Silence stretched between Hermit and Vaela, Timura’s sleeping body between them. A few rows of cots away from them in the Healer’s tent, a man coughed. Hermit leaned back and eyed her. “Conditions? I told you them already. You carry our bags and give me foot rubs.”

Vaela tossed the rag on the table next to Timura and held up a finger. “First, we wait for Timura to wake up so she can come with us.” Timura, unlike her, had wanted nothing more than to travel with Hermit and be his pupil. Shit, she probably would have happily carried his bags and rubbed his feet. Anything, if he taught her how to Spin Shadow like he did.

Hermit planted his staff and rose to his feet. He stood a head taller than Vaela, but leaned on his staff so they were eye-level. “Sorry, kid, no can do.” She hissed, but he held up a hand. “Look, I like Timmy. She’s got guts.” He nodded to her hands. “And can you imagine those soft little things between the crevices of your toes? Working the soles?”

Vaela leaned over Timura, her face nearing Hermit’s. “She’s coming with us or I’m–”

A man barged into the tent through the main entrance on the far side. His loud voice carried over to them. “Lookin’ for a Spinner. Dark fella, long staff, shady guy.”

Hermit ducked back down behind Timura’s cot. “We don’t have time, trust me on this. There are things, if you knew…”

She’d do what? Abandon her friend? “What things?”

Hermit glanced past her. The debt collector’s footsteps stomped nearer, already a few rows closer, but Vaela didn’t turn. Hermit snorted and huddled lower. “Later–on the road. Just know: dangerous things. A crushed rib cage would be a mercy.”

Vaela glared at him and clutched Timura’s hand. “All she wants is to learn how to use her Power. What’s your problem?”

Hermit placed a palm on her collarbone and shook her. “This.” Her body jiggled on the cot and Vaela swatted at his hand. Hermit caught her wrist. “She’s unconscious. You, on the other hand, are standing over her. Protecting her once again.”

Vaela bit her lip. “If you taught her to fight, though, then I wouldn’t have to…”

Hermit released Vaela’s wrist with a sigh. “I like her, but when push turned to Kick, she got crushed. You didn’t.”

Vaela broke eye contact and looked away, glancing over her shoulder. The man searching for Hermit prowled closer and stood over a cot about ten rows behind them. He bent close to the person on it before going to the next one. Vaela traced her fingers over the dark mark over her left forearm. “I don’t know how I did it, how I survived. It was just dumb luck.”

A tendril of Shadow extended from Hermit’s hand and wrapped around Vaela’s forearm. “You may not know how, but it wasn’t luck. You’re a fighter–it’s in your blood.” The Shadow faded away and he pointed at her. “I promised I’d explain things on the road, but I’ll tell you this here. Your journey will be dangerous. Right now, you’re a slag.”

Vaela ducked forward and snatched the front of Hermit’s robe. “Oh, that’s it.”

Hermit held up his hands with a laugh. “No, slag. Raw material.” Vaela’s grip eased and Hermit’s face hardened. “If you want to be strong, you’ll have to Forge yourself that way. Pain will hammer you, fear will temper you. Only in your own blood will you be sharpened.” He nodded to Timura. “Do you really think she can handle that?”

A lump formed in Vaela’s throat. Timura’s face looked so peaceful, her features soft. She wanted to learn from Hermit, but did Timura understand the danger that entailed? Vaela hadn’t even left the city and she and Surah had almost been killed several times already. And now Hermit said there would be even more danger. Wasn’t there another way to get strong?

Yes, a gentler way. She and Timura could train together, build their skills up, watch Hoops matches, push each other. Stay here in the city. Vaela knelt down next to Timura. “I-I can’t leave her. And Madame Gavora.” She waved to Surah, standing at the foot of the cot. “And Surah.”

He laughed and drew the robe around himself. “Oh, there’s no way in the flames, you’d be leaving me. Where you go, I go–your life is far too interesting!” He scooted around the cot and put a hand on her shoulder. “Madame Gavora will understand. That you’re following your dream.”

Vaela rose and took Timura’s hand. And what about her? Would she understand that Vaela was following her dream? Or would it seem that she was stealing Timura’s dream from her?

Vaela folded Timura’s hand across her stomach. It rose and fell with her breathing. How to help her?

Hermit peered around Vaela and crouched back down. “We’ve got to go. In my experience, when one debt collector squawks, others come clucking.”

Vaela scoffed and shook her head. “At least I believe you’re experienced with that.” She’d decide about Timura in a moment, but first–she held up two fingers. “Condition two: you help me dismantle the local branch of the Church of Blood.”

Hermit barked out a laugh, then cringed and squatted lower. “No.”

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Vaela leaned over Timura again and reached for a fistful of Hermit’s robe. “Listen here, you–”

“You’re thinking too small.”

“–piece of… Too small?” Her grip loosened. Behind her, only three or four beds back, the debt collector noisily examined another patient.

Hermit eased her hand from his robes. “Why cut off a toe, when you could behead the entire snake?”

Surah leaned in, crowding over Timura with them. “Snakes don’t have toes.”

Vaela shooed him away. “Go distract that guy.” He huffed and headed for the debt collector. Vaela squinted at Hermit. Behead the snake? The portrait of Incus, founder of the Church, flashed through her mind. “I thought their ‘head’ was dead.”

Hermit grinned. “Me too. ‘Til just a few hours ago.”

Surah’s voice rang out. “Hendrow, old friend! How are you?”

Hermit scooped one of the packs up. “I promise you this. Join me and we’ll bring the entire Church crumbling to its knees.” He nodded to the other pack. “In or out?” Without waiting for an answer, Hermit crept towards the slit in the tent’s wall.

