The gleam in Kadra’s black gaze said that he thought it would be. Brimming with excitement, Sarai spared only a brief look down the hallway as the others chatted excitedly of cornering a god. A dark tendril seemed to reach out from the floor, lengthening a neighboring shadow. Gripping Kadra’s hand, she ignored it and let the darkness seethe behind her.
Soon, a voice whispered in her head.Soon.
“Why do the Elsar elevate some humans to godhood? Priests and sceptics alike have posited hundreds of theories as to the purpose of the Naaduir’s existence. Many among the Elsarian Order only revere the major pantheon, pointing to the Saints and the Wretched as little more than national heroes that were formalized into religious significance. There is truth to this, certo. But it also remains that the gods created the minor pantheon of the Naaduir and would have done so for a purpose. Was it to show humanity the rewards they could reap by obedience? Or do even the gods, in all their might, require assistance managing our foibles?
The latter theory is further compounded by the fact that living in service of one of the Elsar can result in formalization as a Naaduir. On the other hand, living in service of a Naaduir will, at most, result in dwelling in that minor god’s realm upon death. The better option, then, is to predominantly worship the Elsar as the Clerics do, but leave space in your hearts and altars for the minor gods. Who knows? Some Naaduir are even said to have consorts. If you can’t become a minor god, marrying one is an option!”
—excerpt fromSo You Want to Become One of the Naaduir, author unknown
There were eighty-three manuscripts in the Codices that formed the canon purported to be the word of the Elsar according to the Elsarian Order. This land was doomed if they were going to have to read through all of them.
Hiding in a corner of the Hall of Records’ Archive of Elsarian Texts, Sarai flipped another page, eyes blurry with reading about another battle between Wrath and Ruin. The six High Elsar—seven if Wrath counted—and three ambiguous Elsar aside, there were tens of Naaduir that could induce visions and had strong senses of justice. Saints and Wretched of such domains as rot, song, literal darkness, hunting, pacts, knowledge, and even the supposed Naaduir of dreams, Faragathe, herself.
The hours bled by into evening as they tried to narrow it down, with Sarai hiding a smile as Anek flirted outrageously with Méherre.
“So, you can only Bridge people to places you’ve already been to?” Anek rested their head on their elbow.
Méherre’s gaze caught theirs before the beginnings of a smile came to her lips. “I picture it in my head. Then, I imagine the sounds, smells, the gravel under my feet. It’s like I leave a bit of myself in each place I go to, and I pull myself back to it when I open a portal there.”
“Fascinating.”
Grinning, Sarai turned the page when Harion groaned.
“Where a Summoner asks a god to curse a person or place, the only way to end it is to kill the Summoner and relieve the god of the obligation to fulfill it,” he read aloud from a volume and tossed it aside, looking green. “We’re all going to die.”
Méherre eyed him with mild irritation. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re loud?”
Beside her, Anek let out a besotted wheeze.
He glowered. “There’s also the fact that the more the god tightens their hold over a mortal realm, the easier they can swallow it.”
Méherre’s brows drew together. “A vanished city. History is littered with them.”
“We’ve seven thousand dead and ten and a half thousand madness-struck now,” Anek sucked in a breath. “Evil folk or not, those deaths mean we’re well on our way to becoming history. Could this be someone in the Elsarian Order, trying to prove a point?”
Méherre snorted. “If those fools were capable of Summoning anything more than a swollen head, they wouldn’t have forced Sarai to a Hearing, like she was Faragathe herself.”
Wisdom’s breath, she really can’t stand the Order. Sarai made a mental note to ask the other woman why when a hubbub rose in the distance, loud enough to penetrate the insular grouping of buildings forming the Hall of Records.
Anek wearily rubbed their eyes. “What now?”
“Sounds like it’s coming from the public square down the street.” Sarai rose, trying to discern whether the yells were cheers or protests.
“Let’s take a look.” Méherre shelved the tome in her hands. “I’ll pull you both out if it gets dangerous.”
They raced out of the Archive of Elsarian Texts and past the Hall of Records’ three-faced statue of Time. The air parted easily under Méherre’s hands, leading into the square. They shrank back upon entry as a mob rushed past them to join an even larger crowd snarling at a figure standing in the center.
Sarai stood on tiptoe and went motionless. Fenced by a group of northern vigiles, Noceo, unfortunately well-healed from their last meeting, eyed the Edessans spitting hatred his way with cold fury.
Gray-green banners draped the square in Clan Kader’s heraldry, the eerie image of blood dripping from a safsher into a chalice glowering down at every corner. Silver abounded in color and metalwork, glinting off the elaborate braziers ringing the square at strategic intervals against the wind. The columns of the colonnade circling the square had been painted gold.
Gilding a throne.After destroying the Aequitas, he’d had no other choice. This was the largest public square in the city.
“For the lastgodsdamnedtime, I have nothing to do with the so-called madness-struck in your city,” he spoke sharply over his roaring audience.
Her jaw tightened at the memories his voice evoked.You have to see it as I have or I become the villain of the piece.How did he believe himself in the right?
“Gods, he’s decorated this even more garishly than the Am Semni Institute,” Méherre muttered. “And that’s saying something.”
