Chapter 73: Blind Obedience (Patreon)

Ritz and I made our way through the streets, clothes still singed and blades still bloodied, in the aftermath of the angel…attack.

Far be it from me to suggest Liliana ever told the unvarnished truth, but clearly there was truth to her warnings, not the least of which was clear due to the shock and dismay of the villagers. Walking down the dirt road between the rough, hand built cottages, there was more than one body with features twisted in a teary visage of the betrayed.

At the very least, it seemed that Rose…and that name still took some getting used to, for all that I was working on it…and Raven kept their fight to the air. There were few damaged buildings. What few tongues of flame flicked over the edges of buildings I put out with a flick of my wrist.

Fire could be deadly in places like this. I would do my part to ensure no further harm came to these people.

The surviving villagers seemed just as conflicted on us as they’d been on the angels. Half retreated from our path, fearfully glancing at our weapons, our torn clothes.

Ritz’s ghost white hair.

The other half of the villagers came to us with teary thanks, hands clutched close around loved ones. They looked battered, but I could see the steel in them. These, I did my best to aid. 

It was the first time I regretted how little I knew of healing magic. Order could serve as a splint, mending clothing, cleaning wounds. In one case, it served as a literal splint, fixing a young boy’s leg so that rope and a length of would could be applied to hold the break in place.

With any luck, he would be able to walk again without a limp.

It was more than could be said for his older brother, the bloodied body that had sheltered the young one from a collapsed wall where a dead angel now too lay buried. 

Ritz didn’t have magic, but she did have a force of personality that I could never capture. She pulled shocked men and women to their feet. No, she set them back on solid ground, after it had been swept out from underneath them.

She didn’t offer pity, or consolation. Instead she seemed to offer an endless font of strength, allowing the men and women around us to drink from it without pause.

It was in this way that we arrived at the center of the village.

There, we found another crowd to match the one Ritz and I had gathered in our wake. Here, though, there was anger. Fists raised, voices raised in turn. 

In the center, Raven had the last angel bound by her arms and wings, pinned back against a shattered statue. All that remained of the statue was the rippling hem of a dress, and a single arm holding the snapped off remains of a staff.

Or maybe yet another spear.

I limped forward, towards Rose. She stood next to the restrained angel, helmet of her armor folded back, and pitted gauntlets folded over the glowing circle in her chest.

She cracked a wry grin as I came to a stop. “How’d it go?”

“It seems like you had a better time,” I said. “Certainly got stabbed less.”

She chuckled. “Seems like their weapons are built to fight magic. Raven had a hell of a time.” She shifted, and the lasers popped up out of the shoulders of her suit with a quiet hum. “They have a harder time with lasers, though.”

I nodded. “What about this one?”

“Spouting nonsense about needing to ‘cleanse’ the ‘impure’ and all of that,” she said. “Before Raven gagged her, the thing managed to kill any uncertainty that that whole flock came here with the explicit purpose of putting the entire village to the sword.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Her words, not mine.”

I sighed. “You really were right.”

This time it was her turn to cock an eyebrow.

“This is a shit show.”

Rose snorted.

I glanced at Raven, she gave me a nod, form concealed by her cloak. Like the rest of us, she had a few new tears in the fabric. But she didn’t seem stressed by the spell currently holding the angel in place.

Slowly, I made a circuit of the crowd, continuing my work as the stragglers trickled in. Ritz and Rose worked with the crowd in other ways, calming them down, getting head counts.

When I checked over my shoulder, I thought I saw a search and rescue party come back from combing the rest of small village.

In time, the dead were gathered, and I did my best to ensure none of the living joined them. 

“Travelers,” I glanced up. Approaching me was an older man, grey hair pulled back from his temples in a sharp coif. His wrinkles had wrinkles, but at the same he still stood straight and tall, regardless of the old blade strapped to his side. “You have my deepest gratitude for your aid.” The man bowed low, and a murmuring ripple spread through the crowd. “I am the headsman of the village, and I must ask your forgiveness, for it was I who barred your entry.” His voice was deep, rasping with barely suppressed emotion. “Before you turned out to be our saviors regardless.”

Ritz stepped forward, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You have done nothing wrong,” she said, voice firm but warm all the same. “My friends and I only have one life each to spend, while you bear the lives of each man, woman, and child within these walls. I am only glad that we were here to aid you at the right time.”

Her words echoed across the square. And after a moment the man stood. Ritz held out her hand and he clasped it for a moment, before stepping back. “All the same, you have my personal debt of gratitude for your aid.” The man places a weathered hand on his blade, before walking towards the last angel.

The crowd drew closer as well, leaning in as he continued to speak. “I have served in the Cathars for all my years, and never once have I witnessed such perfidy from the angelic host.” His grip tightened. “They have failed us, and abandoned us, and wept for us. I suppose now, they have finally decided to cast us aside?”

The crowd hissed and booed.

I could see a fire in the man’s eyes. The fire of a true believer who had seen the betrayal of the very pillars of his faith.

“I would hear what our erstwhile protector has to say for her flight,” the man said.

Raven glanced at me.

I nodded.

But before she could so much as wave her hand, a strident voice cut across the clearing.

