Over the next nine days, I got to know a lot about the city of Panja, the kingdom of Vutana – and Viora’s personality. The first two I needed to be able to fit seamlessly into this world, and I appreciated the knowledge. The last, though, I found far less welcome and far more concerning.

In Borava, I’d come to see the woman as a sort of mother figure for the village. She seemed wise, confident, and generally kindly. When she told me about her vows, I assumed they drove her seemingly altruistic behavior. It turned out I was mistaken. Even without her vows, Viora happily healed anyone who came to her, regardless of their station or ability to pay for the help, but that wasn’t the extent of her charity. Every day, she drew money from the Cathedral’s coffers, then went out to spend it on the city’s poor. She bought them food and provided things like warm blankets and new clothing, handing these out to anyone who seemed in need. To anyone watching casually, Viora appeared the epitome of a good person, someone who helped others for no other reason except that she felt it the right thing to do.

However, I quickly realized that wasn’t the entire story. Viora might have been a decent sort, but guilt and weakness drove her as much as altruism. She blamed herself for Borava’s destruction, and she seemed almost desperate to help in Panja, as if the good she did here would wipe away her perceived failure there. She seemed to crave the gratitude the people she helped heaped on her; I suspected she needed the reminders of her goodness to push back the shame she felt over her village.

Honestly, none of that bothered me. I’d never met a truly altruistic person in my life. Everyone I knew who helped others did it for ultimately selfish reasons. Some helped because their religion demanded it, and they feared what might happen if they didn’t. Others liked the way it made them feel or the adulation others gave them. Hell, some people acted philanthropically so that when people discovered how awful they truly were, they could point to their good works in an attempt to divert bad press. The fact that Viora had a less-than-pure motivation for her behavior fit right in with my view of the world.

Her fear of being disliked had a greater impact, though, and one that concerned me a lot more. Viora needed to feel liked and appreciated to the point that she basically caved when any sort of authority figure made a demand of her. I’d already seen the effects of that when she went along with Vasily banishing me from the village instead of doing what she knew was right. I got to see it again in the aftermath of the attack on the Cathedral.

I’d expected the Razvaraji and Pretmaraji to at least be grateful for our assistance in dealing with the darklings. We killed a couple dozen of the things, after all, and while too many of the acolytes died for my tastes, Renica and I clearing out the dormitory saved most of the young priests-in-training. The Razvaraji seemed to be appreciative, in fact, but the Pretmaraji had few kind words for us once the Cathedral was cleared of the dark creatures.

“You believe yourselves worthy of praise, Sorvaraji?” the old man said in a clear, resonant voice that seemed incongruous coming from such an ancient mouth. “What you should have done was remained in your rooms, barricaded your doors, and allowed those of us better equipped to deal with these creatures to handle it!”

“But Pretmaraji, my duty was to aid the Razvaraji…,” Viora protested weakly, but the old man cut her off.

“Your duty is as I dictate it, Sorvaraji, not as you wish to see it. By the law of the holy scriptures, the task of a Sorvaraji is to provide aid and support, healing and comfort – not to battle against the minions of the cursed moon. That is the task of the Razvaraji and Pretmaraji, as you should know!”

“I was only attempting to save the lives of those around me, as is my calling,” she replied in a quiet voice.

“Instead, you and your acolytes hurled yourselves into danger needlessly!” the old man told her sternly. “No doubt you were all injured in the process, and you drew on the power of the Altar to heal your wounds – stealing raju that might have been used to destroy the creatures far more efficiently! That leaves all of us with less power to heal the remaining wounded and consecrate the bodies of the fallen before they rise as moon-cursed themselves. Did you think of that when you decided to perform your heroics?”

“No, Pretmaraji,” she replied in a soft voice.

“I thought not. You tread an unsteady path, Sorvaraji. Already, you have failed by losing your village to the moon-cursed. Perhaps this tendency to abandon your proper role was the cause of that. I will certainly be investigating it, to see if such behavior is widespread among the villages, of if this failing is unique to you. In the meantime, while you reside within this Cathedral, you will use no raju save at my direction or the direction of the Razvaraji, nor will either of your acolytes. Is this clear?”

“Yes, Pretmaraji,” she bowed her head.

“Good. Now, return to your quarters and meditate upon your actions this night. If you show your adherence to your assigned role, perhaps there will still be a place for you in the Church.”

She’d accepted his judgment meekly, but I knew how bullshit the whole thing was. She hadn’t pulled an ounce of raju from the Altar; she drew from the Heart she still kept concealed, instead. Plus, if we hadn’t intervened, everyone in the Cathedral might have died, or at least a lot more would have, and the Pretmaraji would have been forced to drain the Altar of the Sun of power to restore the wards.

