The Guild

SEVENTEEN

The shout, in Guildra’s voice, spurred Rexei into pushing to her feet. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say, then seized on the word boy. “I’m not a boy! I’m not a young man, either,” she added firmly as Torven scowled at her. She didn’t know why her Goddess wanted her to do this, but she quickly worked on the buttons of her trousers as she continued. “I’ve never been a male—all this time, you’ve been duped by a woman!”

Whirling around, she dropped her trousers, pulling down her undershorts as well, and mooned Torven, the demon, and over half of the ex-priests. The look on Elcarei’s shocked face was worth the fear that she would be brutalized for her revelation, but it was the demon’s response that caught everyone’s attention. Nurem snarled, hissing at her with jaws that gaped four times as wide as any human’s, revealing nested rows of too-sharp teeth lining that unhinged jaw. He clawed at the bubble-sphere separating his universe from theirs and glared at her as she hastily yanked her pants up and faced him again, fumbling to get everything buttoned back in place.

Beyond him to the left, she could see Torven, his palm scraping slowly down a face screwed up in a grimace of rage. “Stupid . . . moronic . . . ! Why didn’t anyone check to make sure she wasn’t a she?!”

“What does it matter?” Elcarei called out. “Feed her to the demon!”

“The demon has already accepted a male sacrifice, that’s why!” Torven yelled back, whirling to face the middle-aged, blue-robed priest. “If we feed her to him now, he’ll be able to break the bindings and escape our contr—”

BANG bam POW! Tufts of munitions smoke puffed out from the passageways. Priests and apprentices cried out in pain, some dropping with hands clasped to reddish stains, others whirling to confront this new danger.

“Torhammer!” Elcarei snarled, spotting the captain of the Precinct. Rexei remembered the face of Captain Torhammer from the Consulate meetings, and she felt both worry and relief. The captain was more than competent as a warrior, as were his men, but none of them were mages like the priests in this chamber.

“You!” Bishop Hansu accused, pointing at a younger man with brown curls, green viewing lenses, and a distinctive pointed nose, one which Rexei knew she would’ve remembered if she had ever seen him lurking around the temple. She wondered who he was, if Hansu could be so upset at his presence among all others.

Others appeared all around; she recognized the chief leftenant, Rogen Tallnose, but most of the others she didn’t know. She loved them, however, for most had hand-cannons pointed at the priests, and hopefully some hadn’t wasted their only shot. The ones who weren’t in leather-and-plate-armored coats were somehow casting energies from their hands, some of them female like her.

“Retreat!” Archbishop Gafford shouted. “Full retreat!”

Those that could still move whirled and ran for the mirrors displaying those odd views. Inside his bubble-sphere, Nurem hissed and clawed at the membrane separating their worlds; he lost the shape of his semi-handsome form, resuming the same horrific monster visage as before. Backing up from that side of her own bubble-ward, Rexei turned and pressed her hands against the shield, striving to hear the tones it made so that she could match them and slip through.

Before her hands could do more than sink wrist deep into the shield, a woman in steel armor and an open, black-lined cloak cleaved through the air between herself and Rexei with a mirror-bright sword. Though her long blade cut nothing, touched nothing but air, entire sections of paint were somehow flung off the stone floor. Rexei knew the woman. Knew her name was Orana . . . something. Orana Niel. But Rexei had no context as to how she knew the other woman, other than having seen her face somewhere. Whatever spell had been used to cut out chunks of her memory had been very concise in some areas and a bit vague in what it removed from others. The demons, she knew about; her chosen Goddess, she had always known. But . . .

“You! Longshanks! You planned this!” Torven accused, making Rexei turn around to see what he was up to. He was doing something with a small sack of powder pulled from the pouch strung on his belt. Scattering it in a circle, he called out over his shoulder. “Well, guess what, Guild Master of the new priesthood? I’m leaving this mess for you to clean up! Bazher faroudoel!”

Light flared up from the powder and the mage somehow dropped down out of sight.

She has the words. You have the will.

Rexei knew that was a message from her Goddess, but she didn’t know what sort of a message it was. The sphere trapping Nurem inside the ward-circle was starting to bulge; he had somehow regained the half-handsome, half-humanoid shape from before, but his claws were pushing against the soap bubble of the Veil, deforming it in an effort to tear through. Another slash of the sword behind her popped the bubble capturing and confining Rexei . . . just as three of the mirrors exploded, making people yelp.

