. Was it just bathing in the river that did it? A question for later.
But most importantly, the moment they saw the golden lions the two had immediately thrown themselves down before him.
Cato didn’t know who he was. These two probably didn’t know either, at least not the whole story.
But they clearly thought he was a big deal.
Frankly, if he had seen someone manifest golden lions in his past life, he would have agreed. Now, however, he needed to figure out exactly where he stood in this world. Literally, to start.
“Tell me, where the hell am I?”
Cato felt the words tumble from his lips like fine wine into a deep and booming cask. He had fully expected his voice to be coarse and rough the first time he used it, having nearly drowned earlier that day. Instead, every syllable was coated with honey. He had an overwhelming urge to burst into song just to test it out.
But the present moment demanded more delicacy. Some decorum, even.
“Your Gracious Eminence!” titles mixed together on the peasant woman’s lips. “We are a ways south of the Holy City, on the road to Anthusa. The people of this land are your humble servants, shepherds and farmers with no malice or evil in their hearts!”
As soon as she was done, her brother chimed in. “Oh Majestic Highness, please spare these people, who share no part in any crime against your honored person or the kingdom of heaven!”
Cato wound up confused once again. Spare them? Were they begging for their lives? Were they begging for other people’s lives? Whoever they thought he was either had a serious reputation for bloodshed or was way more important than he expected. He was suddenly very glad that these two weren’t looking at his face, or else he might have given himself away immediately.
“Rest assured, peasant, your lives are not in danger. Show me the way to the nearest town and be on your way.”
The shepherds were completely frozen. Did he address them incorrectly? Was he not haughty enough? Cato risked a pointed ahem in their direction.
“Please, Beatific Excellence, spare these people who have done wrong only unwittingly! We beg your divine mercy!”
Damn, these two were more scared than he thought. This would take a little more showmanship. He lifted his chin and assumed the most contemptuous look he could muster.
“Raise your heads, peasants. In the name of Heaven, I, Cato, guarantee that no harm shall come to you or your people. Now, show me where I may rest my head and get a set of clean clothes.”
Now that, Cato was sure, was the very best, most pompous pseudo-Shakespearean twaddle the Riverside Iowa School District could provide. Surely, that would be enough?
Well, they had raised their heads. And their eyes were filled with tears.
Cato was worried he had done something horribly wrong, but the two leapt forward and started kissing his boots—no, they were kissing the ground in front of his boots—and pointed east, over the rolling hills.
“In that direction, your Most Perfect Beneficence, is the village of Inillo. Please, allow these poor souls to accompany you and show you the way.”
“That will not be necessary. Go about your business.”
Cato started walking. Now that they pointed it out, he thought he could hear a good deal more noise and bustle from that direction. Every step he took drove him across the soft earth with the excitement of a rollercoaster. Despite the smoke covering the sky and casting a gloom, the weather was gorgeous. As he rushed toward his destination, thoughts of food, clothes, and a bed filled him with a real optimism for the first time in many years.
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Yet once again, Cato could not shake the feeling that he had made a huge mistake.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Inna and Myshkin stood dumbfounded as the strange princeling bounded away across the hills.
He had seen them, both of them, use magic with his own two eyes. If any of the villagers had seen the same, they would have run screaming and formed a mob. A prince belonging to the Holy Son’s faction should have torn them apart on the spot.
What a topsy-turvy world! The Holy City destroyed, shepherds casting spells, and the powerful showing mercy to the defenseless.
For a time, they were too stunned to speak. Then, cautiously, as though the events of the last few minutes were fragile things that might break if mentioned aloud, they discussed what just occurred.
Only then did the enormity of Cato’s words hit them.
Could he have really meant that?
He swore an oath on Heaven. He must have!
The shepherds stood up and rushed back toward their hidey-hole and dug it up. The bag of silver that seemed unbelievably large before now looked like much too small of an offering. But just beneath it, hidden for nearly two years in the dry earth, lay a great book bound in unblemished plates of dark, polished metal. They bound it up and ran towards Inillo with all their speed, eager to make a welcome gift to their new lord.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Inillo was a clutter of homes and public buildings wrestling for space with farmland. In some of the denser clusters, small patches of pasture grew on the roofs, with the odd goat or pig chewing serenely, taking in the view.
