Chapter 41: Cold Desert

Dirty Matilda navigated through a grand arc beneath Coldust’s heathen barrier. Magic chants and military orders came from the battlements above as the combined forces of the Church and the town guard fought off the occasional stone monster. Compared to Estoria, the wall wasn’t as grand, and assaulting heathens were fewer.

The cityscape ahead—a mass of stone buildings surrounded by boundless desert and animal hide tents—was smaller, too. All of civilization clustered within circular walls or around a river—the only place not a sandy wasteland. Rare greenery flanked the water from both sides.

Normally, Dimitry would have taken deep pleasure in his new environment. As long as he had solid ground to walk upon and a reprieve from the stenches of stale ale and sulfur and decaying seaweed and whatever else plagued a rocky voyage, he could be content.

But not today.

Today, Dimitry stood on the deck of a berthing ship, an iron chain tethering his wrist to the arm of a knight with gold and green glowing armor. A platoon of priestesses approached from the nearing port, crewman gossiped about a detained surgeon, Old Man Bryce watched on silently, Ignacius shivered while distancing himself from the commotion, and from across the boat, indigo eyes seared a hole into Dimitry’s head.

Saphiria’s glare grew more desperate by the moment.

Perhaps she was conveying her worry and sympathies, telling Dimitry he didn’t stand alone. Or maybe she urged him to make a diversion so she could massacre everyone aboard The Dirty Matilda—a pointless bloodbath that would get them executed upon reaching Coldust even if she somehow succeeded.

Although Precious lay beneath her cloak, relaying to her Dimitry’s every emotion, neither of them knew what had transpired during his meeting with the bishop. Rosaline bound him in chains and signaled for reinforcements right after their conversation ended.

He and Saphiria did not speak since. She didn’t know of his plan to sever his chains while searching for his barber-surgeon replacement. To provide her temporary comfort, Dimitry flashed her a knowing smile.

Saphiria hesitantly nodded.

“Sorry about this.” Reece lifted his arm to scratch his head, and the chain linking him to Dimitry jangled. “We really need talented clerics like you out there, but don’t you worry!” He flashed a heroic smile. “I’ll definitely help you find someone to look after rabies girl.”

“Thanks.”

Beside Dimitry stood Rosaline. The bishop’s aged eyes watched priestesses rush closer, their leather boots striking the port’s uneven stone floor. “Reece.”

“Yes, Reverend Mother?”

Rosaline frowned, and her forehead wrinkles deepened. “Did Celeste ever apologize for bringing order to humanity at the primacy of woman and man?”

“N-no.”

“Then I don’t want to hear you apologize, either. How can we expect to defend the world from the corruption and the demonic forces when we can’t even defend our own principles?”

Reece’s face flushed red, but like a disciplined soldier, the teenager straightened his back. His iron boots stomped The Dirty Matilda’s deck, eliciting a stressed squeal from oak planks. “I am ready to accept my punishment!”

“You’ll be reading the gospel until next moon to redeem yourself. You will repeat your sacred duties again and again until you ingrain them into your mind.”

“Only through Celeste’s guidance will my disgrace be forgiven!”

“You best not forget,” Rosaline said.

Open-mouthed, Dimitry looked on. Seeing Reece receive disciplinary action upon expressing regret for forcibly inducting Dimitry into servitude removed all doubt—the Church was little more than a militarized cult. They claimed to work in service of humanity, yet their methods included enslaving children, extorting the public, and forcing compliance.

An organization best avoided.

But Dimitry would become part of it soon.

Icy dread, even colder than this frigid desert, trickled down his spine, his veins, and into every limb. He had to escape. As soon as he got off this boat, as soon as he entered the city, Dimitry needed to break free from his shackles and flee with Saphiria.

But how?

Could he sever his chains before evening with a knight accompanying him? Even if he could, where would he go? And how would he traverse a city dominated by the Church? Invisall wasn’t an option. Without Ignacius to treat him, the overload from his magic would leave Dimitry for dead.

When The Dirty Matilda berthed in the port, crewmen in thick tunics began running back and forth through freezing temperatures. They discussed gambling and getting drunk while heaving crates off the boat and onto the dock.

