Chapter Twentysix
They approached the outpost of Peronin’s Watch with determined purpose.
Siurad strode forward, deliberately emptying his mind until he possessed the intellectual depth of a wet tavern mop. His jaw hung loose, his eyes glazed over, and he dragged his feet just enough to sound heavy and dull.
Yona prowled beside him, every step was calculated, radiating the arrogant confidence of a predator.
Alexander, meanwhile, was vibrating.
“They are going to skewer me,” Alexander murmured, his bound wrists trembling against the small of his back. “I am going to end up as a garnish.”
“Quiet, Saint. Maintain character,” Yona hissed through a fixed, predatory smile.
'…COWARDLY AS USUAL,' Obi noted, the vibration on Siurad’s finger dripping with disdain.
“We won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise,” Siurad whispered out of the side of his mouth, trying to be reassuring.
Thwack.
Yona kicked Siurad in the shin. Hard.
“No talking!” she snapped, not even looking at him. “Nothing but grunts from here on out, Tiny.”
A makeshift network of rusted iron plates and charred wooden bridges spiraled down into the depression of the caldera. Below, thick veins of lava flowed like a sluggish, glowing river, weaving around jagged islands of black rock.
On the largest island sat a squat, bunker-like structure. It was constructed from carved igneous rock fused with grey clay, giving it the appearance of a hardened growth pushing out of the stone itself.
As they rattled across the final metal bridge, two figures emerged from the structure to meet them. They were clad in dusty grey robes, their faces obscured by dirty white shaylas wrapped tight against the ash and heat.
“Announce yourselves!” one of them yelled. The voice was female, sharp and commanding, cutting through the hiss of the steam vents.
Yona shoved Alexander forward, making him stumble, while Siurad loomed silently behind her, slouching into his Tiny persona.
“We wish to join the most exalted Peronin!” Yona shouted back, her voice echoing off the canyon walls. She grabbed Alexander by the back of his collar and shook him like a ragdoll. “And to prove our worth, we have brought a High Priest of the Whitespire as an offering!”
Alexander let out a whimper that was very real.
'…SUBTLETY IS DEAD,' Obi observed dryly. '…BUT THE THEATRICS ARE ADEQUATE.'
“A Priest of the Whitespire?” the woman repeated, her mouth twisting into a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “I am Gresha. This is Almere.”
She turned to her companion, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Return to the outpost. Bring the Inspection Team. We have... unique cargo.”
Almere nodded and vanished into the dark tunnel, leaving Gresha alone with the trio.
“We will wait here and have a chat, shall we?” Gresha purred, her hand resting on the hilt of a jagged dagger.
“I am Tricia,” Yona lied smoothly, offering a mock bow. “A long-time admirer of the Most Exalted. And this wall of meat is my manservant, Tiny. Say hello, Tiny.”
Siurad slumped his shoulders, letting his jaw hang loose. He let out a wet, gravelly sound from deep in his chest.
“Hrrrn.”
“He’s not one for words,” Yona explained with a dismissive wave. “A accident involving a stubborn mule and a lightning spell. Tragic stuff, really.”
Gresha didn’t so much as chuckle, she turned her gaze to Alexander.
“Priest,” she said, circling him like a shark. “A most interesting predicament you find yourself in.”
Alexander did not meet her eyes. His trembling was uncontrollable, the rope rattling against his wrists. He stared fixedly at the volcanic ash covering his boots.
“How did you acquire him?” Gresha asked, looking back at Yona.
“The fool was trying to save a gaggle of sickly orphans,” Yona sneered. “Orphans I had already marked as tribute for Peronin. You know how it is overhead costs. We tracked his trail, ambushed him in the woods, and I let Tiny do the heavy lifting.”
“Grrrgh,” Siurad agreed, stomping a massive boot. The impact shook dust from the stone archway.
Gresha flinched, taking a sharp step back. She looked up at the towering figure in black plate, at the wild mane of black locs framing a face that looked completely devoid of thought, yet brimming with violence.
