Chapter 245: Shepherd

Chapter 245: Shepherd

At last.

Standing atop a ridge in the gentle rain, Anya turned from the sight of the city to look over her struggling flock. She’d started thinking of them that way, even though she knew she shouldn’t. It was not good to compare a human to a sheep, even if her capabilities were as far above theirs as a shepherd’s were above those of the wooly animals.

Even setting her magical powers aside, she was just...better. Smarter, faster, stronger. It was hard to see herself as one of them. And yet, they accepted her. Relied on her.

Mostly, anyway.

She was sure she’d have been able to carry the lot of them with her powers, which would have let them reach this city in a fraction of the time, but they’d balked at her suggestion. And so, they’d walked.

“Anya, what is it?” asked Asten, the man who’d discovered her. He labored up the hill, puffing and blowing. “What do you see?”

“The city,” Anya said, resisting the urge to help him as she turned and pointed.

“Oh, praise El,” Asten said, reaching the top and taking in the city. He hesitated, then turned to her with a bow. “And praise you too, of course.”

“Stop,” Anya said. “You know I don’t want praise. I’m just a normal person recovering from severe head trauma.”

Asten laughed. “Who have you been talking to, to phrase it like that? And you are deserving of praise, so take it gracefully. If you hadn’t chased off those wolves, we’d have lost half of our stock by now.”

Anya smiled, but then the expression froze on her face as she saw movement. There was a group rushing toward them. “People are coming,” she said. “Eight of them. They’re fast. I think they’re like me.”

“Where?” Asten asked, searching the landscape through the rain, though she doubted he’d be able to see them at this distance. “Is it the Falking Guard?”

Anya held back an unkind reply. Nobody had ever told her what colors were associated with the city or its Citizen ruler, so how was she supposed to know? Instead, she just gave him what he needed to answer his question for himself. “They wear black and gray. One has a banner. Two vertical lines like nails? Or fangs, maybe.”

“Fangs?” Asten said, turning pale. “That sounds like—“

“What is it?!” someone called from behind. “What do you see?”

“Stop the carts!” Asten called, turning back to face the column.

“They’re almost here,” Anya said, taking him by the shoulder—gently, always gently—and turning him around. “Right there.”

“Identify yourselves in the name of the Adamant Empire,” said the leader of the newcomers, slowing to a walk and stalking forward, holding a very long knife in one hand. Knife didn’t seem like the word for it, but she knew no other. She did know what ‘Adamant Empire’ meant, though.

These were enemies.

She reached for her power but stopped herself.

Her mind was running of its own accord, faster even than she could fling herself through the sky—and she could fling herself quite quickly indeed. Right now, it was telling her that the Adamants were Falking’s enemies and that Falking was no more. The city was there, yes, but the Adamant soldiers would not have come from there if it was still owned by the Citizen who shared its name.

She might not know much, but she knew some things, and more importantly, she knew how to think.

If she attacked and she was not as strong as she thought she was, she would die.

If she did not attack, there could be peace.

What did the Empire care for a little village in the middle of nowhere?

Almost no time having passed, Anya spoke. “I am Anya,” she said simply, then gestured to Asten. “This is my friend Asten. We came from the village. They are just behind—”

“We are aware of the size of your party,” Longknife interrupted. “Which village?”

Anya’s brows crinkled, but Asten responded, sounding extremely on edge. “Melloway, my lords. It is—uh, was—a small—“

“There are no lords in the Empire, barbarian, not as you mean it,” the leader interrupted. He turned to one of his subordinates. “Is it on the list?”

“No,” was the reply.

“Outside the zone,” Longknife said flatly, returning his focus to Asten. “We will get to you when we get to you. Take your people and return to your homes.”

“But—“

“There is neither food nor shelter for you here,” Longknife said. “The city is full to bursting, and it is only by the benevolence of the Potentate that we are feeding any of you to begin with.” He raised the long knife threateningly. “Turn back. No further warnings. We are stretched too thin to waste time arguing with peasants.”

“Please!” Asten said, falling to his knees. “We—“

Anya didn’t find out what Asten had been meaning to say, as the knife was falling toward his neck with enough speed to chop firewood. It didn’t land, of course.

Force Crush.

Longknife didn’t even get to make a sound—unless you counted the crack of bone as the soldier’s neck was forced down into his chest and his legs crumpled at the knees, one of them backward. Something strange happened then—something Anya hadn’t experienced when she’d tested this spell against the wolves. It was like there was some unseen barrier that stopped the magic from running to completion. Even more bizarre, the resistance vanished a heartbeat later, and another, wetter crunch sounded as the soldier was further compacted to little more than a sphere of pulped flesh and shattered bone.

Anya released her grip, then stepped back as blood sprayed everywhere, freed from the pressure. The pile of meat struck the ground with a wet plop, but she barely heard it over the screams of the other soldiers.

She didn’t use it immediately, though. Some setup was required.

Force Pillar.

Rubble and earth shot into the air, peaked, then began to fall.

Force Exchange.