Even more to the point, though, the old man’s short-sighted and narrow interpretation of the duties of a Sorvaraji could be disastrous for villages like Borava. Limiting yourself to a single role when you wielded the only magical power in the whole village could be disastrous, especially when dealing with the moon-cursed. In Borava, Viora served as a healer, advisor, religious leader, and protector. If the Pretmaraji instructed all village Sorvarajis to only use their magic to heal and comfort – a lot more omeni were going to die.

Viora had to know that. She could have stood up to the man, explained the reality of village life, and defended her actions. She could have tried to convince him not to hobble the village Sorvarajis. She might have failed, but she could have tried. Instead, she caved, giving in to his demands and possibly dooming countless villagers to death if the Pretmaraji decided that a Sorvaraji using their magic to destroy things like the darklings was against the arcane rules of the Church.

That sucked, but more personally, her acquiescence to the old man meant she couldn’t train me in magic anymore. The only magic he allowed her to practice was her healing, and she refused to teach me that before I learned the requisite biology and anatomy to support it. I still practiced on my own, of course, but I had to be careful about it, for more reasons than one. While I didn’t give a shit about the old man’s orders or his opinion, he seemed to have absolute authority over the Cathedral. Pissing him off could get me thrown out of the Cathedral or into whatever passed as prison in this place, if I was lucky. Plus, I wasn’t practicing purely solar magic, and I didn’t want anyone to sense my twilight raju and start asking questions. That limited how much I could really learn.

Fortunately, the Razvaraji offered to take me under his wing and train me while we stayed at the Cathedral. “You have all the makings of an excellent Razvaraji, Ionat,” he told me that night as he escorted us back to our rooms.

“I’m not sure what that means, Razvaraji,” I admitted.

“While Sorvarajis are the Sun’s gentle warmth, Razvarajis are its fire. We’re the fist raised against the moon-cursed.”

“I thought that Vanatori did that,” I replied slowly, but he shook his head.

“The Vanatori focus primarily on dealing with apostasy and heresy, Ionat. If I’m a fist clenched against the moons, a Vanator is a blade against the throat of Lomorajis and Imperialists.” He made a sour face. “In truth, you might have made a good Vanator, if they’d found you before you started training with the Sorvaraji. Good thing for us that she found you first, though.”

“Is there something wrong with being a Vanator?” I asked idly.

“No, of course not,” he said hurriedly. “However, there are never enough Razvarajis to battle the moon-cursed and keep us all safe. Should you become one, we’ll have another weapon against the moons.”

I didn’t reply. Once Renica and I were safely in our room – and the woman lay curled up in my arms again after we both calmed down from the battle – I took a moment to glance over the new screens Sara had waiting for me.

174 Unassigned XP

Unassigned XP can be divided among the following professions:

Inquisitor, Undead Hunter, Warrior, Etfelyen

You have 24 hours to assign this XP or it will be randomly assigned

Profession: Etfelyen has gained a level!

New Level: 2

For every level of Etfelyen, you gain:

Intuition and Perception +1, Vigor and Skill +2

3 Skill Points

Partial Adaptation!

You have begun to adapt to the Doorworld of Soluminos!

Adaptation Level: 50%

Bonus: Mental stat penalties reduced by 50%

I’d added the XP into Inquisitor, of course, and tossed all three skill points into Twilight Mastery to bring it up to Initiate level.

Skill: Twilight Mastery has gained a level

Twilight Mastery: Initiate 1

Benefit: Your spells ignore 1.5% of magic resistance per skill rank. Your twilight spells ignore 3% of magic resistance per skill rank.

I assumed the partial adaptation came from learning to use twilight raju more instinctively when I tried to undo the spell that sent the darklings into the Cathedral. Either that, or it was my realization that somehow, the caster’s spell wasn’t quite right and that even twilight magic felt incomplete. Either way, afterward, the world seemed somehow clearer and brighter around me. A haze I never even noticed in my brain lifted slightly, and every sensation felt slightly more intense somehow. My status sheet explained why I felt that way.

John Gilliam, Tamer of the Divine

Mental Stats

Reason: 20 Intuition: 19 Perception: 23 Charm: 7

Physical Stats

Prowess: 12 Vigor: 12 Celerity: 11 Skill: 14

Solar Raju: 81 (7.7/minute recovery)

Lunar Raju: 94 (30 Blood, 30 Death, 10.8/minute recovery)

My Perception jumped three points between the new level and the partial adaptation, while my Reason and Intuition both went up by two points. That explained the clarity of my thoughts and senses and hinted that fully adapting to this world would give me even greater benefits.