“I... see,” she said, her voice tighter than before. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly wishing the inspection team would hurry up. “Well. The team will be here shortly. Then we can further discuss your... aims.”
It wasn't long before a procession of six figures marched from the dark tunnel, moving with the synchronized steps of a drill team. They were dressed identically in dirty grey robes and ash-stained white shaylas.
A short, portly man stepped out from the center of the formation. He bustled forward, his voice high and nasally, echoing off the cavern walls.
“Gresha, this better not be a ruse! Do you know how backlogged we are? A Whitespire Priest, here? Now?”
The man walked swiftly, his robes swishing, before abruptly stopping in his tracks.
His gaze fell upon Alexander. A smile plastered itself across his face, wide and manic, making his curled mustache bounce with delight.
“This specimen!” he gasped, pulling a shimmering, gold-rimmed monocle from his robe pocket. He jammed it over his right eye and leaned in uncomfortably close to the trembling priest.
“Oh... my. Purity of the likes I’ve never seen. Look at that aura! I bet he’s never even stolen a piece of candy. Perfect. Absolutely pristine.”
He swung the monocle toward Yona, his nose wrinkling slightly.
“Miss Tricia, I have no idea how to thank you for this most delightful morsel,” he said fast, dismissing her with a wave. “She seems adequate. Nothing special. A bit... feral.”
He redirected his vision back to Alexander, the smile returning, impossibly wider than before.
“Amadeo, sir,” Gresha interrupted cautiously. “There is also... um... Tiny.”
“Oh, yes, the help,” Amadeo mumbled, his eyes still lingering on Alexander’s terrified face.
Finally, he tore his gaze away and diverted his attention toward Siurad. He adjusted the monocle and began his scan waist-high, moving up toward the chest.
The moment the lens focused on the black steel breastplate, the glass detonated.
CRACK-BOOM.
The monocle exploded in a violent burst of magical sparks and glass dust.
Amadeo let out an ear-shattering shriek, stumbling backward and clutching his face.
Yona’s hand instantly flew to the dagger at her belt, her body tensing for a fight. Siurad stood frozen, wondering if he should draw his sword or keep playing dumb.
Amadeo lowered his hands. He blinked. His face was covered in soot, but miraculously, he was unharmed.
“Uh, excuse me,” Amadeo said bashfully, brushing glass dust from his mustache. “The safety mechanism prevents the shards from shattering inward... but it is still quite… bothersome.”
He looked up at the group, his eyes wide with awe.
“The priest!” Amadeo shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Alexander. “The ambient radiance of this specimen... he burst a B-Grade Aetherometer! His essence overloaded the lens while I was looking at the brute!”
Yona slowly moved her hand away from her dagger. She looked at Siurad, then at Alexander.
“Yeah,” Yona improvised, keeping a straight face. “He... does that. He’s very holy. High voltage.”
“Miss Tricia, you have brought us a breakthrough,” Amadeo breathed, wiping his soot-stained hands on his robes. “Peronin will be sure to finally grace us with his presence with a specimen such as this at our disposal.”
He spread his arms wide, looking between Yona and the silent giant.
“Tell me. What is it you desire? Name your price.”
“I would like to be ingratiated within the greatness that is Peronin,” Yona said, placing a hand over her heart. “To learn the ways of the Watch. That is all I desire.”
'…SHE IS A TERRIBLE ACTOR,' Obi’s voice echoed clearly in both their minds, cold and sharp. '...AND THIS VERMIN IS A SPIRITUAL BARNACLE.'
Yona remained calm, choosing not to display her distaste with Obi’s comments. She kept a smile plastered on her face, but her mental voice shot back instantly.
Calm down, you self-important piece of regalia. I’m landing the con. You just sit there and sparkle.
'…DO NOT COMMAND ME … FOX,' Obi retorted. '…I AM THE AUTHORITY. YOU ARE THE HELP.'
And without the help, you’re just jewelry on a corpse. Shut up and let me work.
Siurad fought the urge to smile as he listened to the telepathic bickering echoing in his skull. He let out a wet, rattling cough to cover the amusement.
