Had his name been Amity?
Others had taken their seats, with several having set forth large ledgers which they were preparing to write in. Note-takers, perhaps, or historians. Evelyn, Davelos, and a third, bearded man stood to one side. All three bowed their heads in greeting.
Servants stood at the ready by the wall with pitchers in hand or simply with their hands behind their backs, while other Great Souls he didn’t recognize sat and chatted quietly, seeming at their ease.
Attention, however, moved to encompass Scorio and his companions as they came to a stop within the large doorway.
“Welcome,” said Nova with a subtle smile. “I believe we are ready to begin. Please, take a seat.”
Those not seated moved to their chairs. The table, fortunately, was massive enough to accommodate some forty people, which meant Scorio and his companions had no difficulty sitting in small groups of their own.
“I call this council meeting into session. I, Nova the White Queen, Charnel Duchess and Preeminence of this domain, preside.”
The two note-takers wrote rapidly.
“Earlier this morning, I became aware of a threat at the point of the Golden Circuit closest to the Fiery Shoals. Upon traveling there, I found six Ixithilions battling two members of Manticore and seven recent graduates from the Academy. I assisted in dispatching the fiends, healed the wounded, and recognized Scorio amongst their number.”
All gazes slid to where he sat. Scorio sat tall and kept his features composed.
“Scorio, please introduce yourself and your companions.” Nova’s smile returned briefly. “There may yet be some in this room who have not heard of your exploits.”
Scorio stood, uncertain, and proceeded to do so. One by one his companions did the same, followed by Evelyn and Davelos who inserted their introductions in smoothly before Nova could resume speaking.
“Scorio told me that he was traveling to the Fiery Shoals in order to apprise me of the situation in Bastion. The matter was of sufficient urgency that he thought it necessary to come directly to the Shoals. Scorio, please. Explain what drove you here, and what you wished to share with me.”
Again all eyes slid to him, and again he rose to his feet, the heavy chair skidding noisily back as he did so. Scorio inhaled, gathered his wits, and focused on Nova. On her pale beauty, her ethereal dignity, and the authority that was vested in her.
He’d reviewed how he’d present this information. Discarded a half dozen approaches. Finally settled on a line of approach, only to find his prepared words vanished from his mind.
Before the White Queen’s blue gaze, all stratagems and ploys seemed to fade away.
“Thank you for granting me this opportunity to address you and the council, Charnel Duchess. I ask for your patience and understanding; I’m not accustomed to speaking in such settings, and will no doubt reveal my youth and inexperience.”
Nova nodded, indicating that he should proceed.
“I… well, as I said, I am a Red Lister. I think that normally is simply a death sentence, but for me, it proved a boon.”
The audience tensed.
“A boon because it meant I was given a chance at independence. To learn of Bastion and Hell by myself, firsthand, without being immediately indoctrinated by the Houses and Academy. I survived the Final Door and emerged into the ruins to fend for myself. During those first few months, I made many mistakes, but I also had the opportunity to live as few other Great Souls do. I lined up at the gruel fountains. I walked the streets of the wards by day and night. I spoke with all manner of people. I saw firsthand the difficulties many face, especially the poor. I saw the ruins slowly encroach on good stone. I lived as the people of Bastion do—until Imogen the Woe appeared and everything changed.”
Scorio paused. He couldn’t tell how the gathered notables were taking his words, but he undoubtedly had their attention.
“Life is hard for everyone. I know that. We Great Souls might be treated to luxuries on one hand, but that’s because we’re expected to fight against fiends and descend to the Pit on the other. But the people of Bastion don’t have the powers we do. The ability to determine their destinies. They are born into their lives and have to make do as best they can. But even as their world changes, seems to be coming to an end, they are expected to perform the same duties, pay the same taxes, and live in the same wards as their forebears. While that might seem reasonable to we Great Souls in our Houses and the Academy, to them their plight grows all the more terrible with each passing year.”
Ugly murmurs went around the table. All right, not a sympathetic crowd then. Scorio leaned forward and raised his voice slightly.
“The wards that abut the ruins are shrinking but the people have nowhere to go. They pack themselves into ever fewer homes, sharing buildings between ever more families, while over in the wealthier wards, they see great open expanses of space and fancy manor houses. The gruel fountains are failing, the quality of the water from the water fountains is degrading, but they simply have to make do. There is less work but the taxes remain the same. Crowded, ill, and without options, they grow poorer by the year.
“Yet they’ve not rebelled in centuries. Why? Because they have faith in us. We Great Souls. That their suffering was for a greater good. That they had to put up with pain and hunger so that we could defeat the Pit. If it was a sacrifice, it was a noble one, even if it meant they had to watch wealthier folk continue to live in ease and wealth.
“But then the Empyreal Prophecy was put out there and everyone was asked to pin their hopes on its success. For years they did. Then the prophecy failed. Imperators fell, the Pit remains unconquered, and nobody addressed that failure publicly. It was swept under the rug and people were asked to continue as before—”
Amity rose to his feet. “The good people of Bastion will never understand the losses we sustained with the failure of the prophecy. Just as Emberlings and Tomb Sparks can’t hope to understand what’s at stake, either.”
“Maybe.” Scorio met Amity’s glower full on. “But what do they know? Hunger. Poverty. That the world’s ending in a decade. That their overlords demand more than ever while failing to uphold their end of the bargain—”
“Oh, come on,” scoffed a heavyset Great Soul in bright yellow robes. “Overlords? And since when is the loss of three Imperators in battle a ‘failure to uphold our end of the bargain’? Charnel Duchess, this is worse than fearmongering, this is uneducated prattle—”
“The fact is,” said Scorio loudly, “that the people have had enough. They have told me to my face that they are willing to die if that’s what it takes to make the Great Souls understand. That they will march by the thousands without hope of victory if it means bringing attention to their plight. Right or wrong, they feel betrayed. They see the ruins encroach daily but don’t see what the Great Souls do in the depths of Hell. Can you blame them for their anger?”
Amity snorted.
Several other Great Souls broke out in protest. Davelos leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, lower lip stuck out thoughtfully. Evelyn was watching with avid interest, clearly enjoying the show.
Moira? She was collected and attentive, her green gaze bright as she studied Scorio.
“There is a war going on,” said the yellow-robed Great Robe as he rose to his feet. His jowls were prodigious, his pale face splotched with red, his fine blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. “I wish that the well-being of these people were our primary concern, but frankly, it’s not. We have to focus on fighting and that means wresting every resource to our advantage. Duchess, I admire your open-mindedness as much as any other, but this… this pablum is a waste of our time. If the people of Bastion need to be reminded as to their role in this war, then the Sun Hearts are more than willing to travel to Bastion to instruct them.”