A shout brought their labor to a halt.

“You!” A priestess fixed her gaze upon a red-robed senior attempting to slip past alarmed watchmen. “Don’t I know you from Olsten?”

“Me?” Ignacius chuckled. “No, no. I’m just an old-timer trying to get home to his grandkids.”

“That voice.” The priestess’s eyes widened. “Now I remember. You’re—”

Ignacius reached into his robe, but a glance at the dozen knights and priestesses surrounding him gave him pause.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“I was just… straightening my undertunic. My bones get so chilly these days, and the cold’s bad for the blue bile. Don’t you kids know that?”

Rosaline’s finger curled. “Bring him to me.”

Four priestesses pushed Ignacius towards the bishop. The old man’s gaze fell to the deck as a knight patted his clothes for vol and women whispered around them.

Ignacius mentioned being at odds with the Church, but what ‘crime’ did he commit? Perhaps his sin resembled Dimitry’s—the possession of a skill useful to the pious. Did the wizard’s knack for magic garner Rosaline’s fancy? Dimitry leaned forward to listen, hoping the information could save him, yet the whispers remained indistinguishable.

Two priestesses bowed before dragging away a weary old man.

It seemed no one could escape Zera’s voracious clutches. Not alone they couldn’t. But together, perhaps they could.

Dimitry shot Saphiria a glance and tilted his chin towards Ignacius.

She nodded.

His message was simple: ‘Have Precious track Ignacius.’

A bright sun failed to warm Dimitry as he passed through a frigid market filled with creatures that resembled miniature mammoths. Their backs laden with large bags, one stood beside each tent. The scattered teepee-like structures served as stalls for merchants wearing colorful dresses, who peddled everything from bows with sharpened limbs to white-scaled leather armor.

But none of the foreign products provided Dimitry a clue. Neither did the signs that displayed novel yet decipherable characters resembling squirming snakes, nor did the chatter of grouped women in bright blue dresses. He had only until evening to escape the knight and two priestesses ‘escorting’ them, and it was already midday.

Just as his head twisted, scanning the surroundings for anything that could offer a solution, so did Saphiria’s. Her indigo eyes jumped from inn to goat to stall as she walked beside him.

“See any barber that can take you in?” Dimitry asked, hoping his meaning came through. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“I don’t,” Saphiria said. “We should explore some dead-end alleys. I hear the best physicians stay out of sight.”

Did she want to isolate and kill Reece and both priestesses? When dealing with Church soldiers capable of murdering heathens, it was a reckless plan. Dimitry shook his head. “The hidden barbers let too much blood. Those that don’t work so violently are safer, and I’m sure we’ll find one soon.”

“By then I fear it’ll be too late.” Saphiria glared at the side of his head. “My temptations are returning. If you don’t decide on your replacement soon, I’ll end up biting you.”

Goosebumps rose from Dimitry’s neck. “Everything will be fine. I’m sure of it.”

She scowled and looked away.

“W-wait,” Reece blurted. “Is she actually going to bite you?”

“I will,” Saphiria said.

The knight’s eyes shot open.

A glance at Saphiria’s tense shoulders pained Dimitry. Her anger sourced from fear. Fear for Dimitry’s safety. She and the faerie hiding beneath her cloak could have escaped if they wanted to, yet they risked their lives to aid him despite Church cultists so close by. Their loyalty gave him hope, but he would have appreciated it if Saphiria suppressed her impatience.

“Arnest.” One of two priestesses reached into her gray garbs. “Rosaline told us about rabies girl. Rest assured. If she threatens you further, I won’t hesitate to put her down.”

“Don’t!” Dimitry yelled.

Patrons, merchants, and both priestesses turned to face him as if he were a stabbing victim pleading for an ambulance.

Recognizing his error, Dimitry coughed. “Sorry, I’m just a little jumpy from a long voyage. What I meant to say was, don’t worry. She may feel a temptation at times, but nothing will happen. I gave her a medicine that subdues the need to bite.”

“You mean like the medicine you gave Selene?” Reece asked.