“Champion!” Captain Torhammer called out. Two more mirrors popped. “What’s going on?”

“They’re destroying the mirror-Gates!” Orana called back. “And with the primary demon summoner gone, it’s going to be difficult to get the Veil resealed.”

“. . . Guildra said you have the words,” Rexei said, turning to face Orana. The last two mirrors exploded as well. She flinched but continued, “And that I have the strength. But I don’t know what words.”

“Ah. Just a moment . . .” She shifted her two-fisted grip on the sword and dug one gauntlet-covered hand into the robe’s sleeve. “Where is it . . . where is it . . .”

A sickening pop behind them made Rexei whirl around. The Veil-bubble was gone. For a moment, the demon-Monster returned, swelling to fill the containment sphere, then Nurem controlled himself, shrinking down to merely twice as tall as a human this time. “I willl have my sssacrificssse, sssweetling,” he hissed, and liiiicked the transparent magic that was all that held him in place. “The agreement wassss made.”

“Bullshit,” Ora muttered. She pulled out a scroll and pushed it at Rexei, who fumbled to take it and untie the ribbons holding the aged parchment and sticks together.

“Priessstling withhh a sssword, are you?” Nurem hissed, looking more amused than enraged. “You thhhink you can sssstop me?”

The containment wards started to stretch. Below them, the lines of paint started to bulge and move. Rexei gulped and yanked at the ribbon holding the scroll shut. Orana stepped up next to Rexei, sword now resting on her shoulder, her free hand on her armor-plated hip. She gave the demon a contemptuous look. “I have slain a God, little beast. The former God of this land. I will slay you if need be . . . but your demise will be swifter and more final at the hands of a true priestess of this land.”

Rexei managed to get the scroll the right way up, skimmed quickly over the instructions at the top, and started chanting. “I summon the spirit of my God . . . dess,” she called out, quickly adjusting the lines to better match this moment. She also tightened her gut in the way the Actors Guild recommended for making sure audience members in the farthest rows would always be able to hear. “I summon the will of my people’s Patron!”

“I summon the spirit of my Goddess!” she heard someone shout, echoing her words. A quick glance up showed it was the brunette with the green viewing crystals perched on his nose. He quickly circled his hand, looking at the others, the ones who had come to rescue her. “Come on—help her! Give the Gearman your strength! I summon the spirit of my Goddess!”

The others quickly if raggedly repeated his words, then continued with her second line. “. . . I summon the will of my people’s Patron!”

Quickly looking back down at the scroll in her hands, Rexei read off the rest of the lines, pausing between each one for the others to recite them in her wake. With each verse asserted, she could feel something welling up within her, and she clung to it, along with her image, her belief, in her Goddess.

“I bless this land in the name of my Goddess . . .

I bring the Goodness of the Heavens and their power to smite!

I sanctify this ground as holy in the name of Guildra,

And I purify the air, the rain, the day, and the night!

I am a believer with faith in my Goddess;

I believe with all my strength that She will protect us.

I bless this place in the name of Holy Guildra

And in the name of the Guilds and the values by which She exists.

I cast back into the Nethers all demonic intrusions,

And by my faith and by Her Great Blessings,

I seal now the Veil, cutting off all darkness and blight!”

Nurem screamed and clawed hard at the trembling, visibly weakening wards. Rexei felt only the tiniest tremor of fear, though. With the invocation’s assertions had come an answering, controlled anger. All the pain of having lost her mother and having to flee her family, all the stubborn determination to survive despite being so terribly young and alone, all the maturity she had learned and the lessons she had absorbed in how to listen and heed, obey and learn, how to create and believe first and foremost in herself, and now . . . and now, to believe in her Goddess . . . who stood with her, behind her, supporting her . . .

This demon was not going to win.

“I call upon Guildra, my Patron, my Goddess

To cast you back into the Netherhell from whence you came,

And to seal forever this ground as Holy, not profane!

Be gone in the Name of Guildra!

Be gone in the Name of the Heavens!

Be gone in the Name of the people of Guildara!

Be! You! Gone!”

