Godslayers

In the wake of Lirian’s overly dramatic challenge, a space had cleared in the sea of stars in preparation for the event. Markus and Roel stepped out of the crowd of people to join me in the line of fire. I knew Markus had my back whatever came, but the kid really had a pair.

“Let’s do this!” said Roel. “I’m so excited, I haven’t seen one of these in real life before.”

I stared at her. “You know there’s no way I’m winning this, right?”

“There’s a chance,” Roel said, doing the head-shrug thing. “If I hadn’t spoken up, they’d just kick you out. Way less exciting.”

“But now if I lose, you’re going down with me,” I said.

“Right,” she said. “Then I don’t need to go to any more social events. I’m happy either way, really.”

I—huh. Clever girl.

“I’ve, uh, never done one of these before,” I said. “Or know anything about them, really.”

“Ah,” said Roel, considering. “Well, there we go.”

“So help me out, you little punk,” I said. “You might be fine with never doing another ball, but that won’t work so great for me.”

“Well, it’s pretty simple,” she said, clearly gearing up for lecture mode. “You’re basically fighting over the Twelve Virtues. If you can prove you’ve got one of the good ones, you’re safe. Otherwise you have to try to stick her with one of the bad ones, and that’ll be hard because no one knows anything about Lady Lirian.”

“Alright, prove I’ve got the good ones,” I said. “That sounds doable. What’s that look like?”

“Who’s your line of descent?” she asked.

“Uh—” I said. Right, everyone here was descended from a demigod. Well, I did impersonate an angel once. “Kives.”

“Got any kids?” asked Roel.

“What? No,” I said.

“Didn’t think so. Done anything important?”

“Obviously!” I said, looking affronted. “Lots of things.”

“Anything I would have heard of?” Roel asked with a spark of curiosity that wasn’t just procedural.

“Oh yeah, I was involved with the—” I said, then stopped. Shit. We’d been outed as the Calamity during the pirate mission. If I brought that up, I’d have bigger issues than getting blacklisted by the upper class of Vitareas. “Er, no, nothing.”

Roel gave me a knowing look, but she was a little punk, so I ignored her.

“So no Kives, then,” I said.

“Legacy,” she immediately corrected me. “Wait, you don’t know the Twelve Virtues?”

“Uh, kind of?” I said. “We use different names for them where I come from.” And also there were more than twelve, if you looked at the spectrograph, but humans liked their symmetry. Plus, something told me that if I brought that up, Roel would keep asking questions until she broke something.

“Oh, I didn’t realize the terms differed,” said Roel. “Here, I made this rhyme a long time ago to remember them—our versions.” She launched into a sing-song tone: “Rulership and prowess and conflict, legacy and labor and instability. Subtlety and freedom and connection, revelation and creativity and strength.”

I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously and almost opened my mouth to object that that didn’t rhyme at all. I was saved by a warning look from Markus. Right, comm translation. I latched on to the tail end of the butchered rhyme.

“Strength,” I said. “I can do strength. I’ll punch her right in her stupid face.”

“They’ll definitely throw you out if you do that,” said Roel. “Also, it’ll go better if you pick a more feminine virtue.”

“But on the other hand, I would get to punch Lirian in the face,” I pointed out.

Markus cleared his throat.

“Fine,” I said. “What else have you got?”

“Too late, we’re out of time,” said Roel, nodding to where Lady Obol was standing up and walking toward the impromptu arena that’d formed around us. “We can improvise. Just avoid the bad virtues.”

“Conflict and instability, right?” I asked. Alcebios and Horcutio had the worst reputation of the gods.

“And freedom,” said Roel matter-of-factly.

“Freedom?!”

She looked at me like she’d discovered the answer to some ancient riddle, letting out a noise of enlightenment. Before I could question her further, Lady Obol had gotten everyone’s attention.

Lady Obol looked around the room, then spoke in a formal cadence.

