Selesia still wasn’t sure how it had all happened. She was pretty sure that she and Valen hadn’t done anything to cause it—and yet, something big was happening. She could feel it in the air, an energy that could only be felt when enough people gathered together. There was a palpable blend of emotions sparking through the crowd, a potent mix of anger, fear, passion, and hope.
“Oh! I got it!” Valen exclaimed.
“Hmm?”
“That chant! I think I understand it. ‘First City, first people,’ right?”
“Yes, sort of. It has a dual meaning though. It also means ‘the city was here first, the people were here first.’”
Valen wiggled her eyebrows. “Clever. I do like a good double meaning.”
They were both leaning over an old iron-wrought balcony railing of an apartment that a friend of a friend of a relative owned. At this point, Selesia had met the Council of Takoa Elders—twice!—and been asked to speak to a half dozen groups of people that she hardly knew. She’d met Mirian, sure, but not for very long. She’d done her best to muddle through explaining what Mirian had told her about the nature of the Akanan economy being incompatible with peace, the shift needed to adopt non-foss magic systems, and the inevitable collapse that was coming—whether or not the moon fell. At first, she’d spoken to a few people: her family, and the families they knew and trusted. Then the waves of propaganda had hit, and Mirian’s prediction of ‘inevitable war’ had come true. Then she’d spoken again, and then someone had gotten the ear of an Elder.
Then things had moved far beyond anything she’d done. There’d been the conscription, then limits placed on all sorts of necessities of life. The Akanan government had seized entire warehouses of goods and paid a pittance for them, using the new war as an excuse.
Then they’d attacked Tlaxhuaco.
Up in Mercanton and Vadriach City, they might have no love for the ‘tree-loving heretics’ as the Tlaxhuacans were often called—along with far worse slurs. However, most people who were Takoa or Semnol still had a closer connection to them than they did to Akana. The fact that they faced the same prejudice had only furthered the connection. So when Akanan warships came parading down the coast, no matter what the papers said, everyone knew exactly where they were going.
And when a storm had sent them limping back, rumors had spread like pollen in the wind.
The first marches through the streets had been small affairs, and the city guards had arrested and fined them under some emergency law. But Takoa was supposed to be semi-autonomous. Even an emergency law was supposed to be approved by the Council of Takoa Elders before it went into effect. Sure, everyone knew how things were supposed to go and how things actually went were two different things—but the resentment had long been simmering beneath the surface like so many leylines.
Now it was bursting out. This latest march was significantly bigger than the first ones. Thousands of people were attempting, once again, to make it to the governor’s office.
“Empty groves!” “Full streets!” came one call and response. Then the chant shifted again to “Stolen rights!” “Stolen souls!” Enough people and foss had been pulled into the war that farmers could neither employ labor nor spell engines for the spring harvest. It was a threat to too many livelihoods, especially here.
But the marches weren’t going uncontested. Down the street, Selesia saw sparkfire clamor spells going off as Akanan guards shot them into the streets to try and clear them out. A few people marching who knew arcanism were doing their best to shield the crowd, but it was an annoying spell to shield against; the bouncing balls both pushed and electrocuted who they ran into, while the light and noise they pulsed were blinding and deafening. Anyone with enough experience and myr rating to layer four shield spells had either been conscripted—or was one of the guards advancing on the crowd.
Within the hour, there were injured people all over the streets and the crowd had been dispersed. Selesia watched it from the balcony with increasing trepidation.
“What do we do? What can we do?” Selesia asked Valen. Things had moved so far beyond her, she didn’t have the slightest idea.
“No priests,” Valen said.
“Of course not. The Church can’t risk it.”
“But it’s not over. Look,” Valen said, pointing. Inside shops and in narrow alleys, groups of people had congregated, talking in low voices.
The guards marched down the main streets in a show of force. One kicked the head of a man who was already nursing an injured leg. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, and Selesia felt a spike of rage swell in her.
“Marching in a straight line down the main streets is dumb,” Valen said. “And you know what can stop a sparkfire spell? A board. Doesn’t even have to be that thick. There’s a lot more of us than there are of them.”
“Yeah but…” Selesia said. She was angry, but she was also scared. She’d had her problems with her country, but she’d never imagined she’d be part of something like… this. “Even if we can get the guards to back down or surround the governor’s mansion, what does that accomplish? How do we solve the labor shortages in the groves? Or the price increases? Or get the governor to start recognizing Takoa’s laws? Or—”
“I dunno. Come on. Let’s go talk to that group. More people thinking together is better. Or rather, you talk because I still don’t know Eskanar. But let them know I like their style. Black and green really go together.” Valen started making for the door to the apartment staircase.