She flung up her arm, shoving her palm heel-first through the air. Something coalesced inside of her as she did so, and thrust outward with the force of her arm. A golden spark, shimmering with hope and faith and trust, seared straight for the weakest point in that claw-stretched, cracking ward—and slammed Nurem the Monster back down through his bubble, down through the half-seen hole in the world, all the way down into the Netherhells. Golden sparks—smaller and less powerful, but appearing in the dozens, the scores—flung themselves inward from her fellow Guildarans, each a tiny spark of faith that caged the darkness, squeezed it down, down, down . . .

“Be Thou Gone from this Blessed Place!” Rexei asserted, putting every last inch of her life and her will, her magic, her music, and her faith, into her command.

A final, fat spark shot forward, expanded, devoured . . . and erased the dark stain of a sparklike rift from their side of existence. The contracting bubble of Light burst outward in a bright spray of harmless pale gold sparks. Where they fell, they erased all traces of paint, scrubbing away most of the runes on the ground.

“Well done, Gearman,” the woman at her side praised. She rested her gauntlet-covered hand on Rexei’s shoulder. “Well done, and well managed for prophecy’s sake.”

“Prophecy, hell!” Captain Torhammer snapped. “I recognized five of those places in those mirrors. We need to get after them!”

“No.” Rexei hadn’t realized she was going to speak, but the mention of prophecy . . . she could not remember the time or the place, but she knew that this was important. “No. Let them go. They will be dealt with. We have our own messes to manage.”

“That’s not your call to make—” Torhammer started to argue.

A chime rang softly right next to her ear, startling a yelp from Rexei and a visible twitch from the captain. Orana gave both of them a sheepish look. She tucked her sword inside her robe and pulled it shut, making the blade somehow vanish, then stuck her hands into her sleeves. When she pulled them out, the left one had no gauntlet on it, nor a vambrace, though it did have a bracelet with a strange hinged top. Flipping it up, she moved away a few steps as she spoke. “Yes, Pelai . . . ?”

Pelai . . . why is that name familiar? Rexei wondered. The others were picking their way down toward the two of them, foremost the sharp-nosed, green-lensed fellow with the curly hair. At first it had been brown, but now . . . it was reddish gold? When did that happen? It must’ve been an illusion spell. A smart choice around priest-mages . . .

“Rexei, are you okay?” he asked her, stepping through the gaps in the speckled remnants of paint, the ones which the swordswoman had made. “Do you . . . do you remember who I am?”

She nodded her head, then shook it, wrinkling her nose. “Um . . . sorry, no. I’m okay now, but . . .” Pausing, she looked at him. He was only a few inches taller than she, and she knew she had never seen him before, but . . . Awkward silence stretched between them as something in his gaze turned sad and regretful. It hurt her to see it, hurt her deep down inside in the same place where she could feel Guildra residing. “I . . . don’t know if this is going to sound really strange or creepy or . . . or like I’ve slipped a cog and broken some gear teeth, here, but . . .”

“. . . But?” he asked, brows raising in encouragement for her to continue.

“But . . . I feel like I know you,” Rexei forced herself to admit. “I know I don’t, but . . . I feel like I know you, and . . . like . . . I feel like I care for you . . . which is really silly and stupid, because we obviously haven’t ever—”

His fingers covered her lips, even as his own mouth curved in a smile. “You do know me. Or you did. We knew and liked each other a lot. Unfortunately, you had to take a magically binding spell to forget all about me, and everything around me, so you wouldn’t betray me to the ex-priests who just fled here.”

“I do know you? And you know me?” Rexei repeated. He nodded, and a strange but utterly welcome sense of relief flooded her. “Good. Good . . . because I really thought I was stripping some gears here, thinking either it was, uh, me going crazy or . . . you know . . .”

“Love at first sight?” he asked, giving her a shy smile. His hand reached out and clasped hers, the one not holding on to the scroll. “More like you were a combination of highly wary and a bit belligerent that very first time, out of what you thought was a need for self-defense. I wish I knew how to reverse the oathbinding, but . . .”