Amadeo didn't even notice. He had approached Alexander with zero understanding of personal space etiquette, his nose inches from the priest's trembling neck.
“So pristine... so pristine,” Amadeo whispered, practically salivating.
Yona stepped forward, talking over the arguing god in her head. “I always heard that Peronin’s followers kept the most arcane knowledge. Is this true?”
“Oh, yes, my child,” Amadeo said dismissively, not looking away from the priest. “All knowledge is sacred to the Most Exalted.”
He finally turned, his eyes wide and manic behind the broken monocle frame.
“The Whitespire, the Silent Order, Charlemagne's Clergy, and the countless splinter groups like them across the world... they all seek to destroy such knowledge. They fear it. But we?”
He spread his arms wide, his robes fluttering in the volcanic draft.
“We believe all knowledge is power. The power to tame death itself.”
He twirled around. “Gresha! Prepare a room in the Captive’s Quarters for our priest. Make it comfortable. Soft linens. No chains…they chafe the aura.”
He snapped his fingers at the other guard. “Almere, prepare a bunk for our newest members. One room should be adequate for you and... uh... Tiny, was it? Yes, Tiny. Would you and Tiny sharing a room be amenable?”
“One room is just fine, Master Amadeo,” Yona said, pouring the gratitude on thick. “Tiny gets separation anxiety.”
'…SICKENING,' Obi pulsed violently. '…UNBECOMING. XARA WOULD NEVER GROVEL AT THIS MONKEY RODENT’S BEHEST.'
Yona’s smile tightened just a fraction. She pushed the irritation down.
Xara was a General. I’m a thief,’ Yona thought back, her internal voice firm but careful not to mock him. Generals kick down doors. Thieves unlock them. Unless you want to manifest and kill everyone in this room right now, you let me handle the talking.
'…HMPH.'
That’s what I thought. Sit tight, sticker.
“Actually,” Yona said, stepping closer to Alexander. “I have grown quite attached to the priest. Would you mind if I accompanied him to the prisoner's quarters? Just to say goodbye?”
“Captive’s quarters,” Gresha corrected sharply.
“Very well,” Amadeo waved his hand. “Take her with you, Gresha. However...”
He paused, his voice dropping the high-pitched nasal tone for something deeper, slimier. He looked Yona up and down, then glanced at Alexander with a possessive glint.
“No funny business, Miss Tricia. I intend to keep the priest as... pristine as possible. We need his energies pure. Do not soil the merchandise with any... base appetites.”
Yona blinked, processing the implication. Her nose wrinkled in genuine, unmasked disgust.
“Ew,” she blurted out, breaking character for a split second. “He’s a priest, not a... never mind. Gross. Point taken.”
“Show Tiny to their room,” Amadeo commanded, ignoring her reaction as his cheery demeanor snapped back into place. “After the tour, we have much to discuss. Peronin’s will shines on us today!”
With that, he spun toward the tunnel entrance and disappeared into the darkness.
'…THE RODENT IS VULGAR,' Obi noted into the silence.
For once, Yona didn't argue. Agreed.
“Well, let's head in shall we?”
The heavy oak door to the Captive’s Quarters swung open without a creak, revealing a room that Alexander found infinitely more terrifying than a dungeon cell.
It was luxurious.
Thick, crimson carpets covered the stone floor, muffling their footsteps. The walls were draped in velvet tapestries depicting scenes of peaceful anatomical study. In the center sat a four-poster bed piled high with silk pillows, and on a mahogany side table rested a silver platter overflowing with grapes, cheese, and a carafe of wine.
“The Sapphire Suite,” Gresha announced, gesturing grandly. “Reserved for our most... delicate acquisitions.”
Alexander stood in the doorway, trembling. “There are no bars.”
“Why would there be?” Gresha smiled, a thin, paper-cut of an expression. “You are a guest of Master Amadeo. To cage you would be to stress the product. Stress sours the spiritual vintage.”
She turned to Yona. “You have five minutes. Do not excite him.”
Gresha stepped back into the hallway, crossing her arms, watching them like a hawk.