“Something like that.”

“I was mistaken.” Saphiria’s frown transitioned into blankness. “It was only a passing temptation.”

“See?” The happy-go-lucky knight smiled at his comrades. “There shouldn’t be a problem!”

Removing her hand from her garbs, the priestess brushed away golden hair to reveal facial features attributable to a middle schooler. “I won’t be so nice next time.”

So young, yet eager to kill.

Perhaps that shouldn’t have surprised Dimitry. Child soldiers existed on Earth, and given the decreased lifespans of people here, they would naturally embrace the concept on a societal scale. Few alternatives existed when colossal abominations ravaged the seas and coasts.

However, despite the youth of his captors and the tragedy of their circumstances, Dimitry wasn’t above taking advantage of their gullibility. He glanced at Reece. “Hey.”

The boy’s brows, like those of an affectionate dog, shot up inquisitively. “What is it? Do you see a barber-shop you want to visit? Want me to carry your bag?”

“Not exactly.” Dimitry shook his arm, rattling the chain binding him to the knight. “I was just wondering if you can loosen the cuff a bit. There’s no space to move, and my hand is really starting to ache.”

“No can do.”

“A surgeon can’t work if his wrist gets crushed. Surely you understand that?”

“I do understand.” Reece sighed, white mists escaping his mouth. “I just don’t have the key.”

“How about you ladies?”

Both priestesses shook their heads.

Damn. Dimitry hoped for an opportunity to escape, the moment Reece released the handcuff to loosen its grip, but Rosaline foresaw this. Either that or the bishop distrusted her subordinates as much as she did everyone else.

Saphiria’s gaze lifted from a fluffy sheep. Indigo eyes, big and wavering, looked at Dimitry as if to offer their sympathy.

The group spent two hours mindlessly ogling any building displaying a barber’s pole. Although the sun grew brighter and a sky devoid of clouds reigned above, the icy gales of a frigid oasis only blew colder.

During that time, Dimitry’s thoughts flickered from idea to idea. He considered using his snoozia canister to incapacitate his captors, but Reece’s enchanted armor and the priestess’s glowing underclothes rendered direct magic an unsafe bet. His most promising schemes relied on Ignacius’ melting his binds or getting Reece and the priestesses drunk. Although the prospect of intoxicating children troubled Dimitry, a lifetime of forced servitude to the Church instilled him with dread.

However, before initiating a plan, Dimitry wanted to consult with Saphiria. Unfortunately, the priestesses and Zeran Shield trailing them eavesdropped on every word. They needed a place they could converse in secret despite being near their captors.

And perhaps such a place existed. The shouting of patrons and the clanging of cups leaked past the windows of a nearby pie-shaped building. A loudness that offered privacy.

An inn as his new destination, Dimitry jumped forward.

Hauling a massive shield with a green aura, Reece trailed behind him. “Something wrong?”

“Just thinking we can use a rest after that long voyage. Don’t you want to eat something besides preserved meat and stale ale?”

“Sure, but I don’t think Rosaline will give you another chance to find a barber if we waste our time here.”

“That’s fine,” Dimitry said. “We found some good options. I just need somewhere I can discuss prospects with my patient before deciding who to entrust her with.”

Saphiria nodded. “I’m picky with my physicians.”

“To fuss over trivialities is a sin,” a priestess the age of a high school senior preached. “Celeste provides guidance to us through the mediocrities of life. To doubt our destiny is to disgrace her legacy.”

“I’m well aware of the destiny Zera offered to me,” Saphiria hissed.

“Your tone spits poison, my sister. I advise you to quell your tongue.”

Both priestesses glared at the girl, and she back at them.

To disperse the tension, Dimitry pounded his finger into the granite plaque beside the bustling inn’s arched doorway. He leaned in to read hastily carved words that resembled slithering snakes. “Look, everyone! It says they serve spiced ale and seared dunewyrm. I’m sure you’re all hungry by now.”

Saphiria’s fingers flexed as if reaching for her sheath, but after a glance at Dimitry, her hand fell to her side instead. “It seems I misspoke. Forgive me, my sister.”