“Cease this blasphemy!” A man burst into the square, sending out a ripple of dark mutters. His white robes flapped, arm-like, around his body. “Release this angel at once or suffer the wrath of Avacyn!”

The headsman stepped forward, hand clenched tight on the grip of his sword. “I think we’ve already suffered that, Mulric,” he said. “Where were your words of forbearance when these angels were delivering their judgement?”

The man, younger than the headsman but not by much, huffed, crossing his arms. “I was doing what you all should have been doing!” He waved his arms, sending the tassels of his robes swirling again. “Praying for forgiveness for our sins. Avacyn’s angels came to purge corruption from our midst, and instead you turned upon them like beasts!”

“Last I cared to read the scrolls, it was our duty to defend the young and the old from the predations of monsters.” The headsman waved his hand towards the lines of bodies. “Your dammed angels didn’t seem to care.”

“Fools, can you not see the corruption lingering behind their human visages?” The priest continued to rave. “You have brought this upon yourself with your sins, your infidelities!” The man was almost frothing at the lips now. “Release the angel, and pray she overlooks your transgressions.”

“Right,” the headsman turned. “Lads, take Mulric to the stockade. Perhaps the moonlight will help clear his head.” Two of the nearest men started forward.

“Back! Away with you!” The man backed away, towards the center of the square. “I will not—!”

In a flash, he spun, a dagger slipping into his palm from voluminous sleeves. Raven flinched back as it found her wrist. Her lips formed into an ‘O’ of surprise.

The spell faltered.

The angel cast her wings wide, shattering the shadowy chains that bound her. “I will slay you all for your iniquity!” she roared. A moonsilver spear flew towards her outstretched hand.

I stepped forward.

A bolt of lightning, an old favorite even now, struck the spear from the air. It rang, trembling as its blade bit deep into the cobbles.

As the angel turned, face twisted in a rictus of rage, I pulled free my borrowed weapon. I pushed my will, my mana, into the blade, claiming it fully as it described an arc of silver through the air. 

It bit deep into the angel’s chest, pinning her back to the shattered statue through her heart.

Like a moth pinned by an entomologist’s needle.

For a moment, this mad thing that was once, perhaps, an angel met my eyes. I saw only a deep and twisted insanity in those dark eyes. Then her struggles ceased, and the angel slumped to the ground, bone pale to match the cobbles, blood red to match the wings.

I pulled free my sword. 

“My apologies,” I said. “I know you wished to hear from her own lips what their intentions were, but…”

“She’s a witch!” the priest shouted. “She’s a witch! Burn her! Stake her with silver! You must—” The man’s screams only ceased when one of the others restraining him stuffed a rag between frothing lips. The four of us watched as the mad priest was carted off. 

I shook my head, sheathing my blade again. There were more important matters at hand than a single lunatic.

Apparently, the headsman thought the same, as he quickly dispersed new orders to the villagers. They went about the process of burying the dead and caring for the living with a sort of grim acceptance that was almost too familiar to me.

“Just like Brockton, right?” Rose said, slipping next to me.

I quirked my lips. “I was trying not to remember that part, thank you.”

“Hey, we don’t lie to ourselves here.” She gave a grin. “Besides, we got out, didn’t we?”

I held back a sigh, tilting my face skyward. “Is it really so easy?” There were weights I couldn’t so easily shrug off, especially after Kent.

“The way I see it, there are plenty of worlds that need a helping hand.” Rose waved her own hand towards the village. “Case and point. Picking one of those as more worthy because it’s ‘mine’? Well.” Her grin shrank a bit. “Maybe it’s not heroic of me to say this, but they have plenty of heroes of their own. I’ll save my attention for the people who don’t have anyone to help them.”

“Would that it was so easy,” I whispered. Rose only shrugged.

“Buck up, there, we have some diplomacy to take care of.”

“You and Ritz can take care of the headsman,” I said, pulling away. “Just, see what we can do to help, even if we can’t get the metal you need?”

“Wouldn’t do it any other way.”

I left them to it, making my way over to Raven.

Despite our aid, the people of the village still gave her a wide birth. I wondered if they’d be so sanguine about the four of us if they saw her purple hair and gray skin. Not for the first time, I marveled at how effortlessly Raven could fold herself into her cloak and all but disappear.

And not for the last time, I hated the people who taught her that response.

“How’s your wrist.”

Raven held out her arm in lieu of reply.

I hissed. The wound was raw and inflamed, pulsing an angry red at the edges. Her skin felt hot as I grasped her forearm, pouring order magic into the wound.

There was…almost a resistance, as if something was pushing back against my mana. Then, with almost an audible break, the block shattered, and the cut stopped bleeding, partially healing as my power restored Raven to a more ‘orderly’ state.

What was not orderly was the black…gunk, that was pushed from the wound, evaporating into the air.

My eyes narrowed as I tried to capture the mist, only for it to disperse into untextured mana at the slightest touch and meld into the weave of the plane.

“Well,” I said. “That certainly isn’t concerning.”

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A/N: And now we begin to see a bit of the troubles that plague Innistrad's people, beyond, you know, killer angels.