Yona grabbed Alexander by the shoulders and marched him into the room, kicking the door shut just enough to block Gresha’s direct line of sight.
“Listen to me,” Yona hissed, her voice barely a breath. “This is the waiting room. They’re fattening you up.”
“They gave me throw pillows, Yona!” Alexander whispered frantically, holding up a tassel. “Evil cults do not provide lumbar support! This is psychological warfare!”
“It’s a spa day before the sacrifice,” Yona corrected. “Enjoy the grapes. Don't drink the wine, it probably has a sedative to keep your mana calm. Just sit tight, look holy, and wait for my signal.”
“What is the signal?”
“Explosions,” Yona said simply. “Or screaming. Usually both.”
'…TELL THE PRIEST TO STOP HYPERVENTILATING,' Obi’s voice cut into the conversation, echoing in both their minds. '…HIS ANXIETY IS LOWERING THE ROOM’S AMBIENT … TEMPERATURE. IT IS ANNOYING.'
He’s terrified, you unfeeling paperweight, Yona shot back mentally.
“Obi says to breathe,” Yona translated aloud. She patted Alexander on the cheek a little too hard. “You’re doing great, Saint. Just remember: You’re high value merchandise. If they try anything weird, threaten to bruise yourself. They seem terrified of damaging the packaging.”
Alexander nodded, swallowing hard. “I... I can do that. I can be fragile.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Yona turned and slipped back into the hallway, flashing a charming smile at Gresha.
“He’s all settled in,” Yona chirped. “He’s praying. Best not to disturb him.”
Gresha nodded, locking the heavy door with a complex, multi-tumbler key.
“You have a good eye for quality, Tricia,” Gresha said, her tone slightly warmer now that business was concluded. “A Whitespire Priest is a rare catch. Most mercenaries just bring us goblins or lost hikers.”
“I aim to please,” Yona said smoothly.
Gresha paused, looking Yona up and down with a new appreciation.
“You know,” Gresha murmured, gesturing down the hall. “Since Master Amadeo is so taken with your offering, perhaps I should show you why we value quality so highly. We have some... unique assets currently in processing.”
Yona raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I do enjoy seeing the competition.”
“Follow me.”
They walked past the luxury suites and descended a spiral staircase carved directly into the volcanic rock. The air here was different. colder, despite the lava nearby. It smelled of sulfur, wet fur, and old blood.
“We specialize in anomalies,” Gresha explained, her heels clicking on the metal grating of the walkway.
She stopped in front of a cell barred with thick, translucent crystal. Inside sat a creature that looked like a woman, but her skin was shifting, colorful glass. She was singing a song that had no sound, yet Yona felt her teeth vibrate.
“A Crystalline Siren from the Xericosta coast,” Gresha noted. “Her voice can liquefy a human brain in under ten seconds. We had to surgically seal her vocal cords. Now she just hums. We harvest her tears for alchemy.”
Yona nodded, feigning polite interest while suppressing a shudder. “Lovely.”
“And here,” Gresha continued, walking to the next containment unit. This one was a heavy iron box with a single viewing slit. “We have a albino river wraith. Nasty business. It tries to teleport through the walls every hour on the hour. We have to keep the runes in the room constantly anchored.”
“Impressive,” Yona admitted.
"We have other options, but you seem like someone who doesn't enjoy the mundane."
“But the pride of the collection is down here,” Gresha said, a sinister excitement creeping into her voice. “We found him wandering the wastes near the old ruins. He ate three retrieval teams before we managed to subdue him with a sleeping curse. The High Priest is infatuated with him.”
Gresha stopped at the end of the corridor. There was no cell here. There was a pit.
It was a circular depression in the floor, thirty feet deep, covered by a heavy grate of enchanted black iron. The runes etched into the metal were glowing a furious, angry red.
Yona stepped onto the grate and looked down. Gazing over the side she couldn't help but think of Brundis and the undead creature he and his group encountered.
As she peered over she was taken aback. At the bottom of the pit, curled up on a pile of gnawed bones, was a wolf. She expected to see a colossal bone demon.
