CHAPTER NINE
The Sourlands
“No,” said Leta. It was out of her mouth before the word even crossed her conscious mind. Once she heard it out loud, however, she let it stand.
“No?” said Kiran. “I don’t think I can make it much shorter than that.”
“It was short enough, all right, but no, I won’t be risking my life to join whatever cult you all belong to. Besides, I don’t think we’re on the same team.” Leta clanked her cuffs together, clink clink.
“Ah, that,” said Kiran, flattening most of his hair back down. “Now, that is complicated.”
“Let me save myself from a lecture. Not too complicated. I have the blood of The Root; if I use my magic, it will help bring back The Root and help spread… how did you put it? Oh yes, plague, famine, and death.”
“Look, Leta, I know that’s what the crown teaches,” he nodded and held up a hand at her annoyance, “and of course, you know it better than most. But… well, we don’t think it’s right. We think they’ve been lying to us, to you, to everyone.”
“And why do you think you know that?”
“Leta, The Root is returning, its signs are everywhere, and no one is running around using magic because Dagna—” he spit out the word like it was a curse before remembering who he was speaking to. He looked up at her with real sadness in his eyes, sadness for her. “I’m just going to say it. We believe that the crown has been killing people who can use the magic of the Cattoleiri,” he said, pointing to her cuffs, “to maintain power.”
“So, you’re saying… what, exactly?” Leta’s heartbeat climbed up her chest. She felt desperate both for Kiran to continue and to stop.
“We don’t think that people Dag—the crown has been killing are rooted. We think they’re the return of the Cattoleiri brought to Umara to fight The Root. We seek out people with the power of the Cattoleirin and try to train them and keep them safe, but it’s not easy. We’re going to have to do something about those ruling this country if we want it to still be habitable in fifty years.”
Leta thought of the people known and unknown in her life the past six years: those that would stab her for a piece of bread (and the one crazy shoot that did), the sadistic watchmen who would beat an old cripple to death for a lark, not to mention those who had locked up an innocent sixteen-year-old girl amongst the demons.
“I don’t know that I do.”
“Excuse me?”
Leta shook her head. “I’ve had enough fights in my time. I won’t join yours. I’m sorry.” She turned to stand and was reaching into her bag for a bandana to cover her hair when Kiran’s hand grabbed her wrist. Leta turned with a dangerous slowness, her teeth ground against one another hard enough to hear.
“Leta, stop. Please.”
Kiran did help her get out of the Divine Sjlunroca. For that, she would not stab him. She would not stab him. She would not—
“I know this was a lot. You don’t have to decide now. Tellumere is an hour’s walk sunup from here. There’s an inn called the Night Before. We’ll be there for three days. If you change your mind or want to talk some more, I’ll be there.”
“In three days, I’ll be halfway to Bellmeade.” And Leta Tallum gestured for Clark to open a hole for her while she pocketed the coin pouch she stole from Kiran.
* * *
Leta worried they would keep her—that Clark would refuse to open a hole to freedom, but they kept their word. Once Kiran deemed it safe for them to exit the wayfare, Clark opened another human-sized hole for her to exit through. She didn’t bother asking how he did it; she decided she didn’t want to know. Knowing was the first step on the road to responsibility, and that was not where Leta was headed. Clark and Kiran would continue on their path towards Tellumere, a path that, if followed, would bring them straight back to Central Umara, where The Aria lay. Leta, on the other hand, had other plans.
The Sourlands surrounded the Divine Sjlunroca, like the halo of a fallen angel, but with ash instead of divine light. The forest should extend around the Sourlands and lead Leta to the north of the ‘Roc, where she could follow the path of the moons towards Czechlandia. If lucky, she would find a smaller town where she could restock her supplies and find a welder to remove her cuffs on the way to anonymity.
At first, she felt like a hunted foal. She looked behind herself constantly and slept only in snatches during the daylight hours, so afraid was she to be pursued by the royal guard or Kiran and Clark. She wasn’t sure they would keep their word and let her be. But after several days alone in the woods, she began to have another fear: that she would never find signs of civilization. So, when she heard the tolling of a bell, she nearly fell to her knees with relief.
Leta had no map to check or knowledge of the cities and towns surrounding the Sourlands, but after three days in the forest, she was willing to take the risk and enter back into civilization. The forest had begun to feel close, as if the branches and roots were reaching out to brush the back of her neck as she passed. She managed to wait in the forest until nightfall, but it was a close thing. She wanted to rush out of the dark forest and hear people. There was also a part of her that missed the sturdy embrace of stone floors and walls. The forest felt limitless and open, and she was getting the feeling that she ought to be hiding from the forest itself, not only the people in it who may be searching for her.
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Night fell hard and quick that night as Leta prepared herself for her exit. She was still in the forest, but the trees were considerably thinner, and she could hear snatches of voices just barely too far away to make out. She pulled her sleeves down over her cuffs, pulling her elbows into the body of her tunic slightly to accomplish this. The cuffs would peek out immediately if she had to make any sudden movements or run. She also wrapped a bandana around the lower half of her face. It would do in a pinch, but she thought most people wouldn’t take kindly to masked strangers in their midst. It’s just for tonight, just for a little bit. Leta had decided to embark on a short sojourn into the town to get the general layout, then to return to the forest. Perhaps she’d be able to find something that would help her. Unfortunately, she still didn’t know what that might be.
