Chapter 18: Wanted (Patreon)

It was noon when Alon and Soren returned.

They came silently, but both were breathing hard as if they’d been running; there was tension in their shoulders and worry in their eyes, too.

I rose swiftly. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Alon growled.

Soren shot him a quelling look. “A lot,” he clarified. “War is brewing.”

I blinked. “War? Between whom?”

“The Raccoons and the Devils, for one,” Soren replied. “But the way things stand, I won’t be surprised if every gang in the poor quarter is dragged into the conflict.”

“The Raccoons and the Devils?” I asked, glancing at Alon.

“I was wrong earlier,” he said, correctly interpreting my look. “The Raccoons are willing to risk a gang war with the Devils. The word on the street is that Eoman is preparing to launch an offensive—to get rid of what he’s calling the ‘Devils encroachment on his territory.’” He snorted. “A fancy way of saying the Devils’ invaded, if you ask me.”

I frowned at him. Alon was looking out of sorts again. “I thought such news would make you happy,” I murmured.

“It does!” my blonde friend exclaimed. “And I’m all for joining the Raccoons’ cause.”

I sensed where this was going. “But?”

Alon jerked his thumb in Soren’s direction. “He won’t let me. He thinks we should run.”

“Run?” Where was there to run to, I wondered.

Soren threw Alon another irritated look. “Alon has put it more crudely than I would like, but in essence, he’s correct. I think we should run.”

“Run where?” I asked, no more enlightened.

“Out of the city,” my brother said solemnly.

I stared at him in shock. I’d spent my entire life in Mesina, and in all my years, I’d never left, never even contemplated the idea of leaving. And now Soren was suggesting we just up and go?

“Why?” I demanded.

“A gang war is not something we want to become embroiled in, El. It’s too dangerous. The risk is too great.” He shot Alon a dark look. “Even Al agrees with that. We have to keep you safe. And we can’t do that in Mesina, not anymore.”

So, this was about keeping me safe. “We can remain in hiding,” I argued. “Wait for things to die down…”

My words ran aground. Soren was shaking his head, and this time, so was Alon.

“That won’t work, El,” the axeman said quietly. “They’re hunting you.”

My eyes widened. “Who is?”

“Cantos,” he replied. “Your description is all over the poor quarter. Everyone is on the look out for the girl with amber eyes.” He threw me an uncertain look. “Maybe we could disguise them? But even without your eyes, you cut a striking figure. You’re too well known in the quarter and too many people are afraid of the Butcher. Sooner or later, someone would turn you in.”

I suppose I should have been pleased by Alon’s offhand comment, but at that moment I was too numb to respond.

“There’s more,” Soren said.

“More?” I echoed.

“Cantos has put it about that you’re a player.” He sighed. “Everyone in the poor quarter has probably heard by now, and you know how people around her feel about players. Even those who would’ve helped…”

“… no longer will,” I said, sitting down abruptly. It was worse than I thought. Cantos had burned me. No one in the slums would look at me the same way again. I was not one of them. Not anymore. Now, I was a hated player.

He’s taken my home from me.

I raised my head. “What about the other players?” The real ones. “What do the streets have to say of them?”

“Nothing,” Alon said.

“Nothing,” Soren agreed. “No one has heard anything about any players working for or with the Devils.”

“Which perhaps explains the Raccoons decision,” I murmured.

“That’s why I think we should warn them,” Alon said. He leaned forward eagerly. “Don’t you agree, El?”

“No, that’s foolishness,” Soren snapped. “If we go to the Raccoons, Eoman won’t let us go. The old man will use us for our own ends.”

Eoman was the Raccoons’ ganglord, and someone Soren knew personally, so his opinion carried weight when it came to the Raccoon leader. Still, I found his reasoning hard to swallow.

“But we’re just three people. The Raccoons can’t be that short on fighters,” I protested.

“You’re not just anyone, El. You’re a player now. What do you think Eoman will do when you—a player—go to him and say the Devils have players on their side?”

I winced, realizing what he meant. “He’ll force me to fight for him.”

“Exactly,” Soren declared. “Which is why we have to stay the hell away from the Raccoons.”

“I thought you knew the old man,” Alon said. “Can’t you… convince him?”

“I do know, Eoman,” Soren admitted. “But in this, he’ll put the welfare of the Raccoons first.” He hesitated. “Besides, there are other reasons for avoiding the man.”

“Other reasons?” I asked curiously.

Soren waved aside the question. “Nothing we need to get in, right now.”

“But what I don’t understand,” Alon said, “is how you expect us to get out of the city without the Raccoons’ help.”

Every gang in Mesina had a specialty, something they staked their reputation on. The Devils were enforcers, the Rats, fencers, the Cats, thieves, and so on.

The Racoons were smugglers. No one except them had safe routes into and out of the tightly controlled city.

“Have you forgotten, brother, that I can’t walk through the city gates anymore?” I asked quietly.