“What? Wait, you’re picking the group because they’re dressed—”
“You don’t just want to sit around here, right? So let’s go figure out what we can do. And unless you have a better method of choosing…?”
Selesia hesitated, then followed Valen.
***
At a certain point, Jherica had grown tired of the darkness. Liuan had talked so much about ‘operational security,’ but they just didn’t care. The attacks on Vadriach and Mercanton had stopped. There was an unstoppable army in Urubandar. There was still an entire company guarding them, and a whole host of wards and anti-divination engines. Jherica knew they were good, too, because they’d helped design and test the array.
Her paranoia’s grown. But why? Mirian had betrayed them, but they’d surely already won. Akana Praediar was united in soul and purpose. Akana would bring peace. Eventually. Might take a few more cycles.
And Celen…
Celen. Why haven’t I heard from him? Jherica checked around for their focus. It was missing. Now where did I put it?
They searched through their memories, but it was so hard to remember. Just too many memories, they thought.
Need some damn sunlight, they decided. All the days in underground bunkers and warded University basements were taking their toll. “Going to get some fresh air,” they told the guards near the door.
The one on the left straightened to attention. “Uh, we were advised to, uh…”
“There’s divination suggesting there might be another attack soon, so it’s not safe, Sacred One,” the one on the right finished.
“Is that so? Well I won’t be long then,” Jherica said.
The left guard was half mumbling half stammering something else, but Jherica couldn’t be bothered to find out what.
Jherica passed the next checkpoint.
“Ah! Sacred One!” said one of the sorcerers, coming to attention. “We’ve heard reports that there may be an attack soon. We were told to advise you—”
“Yes, yes, I heard. Won’t be long. Haven’t seen the sun in a week, you know? At ease, or whatever,” they said, thinking, Why are they saluting? Aren’t they supposed to bow? Not that I really like the bowing. Still feels strange.
Then there was the elevator. The glyphs were dark; there was no active force platform.
“Sacred One,” the guard said in a deep baritone. “Divining engines have picked up activity off the coast. As a high value target—”
“Oh would you stop!” Jherica snapped. “Gods above, I’ve already heard it twice. Besides, there’s no Baracueli or Tlaxhuacan fleet left, and your divination engines sure as the five hells aren’t going to pick up Mirian on them!”
The guards shifted uncomfortably.
Jherica rolled their eyes. Right, they’d used the plural ‘Gods’ and Church of the Ominian people didn’t like that. However, they’d never seen Xylatarvia’s divine corpse, so they could stuff it. “Activate the elevator, please.”
The guards looked at each other nervously. “The spell engine’s failed. We have an arcanist looking into it, but it might take a few hours…”
“What? Well is it a dead glyph? Foss depletion? Conduit crack? Hells, where’s my levitation wand? Thought I… hmm. Must have set it down somewhere too. Just too many memories, you know?”
“Apologies, Sacred One, all we know is that it will take a few hours to—”
Jherica waved a dismissive hand and pulled a scribing pen out of their breast pocket. “I’ll do it myself. Short of the whole thing being blown up, it should take a few minutes.” If there was no foss, they could use Mirian’s soul-to-mana energy-stepping transformations. They went off in the direction of the building’s primary engine.
The door was closed. There were a pair of guards by it.
“Why in the endless void are there guards in front of a maintenance closet door!?” Jherica exclaimed. “Have the stone moles gotten so bold? Move aside, I’ll fix whatever’s wrong.
“Sacred One, apologies, but we’ve been told to keep all comers out until the repair team returns with the proper magichemicals. Something about a nur-o-mirror-a-dide imbalance—”
Jherica waved their hand, using raw force magic to cut the flow of blood to the two guards until they fainted. Now they were properly pissed off. First of all, the guard had gotten the magichemical group name wrong, and second of all, that sort of imbalance couldn’t happen in an engine that was a glorified lift object machine. The closet door was locked, but that wasn’t a problem either. They burst it open with another pull of raw force magic.
“Gods’ blood, it’s two depowered glyphs and a minor conduit crack. Should have been fixed fast as a moon flicker peck.” They activated the engine, then returned to the elevator, still feeling a knot of frustration as they rode the force platform up to the ground floor.