The debt collector argued with Surah, their voices barely registering to Vaela. She reached into her pocket. The coin Timura had given her met her fingers. She pulled it out and held it up. Dried blood partially obscured the frog’s body. Surah’s blood, Hermit’s blood, maybe even some of Vaela’s blood at this point.

The world outside was dangerous. Full of people who’d rather their blood was crusted on the street than warm inside their bodies. But also full of so many things. Things to see, places to explore, foods to taste. How could she decide for Timura?

The debt collector shouted and Vaela spun around. The man rushed past her towards Hermit and drew his sword. Shadow sprung up between them and the man flinched to a stop. The Shadow enveloped him and a second later his body sailed out of it. He landed with oomph and rolled to his feet. His shout rang through the entire tent before Hermit’s staff cracked into his head and he fell silent.

Footsteps pounded outside the tent. Several people poured through the entrance and looked over at them. More debt collectors. They drew their swords and charged past the cots. Surah raced to Vaela and grabbed her arm. In or out?

Step aside, let the debt collectors flow past, wait for Timura to wake up. They’d stay in the city, train together, get stronger together, maybe become more–together.

Or follow Hermit, into the dark, into the Shadow. Blades at their backs, flee the city.

Timura’s coin–dirty, but unharmed. Surah’s, Hermit’s, and Vaela’s blood on it. But that could be washed off.

Vaela laid the coin on Timura’s chest and positioned her limp hand over it. She ran around the cot, tugging Surah behind her, and scooped up her stick and the rucksack. As the mob raced towards them, Hermit held the flap open. Shadow Fountained from him, covering the ground, the walls of the tent, obscuring everything from sight.

Vaela sprinted into the darkness.

They burst out of the apothecary’s shop and the pink light of dawn greeted them. Hermit led them to an alley and Covered them with Shadow. The host of debt collectors flooded from the building and scattered through the streets. Their voices faded in different directions and Hermit let the Shadow melt away.

Vaela cocked an eyebrow at him. “That certainly is a handy trick. Explains a lot about why you’re not rotting in a cell.”

He sniffed and straightened his cloak. “Please. I’m much more an upstanding citizen than you credit me.”

Surah patted him on the back. “Sure, sure, but how much exactly are you wanted for?” Hermit glared at him and Surah grinned. “Just keeping our options open.”

Vaela strode down the alley, leaving them behind. Guilt twisted in her stomach. She’d done the right thing, protected Timura from harm. She clenched her stick and walked faster. Running, fleeing, scurrying away–enough already.

Hermit hurried after her. “Where are you going, young shadeling?”

“To the Church.” The answer tumbled out, as new to her as it was to Hermit. So that’s where her feet were taking her? She nodded and steeled herself. It might be dangerous, but this, she wouldn’t let go.

Hermit jogged a few steps ahead and faced her. “I told you, you don’t need to fool around with that pile of rocks. We’ll be eating snake legs soon!”

She skirted around him without slowing. “I’ve changed my mind.”

He grabbed her arm. “What?”

She stabbed her stick towards his face, the tip an inch from his nose. “I had two conditions. One, two,”–she tapped his nose twice–“You counted, remember? But, somehow, I’m joining you and I haven’t gotten shit.” She pulled away and strode down the alley. “Well, I’m getting something. And you’re helping me.” She waved imperiously for him to follow. “Consider it an advanced payment for me allowing you to teach me.”

Surah burst out laughing and caught up, linking arms with her. “That’s my girl.”

Hermit trudged beside her. “What exactly do you want? To burn down the local Church. Will that make you happy?”

Vaela snorted. “You want to behead the snake–fine. But I care about the appendage right here, that’s stepping on my city. We’re going to take it down first. Think of it as kneecapping one of the snake’s legs.”

Surah nodded along. “This snake metaphor has really run away from us.” He stretched his arms overhead. “When we go past a store, I’m gonna steal some clothes.”

“Surah! You have money, just buy them.”

He crossed his arms. “Everyone else is doing dangerous, illegal things. I want to, too.”

Vaela opened her mouth, but Hermit reached around her and patted Surah on the shoulder. “Now, now. There’s nothing wrong with a little thievery.” He walked in front of Vaela and blocked her with his staff. “Just what do you have in mind?”

She clenched her fists and stepped to the side. Hermit’s staff followed her and she raised her stick. “Move.”

“What are you planning?”

She swiped at him and he smoothly blocked. Before she could skirt around him, he shepherded her back. She slammed her stick into his staff again. “I don’t know!” Her heart pounded, anger–at Hermit, at the Church, at herself–boiled in her chest. “Something. I have to do something.” Surah wrapped an arm around her and she closed her eyes. A pawn in other people’s game. No, a mass of blood, pumped where others told her to go. And at the center of it all…

She opened her eyes and stepped up to Hermit. “Kaverlna–the head priestess. She’s dangerous. I saw her… well, like I said, she’s dangerous.” Gerad’s charred body burned into her memory. The blonde priestess’s look of despair. “And she’s holding people there against their will.”

Surah eased around her and rubbed his face, fingers surfing over stubble. “What can we do about that?”

Vaela straightened up and brought her stick up to her shoulder with a thud. “I’m gonna talk to her. Tell her to leave or I’ll report her.” She swallowed and nodded to Hermit. “It might get ugly. So here’s your end of the deal: you back me up.” She patted him on the arm. “Think of yourself as a meatshield.”

His eyebrows jumped up. “Yes, thank you.” He squinted at her and shook his head. “You won’t let it go, will you?”

“Them’s the terms, meaty. And, condition two”–she held up two fingers–“you’re going to tell me why you care so much about overthrowing the Church.”