An indelicate snort interrupted their conversation. Both glanced at Orana, whose bulk of armor had somehow vanished from beneath her robe without her actually needing to disrobe. “It’s an oathbinding. Just have her swear an oath to remember again. If she does it of her own free will, without coercion, then she’ll re-remember everything—you people seriously need some training,” the Darkhanan woman added. “I can spare a couple months to teach you the basics of magic, but as soon as spring has thawed its way up toward the northern coast, Niel and I really need to get back to our home.”

Rexei knew that Niel was the unseen soul of Orana’s Host, residing somewhere inside the blonde woman’s body via the holy powers of Darkhanan Witch-craft. As much as she wanted to ask questions about the woman, about her life, about what had happened at the Convocation of Gods and Man—Rexei could not remember how she knew anything about a resumed Convocation of Gods and Man.

Guildra . . . will you help me with my oath? she asked silently. A pulse of something warm rose up from within, a sense of love, support, and acceptance. Nodding to herself, Rexei carefully phrased what she wanted to say in her thoughts. She was no apprentice in the Law-Sayers Guild, but she knew what an oathbinding was.

“I, Rexei, bind unto my powers the following vow: I will remember everything I have forgotten at the end of this vow, including any memories purged from my mind by oathbinding, and I will remember all these things with calm clarity. So swear I, Rexei . . . High Priestess of Guildra, and Guild Master of the Guildaran Holy Guild.”

A bright, bubbly tingling feeling swept down over her body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes in her winter boots. It felt far cleaner than any of the other magics she had been touched by in the last hour—at least until the last few minutes or so—and in its wake . . . she remembered. Remembered why her bottom was sore and what it felt like to sleep trustingly next to the man with the green lenses, Alonnen Tallnose, head of the carefully hidden Mages Guild. She remembered how he had teased her, shared with her, and believed in her. Remembered every warm, welcoming, friendly touch, and remembered their first kiss.

More than that, she remembered other things. It was a good thing she had asserted that she would remember them with calm clarity, because she remembered forgotten horrors of being groped and cursed, bullied and badgered. Remembered all the good things that had happened to her, too. And she remembered . . . Frowning softly, Rexei quirked her brows. “I even remember how to make pickled beets? I didn’t realize I even knew how, let alone that I’d forgotten that . . . I couldn’t have been more than three when Mum made pickled beets . . .”

Watching the expressions play across her face, in her eyes, Alonnen was caught off-guard by that non sequitur. Chuckling, he dared to lean forward and wrap his arms around her. To his everlasting relief, she immediately snuggled close, hugging him right back. “I’m sorry everyone knows what your gender is now, with Orana calling you priestess and all that.”

Rexei snorted. “I revealed it myself to the ex-priests in order to get that Aian fellow, Torven, to call a halt to the summoning ritual. He offered me as a male sacrifice . . . and I dropped my trousers and mooned him to get him to stop.”

“You . . . what?” Alonnen asked her, brows raising in shock. “I, ah . . .”

Orana shrugged. “A bold, yet unconventional choice. Your mistaken gender identity would have invalidated the binding, allowing the demon to cross the barrier with impunity, had you been fully handed over for sacrifice.”

Recovering from his shock, Alonnen realized Captain Torhammer and his brother were approaching. Alonnen switched to hugging his love with just one arm. “Definitely unconventional, but undoubtedly the best proof possible. We should be very grateful that this Torven Shel Von fellow is such a stickler for getting the demonic bindings perfectly right.”

“Master Tall. We need your people to help us track down the escaped mages,” the captain said once he was within polite conversation distance. Polite, but assertive.

“Actually, no, we don’t,” Alonnen corrected.

His brother frowned at him. “This isn’t your call to make, Master Tall. Nor is it hers.”

“Neither is it yours,” Orana returned calmly. “Prophecy is involved . . . and prophecy has already let us know where they’ll be confronted next. Torven was ejected from the Tower’s vicinity in Aiar. High Priestess Saleria and her ‘servant’—a fellow Darkhanan Witch—have saved the Sacred Grove of Katan . . . and now the Gearman’s Strength which Master Rexei just displayed is going to help the Guilds’ defender cast them out. Master Tall, I’m afraid that Pelai is having . . . difficulties . . . adjusting to the way your, ah, guardianship is managed. She’ll need you to return immediately and perform the aetheric spells yourself.”

“Aetheric?” Rexei asked, wondering what she had missed.

