“Leads and lies.” Max turned to the new Vicar. “Powell, we have other more pressing matters to concern ourselves with. We have to reorganize the guild. We have to rebuild Faroe. We are responsible for what remains of the Harvesters.”
Powell’s eyes never left hers. The room buzzed around them, yet Powell remained focused, searching, silently calling out to something in Florence’s soul that he may have felt all along. What within him had made him speak to her on that train? What connected them with such faith?
“I know where you can go.” The idea came to her in that moment, thinking of the fundamental essence that joined every Fenthri at the core. It was the essence that Loom so desperately needed to recover. “I know where you all can go.”
“Where?” the elder asked.
“Ter.0.”
“From the fisher’s hook onto his spear!” Theodosia threw her hands into the air in exasperation. “We have our own wasteland here. We don’t need to go to another.”
“This is our home,” Max agreed. “We won’t abandon it.”
“I’m not saying abandon it.” They didn’t understand yet. “I’m saying go to Ter.0, and meet with the other guilds.”
“You want to hold a Vicar Tribunal.” Powell was the first to realize.
“A Vicar Tribunal? There hasn’t been one in over a decade,” one of the journeymen interjected.
“Exactly.” Florence remained focused on Powell. His decision was the only one that mattered now. He was the Vicar. “The Dragons split us apart, forced us to be silent. They bred animosity between the guilds where there was none. They separated us as children, forced us to learn apart, to compete. They fostered silence with magic. Whisperers may make it faster to converse, but there is no magic that can compare to seeing another’s face, truly hearing their plight with your own ears. Anything less is separating, impersonal, dividing. It makes us think the only way we are strong is with their help.
“But Loom was strong long before the Dragons.” She addressed the elder of the group, the man who should remember best the bygone days of another time when Loom was free. “We stood together. Links in a chain. One strong, unified, force.
“We gave the Dragons technology. We gave them gold. And, yes, they have given us some insight,” she begrudgingly admitted, thinking about Harvesting practices. “But that does not make them our saviors. They did not find the solution; they merely identified the problem. We are our own saviors and we must—”
Powell held up his hand, cutting her short.
“Enough, Florence.” He sighed softly, pressing his eyes closed a moment. Florence’s heart raced, not just from her risky declaration, but from truly not knowing what Powell’s reaction to it would be. The tiniest of smiles curled his mouth when he opened his eyes again. “The Harvesters agree to a Vicar Tribunal.”
“Really?” Theodosia shifted uncertainly. “The Dragons torched the Tribunal hall and the rest of Ter.0 in the war. They said if we assemble again, they will do worse.”
“What could be worse than what we have already witnessed?” Powell asked. All were silent. “We have no more guild for them to destroy. Faroe has burned. Our mines are stalled. Our fields will go unplowed. Our fishers may be moored for who knows how long, while we attempt to recover what was lost. What more can the Dragons take from us?”
“Our pride, if we let them.” The question was rhetorical, but Florence wanted to drive the point home. It was an almost Arianna-like quip and she was instantly proud of herself for thinking of it so deftly on the spot.
“And the Alchemists will not let them,” Derek said, lending his support.
“The Vicar Alchemist will support the Tribunal?” Powell asked.
“I have no doubt,” Derek affirmed. “Vicar Sophie wants to see the rebellion to power. She wants it for Loom. I’m sure she will stand at the Tribunal.”
Powell seemed satisfied by the response. “We will get word across the narrow strait then, to the Rivets in Ter.3. They are connected by land to the Ravens, who can then get word to the Revolvers.”
“How quickly can we hold the Tribunal?” Strong words aside, the reality of their situation was becoming very apparent to Florence. Communication systems, in all forms, were down. They didn’t even know if there were Vicars left to meet with. Perhaps the Harvesters had been the only ones warned with enough time.
The idea was only kindling to the pyre of Florence’s rage. The Harvesters had been a fluke, with all the Masters in the guild at the time. The other guilds had their Masters positioned throughout the territories. They would regroup. And if word spread far enough and fast enough, they could do so at the Tribunal.
“Two months, perhaps?” Theodosia begrudgingly suggested at a silent behest from Powell. “That would give messengers enough time to get all the way to Dortam, and for the Vicars to travel.”
“Spread the word like wildfire,” Florence suggested aloud. “Invite all of Loom.”
“What if the Dragons choose to attack again?” Max was still clearly uneasy at the idea of gathering in one place.
“We have the numbers on them. Even with Chimera alone, we have the numbers.” The fact had been known since Nova was first discovered. The sky world was a much, much smaller place than Loom. “The only way they will overpower us is with our own weaponry, coronas, and gliders. And how will they get that weaponry when there is no one to build it?”
“We cannot make a real stand against them,” Max pressed.
Derek was quick to speak up again. “Not without the Philosopher’s Box.”
