The Dukes of Odwego finds Astra (secret necromancer, former nun, and displaced librarian of Qordashi) drifting ever farther from the only life she knew and deeper into a world she never expected to see. The powerful, winding Hoshikwazu river leads her, her injured best friend Traz, and the ever-enigmatic Xavai to a city that glitters with wealth but reeks of corruption. Within its walls, sour magic whispers, alliances shift like silt, and every kindness hides a price. To save the people she loves, Astra must rely on her wits, her courage, and maybe, maybe, a little necromancy.
Previously: Astra got caught...
They were led out, still in the shackles they had first been locked into, early after fourth bell. The whole town seemed to be out in the center square, the word of the unscheduled executions spreading quickly with the dawn. The sky itself was bright with the orange of the rising sun, as the deep maroon of night faded away. The beheading block was already in place, stained and gruesome, with hay spread about its base.
The dukes’ ceremonial wagon was also in place, the possessed dukes once again just visible on their dais through a thin veil of a curtain.
And next to the wagon were seven children, of various ages, heights, and complexions. Hosea was the first and the tallest, an expression of shock on her face as she clutched the hand of the boy next to her. He, and a few others, were ones that Astra had not met before, but they were obviously Riki’o’s children. They, too, were all shackled. Astra looked around for Riki’o but did not see her.
People in the crowd were not happy about the situation, but grumblings were kept low and short. No one wanted to be next on what was, apparently, a very long list.
“They are barbarians, to murder babes like this,” Xavai mumbled in Kwa, eying the children.
“No. The demons possessing the dukes are evil,” Astra corrected with a snap. “Pure, greedy evil.”
“Hm.” Traz clucked. “But they were not always so?”
“No. Apparently, the dukes sold their souls to demons some time ago,” Astra said with a shake of her head. “For what? Power? Glory? What did the demons give them that they did not already have? What did the dukes have that demons could possibly want?”
“Nothing,” Traz answered automatically, his expression blank as he stared forward.
Astra stared at him. “Oh. Oh! Earlier, what Duke Fari’o said, remember? She said, ‘we have few pleasures, trapped in this silly palace.’”
Xavai glanced at them, swearing under his breath. “Why would the dukes trap themselves and the demons?”
“They didn’t—” Traz said, eyes wide.
“So that means—”
“It’s not them, it’s—”
“The magistrate!” Astra hissed as Khossa walked out with his retinue, dragging Riki’o by the upper arm. A soft gasp went up from the crowd at the sight of her.
“He didn’t want to sell his own soul, so he magicked up the power to sell theirs’.” Traz bit his bottom lip.
“The priest, I’m sure,” Astra nodded towards the Priest of the Four Winds who was, once again, setting up the compass stand wrong under Hosea’s displeased glare.
“What’s he doing? That’s all wrong,” Traz said, his voice dripping disdain.
“He’s a fake.” Astra shrugged, because it was obvious to her. “He is probably is a transistor.”
Xavai shook his head. “They are never powerful. God abhors the transference of power, especially magic.”
“They only needed to be powerful enough to do the job once. He might have burned himself out with it. Anyway, the demons would have boosted his strength.”
Khossa pulled Riki’o up to stand in front of the beheading block. She had a velvet bag curled tight in her hands, and it hardly took Astra much of her own powers to know the crypt-keeper was in the bag. Khossa whispered in her ear, but Riki’o tightened her grip on the bag. Sighing, Khossa stood up to address the crowd.
“The doctor has stolen a valuable piece of art from the dukes!”
Another gasp went up from the crowd, louder and far more shocked.
“She has magicked it to prevent it being taken from her. It must be turned over to the dukes by her own hand! Since she refuses this act, the dukes’ have ordered her wards to be executed in her stead, one by one, until she decides to cooperate!”
The stunned silence that followed was heavy.
Khossa pointed over at where Astra, Traz, and Xavai stood together. “These strangers helped her steal the totem. They will be executed once the item has been returned to its true owners.”
Astra took a deep breath. Next to her, Xavai leaned close, as if giving her something strong to lean against.
“Don’t do it, Mother!” Hosea cried out loudly, her voice wet with tears. The priest shoved her back into the hold of a soldier, who grabbed her and threw her to the ground. Riki’o cried out and moved as to go to her daughter, but Khossa held her back. He dragged her off to one side and waved at the fake priest to start the ceremony. Astra was surprised they were staying with the script, considering the circumstances, and was also not particularly relieved at the delay. She was certain Riki’o would turn the crypt-keeper over to the dukes before letting one of her own children die, but that would do little for Astra.
She looked over at Traz. “Remember what Zochur always said?”
“They said a lot,” he replied, grumbling at the memory even as his eyes bored fire into the magistrate.
“They always said: in for an egg, in for a dragon.”
“They did. Wait, what?” He crinkled up his face at her and glanced at the soldiers, who were only a few steps away.
“Shut up and cause a distraction,” she hissed.
“Can’t do that and shut up at the same time,” he hissed back then dramatically fell to his knees, hands clasped and held high. “Oh Jaga! Oh Jaga! Hear my pleas!” He shouted and started babbling and crying loudly over the priest’s words, crawling towards the priest like the most pathetic of pentitents. The priest threw him a nasty look, and the soldiers all focused on Traz’s antics. Astra looked over at the beheading block and unfurled her magic, just a little, and tried to focus it on that one spot.
As she concentrated, she felt Xavai tug on her sleeve, but she ignored him. She ignored him and Traz’s theatrics and the priest’s loud complaints and the grumbling of the townspeople until a ghost shimmered into existence and looked directly at her.
“What you got to prove, necromancer? You see me?” The young woman, her shoulder glistening silver from the wound in her neck where she had been cleaved in life, asked in an old, heavily accented version of Kwa. She was dressed as if she had just walked off the Gilded Plateau, her dress one long wrap of material over leather trousers.
“Do you want your freedom?” Astra whispered, trying not to move her mouth too much, hoping that everyone else was too focused on Traz to notice her talking at the beheading block. Maybe they would just think she was insane, if she was lucky.
The woman looked angry, then sad. “To see my husband again? Yes. Free me!” She held her arms out toward Astra, unmoving from her deathbed.
“Fetch me the the temple dogs before you depart into the winds. That is our deal.”
She looked around as if the creatures were nearby. “If it’s a promise you seek, I give it. I have waited over three hundred years to leave this one spot, this one brick.” She pointed at the ground. “Free me!”
Astra nodded and then used her magic call up a wind to push the woman away from where she stood. The ghost started to drift apart into dust but then she snapped back together and shot like an arrow out of the square.
“What language are you speaking? What did you do?” Xavai pressed, mumbling at her in Amyit.
“I sent for help.”
Next: Reinstatement
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