“We’re going to disrupt the aether for the next two years,” Alonnen told her, “and do it in such a way that the Netherhells will not be accessible. Not here and not in any other land we can reach and cover. Captain Torhammer, my guild will want to get our hands on any books left behind by the ex-priests. The rest of the wealth confiscated should be split into quarters, shared between the Holy Guild, the Militia, the Mages Guild, and the new government. Orana, if you would assist them in looking for any magical ‘surprises’ that might have been left behind . . . ?”

Rexei liked how he had divided the wealth; Alonnen had more years of experience as a Guild Master than she, and this was yet another good idea she had seen from him. She nodded when Captain Torhammer and Leftenant Tallnose each flicked a querying glance her way.

Orana bowed, acquiescing. “With the local land well sealed against demonic energies by Her Holiness, the rest should be mere nuisances to me, for all they might be dangerous to you.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to do that again,” Rexei said. She offered the scroll to Orana, who shook her head.

“Keep it. All priesthoods should have a copy of how to bless away demon taint and reseal the land . . . and I fear many more lands will need their own copies.”

Nodding, Rexei nudged Alonnen into moving toward the exit. His brother followed them, muttering as soon as they reached the rounded corridor. “I can’t believe you’re just letting them flee.”

Alonnen rolled his eyes. “Stuff it, Rogen. The next place they’re going is Mendhi. Prophecy says as much, and that means it’ll be up to the priests and the Painted Warriors of that land to manage what happens next. We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to have any hope of stabilizing ex-Mekhana into a new nation and figuring out where we want this new Guildara to go.”

“Alonnen,” Rogen warned him.

“We don’t even know how we’re going to rule over ourselves,” Alonnen pointed out, flicking a palm at his brother. “We don’t want a Matriarch or a Patriarch—”

“I certainly wouldn’t agree to that,” Rexei interjected firmly, and received a loving squeeze from Alonnen’s other arm.

“See?” Alonnen asked rhetorically. “There you go. And we cannot be successfully ruled by Consulate committee. Nor by any one guild, unless you want inter-guild politics to be our next big enemy.”

“Marta Grenspun might have some ideas,” Rexei found herself offering. “She’s ruthless as an organizer, and she has managed to find great people for my guild. She’s not the only one we can ask, too . . . Oh. Lundrei,” she whispered, seeing her half brother through an open cell door. Two militia members were working on the collar binding his throat, trying to pick it open. “So they did coerce him into writing that note.”

“Probably,” Alonnen said. “Orana promised to give us a few Truth Stones and leave a list of instructions on how to make them. We can question him with that to be absolutely sure.”

“Truth Stones are going to completely revise the way the law is handled in this land,” Rogen observed dryly. He let his mouth curve into a wry smile. “I think I’m actually looking forward to those kinds of headaches, instead of the ongoing fears of Mekha and His priesthood.”

Alonnen frowned, then stopped, bringing Rexei to a halt as well. “Oy . . . I just realized something.”

“What?” Rexei asked.

“Well, I love you, you see,” he said, making her blink and raise a hand to cover her mouth. He quickly patted her forearm in reassurance. “And I know you love me, right?”

She couldn’t speak, but she could nod. Vigorously. Nod and blink back the tears of emotion welling up inside of her.

“Well, then . . . how in the name of your Goddess are we going to get married?” he asked. “I’m not in the mood to put up with that Mekhanan-style nonsense of women pledging to be subordinate to men, but we’re too young as a new land to have any formal ceremonies written up, yet. And you, Master Longshanks, are the highest ranked member of the new priesthood. Who’ll bless our union, if and when we marry? If we marry,” he added, allowing for some wiggle room on her behalf with a tip of his head.

“When. And I’ll write it up so that anyone can get married by Holy or Gearman witness. And I’ll be known as a priestess, as well as the Guild Master,” she stated, making up her mind. “I’ll grow my hair out and wear skirts from time to time and not be afraid of anyone finding out I’m actually a female.”

“Well, no. Not after baring your bottom and mooning the worst bastards to ever be born in this land, as it’d be a bit too late to erase that particular image, even if I had an oathbinding big enough to help with that task,” Alonnen said mock mildly . . . and grinned when she mock whapped him for teasing her. He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

Rexei kissed him back on the tip of his. Their noses bumped together, then they were kissing, swept along by the sheer relief of having won the day with neither harmed. It would have continued and deepened, except Alonnen felt his brother rapping his knuckles on the top of his head. Not painfully, just annoyingly. Pulling back, he eyed his brother.