The village felt empty. Though there were dozens of people in every direction, nothing that Cato understood as ‘normal life’ was happening.
The villagers moved about with desperation, rushing past Cato with carts and wheelbarrows, loading mules with everything they could get their hands on, sparing not a glance for the stranger in their midst.
They were evacuating. Soon enough, Inillo really would be empty.
Near the center of the village, where the homes and shops clustered most densely, stood a great villa. Unlike the other buildings, constructed of stone and plaster, it rose on high slabs of marble, with soaring pillars and cupolae all around.
And the people of Inillo were looting it. They streamed in through one set of great double doors and emerged out the other with furniture covered with radiant silks, stout mahogany desks, barrels upon barrels of preserved food and drink. These they piled around the open plaza in front of the villa
Unable to get anyone’s attention long enough to ask a few questions, Cato searched about for whoever might be in charge. Then he found them: there in the corner of the plaza, two men, one in priestly robes and the other wearing a surcoat with the same green-and-gold pattern that fluttered on the villa walls, having a very loud argument.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
“Master Remiro, I beg you to reconsider. Inillo will not survive this disaster without your cooperation.”
Remiro d’Cour pushed down his growing frustration with the priest.
Father Andrea was a newcomer to the village, who had only served the handful of years since his ‘uncle’, Father d’Cour, passed away and left Inillo without a priest.
The young Andrea was godsent. Unlike his predecessors, who were mainly half-literate and preached with the aid of illustrated books, he was raised in a monastery and received an elite education in both religious and secular matters. Having such a learned man in their chapel was a great point of pride for the villagers and the baron alike, and Remiro could still scarcely understand how someone so talented got assigned to Inillo’s parish at all.
But in spite of that, the young priest was dangerously naive. As much as the people loved the idea of a literate priest, his ability to actually connect with them through sermons was limited, and he very often got on the baron’s case about sins Father d’Cour was much more understanding of.
Baron Inillo was gone, and left Remiro in charge as the yeoman. He and his knights had gone to the Holy City laden with gifts, hoping that the stalemate in the conclave would break soon.
Instead, the whole city went up in flames, with the Demon Sultan’s Immortals swarming around it like flies. It hadn’t even been a day, yet the smoke rising from it covered half the sky, the crops had already begun to wither, and all the wild animals had fled the area. Now, Remiro wasn’t as educated as Father Andrea, but he damn well knew a sign when he saw one.
“Father, I have made my decision. Rest assured, you will be coming with the caravan, as will all your books.”
“My books? Master Remiro, there are thousands of people-”
“I know exactly how many people there are in Inillo, Father. Do me a favor and avoid lecturing me about my own village.”
The young priest stood up straighter and his expression hardened.
“Then do me the favor of listening when I talk about my parish. The caravan can’t carry everyone and the late Baron’s furniture at the same time.”
“The caravan can’t carry everyone anyway, Father.”
“So you admit it! You’re planning to leave the villagers behind!”
The hustle and bustle behind Remiro stilled for a moment. He turned his head, and the workers carried on, their eyes on the ground.
Of course he was planning to leave people behind. Inillo numbered over four thousand, many of them very young or very old, some sick, or weak, or injured. Caring for them normally was not a problem. But this was a disaster. The lands around were already blighted, and produced nothing but food to begin with. With the baron dead without heirs, and all his subordinates but Remiro gone as well, there was nobody to maintain order here.
Their best shot was to travel to the city of Anthusa, which was weeks away. The baron had creditors there, and Remiro might be able to set up a new life for some of the villagers there. The smith and tailor’s families for sure, some of the wealthier and more experienced farmers, maybe the tanners and fishers. And he’d certainly like to take their literate and intelligent priest as well. Those were a few hundred of the most productive villagers, the kind that the lords of the big city would be willing to take in, and then only if they provided the wealth stripped from the villa as a bribe.
Without the baron to speak on their behalf, the rest of Inillo’s population were extra mouths to feed. It would be crueler to march them, sick and hungry, across weeks of hilly terrain only to have them, all of them, be denied entry at the gates.