It looked surprisingly normal, it was about the size of a very large dog, perhaps a bit bigger than a German Shepherd. Its fur was jet black, blending perfectly with the shadows of the pit. It was asleep, its chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.
“That’s it?” Yona asked, underwhelmed. “It looks like a stray.”
“Do not be deceived,” Gresha warned. “Asset 9 is a Shadow Wolf. He is more dangerous than he looks. We tried to put a collar on him last week. He almost ate the handler and went back to sleep.”
Yona stared down at the beast. She felt a strange tug in her chest… or rather, a tug from the ring on Siurad’s hand, echoing through their connection even at this distance.
'…INTERESTING,' Obi’s voice resonated in her skull. '… IT HUMS WITH THE SAME ATTUNEMENT OF THE VOID.'
What is it? Yona thought.
'…A NATURAL CONDUIT,' Obi replied, sounding intrigued.
As if hearing the voice, the black wolf’s ear twitched.
Slowly, the wolf lifted its head. It didn't look at Gresha. It looked directly at Yona.
The wolf’s eyes opened. They weren't yellow or red like a normal beast. They were a deep, vibrant Violet.
The wolf stood up, shook its fur, and wagged its tail once. A single, heavy thump against the stone floor.
Gresha gasped, leaning over the railing. “His eyes... they’ve never done that before. They’re usually grey.”
She looked at Yona, confused. “Why is he looking at you like that?”
Yona stared into those violet eyes. She felt a strange kinship. It was the look of a predator recognizing another predator.
Obi, she projected. Does Siurad like dogs?
'…THE SHEPHERD HAS AN AFFINITY FOR STRAYS,' Obi noted. '…AND THIS ONE SMELLS LIKE US.'
“I have a way with animals,” Yona said to Gresha, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe he thinks I have snacks.”
“Highly unlikely,” Gresha muttered, staring at the violet glow. “But... fascinating.”
She turned away from the pit. “Come. The tour can wait. We have work to do if we want to be ready for the sacrifice.”
Yona followed her, but she cast one last look over her shoulder.
The wolf was still watching her. It sat down, tilted its head, and let out a soft woof that echoed with the sound of distant thunder.
Yona followed Gresha back up the spiral staircase and through the winding hallways, leaving the cold dread of the monster pits behind. They came to a four-way intersection lit by flickering soul-lanterns.
“Your room is down that corridor, third door on the left,” Gresha said, pointing a pale finger into the gloom. “Relax. Get settled. Enjoy some downtime with your... large friend until Master Amadeo is ready for you. Almere or I will return to escort you to the Hall of Communion.”
She paused, looking Yona over with approval.
“You have strong instincts, Tricia. You will fit in well here. Most recruits flinch at the sight of the wolf. You smiled.”
“What can I say?” Yona leaned against the wall, flashing a conspiratorial grin. “I appreciate dangerous things. Speaking of which... I’m dying to get a look at those archives you mentioned. A girl like me is always looking to expand her repertoire.”
Gresha chuckled dryly. “Ambition. I like that. Patience, sister. After our meeting, I will be sure to walk you through the stacks.”
Gresha straightened her robes and made a sign of respect. It was a circle drawn over her heart.
“By Peronin’s Will.”
“By Peronin’s Will,” Yona echoed, mimicking the gesture perfectly.
As Gresha turned and marched away, Obi’s voice droned in Yona’s mind.
'…THEIR HAND SIGNALS ARE SLOPPY. LYSANDER’S WERE MATHEMATICALLY PRECISE.'
Everyone’s a critic, Yona thought, pushing off the wall.
She adjusted her daggers and headed down the corridor Gresha had indicated.
Alright, Jewelry. Guide me in. I hope Tiny hasn't broken anything yet.
'…THE SHEPHERD IS CURRENTLY STARING AT A WALL,' Obi reported dryly. '…HIS ACTING IS IMPROVING. HE LOOKS REMARKABLY VACANT BUT HE REQUIRES YOUR ASSISTANCE.'
Yona frowned, quickening her pace. Great.