The falling stones stopped, and there was a colossal boom as she shot toward the earth, all that energy transferred to herself. The acceleration was so abrupt, even her impressive reflexes barely saw her activate the new spell in time.

Unstoppable Force!

What happened next was...strange. Anya felt her body lock. Her feet touched the barrier, and she felt immense pressure on her whole body as she punched straight through. The strange part was that it didn’t feel like that had been all that had happened. Something else had happened too, some other possibility...except...not.

Oddness, though, took a back seat to the reality of the forces at play.

On contact, the entire dome was driven down into the earth before it exploded, shards of magic and stone becoming a razor storm that shredded her clothes and hurt far more than everything the Adamants had done to her. Not enough to indicate serious harm, but enough to make her eyes go wide, which was something she immediately regretted as she punched into the ground. The magic carried her on straight through dirt, then the rock below it, deeper and deeper and not slowing in the slightest. She couldn’t cancel the spell. She couldn’t even take a breath.

Faultline! Redirection! Force Pillar! Faultline! Force Pillar! Redirection!

Finally, something worked, but it took another few spells to fully reverse her momentum. As yet more earth erupted around her, she shot back into the sky with such speed that the air tore in yet another earsplitting boom. An instant later, she spat out of the top of the cloud of dust and debris, seeing the city shrinking below her beside the massive crater where the Adamant forces had been.

And still were.

From the smoke came a volley of those infuriating pink bolts, tracking her relentlessly.

Anya clenched her teeth, rage clouding her sight more than any quantity of dust. The path of escape was open above her, but she didn’t want to escape. They’d hurt her. Tried to trap her. Tried to kill her friend. And they’d survived her attempts to punish them for it.

I’ll do it again!

Before she could put her determination into action, a flash of light from the southern sky made her whip her head in that direction. Her eyes went wide as she saw the beam streaking toward her, carrying enough Light mana for a god.

“Dystees!”

It wasn’t a curse, but a cry of recognition. When she’d asked, Asten and Nena had told her of the three greatest gods, of El, Dystees, and Karum—and of what happened when you damaged their Garden.

Sure she was about to be smitten, Anya frantically hauled a Force Sheet into position, but the beam stopped short. It lanced from the horizon to a spot right in front of her in what felt like the blink of an eye, condensing into a man riding atop a panel of glowing light. He had dark skin and dark hair, like that of the miller, except Tern couldn’t float through the sky.

And thencame the smiting. Anya thought she’d learned what pain was, but she’d been wrong.

Blinding white light. Agony. No space for thought.

Losing control of her magic, she tumbled from the sky, burning, burning, burning. In her terror and anguish, she lashed out with everything she had in all directions. None of it did anything, blocked by glowing panels of impenetrable white light. Her frenzy came to an abrupt stop as something wrapped around her, smothering her power.

The light faded, leaving only the echo of the pain as she thudded back-first into the ground.

“Augh!” she gasped, sure she was dying. Spots swam before her vision as she opened her eyes, looking down to find glowing white chains binding her, not unlike those she could conjure. Each massive link held enough power to crush her more easily than she’d crushed that first soldier, and she knew the mysterious resistance would not even inconvenience them. She also knew they’d do it in an instant if she so much as twitched, let alone reached for her magic.

“You are not a Citizen,” said a god in the shape of a dark-skinned man.

“What?” Anya rasped, struggling to focus through her damaged eyes.

Stepping down from the glowing platform to loom over her, the god crossed his arms. “I do not recognize your face. Identify yourself. Are you the same Force Mage who’s been harassing us near the gap?”

“I—” Anya croaked, her mouth feeling almost as dry as her charred skin. She forced herself to continue, knowing that if she did not, she would die. “I am Anya.”

“And who is Anya?” the god asked patronizingly.

“I don’t...know.” Anya licked her cracked lips. “My memory is...gone.”

“Oh,” the god said, disgust dripping from the word. “You’re one of her leavings.” He looked up at the sky, then spread his hands. “Did she not consider what a child would do, left with enough power to break the damage limit and without enough of a mind to know better?”

“I...who are you talking about?” Anya said in a small voice, terrified he’d take offense at the question.

The god only snorted, looking down on her again like she was mud on his shoe. “Did you have those villagers servicing you? Catering to your every whim? Would you have done the same with the city folk once you had beaten their defenders?”

“What? No, they’re my friends! We came here for help, but one of the Adamants tried to kill Asten, so I—”

The god held up a hand, and she instantly closed her mouth. “So that’s how it is. Somebody in that village deserves an accolade. Also, somebody in my army deserved what I’m told you did to him. Utter incompetent.”

“I don’t understand,” Anya said. “Please, don’t hurt them— Ah!” She felt herself being lifted by the chains.

“This is what happens,” the god muttered, ignoring her cry of pain. “This is why I cannot leave it be.” He raised his voice, addressing her again. “Rejoice, for your power makes you too useful to discard. Instead, I will give you a chance to help me.”

“Where are you taking me?” Anya asked, not daring to struggle as she dangled below his glowing platform. “It hurts! Please, I don’t understand!”

“You will,” the god said. “I will make sure of it.”