“Pray well tonight.”

The hostilities halted, and Reece breathed a relieved sigh. “So… dunewyrm. What’s that?”

“A nuisance,” said the older priestess. “They construct tunnels in the sand with spittle and consume anything that falls into them.”

“My friend died that way.” The younger priestess’s gaze fell to the fur-trimmed boots protruding from beneath her layered gray garbs. “We were lambs on our first patrol.”

Unsure if he could decline work as a field cleric if he heard a twelve-year-old recall further trauma, Dimitry opened the door to the inn, and a blast of hot air blew into his face as if to wash away the heartache.

Patrons wearing robes, tunics, and brightly colored ceremonial dresses filled the spacious, domed structure. They sat around carved stone tables, conversing while gambling or eating. The patrons’ accumulated chatter could drown out the voices of anyone hoping to speak in secret.

Perfect.

The older priestess grimaced at Saphiria before dropping onto a chair beside a small and circular table. Her younger co-worker followed her.

Dimitry needed to distance himself and Saphiria from them. Hoping to create space, he turned to Reece. “Have you ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Of course!” The boy flashed an enthusiastic smile. “I won’t tell anyone you’re abandoning your patient!”

Reece was a good kid, but he was also a dope. “That’s not the kind of confidentiality I’m talking about.”

“Oh?”

“My patient and I need a moment to speak about the details of her care. That can be embarrassing for her, so we’ll need some privacy.”

“Oh!” Reece slammed a fist into his breastplate. “I won’t let anyone listen in!”

Dimitry dropped his hand onto the kid’s shoulder. “You’re a good man.”

Blushing, Reece joined the two priestesses while Dimitry and Saphiria sat at another table a chain’s length away.

A server in a decorated lime dress approached. Her gaze traveled from the surgeon who wore a brine-stained cloak to his traveling companion—a girl with a dirt-smeared face. She clicked her teeth and glanced at the front desk. “Hey, Ejeek! We’ve got some more damned Amaltheans here.”

Disappointed the woman’s personality wasn’t as bright as her clothes, Dimitry sighed. “We’re just here for some food.”

She waved her hands in front of her face. “My apologies, I thought you two were… someone else.”

“I’m sure you did. Bring us some spiced ale, seared dunewyrm, and grapes if you have them.”

The server bowed and rushed away.

Saphiria examined Dimitry’s face. “You can speak Melvum too?”

Melvum? He assumed that was the name of Sundock’s language. After discovering the capability to communicate in Estorian and Whorlfahst, further expansion to his speech came with no surprise. “Seems that way, but we’ve got more important things to discuss. Did you keep an eye on Ignacius?”

She brushed raven black hair behind her ear and leaned in. “Precious says Ignacius is below the cathedral we passed on north main street. He’s gone. We mustn’t depend on him.”

The thought of abandoning an old man, the one who treated Dimitry’s overload and freed Saphiria, elicited a hollow sinking within Dimitry’s chest. But Saphiria was right—assaulting an institution full of heathen murdering machines entailed insurmountable risk.

“Alright.” He exhaled deeply. “Ignacius is out, but I have another idea. I was thinking we get Reece and the priestesses drunk on aqua vitae. He’s young and the girls are tiny, so their alcohol tolerances can’t be too high. We can shatter the cuffs after they pass out.”

“That won’t work.” Her finger trailed the metal constricting his wrist. “These shackles are made from wrought iron. They’ll bend before they break. Without a sharp and sturdy tool, they won’t come off.”

Another option down the drain. His heel restlessly bounced against the floor. “So I’m screwed?”

“No.”

“You’ve got an idea?”

Saphiria nodded. “We sever the Zeran Shield’s hand.”

The sheer brutality made Dimitry shudder. “What?”

“Like in Estoria, we lead them into an alley, you distract them, I kill them, and then we sever the hand. The cuff will slide off.”

“W-we can’t just kill them. Reece is a good kid, and one of the priestesses isn’t even thirteen. I doubt either of them chose to be brainwashed by the Church.”

“We won’t kill them.” Saphiria looked deep into his eyes. “I’ll kill them.”