“It is known,” she said, “that all grace flows from the gods.”

“It is known,” echoed everyone in the room except me.

“It is known,” she said, “that we are of grace through our descent.”

“It is known,” echoed everyone in the room, including me this time. I felt proud of myself.

“A challenge has been issued,” she said. “The Lady Lirian alleges that the Lady Ajarel is not of grace. If they are of grace, let them show it.”

It was no longer possible to ignore the attention of everyone in the room. The masks softened the impact of all that skepticism and disdain, but unfortunately it was strong enough that my comm picked it up. I was objectively on trial here. I hadn’t felt so much collective judgment since my mom sent me to my first day of public school in a shirt that said “My Only Crush Is Jesus Christ.” I felt myself shrinking inward under the scrutiny, despite my efforts to keep my posture confident.

“Any last-minute advice?” I muttered to Roel.

“Don’t interrupt her,” she whispered. “That’s usually how they get you.”

“Oh no, not your greatest weapon!” Markus subvocalized. I shot him a death glare over my shoulder, not that he could see it through my mask. He was saying he had my back, I realized. All of them did.

“Thank you,” I told the team.

“Win or lose,” said Abby, “make it a worthy fight.”

“Go for the throat,” said Val.

Lirian stepped forward with a swirl of her cloak, fucking showboat that she was. She was loving this, I could tell. In her eyes I was just a motorcycle ramp to glory. Well, if she was going to ride over me, I was going to shove a branch in her tires.

Ready or not, it was showtime.

“My ladies,” she began, sweeping an arm across the audience. “We all know the Lady Ajarel—what am I saying? We do not know the Lady Ajarel. She appeared in our wondrous city only this morning with no acquaintances, no relations, not even a messenger to announce her arrival.”

Roel shook her head when I looked at her, so I managed not to burst out about the inherent irony of calling Vitareas “our city” when she’d only gotten here a year ago.

As if sensing my irritation, Lirian flashed me a sweet poison smile before continuing. “Well, lacking connection is no crime, she will assure you. But it is not a virtue. And no proof of this is required beyond the evidence you see yourselves. What, I ask you, transpired when she entered our halls? She made enemies the way Resha the Smith made shields until they rose over the walls of Elyrium.”

I wanted to protest that I’d only made one very tall enemy, but I didn’t need to look at Roel to know it wasn’t time yet. I crossed my arms and glared as best I could through the mask. Lirian let me stew for just a bit longer than she had to before moving on.

“I reiterate that we know nothing about the alleged lady! Has she works of great skill or words of deep profundity? Has she deeds to her name? Salaphi has been an exciting place of late—surely one of such grace had the opportunity to participate? Of course,” she said, her voice taking on a sinister tone, “I’ve heard dark rumors about what transpired at Salaphi. Perhaps the reason for her hasty arrival is merely cowardice. Or perhaps she had a hand in the curse that struck those lands? Is that your legacy, sister?”

Markus put a hand on my arm, probably to stop me from answering the question. I shook him off. I was going to stab her, I decided.

Lirian paced along the line of noblewomen, gesturing emphatically with one hand. “All partake of the nature of the gods. But I tell you, the virtues she partakes of are not ours! Let me tell you about the event that convinced me that ‘Lady’ Ajarel was not fit to stand among us, brought to me by a lady of great standing among us!”

She went on to describe, in excruciating and exaggerated detail, my unfortunate experience with dvoli.

“Subtlety is supposed to be Meris, right?” I whispered to the other two while she went on. “Because she’s really not subtle.”

“You won’t convince them with that,” Roel whispered. “She’s been chosen.”

“Okay, uh, I’m good at rulership?” I tried.

Roel stared at me. “Salaphi must be very strange.”

“I guess no rulership, then,” I sighed to myself.

