“It sounds like you’ve had a rough time lately, haven’t you?” one of the men commented sympathetically. “But how did your family end up being chased by the Mauser church?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, you’re safe now, young lady. Those Mauserist fools’ll never find us here.” The men laughed cheerfully.
Raquel let out a tiny, inaudible sigh. They were ordinary men, heretics or no, and had probably once lead ordinary lives. Raquel well knew how painful it was to leave an ordinary life behind.
But her sympathies didn’t distract her from her mission. She saw a chance to gather some information.
“But they might find this island if they use magic, right?” Raquel asked.
“Mauserists wouldn’t use magic,” one of the men replied.
The Mauserist church technically considered magic an abomination. It wasn’t a natural part of Mauser’s perfect world; it existed because of a curse put on the world by the evil devil, Browning, after his defeat by Mauser but before his death. Magic was a manifestation of evil interference in the world, and using it was a sin against nature.
In reality, however, magic was far too useful for the governments of Mauser-friendly countries to accept an outright ban. In the name of politics, the Mauserist church had to accept a compromise.
Unknown to most devout Mauserists, the church actually did use magic. The priests who were trained to receive the oracle at the holy site of Saint Grendel were basically sorcerers, and the church had its own unofficial team of sorcerers known as the Athenators.
“But what if the royal military discovers you?” Raquel continued, pushing the issue. “They’re sure to notify the church.”
“Don’t worry about that. Sir Ganvas has a blocking spell that covers the whole island. He does it all by himself—it’s amazing, really.”
Raquel fell silent, processing this new information.
One man, no matter how powerful, couldn’t sustain a blocking spell indefinitely. It would take at least five top-ranked sorcerers working in shifts to accomplish a feat like that. Raquel had done some investigating, but as far as she could tell, Reynard was the only sorcerer on the island.
Raquel’s eyebrows furrowed. There was one other possibility—one way she could think of that a single sorcerer could keep a blocking spell activated continuously. She could even do it herself, if necessary. She stood up with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Oh, are you leaving already?” The men looked at her, reluctant to say goodbye.
“I mustn’t keep you from your work for too long, and I just thought of something I need to do.”
“I see. Well, thanks for your help.”
“It was real nice meeting you.”
“Come see us again sometime!”
Raquel smiled and nodded politely to the workers, then turned to walk away.
“I hope I’m only imagining the worst…” Raquel muttered to herself, her usual relaxed expression tinged with apprehension.
“Let’s see,” Berkens mumbled to himself as he slipped his fret saw back into his pocket.
The people of Blasphemers’ Garden obviously weren’t very good at taking prisoners—none of them had bothered to search Berkens for weapons or tools. Despite their reduced status, Inquisitors still always carried their tools with them at all times.
“How can this bunch of disorganized idiots think for a second that they can fight the Mauserist church?” Between the thousand-plus Inquisitors, the Athenators, and most importantly the hundred-plus Purgers who had given up their humanity to become superb combatants, an untrained group of islanders wouldn’t last a day against the church forces.
Berkens frowned to himself. He thought of the girl, Cuphon, and how confident she had been. It hadn’t seemed like empty bravado to him.
Sawing through iron bars without making enough noise to alert the guards had been a long, annoying task, but as Berkens gently placed the last bar on the ground, he decided it had been worth it. The big man slipped through the hole he’d cut with the surprising grace of an assassin and crept down the hallway without a sound.
Two guards stood with their backs toward him, slumping at their posts from boredom. Berkens paused and smiled to himself. Escaping would be too easy.
It’s about time I got my chance to check out this island.
Staring at the backs of the two inattentive guards, Berkens grinned.
Shannon and Pacifica walked through the underground caves of Blasphemers’ Garden. They had since learned that that was the name of both the heretical group and the island itself, although that was by far the least interesting thing they’d learned that day.
Although most of the island’s inhabitants lived on the surface, the caves bustled with all kinds of facilities. The siblings had no idea how far the tunnels extended, but from what they had seen, the network was enormous. They had been told that Reynard had expanded on some naturally formed tunnels to create it. Although annihilation magic such as Fenrir could be used to roughly expand caves and widen tunnels, detailed work required manual labor, so countless hours must have been spent creating the underground network.
Apparently, one of the chambers was a room big enough to hold the entire population of the island. Meetings were held there every three days, and the siblings had been invited by Reynard to attend. Raquel had declined, saying she needed to research something, and had gone off to the Inox to read her notes on magic that she’d left in the carriage, but Shannon and Pacifica hadn’t managed to think up a good excuse fast enough.
They reached their destination, a large room known as the assembly hall. Almost the entire population of the island was gathered there, filling the dimly lit space until it was packed. The room was barely big enough to fit the majority of the eight hundred islanders.
The siblings were jostled on all sides by the crowd. The air was oppressively hot and tinged with a strange smell. Shannon glanced at her sister, who looked at him with an uncomfortable grimace.
Suddenly, the lights went out.
The heat and the weighty assimilation were even more oppressive in the dark. Shannon pulled at his shirt collar in discomfort; he could hear Pacifica breathing heavily by his side.
Shannon furrowed his brow. Darkness, heat, a crowd, and a strange smell—the person who designed this knew exactly what they were doing.
A clear voice rang out in the darkness.
“We condemn.”
It was unmistakably Elfitine. It sounded like she was speaking quietly, but her voice still echoed throughout the room.