Every morning, I met with the Razvaraji and listened to his lectures on magical theory – some of which I knew to be patently false. The moons weren’t evil or dangerous, and neither was their magic, despite what the man insisted. I didn’t bother to argue, though; instead, I listened and learned, trying to shore up the holes in my rudimentary understanding of magic and use what he taught me to develop my own spells. The Razvaraji wouldn’t teach me any spells, but he had no problems demonstrating them for me, and I never told him that a few demonstrations were plenty for Sara to work out the spell form for me. I’d gained two new spells from my efforts, both of which gave me some extra ranged abilities.

Spell Created: Twilight Flare

Raju Required: 12 Solar, 8 Lunar (Death)

You create a burst of twilight raju that damages every creature within 10’.

Spell Created: Twilight Lance

Raju Required: 10 Solar, 7 Lunar (Blood)

You fire a line of twilight raju that damages all targets in its path within 40’. If any target resists this damage, it doesn’t affect any targets past it.

Both spells seemed useful, but I knew I’d have to be careful with them. Twilight Flare created a burst of pale, almost colorless light, while Twilight Lance summoned a centimeter-wide beam of the same color. Neither spell looked like solar magic, not really; they lacked the searing heat and brilliant radiance of one. I thought they’d be more effective than their solar counterparts, but I resolved to use them only when no other spellcaster might be watching. I didn’t need more questions about why my magic had such unique qualities to it.

While I trained with the Razvaraji, Renica attended acolyte classes on magic, as well. I didn’t know how much she really gained from the classes, as I never saw her wielding so much as a touch of solar raju, but I supposed they couldn’t hurt. Besides, some of the principles she picked up would apply to her bestial magic, and while she carefully never used it deliberately, understanding it could only help her control it better.

Besides our respective magic training, Renica and I spent most days out of the Cathedral’s restrictive confines, exploring the city. We walked the streets, learning its layout and important landmarks. For Renica, the explorations served to help her relax in the city and around its people. For me, they served a somewhat less noble purpose: I memorized guard patrol patterns, learned when shift changes came, and discovered ways to move around the city more or less unseen. I mapped out paths around Panja along rooftops and learned which sections of town the guards avoided. I didn’t plan to stay long in Panja, but thanks to the Pretmaraji’s decree, leaving openly on a ship chartered by the Cathedral probably wasn’t in the cards.

When we weren’t exploring, we sat in taverns and listened to gossip or talked quietly about unimportant things, stories from our past or harmless speculations about the city and its people. I never directly told the hunter what I once did for a living, but I didn’t hide it from her in my stories, either. Before the fall of Borava, those stories probably would have shocked and horrified her. She’d taken the life of another omeni in anger, though, and that seemed to make her far less squeamish and judgmental. In fact, she listened to my tales with an almost disturbing raptness, and part of me wondered if she might be considering taking up my old line of work. I wouldn’t exactly recommend it, but I decided not to try and dissuade her. Terrible people existed in every world, I supposed, and sometimes, those people had to be hunted down and removed.

Other days, we went down to the docks. We watched the ships going in and out, and I occasionally lent a hand as a stevedore, moving crates and boxes back and forth from ships to warehouses for a pittance of a wage. I wasn’t really interested in the work; I spent the time gathering information. I learned about sea travel in this world and the dangers of sailing the oceans, but more importantly, I tracked where ships arrived from – and their destinations. I learned which brokers and captains could be trusted and which had less than stellar reputations. Ships left for the capital daily, and with the information I gathered, we no longer needed the church’s help in picking a ship – a fact I told Viora quietly as we walked through the market square one day on one of the woman’s shopping trips to buy food and supplies for the needy.

“Yes, Ionat, I know,” she replied with a sigh. “The Pretmaraji is – less than pleased with me at the moment. He’s forbidden me to travel to Mihabag.”

“Why would he do that?” Renica asked, her face confused. “Just because we helped during the…” She paused and glanced around. “The other night?” The Pretmaraji had apparently also forbidden anyone from mentioning the fact that darklings appeared in the Cathedral – something about it destroying the people’s faith in the Sun’s power – and I’d gone along with it. I didn’t much care about people’s faith in a skewed belief that one type of magic was better than another, but I had no doubt the Cathedral had spies in the city, listening for people talking about the attack. If rumors started, we’d be the first ones suspected of passing them.