Lirian was still waxing eloquent about me choking on my own mucus or something, so I pinged the team for support. This sucked. I could tell that Lirian was winning them over, and I hadn’t even gotten a chance to speak yet. When I even got the chance to speak, they would already think of me as some kind of pretender. Which, in the final analysis, I was, so on some level I didn’t even have the will to protest.

“Lilith, I know this is hard for you,” said the commander. “Humans aren’t built to take this kind of social punishment. I need you to remember that no lasting harm will come to you. None of this means anything to us. You can walk away when you’re done.”

“And that!” Lirian concluded, throwing one hand in the air, “is the point! Ajarel over there has the curse of freedom. She is not bound to our manner, my ladies, she is not bound to our customs, she is not bound to decorum! Let her roam the wilds with the followers of Rucks, but let her not stand in these halls a moment longer than it takes to expose her deception!”

“I guess I am from the Land of the Free,” I subvocalized. The joke gave just a bit of distance, but damn if I wasn’t just drowning in all this hatred.

Lirian turned to Lady Obol. “Lady Hostess,” she said, “let us hear the words of the accused.”

I stepped forward, looked around, and couldn’t open my mouth. Public speaking is, according to researchers, scarier than death itself. And that’s without etheric confirmation that your audience is, in fact, actively hostile to you.

“I—” I tried, and my voice faltered. Lirian was already celebrating her victory in her head, I could tell. I turned slowly and looked at Markus. He smiled, and I knew what I had to do.

In The Road of Spears—supposedly written by Eifni himself after the destruction of the Velean pantheon—there was a passage describing how a warrior should fight a losing battle. Eifni’s first piece of advice was: don’t. But, he continued, when there is more at stake than your life, when it is necessary that you hold the line, you will find yourself incapable of weakness. Do you fear death? You are dead already. Does exhaustion grip you? You will rest soon.

Is your spear dull? It is still a spear, and the enemy stands before you.

I—socially speaking, anyways—was already dead. And my spear was pretty damn dull. But it was still a spear. I slipped a hand into my gown and found my hand amplifier. I set it to martyrdom, then cranked the output to maximum.

“I claim revelation,” I told the disdainful noblewomen. My voice wasn’t as powerful as Lirian’s, but it didn’t matter anymore. I was incapable of weakness. “It won’t be a big one, because you already know it. But someone has to say it. Lirian, you’re really not subtle.”

“Lady Lirian,” Lady Obol sharply interrupted me.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” I said, “you didn’t interrupt when she forgot to call me a lady.”

That didn’t clearly win me any points with the crowd, but fuck ‘em.

“Salaphi’s a small place, my ladies,” I said, pacing. Less for effect, like Lirian had done, but just to think better. “What we call connection looks, uh, pretty different from, uh, all this.” I gestured vaguely at the this-ness. “This is actually pretty weird, if you think about it. Which, uh, I’m sure you do. Anyways. Not here to talk about that. I want to talk about how this supposed Merisite is really not subtle. Like, come on, no one’s said anything, but we all know why she’s here. I was here for one day, and she came up to me and threatened me about this guy.”

I pointed over to Markus.

“That’s Thala, everyone. Wave to all the pretty people, Thala.”

Markus waved sheepishly. Someone chuckled in the back.

“Hey, there we go. Yeah, Thala’s great. Real faithful devotee of Kabiades, and he’s been training for the Renathion. We came here because we heard Vitareas had some good competition, and he wanted to honor the god here. But guess what happens? We didn’t make it an hour before Lady Cloak walks up to me and goes all, ‘Don’t put him in the Renathion or I’m gonna make bad stuff happen to you.’ Subtlety? Really?”

So many disapproving stares, even through the masks. I could tell I was digging myself into a hole on the ‘freedom’ charge, as this little impromptu speech probably bore no resemblance whatsoever to the way things were supposed to go. And god, it hurt on a deep emotional level. I was going to have nightmares about this, I could tell. But right now the hurt didn’t matter.

“I guess this is supposed to be the bad stuff,” I said. “Because, I’ll say it again, she’s really not subtle. You know who’s subtle? Lady Eloi.”