“That doesn’t make it any better. Besides, these aren’t some thugs. They’re trained soldiers. With me unable to use magic and you armed with only a dagger, your plan is too dangerous. You’ll get hurt if not worse.”

“You believe I’m not aware? Then what do you wish me to do? Allow the only person who—” She choked on her words. “Severing the Zeran Shield’s hand is the only way to release your binds, and to do that, I must slay him!”

Alarmed by the sharp whispers, an inn patron glanced in their direction.

Dimitry inhaled a sharp breath. “Fine, let’s assume for a moment you manage to fight off two priestesses and a kid in enchanted steel armor. They’ll still have more than enough time to yell for reinforcements. How do we run away from the Church and guards in a place we barely know?”

“I’ll ask a merchant guild for transport,” Saphiria said. “The Blue Compass operates in Malten and this city. They often traded with Father. My family name will be enough to secure a voyage home.”

“And you think a merchant’ll help us? Rosaline knows what we look like. If we piss her off by killing three pious children, she’ll sic the entire Church on us. I doubt anyone will risk their reputation for two heretics.”

“We must try! I won’t cast you by the way—”

Seeing the server approach, Dimitry glanced away, and Saphiria fell back into her chair. The woman delivered a tray carrying two slabs of tender meat lightly seared on both sides, a large pitcher of earthy ale, and a vine of grapes. Perhaps sensing the tense atmosphere, she eyed both of the table’s occupants and darted towards the front counter.

Saphiria’s gaze navigated Dimitry’s face as if scrounging for an answer.

Unable to bear the barrage of concerned indigo eyes any longer, he looked down and sighed.

A tiny hand reached from Saphiria’s tunic and waved. “Hey, I know you guys are in the middle of a spat right now, but can I get fed already?”

Damn it, Precious!

Saphiria stuffed a grape down her collar to silence the faerie.

Dimitry glanced left and right for anyone who witnessed the tiny limb. He exhaled a half-relieved breath upon realizing no one discovered their second dirtiest secret.

The first lay in his bag—the two halves that comprised Saphiria’s steel collar two days ago. He had considered tossing both shards away aboard The Dirty Matilda, but stashing the evidence avoided having him sneak the blasphemous cargo past crewman and the Church and provided for good emergency weapons.

But perhaps the illicit metal had another use.

An idea formed in his mind.

“Saphiria,” Dimitry said.

“I shouldn’t have ignored her—”

“Forget Precious.” He lifted a narrow steel edge from his leather bag. “You said you needed something sharp and sturdy to break my cuffs, right?”

Her indigo eyes gleamed. “If we apply pressure with propelia at the right angle, it’ll definitely cleave wrought iron that thin!”

Grateful for his metallurgical expert of a traveling companion, Dimitry grinned. “Here’s the plan: I’ll put the kids into a drunken stupor and you—”

Saphiria held a finger to her lips.

“Something wrong?” Dimitry whispered.

Her head darted towards a small green window, behind which Zeran knights and priestesses rushed closer. “Precious says they’re hunting for someone.”

The doors to the inn burst open.

Oh no.

Fearing the worst, that his escape plans had become known, Dimitry threw his bag to Saphiria. “Get the hell out of here.”

“But what will happen to you?” Her voice trembled.

“I’m sure it'll be fine,” he said whatever was necessary to make her leave. “Just make Precious find me later!”

Saphiria hesitated a moment before grabbing his bag, containing all his belongings, and sneaking up the stairs.

Church subordinates scoured the inn.

A wizened bishop marched towards Reece. “We have come to take custody of the so-called surgeon and the escaped servant accompanying him.”

The kid kicked his chair back, fumbled with his shield, and stood at attention. “H-he’s with us, Reverend Mother!” He pointed back. “I didn’t see a—”

“Stop talking and search!” The woman strode past an agape Reece, grabbed Dimitry’s face, and pulled his eyelids wide open. “Pale green. So this is the man responsible for the assault of Bishop Marianne of Ravenfall and the condemnation of a Sinner Servant to eternal purgatory.”