“Because he believes that I’ve lost my way in the Sun’s light,” Viora said sadly. “And until he’s convinced I haven’t, he’s ordered me to stay here and serve to remind myself of my place.”

I could have argued, but I didn’t. Viora no longer had to obey the Pretmaraji if she didn’t want to. Her vows no longer bound her, and she could leave the Cathedral any time she wanted. She wouldn’t, though. Open defiance of authority simply wasn’t in her nature. That was why she’d caved to Vasily’s demand to kick me out of the village, why she pretty much allowed me to get away with whatever I wanted to do. Some people are born to lead – Viora was born to follow.

So, I spent the next few days quietly purchasing supplies and ingratiating myself with the sailors and workers at the docks. Viora could stay in Panja if she wanted, but I had a job to do, and I needed to be in Mihabag to do it. I kept my plans from the priestess – what she didn’t know, she wouldn’t feel obligated to tell her superiors – and took my time accumulating food, clothing, and weapons for the trip. I suspected the Cathedral watched our movements in the city, and if it didn’t, I had no doubt whoever sent those darklings after Viora did. They knew we’d arrived in Panja the day we set foot in the city, after all; they obviously had some way of knowing where we were, and they’d be stupid not to use it. At last, though, I was almost ready to leave. I only needed to make one last purchase, one that I really didn’t want the Pretmaraji to know about.

I bided my time until Viora took us out into the city again to purchase her supplies. This time, to my surprise, she stopped before the stall of an old woman selling what looked like dried leaves, curled roots, and withered berries. The Sorvaraji examined the offered wares with a critical eyes, at last shaking her head.

“Thirteen silvers?” she demanded of the old woman. “For these dried-out, withered stalks of gumleaf? I might pay three silvers, and I’d still consider myself overpaying!”

The wrinkled, older woman behind the stall’s counter scowled at the Sorvaraji. “None of my herbs are withered!” she snapped. “And it’s not dried, it’s treated to increase its potency!”

“Anyone could say that,” Viora said dismissively. “I’ll give you five silvers. For that, I could get twice as much with any other merchant – and it would be fresh.”

“Fresh? You think that the other merchants’ gumleaf is fresh?” The old woman barked a laugh. “It’s not. They make it look that way by soaking it in water. Gumleaf dries out fast, Sorvaraji, but it drinks water fast, too, so it looks fresh if you soak it for a bit.”

“So? Why don’t you do that, then?”

The old woman snorted. “Because every time you soak and then dry the leaves, they lose potency,” she explained. “To keep them potent over a long time, you have to smoke them in a special blend of woods – which I’ve done.” She lifted one of the dried stalks and shook it. “You can tell because even though the stalk looks dry, it’s still flexible and doesn’t break or lose its leaves when you shake it. That means the sap’s still inside, waiting to be used, even though the water’s gone from it.”

She tossed the plant down on the table. “Go buy from someone else, and you’ll need at least five times the gumleaf, plus you’ll have to go through a ton of preparation to make it useful. All that crushing, boiling, straining, and pressing?” She laughed derisively. “That’s only necessary with dried and soaked gumleaf. With this, you can simply press it, mix the resulting sap with two parts of water, and it’s a medicinal quality tincture. That’s why it’s more expensive. It’s better.”

Viora grinned at the woman. “Do you smoke it in a mixture of flamebark, sweetroot, and sourspore?” she asked.

“Yes, as well as sprigs of honey clover and...” The woman stopped, her eyes narrowed. “Wait, you know the proper treatment for gumleaf, Sorvaraji?”

“Of course,” the priestess laughed. “It’s part of our training.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed in fury. “Then why were you going on about it being fresh?”

“I wanted to see if you knew how to prepare it correctly,” Viora shrugged. “Now, I know – and so does everyone else nearby in the square.” The woman grinned. “Plus, I like to haggle. Ten silvers.”

“Thirteen, and be glad I don’t make it fifteen out of sheer aggravation!” the woman barked, although I saw a grin trying to escape her lips. Viora sighed and handed over a silver bar and three coins. In return, the old woman wrapped the selected stalks carefully in waxed paper and handed them over to the Sorvaraji.

As we turned and walked away from the herbalist, into the teeming market square, Renica looked curiously at the smiling priestess. “Sorvaraji, if you knew that the merchant’s gumleaf was better – why were you insulting her?”

“I never insulted her, child,” Viora laughed. “I insulted her wares. That’s different.”