The silhouette of Lady Eloi almost twitched against the illumination of the hanging ghostlights as the mention of her name brought greater scrutiny on me.

“Like, alright, I didn’t know she was eating dvoli, and I was obviously trying to flatter her. And knowing all that, she set me to humiliate myself. And let me tell you, I could tell that something bad was about to happen, but I had to go through with it anyways because we both knew I needed something. Well done, milady,” I said, giving her a stage bow. “That was a good plan. Now, by contrast, Lirian’s plan was, uh, this.”

I gestured at the this-ness again.

“Her very clever plan was to, uh, yell at me in front of a bunch of people so you’d tell me to go away. Which, uh, I see you still might.”

No one laughed. I was really not winning anyone over here.

“Okay, tough crowd. Anyways, uh, sure, maybe Lirian’s plan is going to work, but my point is she’s still not subtle. And the result is we all know what she wants.”

I paced a bit, gathering my thoughts. As I made a circuit past Roel, she whispered, “I told you this wasn’t going to work.”

I shook my head at her, gesturing as if to say, wait.

“If Lirian’s virtue isn’t subtlety, what is it? Well, that’s the revelation, ladies. Conflict.” I made a kind of stabbing motion with one hand. “Division. Turning us against each other. We’re here to honor Kabiades, aren’t we, Thala? Don’t we all agree that the god should be honored? But here’s Lady Swishy Cloak preventing that from happening! We all know what’s going on, don’t we? Throwing her weight around, preventing your champions from performing their best. You can stand up to this. You want to throw me out? Fine. We can find another city. You can’t. This is your home, and she’s squatting in it.”

I looked around one more time—come on, would it kill any of you people to nod or something?—then addressed Lady Obol. “Uh, Lady Hostess, that’s all I have to say.”

“Then the questioning will commence,” she said. “All who stand with Lady Lirian may stand at her side. Those with Lady Ajarel, on her side. When a quorum is reached, I shall end the challenge, and the loser shall depart immediately. Lady Lirian may speak first.”

“What a lovely speech,” drawled the spy. “Your rhetoric tutors must have taught you so well. Tell me, how long did you spend in their instruction?”

“What, for rhetoric?” I asked. Let’s see, one ten-week academic quarter was seventy days, divided by twelve was… “Uh, six thessim? And a bit?”

“Six thessim!” Lirian said to the crowd, with an expression that clearly said You Can Laugh Now. “And a bit!”

I chose to believe they were laughing with me. Never mind that many of them were already shifting to her end of the circle, rapidly thinning my end.

“Might as well ask,” I said. “Do you think Thala should compete for glory in the Renathion?”

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “The accusations in your defense were… creative, I’ll grant you, but completely fictitious. I think all who are willing should compete. My turn. Who taught you how to prosecute a challenge?”

“No one,” I said, to general tittering. “There’s like six of us in Salaphi, it’d be pointless. Okay, hold on just a second, I need to double-check something.”

That caused more laughter, but it didn’t really stop the slow trickle of people heading to Lirian’s side. I walked over to Roel, who was staring at me and fidgeting.

“What are you doing?” she whispered frantically. “We’re going to lose!”

“I thought you didn’t care,” I said.

“That was before I had everyone staring at me!”

“I can corner her,” I said. “We can win. All you have to do is promise to sponsor Thala if we lose.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

“Lady Ajarel,” snapped Lady Obol. “This is not allowed.”

“Almost done!” I called, to more mocking laughter. This was going to end soon one way or another. “Just trust me. Nerd to nerd.”

She looked at me strangely, then glanced at Markus. “Deal.”

“Deal,” I said, clapping her on the shoulder and standing up. “Lady Lirian, before we let this go further, you should know that the honorable Lady Roel has agreed to sponsor Thala in the Renathion—if I lose here. And as you seem to be so well-informed, I’m sure you also know that bad things have happened to virtuous athletes like Thala here. So, since I’m sure you have nothing to do with those horrible accidents, will you give your word that nothing befalls Thala if I concede here and now?”