“Stow the passion, brother,” Rogen chided him. “Don’t you have to get back to seal off those Portal-whatsits?”

“Right. Yes. Very important. By the way, I’m stealing one of your militia motorhorses,” Alonnen added, nudging Rexei toward the stairs. After losing her to her kidnappers, he did not feel comfortable leaving her behind, prophecy or no.

“You’re what?” Rogen asked, frowning at him. “You are not!”

“You and your men blocked every street leading to this place,” Alonnen countered. “Only a motorhorse is going to get the two of us free of the tangle of vehicles before the rest of you are ready to leave, and I am not taking the motorwagon. It will still be needed to transport all the other mages back home. So, I’m taking a motorhorse, and Rexei is riding it with me . . . right?”

“I have no plans of forgetting you anytime soon,” she told him, guessing why he wanted her to go with him. She felt the same way and wanted both men to know. “I’m glad to see that not even the tightest of oathbindings could keep me from the memory that I love you. But I’ll be the one to drive the motorhorse.”

“You? Why you?” he asked.

There were several answers she could have claimed: that as a member of the Messengers Guild, she had been trained to handle a motorhorse in all forms of weather. That she knew she was a slightly better guider of the vehicle. But the real reason, she told him bluntly. “Because I love it when you hug me, and I want you to hug me all the way back home, and that means you have to sit behind me, which means I’ll have to guide the thing.”

He considered her words, then dipped his head. “I must admit, that is the most logical excuse for a miles-long hug I have ever heard. I’d be delighted to hold you as long as I can, too. Shall we plan on a nice long ride all the way to the northern shore for our wedding trip?”

“Ugh. Just get yourselves out of here, before I start thinking I need to settle down, too,” Rogen muttered. “I don’t need Mum making any more ‘I want grandchildren’ noises in my direction. And refill the tank, brother! You’ll return the motorhorse in perfect condition to Precinct headquarters with a full tank of engine potion tomorrow and no extra scratches, or I’ll tell Torhammer I didn’t authorize it, and he’ll make you slave away for a month or more in the quarries.”

“Ah, the joys of civilized, law-abiding life . . .” Alonnen muttered. “Yes, Brother.”

“It beats the alternative,” Rexei reminded him, walking with him away from the room where her half brother was still being held. “I’ll visit with Lundrei tomorrow. I just want to get out of here and back into the safety of . . . you-know-where.”

The sight of three slumped, snoring bodies on the floor slowed their steps. Alonnen lifted one brow, but Rexei shook her head and nudged him onward. The novices would either be handled by Torhammer’s men, or awaken and flee to wherever. She wondered what had happened to Frankei and resolved to see if he had escaped, or if he had been caught. There was no telling if the notoriously strict captain would go easy on him for helping rid her of that horrid collar, but if he was still around, Rexei knew she had to try.

She was done running from trouble. Done hiding from threats and from responsibilities. Done with flitting from guild to guild whenever things got tough.

That’s my Guild Master, she heard in the back of her mind. Keep up your inner strength, continue spreading the word, and I’ll have enough faith to manifest and help make this land a true kingdom, soon . . .

“Copper for your thoughts?” Alonnen asked her.

“Guildra’s faith . . . this demonic mess . . . I’d rather think about why my bottom is still a little sore and what we can do to make it feel better,” she admitted under her breath, blushing.

“Well, my brother once told me the militia has a saying about the things that make you sore,” he said.

“Oh?” Rexei asked.

He leaned in close enough to rub the pointed tip of his long, tall nose against her cheek, tickling and teasing her. “The only cure for what made you sore, Master Longshanks, is more of what made you sore. I’m ready whenever you are . . . after I take care of the aether, of course.”

She blushed . . . and pinched his bottom, making him jump a little. “Careful, Master Tall, or I might grab the pomade and the crankman once you’re done with casting out any chance of more demonic summonings, and show you how good it feels to be so sore.”

Blushing, he cleared his throat and said no more . . . though he certainly smiled.