“Not to her, I’ll bet,” I pointed out. “In fact, she might have preferred it if you insulted her directly rather than calling her herbs ‘dried-out’.”

“That’s probably true, Ionat,” she agreed.

“And I’d also bet that you knew she’d prepared the herbs correctly just by looking at them,” I added. “Didn’t you?”

“Well, yes. As she said, the flexibility is one clue, but so is the coloration; the brown and yellow mottling tells you that it was done correctly. Otherwise, it’s either totally yellow – in which case the sap inside has crystallized – or totally brown, which means the sap is dried.”

“So, why did you argue with her?” Renica pressed.

“To help her, Renica.” Viora smiled. “You see, everyone within earshot heard that the woman knows her herbs, and that some of the other merchants either don’t or don’t care. That news will spread, and she’ll end up with more business.”

“But that’s not really the point, is it?” I asked as a thought popped into my head. “It’s not really about helping her out. You made a point to show that the other herb merchants are swindling their customers. You just wanted people to know that without coming out and saying it, didn’t you?”

She looked at me consideringly for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s a large part of it, yes. Herbalists are supposed to help people, Ionat. Physicians and midwives rely on those herbs to do their jobs, but many don’t have the time or inclination to learn what they should about herbalism. Merchants who sell low quality herbs might actually be costing omeni their lives. Calling those out is simply the right thing to do, but if I do it directly, people might accuse the Cathedral of meddling.”

I nodded. That tracked with I’d learned of the woman. She wanted to help, but she didn’t want to create conflict or create a situation where people would be angry. I wanted to shake my head but didn’t. Viora was who she was; there was no point in trying to change her, and it wasn’t like I could tell her the best way to live her life. She’d done mostly fine until that point – with some glaring exceptions – and living her life differently than I would didn’t make her wrong. However, it also didn’t mean that I had to alter my plans to fit her needs, either.

“Renica, can you and Vikarik keep an eye on the Sorvaraji for a bit?” I asked the woman quietly as we moved toward the next stall. “I have a stop I need to make – the one we were talking about yesterday.”

“Of course, Ionat,” Renica nodded, patting the big cairnik on the head. “We’ll be fine. You go do your shopping.”

Viora gave me a curious look as I turned away from the two women but didn’t ask me any questions, which I appreciated since I would have just lied in response. I wandered through the square, meandering a bit to make it harder to follow me, then slipped down an alley just off the square. Two roofs overhung the narrow road, plunging it into shadow that would conceal me from prying eyes blinded by the mid-morning sun. I slipped into a crevice between two buildings, a narrow crack that blended into the darkness and was the reason I’d chosen this alley, pulled a few wooden slats I’d placed in the alley for this exact purpose in front of me to conceal me but still allow me to see the ends of the street, then settled in to watch.

Minutes passed before a figure appeared in the opening of the alley, peering myopically into the darkness. The plainly dressed man took a hesitant step into the alley, muttering under his breath, then another. He watched for almost a full minute before walking slowly toward the midpoint of the road. Movement caught my eye, and I slowly turned my head to see another figure appear in the other end of the alley, walking toward the man standing maybe ten feet from me.

“Where is he?” the first man demanded in a quiet murmur that I barely heard.

“He didn’t come out,” the second man shrugged in a slightly louder voice.

The first man swore softly, then glanced upward. “Could he have taken to the roofs?”

“It’s possible, I suppose. He could also have run down the alley and got out before I got into position to watch for him, although if he did that, I’d have think someone would have called out.”

The first man grunted. “Toma will have our guts on a hook if we lose him, you know.”

“I’m not planning on telling him,” the second man snorted, then sighed. “Look, just go back and keep an eye on this alley. Wherever he went, he’ll likely come back this way at some point.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to help keep an eye on the two women. If he doesn’t come back here, he’ll rejoin them eventually.”

The first man made a disgusted face. “You just want to watch the blonde one,” he said accusingly.

“Of course, I do. Who wouldn’t? Have you seen the body on her?” The second man leered slightly. “Oh, how I’d love to bring her in for questioning.”

“You’re sick, Dragomir.”

“We all are, or we wouldn’t work for someone like Toma, Costel.” Dragomir shook his head. “Just go watch the square, and stop worrying. The man’s not important; it’s the Sorvaraji we have to watch.”

“Fine,” Costel grunted. “Just make sure you’re actually watching her and not staring at the blonde.”

“I’m not promising anything.”

The two men parted ways, and I waited a few more minutes before bracing my hands in the cleft and using it to scale the wall, heading for the roof. I’d lost my watchers – for a while at least – and I intended to make the most of it.