The support bleed slowed, even stopped in some areas. The crowd was already pretty lopsided against me, and Lady Obol was definitely fudging things in my favor—to give me a chance not to embarrass her, I guess. But the sudden attention on Lirian told me people weren’t buying her blatant denials.

“You should have finished your seventh thessim of rhetoric instruction,” laughed Lirian. “Or even attended an eighth. Perhaps then you could assemble a coherent question.”

I raised one arm triumphantly at the crowd.

“She’s dodging the question!” I said. “She claims she’s not involved, but she won’t give her word!”

One person even walked back toward my side, which immediately made them my new best friend.

“Do you even realize how out of line you are?” Lirian said.

“Do you think I care if I lose?” I shot back. “They’re the ones who have to deal with you!”

“Ladies!” said Lady Obol. I grinned at Lirian. She was expecting me to play her game, but Darwin help me, I was going to drag her down to my level and beat her with experience.

“This,” Lirian proclaimed to the crowd, “is unforgivably free. I need no further questions to demonstrate her lack of grace.”

“Lady or not,” I told her, “I will fight you every step of the way.”

“You have no idea what consequences you've called down on yourself,” said Lirian with a smug smile.

Lady Obol stepped forward. “Then I am afraid I must—”

A woman’s scream cut her off. We all looked for the source of the disturbance and saw a cloaked figure drawing a sword and charging out of the crowd—straight at Roel.

“No!” I screamed, leaping at the attacker. The figure whirled out of the way and knocked me right to the ground with the pommel of their sword. Roel didn’t move, staring dumbly at the assassin in shock.

“Roel! Run!” I shouted. The assassin’s sword flashed down—

Markus dashed in front of Roel, yelling in pain as he took the blow on his shoulder. Oh god that was a lot of blood. Roel seemed to wake up from her trance and backed away to the crowd, those cowards parting around her as she got close—

Markus was fighting the assassin now, grimacing in pain as he moved his injured arm with obvious trouble, taking more cuts as he tried to wrestle the weapon away—

Screams and shouts from those who were present, people were calling for the guards, but none were coming, none were close enough—

I stood up and charged at the assassin’s back, one arm going for my knife, but the assassin must have heard me coming because they whipped around—she whipped around and disabled my arm with a jab to my armpit pressure point before hitting me in what felt like eight locations at once—

I regained consciousness on my knees, Markus sprawled on the ground and bleeding heavily, the assassin fighting five guards at once before tripping three of them into each other and killing a fourth to make her escape—

I crawled over to Markus. “No, no, no,” I moaned. “You’re gonna be alright, big guy. We’ll get you back to base, it’ll be fine, we just gotta get you back.”

“Move!” said Roel, forcibly dragging an older woman behind her. “He saved my life. You save his, okay? Kuril will pay you back, just save him!”

“Y-yes, of course,” said the woman. “I need some hot water and bandages. The cut looks bad, but it could have been worse.”

“Did she get away?” Markus groaned as she started tending to him.

“Yes, damn it,” I said. “I think I have a concussion. My head is splitting.” I switched to subvocal. “Commander, where the fuck are you?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “The usual. Dodging a city’s worth of pursuers in unfamiliar terrain.”

I blinked in realization, looking at the chaos around me. Markus on the ground, grinning weakly up at me, occasionally wincing as the old woman washed his injuries. Roel, staring at the process with a mixture of worry, horror, and curiosity. Lady Obol, speaking deferentially to what I assumed were older members of the Jeneretti. The challenge over, Lirian conveniently missing.

I burst out laughing. That made me feel kind of light-headed.

“Lady Ajarel? Are you okay?” asked Roel.

“She,” I giggled, raising a finger, “was really good.” I slumped over.