Mist Rising by Eve Langlais
Chapter Twelve
The incidentwith the Vhampir was repeated three times in all. Each one different in method and taunt. Two males, one female. They proved easy to defeat once the Soraers discovered a way to protect their minds.
Credit went to Venna, who found an answer in the old training manuals: the Soraers once wore helmets. They found a few dented ones in the back of a dusty cupboard. The solution helped with the voices, even as it made sleep difficult. Still better than letting the enemy in because its insidious voice got inside their heads.
Helmets to protect the mind. Sigils for the walls. It appalled Agathe to realize just how much knowledge had been forgotten and buried. Then again, it had been a long time since anyone had seen any monsters. And in that time, the methods for keeping the scourge away disappeared.
They had to learn via trial and error. Except when it came to the sigils. It didn’t matter how they drew them; it required the brat’s touch to make them work. Not that the girl minded. Now in her early teens, she chafed at the confines of the Abbae. The brat wanted to do more than just hide. They tried to explain she was special. That if people saw her and her unique eyes, they’d take her away from them.
The girl’s answer to that? “What if I’m supposed to serve the King?”
To which Hiix always huffily replied, “You serve the Goddess.”
Now, if only their Goddess would give them clearer instructions on what they should be doing.
Time passed, and the girl got older, her mood swinging as her menses hit.
None of them heard the Goddess speak during that time. But then again, they’d spent a lifetime before that not needing her direct command. Being a Soraer of the Shield was purpose enough. Raising a child—and one so gifted—proved to be a joy they’d not expected when they accepted their task. Bright, loving, fierce, the girl took to her lesson with an intensity and focus most children lacked.
From the moment she got old enough to learn, they taught her to fight, because, as Hiix reminded, while the brat could suck monsters from the Abyss dry, what if her magic failed? What if there were too many? They’d learned that once the brat’s eyes began to shine, she needed to get rid of her excess magic or she fell into convulsions. There was a limit to what she could do.
The fact that she could use that overflow to heal meant the Soraers took great risks when they went monster hunting. The once-old ladies of the Shield no longer cowered in their Abbae, waiting to die. They’d never been more fit and hale, each of them now in the blossom of youth not seen since their early decades.
They were serving the Goddess and might have continued forever if not for the damned mirror. Agathe had more or less forgotten about the incident when the brat was a toddler. They’d placed the thing on a shelf in that room long emptied of all its books.
A curious youth who went exploring found it.
It was Hiix who marched a sullen teen in front of Agathe and Venna and barked, “Ask her what she did.”
Agathe saw what Hiix held, and her stomach knotted. The mirror appeared benign, but she’d never forgotten the man reflected in its glass.
“What happened?”
“I found the brat talking to someone, using this!” Hiix stated, waving the offending item for emphasis.
“Who?” was what Agathe wanted to know.
“I’m not saying,” the teenager sassed.
“Why ever not?”
“Because you’ll just forbid me from talking to him.” The brat tossed her head.
“What him and what did you tell him? Have you forgotten everything we taught you?” Over and over, Agathe had warned of the danger should someone discover her existence.
“I’m not stupid,” said the stupid child. “The man in the mirror knows nothing of me. Not even my name.”
“You’re wearing our Goddess’s symbol,” Venna quietly remarked. The emblem was sewn into the gown the girl wore.
“There are nine Abbaes. No one will find us,” the brat argued.
“Many of them are abandoned. How long before he sends someone to search the Ninth?”
“What can we do?” Hiix muttered as she paced. “Anywhere we go, she’ll be in danger.”
“We go nowhere,” was Agathe’s firm response. “If anyone comes looking, we’ll plead ignorance. And you”—she fixed a glare on their charge—“no more playing with mirrors.” She held out her hand for it, and as Hiix handed it over, she studied the surface: satiny-smooth, not reflecting anything at all. It gave her such a chill, and she didn’t need the cold breeze whispering, “Destroy it,” to know she couldn’t keep it around.
With the brat duly chastened and saddled with extra chores, Agathe took a hammer to the mirror and put the shards in three bags, which she tossed off the edge of the path in separate locations.
It might have been a coincidence, but a familiar face arrived for a visit within the month.
