Oddly enough, most of the women, and even some of the men, wore some form of jewelry. The women sported an assortment of bronze earrings, nose rings, belly rings, or toe rings, while the men opted mostly for basic ear studs. Though simple, they were very obviously far more precious than anything else they wore.
Why would they sacrifice footwear in favor of some piercings?
There was so much about demonic culture that Vir didn’t know. He was behind the curve, and if he had any notion of ever leading these people, he needed to catch up. Fast.
“That’ll do it,” Sani said, finishing up. “The kids should have food ready by now. A hard day’s work calls for a hearty meal, don’t you think?”
Vir nearly cringed. It was plainly obvious how little Sani ate. Caring mother that she was, she’d been favoring feeding her children over herself.
How many days would she starve with the food she prepared for me? Vir wondered.
He followed her back into the home, thinking of how to decline her generosity. Despite their big hearts, these were not people in a position to give.
“Darsh!” Sani called out to one of her children.
Darsh was a demon boy of around eight or nine, with a crooked nose—the kind one gets from having their face punched in one too many times.
Bullying? Or something else?
Vir didn’t have a chance to ask.
“Go and fetch some bread from the baker,” Sani said, holding up a single copper coin.
Darsh glanced at Vir, and his eyes lit up.
He grabbed the coin and was about to dash out the window when Vir swiped the money from him.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?”
Sani raised her brow but said nothing as Vir examined the coin.
It’s the same. It’s the same!
The coin was Imperium currency. The very same currency the Human Realm used.
Vir let out a wry laugh.
“Something off?”
“No, no. Just thinking how ironic the world truly is.”
Vir handed the coin back to Darsh, realizing just how rich he could’ve been in this realm, had he not bought into Badal’s investment property idea. The money wasn’t gone—and if all went well, he’d one day return to the Human Realm even richer—but right now, he was poor.
Poor, but not broke.
Vir produced ten coppers and handed them to Darsh, closing the boy’s fingers around the money. “Get as many as this much will buy you,” he said.
Sani was about to open her mouth in protest when Vir flipped her a silver coin. It was one of the few he had left, though he suspected earning money in the Demon Realm would be far easier for him than it would be for her.
“You? Why?” Sani stuttered.
“Keep it. Use it to further the cause,” Vir said, giving her a knowing look.
Sani nodded several times. “Today, we feast like kings!”
The ‘feast’ consisted of a few pieces of stale bread, diluted lentil soup, and coconut water.
Basic fare for Vir, but the looks of absolute glee on the family’s faces made it one of the tastiest meals Vir had ever eaten.
“So, have you been here your whole life?” Vir asked, trying to imagine what growing up in a place like this must have been like. The parallels to Brij were there, but this was on another level of poverty entirely. In Brij, Vir only starved in winter. Here, emaciation and hunger appeared to be the norm.
Their looks of confusion told Vir he’d made a mistake.
“Sorry. I was training in the Ash before this mission. I’m not up to date on recent happenings.”
Sani and her children nodded, though they were still somewhat surprised. Apparently, he’d asked a very basic question.
Vir was only now discovering how difficult it was to maintain a believable cover identity when he wasn’t versed in the local customs.
“Only been here a year or so. We’re thinking of moving on soon, though no one knows where. The land’s barren, and the Chits don’t lift a finger to aid us. Maybe people didn’t like the routes King Maion had us follow, but at least we never starved. Not like this.”
They’re nomads…
The ramshackle structures now made sense to Vir. Not only were the villagers constrained by their poverty, they also never intended to stay long.
“If you’re wanting to resupply, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” Sani continued. “This village ain’t equipped to outfit a warrior band. Barely enough to get by on our own.”
“Do you think your baker could spare enough for a week’s worth for two or three people?” Vir asked. He’d somewhat anticipated the answer.
“Tell ya what? Leave it to me, and I’ll rustle up enough for yer folks. On one condition.”
Vir raised a brow.
“You accompany my kiddos to Samar Patag, and we’ll be square. Village’s got an Ash’va wagon we use to get supplies. You can all pile on that.”
Vir didn’t respond immediately.
“The road’s a dangerous place these days,” Sani continued. “I’d breathe a lot easier if someone capable like you guarded them. Assuming you’re headed that direction, of course. Just thought you might be.”
Vir wanted to ask how far Samar Patag was but didn’t. That would’ve been common knowledge, and Vir knew well that asking such questions was a recipe for arousing suspicion.
Are we closer than Cirayus thought? Vir wondered.
Riding an Ash’va wagon would be about the same pace as Vir and Cirayus could maintain.
“I am, though I cannot speak for my… brothers,” Vir said, hastily using a word a Gargan rebel might use. “I’d like to consult with them before I accept.”
“Of course, of course.”
Vir excused himself and left the village alone.
“Well, Maiya, they seem like nice people. It’s… tragic, though, seeing how they live. I wonder if it’s like this everywhere.”
He’d taken to speaking out loud like this ever since the events in that cavern. A part of him recognized it as an unhealthy habit, though a much larger part didn’t care. It helped calm his nerves.
“Then I guess you’ll just have to fix it, won’t you?”
“Right,” Vir said, chuckling to himself. Look at me… I’m talking to myself now.
Wait. He froze. Talking?
Vir dropped his rucksack and rushed to pull out the communication orb. It glowed with white light.
“M-Maiya?”
“Hi, Vir! Long time no see!”
4
BLESSED PROPHET (PART ONE) (MAIYA)
“What do you think you’re doing?” Yamal cried. “She’s still alive, gods dammit! She’s still alive!”
The Rector regarded him with as much consideration as one would give a pile of rotting trash.
“Our god has spoken. The Swarm has judged her and found her guilty. She is forsaken.”
“Please, hand her to us,” Yamal pleaded. “Do not do this.”
Yamal had known that blasted tree was no good the moment he’d set his sight on it. When Maiya lost consciousness after touching it, Yamal feared the worst. And while the worst hadn’t happened—Maiya hadn’t perished—Yamal was beginning to wonder if it might’ve been better if she had. At least it would have been painless.
No. I refuse to let her be burned alive.
They—or rather, the Silent One—acted immediately back then, in the room with the strange tree. He’d checked Maiya for a pulse before deftly slinging her over his shoulder. He’d done it with such grace and precision, it made Yamal wonder—not for the first time—what exactly the large man’s background was.
He’d never had a chance to ask, for they had been too busy running to think about anything else.
The cave’s corridors were a maze, oftentimes leading to hallways that led to rooms and yet more hallways. Most looked as though they hadn’t been occupied for centuries, judging from the thousands of cobwebs and the piles of dust. Had there been more light, they would have noticed their robes had turned entirely white from running into the things, and Yamal had to move his hands continuously to prevent the silk from covering his face. The light of their Magic Lamp orbs had only barely pierced the darkness, proving entirely insufficient to drive back the crushing eeriness of those halls.