Arinna’s people monitored every official route into and out of the city. They weren’t concerned about proles, and Soren and Alon would be able to leave just fine, no matter which gang was hunting them. It was me that was the problem. The goddess was fanatical when it came to controlling the movement of players. Only authorized players could enter her city, which is why me—an undocumented player—turning up at one of the city gates would be problematic.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Alon denied. “There is someone else who might help.”

“Who?” Alon and I cried in unison.

“Odenna,” he replied.

I gaped at him. “Odenna?” Hers was the last name I expected to hear. Odenna was an old family friend, from the time before our parents had died. She was the one who’d taught me to read, the one who had taken care of us when our parents were away at war.

But ever since my parents had died, something had soured between her and Soren. He never explained, but since that time, I’d not seen her.

“Odenna!” I repeated. “You can’t be serious.”

Soren winced. “I know it’s hard to understand, but she is the best person to help us—you—at the moment.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that!” I said, my voice rising an octave. “Why bring her name up now?” After all this time?

Alon was shooting confused glances between the two of us. “Who’s Odenna?” he asked.

“An old family friend,” I said in an aside, not taking my eyes off Soren. “You won’t remember her. She never came into the poor quarter. We always went to her when our parents were away.”

“Oh,” he said. “I remember those trips you two took. She’s the herbwoman, right?”

I nodded.

Alon glanced at Soren. “So, how is she going to help?”

Feeling the pressure of both our gazes, Soren began pacing. Was that because he couldn’t meet my eyes?

“Odenna is more than a herbwoman,” he said finally.

“Go on,” Alon urged. “What else is she?”

Instead of answering him, Soren swung back to me. “You remember earlier, when I asked you for time to process, El?”

I blinked, thrown by the sudden sideways turn in the conversation. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I wasn’t being completely honest then. It was more than time I needed. It was a chance to speak to Odenna.”

My brows furrowed. “What does Odenna have to do with mum’s tales of Shanasyn?” I asked slowly.

“Everything,” he replied. “I’ll explain everything if you agree to come with me to see her.” He looked at me pleadingly. “Will you?”

For a drawn-out moment, I simply stared at Soren, my thoughts churning. I kept remembering how I’d twisted myself into knots over the notion of keeping secrets from him.

Only to find out now, that all along, he’d been doing the same.

“No.”

Soren gaped at me. “What?”

“No, I will not go to Odenna. No, I will not beg you to tell me the truth. No, I will not leave Mesina. And no, I will not let the bloody Butcher run me out of my only home!”

Rising swiftly, I marched to the basement’s exit, only pausing for one final glance over my shoulder at Alon. “Coming?”

He rushed to his feet. “Of course,” he said with an apologetic glance at a still-stunned Soren.

“Then, let’s go see Eoman,” I said and exited the bolt hole.

✵ ✵ ✵

Almost even before I left the crumbling house, words scrolled through my mind.

Congratulations, Elana. Your iron resolve has not gone unnoticed, and as a result the Adjudicator has seen fit to award you a new task: Master of your Own Destiny.

Two paths lie before you. The first, and safer one, will see you escape Mesina, fleeing those who pursue you. Take this path and not only are you guaranteed to uncover the mystery behind your origins, but you will also live long enough to see your ancient lineage passed down.

The second path is a darker, murkier one. If you stay in the city and face down your hunters, you may yet uncover secrets long buried. Or you may not. Beware, that by remaining in Mesina, you will also risk attracting the attention of Powers you’re far from ready to face.

Objective 1: Flee the city. Objective 2: Defeat Cantos and his allies once and for all. Note, both these objectives are mutually exclusive.

The surprising Game message caught me by surprise and if Alon didn’t reach out and steady me, I would’ve surely have stumbled and fallen.

“Great,” I fumed under my breath, “now even the Game is caught up in this nonsense.” Nor did I miss the subtle prompting behind its words. Even the Adjudicator, it seemed, wanted me to listen to Soren!

“What’s that, El?” Alon asked.

“Nothing,” I snapped. But it wasn’t his fault, none of this was. “Sorry,” I muttered a second later. I inhaled deeply. “Thanks for sticking with me.”

He smiled. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

His support heartened me and some of my anger eased.

“Ready to talk about it?” Adalinda asked quietly.

“No,” I said, followed immediately by, “Yes. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

The celestial took her time answering. “I won’t deny the prospect of learning more about Shanasyn appeals to me,” she said softly. “I suspect it’s not only your own history that lies buried in those tales your brother speaks of. My own does too.” She paused. “But like you, I dislike being… pushed. I’m all for forging our own path.”

“Then you agree with my choice?”

“I do.”

The tightness in my chest eased further. “Thank you, Ada.”

But fate was not yet done with me it seemed. There was one more surprise waiting. At the soft tread of footsteps, I glanced over my shoulder. Then flinched.

Soren was approaching.

He met my gaze. “Family above all else,” he quoted. Saying nothing else, he fell into step with me and Alon, and the last of the ache in my chest… vanished.