The leaves crumbling underfoot seemed to herald her as an interloper. She would emerge from the forest as an outsider—dirty and dangerous. As the tree cover grew thinner, Leta tried to remember why she had looked forward to her exit. She was sure she would be recognized and pursued immediately. At least there may be something more to eat and drink than hard tack and muddy stream water.
The ground was the first thing to change. The crumbling leaves below her feet turned into the familiar hard-packed dirt of the Sourlands. With her shoes as damp as they were, the dirt clung to her boots, but Leta couldn’t imagine it was possible to look any dirtier than she was, so she tried to pay it no mind. A shack sat on the edge of the forest. There were no lights from within and no chimney to let off smoke. Anyone who was inside must be asleep—she hoped.
Leta continued to creep past shacks and lean-tos of various sizes until she came upon what must be the center of town. There, she saw her old friends that she’d only known by sound: the bells—or rather, the bell. It hung alone in an arch that sat upon a church. Its metal caught some of the moons’ light and reflected it, a beacon in the dark. She thought of the Cattoleirin. How far away would he be now? And what of his strange friend? But this was no temple to Clark’s gods. This was a church of perseverance—and Leta smiled. She wouldn’t need to go back into the dark forest, after all. Though, she might have to fight a nun.
* * *
Most of the perseverant in the Divine Sjlunroca were prison converts: those who sought redemption or protection within the rigid stone walls. In Leta’s opinion, belonging to a group of power was the most important thing to these self-proclaimed “religious” folk. However, from her days in The Aria, Leta remembered a different type of perseverant—those who believed in the Lord Below as strongly as Clark believed in the Cattoleiri. This would be their home.
Leta’s confidence in her assessment grew as shapes began to move in the darkness under her gaze. They were huddled tight but apart, sleeping bodies on the steps and in the alcoves of the church.
The church was no grand thing, certainly nothing compared to the Divine Sjlunroca, even in its current state. The bell was the standout feature, and below its arch was only a single-story building about twice the size of the largest hovel she’d seen so far on her hour’s walk. Leta set her eyes down on the ground before her, low enough to appear humbled but still not so low that she couldn’t see those ahead of her in her peripheral vision.
No one stirred at her approach; indeed, she could hear the snoring of one man who lay across the stairs. How he could sleep like that, Leta wasn’t sure, but if she’d learned anything in the ‘Roc, it was that sleep that deep and unlikely only came with a bit of help. It struck her as foolish now that she realized it. Somewhere in her mind, she felt as though she had escaped the clutches of tophra, but of course, it was probably only easier to get in the great wide open. Your princess is showing through. It was something Thorne would say to her when she acted in ways that betrayed her upbringing and birth. Leta didn’t like it, but it was Thorne, so she allowed it. A painful spasm turned her gut as she realized she’d never again see Thorne. Never again sit with him in the shadow of their own arch, seven stories in the air, and plan their escape. She’d always promised to return for him if she got out. But it wasn’t seeming quite so simple now.
The dirt covering her from forehead to boot was turning out to be an essential piece of camouflage. No longer would it serve her to look clean and rich. Out here, the untouchables were the dirty and sick. Leta slowed her walk and affected something of a hobble. If anyone was watching her, she should play the part. She headed for the side of the building. There were no stairs or alcoves to protect from the elements here, but if she was fortunate, there might be a door.
Now, Leta had not woken today with the idea to break into a church, but she had learned long ago that when you find yourself in a game with only one coin left, your only option is to bet it all. It was why she so hated playing dice: chance had never been her ally. But a hand of cards was something different. With a hand of cards, Leta could control her fate. Whether she wanted to take a big risk or play it safe was within her purview. This would probably be considered a big risk.
Luck sided with Leta on the first turn around the side of the building. There was, indeed, a door. She had been prepared to scrounge in her satchel for something she could use as a lock pick but found it would be unnecessary. Apparently, the followers of the Lord Below believed that his omnipotent presence would be enough to secure their church and home. Luckily, Leta knew better, and in less than six minutes, she exited the Church of Perseverance dressed from head to toe in the robes of a sister of perseverance, facial veil included.
* * *
It was funny how liberated Leta felt once she was cloaked in her robes. Never in her life had she been able to walk around freely without people watching or following her. Now, as she strolled through the town square, cloaked in two types of darkness, Leta felt free.
She walked towards the edges of the town wrapped in her new identity and watched its inhabitants wake as the moons set and the sun rose in the sky. She couldn’t stay here; she would undoubtedly be recognized as “other” in this small town with her stolen robes and strange accent. But she felt, after years of wrongful imprisonment, that she was well within her rights to restock her supplies through the fear of their followers. Nuns of Perseverance often served to spread the word of the Lord Below, gathering people to his flock. Of course, given their constant travels, they frequently had to rely on others for meals and hospitality. And because they were bolstered by the crown, they enjoyed general safety as well.
Would that be such a bad life? Pretending to be a sister and making up blessings to bestow on believers? Surely, she would be caught eventually, but it seemed a good enough plan as any other she’d been able to come up with during her days walking the forest. And just like that, Leta had decided to find god, if only to sell him to others at a considerable markup.