At last, there was a bit of light! The large stained-glass windows of Artificer’s Hall, the high ceilings, and the fresh air coming through the force doors were a glorious relief. They’d been moving from basement to stuffy basement for days.
They looked around. The mood was tense. Looking through the large doors, Jherica could see several glyphs lit up. Air was still passing through, but the force barrier would stop anything else, and the glyphkey bypass was disabled. Campus was suspiciously deserted. The courtyard, with its patches of little gardens and abundant benches, usually had thousands of students and a smattering of professors at any given hour. Even with the class cancellations, there were still projects and activities aplenty.
Someone had left a heap of newspapers spread across a table. Jherica automatically glanced at the headlines and skimmed pieces of the articles. Two phrases stuck in their brain like pins. A quote from the Marshal of Defense, saying, “Akana Praediar is united in soul and purpose,” and another article where the writer had stuck in the phrase, “Akana is fulfilling a higher purpose by bringing peace to the civilized world.” Jherica picked up one of the papers that was buried in the stack. United in soul and purpose. Hmm, and what’s this? ‘Governor calls on the small groups of disorderly marchers to cease obstructing the war effort and join the majority in bringing peace to the civilized world.’ They set down that paper and picked up another. “Small groups of disorderly people” appeared twice in another paper.
‘Small groups,’ eh? Why haven’t I heard about this? If there’s disruption in the supply chains, Celen’s supposed to quash that. These articles must be his work. Repeat a lie enough…
Jherica set the papers down. Repeat a lie enough…
“Ah, Professor Jherica,” an officer said, drawing close. “We’ve been advised—”
“—that divination engines have picked up a possible incoming attack?” Jherica finished, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh. Yes, how did you know?”
If a lie is repeated enough by enough different people, it worms its way into the mind. First you see it in every paper. Then, you start hearing that same lie from your friends and family, from the workers at your side, from your colleagues—from everywhere. Then you can’t help but believe it, and once you believe it, you certainly don’t want to admit you’ve been fooled. Jherica could hear Celen’s voice in their mind.
They thought back to the past weeks of meetings. Intelligence officers, priests, and advisors, all repeating things for them. Yet who was the source of what they’d said? What evidence corroborated it? And why haven’t I heard from the others? Why haven’t I heard from Celen? They felt over their soul, more out of habit than anything. Strange perturbations. There was nothing there, but it felt wrong.
The officer cleared her throat. “Ah, professor, if would be my honor to escort you to a safer—”
“No,” Jherica said. “I’m not a professor anymore. I have a title.” They smiled. It was a feral grin, and they could tell the officer was unnerved.
The officer looked to several of the other soldiers who were stationed around.
“No, I think I’ll take a walk.”
“The doors are disabled. There’s—”
Jherica burst the force doors apart with raw force magic. It was a door, not a proper shield. The force doors were for keeping out idiots and insects, not archmages.
As soon as they were outside, they heard the sounds of chanting, shouting, breaking glass, and clamor spells. There was a shield engine keeping the main path into Vadriach University blocked off, with several soldiers yelling at people who were battering the force shield with their bare fists. On campus, a group of students ran by, one clutching a bloody arm, while a group of university guards chased after them. Jherica could smell acrid smoke on the air.
Small groups of disorderly marchers, eh? they thought.
“Professor! Ah, we can’t use your, uh, official title here, it’s not safe, there’s… you need to come back with us. Please.”
Jherica pulled themself upright and stared at the officer and soldiers who had followed them. There was a pressure in their mind, telling them to just go with the flow, to listen to the people trying to help them, but they ignored it. “I am a Prophet. I order you to give me your spellbook, as someone seems to have stolen mine.” When the officer blanched and took a step back, they used raw magnetic energy to burst apart the chain at the officer’s waist and raw force to snatch the book up. “Appreciated, officer,” they snarled. Repeat a lie enough, they thought.
They’d dismissed it as a tactic for manipulating the masses. But they’d talked with Celen, and he’d made clear that anyone was susceptible. Anyone. They’d grown too lax and confident in their knowledge and old age. Thought they knew enough and had seen enough not to be fooled.
And it had been deployed against them.
They had questions. Prophet Sio Jherica marched towards the shield engine, catching a glimpse of the massive crowds rioting through the streets of Vadriach.
They’d get their answers.