“Not everyone can make the journey, Father Andrea. You can, and I want you to come with us. You can give great comfort to the villagers-”
“I will not give up on my parish, Master Remiro.”
“What parish? Look at the sky! Look at the ground!”
“A parish is the people, not the land, Remiro!”
“Do the people live off the clouds?”
“They live off of faith as well.”
“So you would starve with them?”
“I will not let them starve, Remiro! Have faith, forget the furniture, and take care of the people you swore to protect.”
“Faith? Fine then.” Remiro raised his arms to the sky. “Send me a sign, o Lord, if I should heed the words of this idiot priest!”
Father Andrea flushed. “Fool, thou shalt not test the-”
“Would you stop quoting scripture at me and listen you-”
“Ahem.”
Both men were startled by the sound. A ragged man, just a bit younger than Remiro, with a naked dagger in his belt loop and the badly torn remains of fine clothing on his back approached them.
Remiro did not know this man.
“Excuse me, sir, but would you be in charge of this village?”
His voice was full and musical, with a lifetime of confidence behind it. A bastard from the Montebrillo household, perhaps?
Under the present circumstances, Remiro had no desire to meet him. With a derisive snort, he turned back to Father Andrea.
“Excuse me! I asked you a question.”
This boy’s confidence now sharpened to arrogance. The gall!
Whoever this stranger was, wandering into what was now, for all intents and purposes, Remiro’s village, needed to be taken down a peg. He turned on his heel and stalked toward the man, his face just inches from the stranger’s.
“What business have you with me, you lackadaisical lout? I am the yeoman here. Put a leash on that tongue before I whip you bloody!”
The villagers around him harrumphed and chuckled. The looters dropped their work and began to congregate, forming a circle around the stranger.
“I was just asking a question, and-”
“Ah, I had no idea! Can any pig get up on two legs and demand a question from me?”
“No!” Came the response from the crowd. “Kick him out! Throw him in the river!”
Father Andrea came up from behind and whispered into his ear.
“Master Remiro, be careful, he-”
Remiro pushed him aside, and the priest fell to the ground.
“Get back to the chapel, Andrea. I will take care of this bastard.”
The crowd stepped ever so slightly closer to the stranger. There was more than common derision in their expressions. They were defenseless and angry and afraid, uprooting their entire lives while the Holy City burned, and a perfect target for their frustrations had walked into the square. Even on a normal day, he might as well have volunteered for a beating, giving the yeoman lip like that.
That was back when Remiro still had a patron whose mercy he had to represent. Today, with the whole village on edge, he might not be able to stop them from doing much worse, even if he wanted to.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Cato got a cold feeling in his stomach. He’d figured the same attitude that got him through talking with the shepherds would work on these villagers. Instead, this was just one sudden movement away from erupting into violence.
His body was tougher than it had been in his previous life by far. Was it tough enough to escape being torn to pieces by a hundred pairs of hands?
His heart thundered, and that will, that other thing inside him made itself known again. ‘Would you like some help?’ it may as well have asked. ‘Hard to handle things by yourself, isn’t it?’
Cato was ashamed to admit it, but he’d put his foot in his mouth here, and needed a way out fast. Could he pull off the trick with the golden lions again?
Not on purpose. Not by himself. Whatever solution was locked inside his body, he didn’t know how to access it.
He needed something else…
“Make way! Make way!”
The crowd turned in confusion. Inna and Myshkin, the shepherds, were yelling at the tops of their lungs and trying to squeeze through the crush of people.
The crowd, for their part, murmured and turned their attention to the pair. Strangers were bad news, and shepherds weren’t much better.
“What now?” Remiro thundered, silencing the village and drawing attention back to himself. “I already paid you two. State your business or get your stinking tails out of my village!”
They barely registered the threat. They pressed through and reached Cato at the center of the crowd, once again putting their foreheads to the ground.
“We bring a gift of welcome to the new lord of Inillo!” Inna shouted, unwrapping a bundle of cloth to show Cato the metal-bound book inside.
“What are you lot waiting for?” Myshkin asked. “Show some respect to the lord!”
The crowd was struck dumb. Remiro expected this was all one huge, bad joke. One thought rang through Cato’s head.
I’m the what?