Page 23 of The Lost Reliquary
It’s surprising how tough a body can be, though. Even those not divinely blessed don’t die nearly as easily as one would think.
“What’s your name?” Nolan says, as if coaxing a scared puppy.
Her cracked lips move, but no sound comes out. She tries again: “Magda.”
“Well”—there’s a sour taste in my mouth—“at least Caius didn’t cut her tongue out.”
Nolan grunts in agreement. “Thank the Goddess for small miracles. Magda, we are going to ask you questions. You are going to answer them. Do you understand this?”
Two bright eyes peer up at us, and though that look is guarded, there’s a sheen of defiance. A minute ago, I would have called this woman broken. Now, I’m not so sure.
“I answered all of his questions,” she croaks. “Please, I told him everything I know.”
“Then tell me too,” says Nolan. “You were an associate of Emmaus, who willingly allowed himself to be captured in order to poison hundreds of the Goddess’s devotees on the day of his execution.” The lie flows so smoothly from him that I almost forget that it is, in fact, a lie. But what does Magda know? Was she even aware that Emmaus’s capture was planned, and not plain misfortune? Or that Nolan’s mentioning of the “poisoning” is pure horseshit? Her swollen features betray nothing. “Emmaus,” Nolan continues, “who tried—and failed—to assassinate the Goddess.” Magda shows surprise at that. I’m a little shocked at Nolan’s bluntness myself. “Did you know about that part of the plan, Magda?”
His voice is gentle, but as Magda processes what he’s said, she trembles. “When the last deity falls, when the Butcher Goddess is gone…” Words trickle from between her lips, thin as tissue. “They will all be remade into flesh once more.”
Pure heresy. Those words alone would have earned her execution. Not that it matters now. She’s already condemned, so what’s a little more blasphemy? But her belief in those words is powerful, an undying whisper among the heretics. The prize that awaits them, if they simply keep the faith.
It’s also, according to every scholar who serves Tempestra-Innara, utter tripe. The dead gods aredead. And while I don’t exactly trust them to offer up a truth that doesn’t serve the Goddess, in this particular case, I agree. If any of the gods were able to come back from the “dead,” they surely would have done so by now.
Magda remains quiet for a few more moments. Then she shifts, shivering with the pain of that movement. “I didn’t know they were trying to kill the Goddess. Had no idea they could even…” She stops herself. “I didn’t know anything at all. I told the Arbiters, I was a waystation, that was all.”
“So, what?” Nolan presses. “Someone shows up at your door, you feed them dinner and make their bed up, and that’s it, no questions asked?”
“Yes,” says Magda, but bitterly. “Emmaus was hiding; he knew he was being tracked. He was supposed to have moved on. But the Executrix, she… she arrived sooner than expected.” Her voice drops even quieter. “Please, I am no one. Only the waystation, nothing more.”
She’s telling the truth. She didn’t know Emmaus had the means for an assassination. She’s no one important, at least not when it comes to any heretic conspiracy.
But she’s also lying. It’s there, hidden behind those truths, doing its best not to be spotted. Maybe Caius didn’t see it, or maybe he simply didn’t care and eventually grew bored of trying to pull the information out of her, but she is certainly, most definitely, holding something back.
“This is pointless.” I push Nolan aside. “She’s not going to tell us anything useful like this.”
I reach for the door. It’s metal, but old, corroded by centuries of damp and rust. One good yank from me and the lock snaps, the door swinging inward into the cell. Magda lets out a wretched squeak as I enter, shrinking back into her rags.
I stop a few paces away and sink to the floor. It’s dirty with the sort of filth I don’t want to think too hard about, but I do it anyway, crossing my legs and resting my hands on my knees. Magda blinks at me.
“This is better, huh?”
Her confused gaze moves from me to the open door, and then to Nolan before coming back to me.
“You can’t run,” I say. “You know that. We’d catch you before you finished deciding to make a break for it. So please don’t try. You’ve clearly been through enough pain already.” Her puzzlement remains, but she knows I’m right. “There’s something you aren’t telling us. Something I think can help us find out more about what Emmaus did. I get you don’t want to betray your associates, but you are here, and they are not. And even if you don’t help us, they will be found eventually. Right now, me and Nolan here are a surgeon’s knife. We can make a few quick, clean cuts to deal with the problem. But if that doesn’t happen, I can guarantee you the Goddess will send more, larger knives, and swords, and cannons. Which will mean a lot of innocent people caught in the crossfire. We’d rather that not happen—not to the devoted, nor to heretics.”
I know my words have an effect because her expression hardens slightly behind her greasy strands of hair. “Don’t pretend to care about anyone you consider a heretic. To you, we are rats to be exterminated.”
Torture hasn’t fully smothered the fire in her, that’s for certain. Caius is clearly more enthusiastic about it than competent. “That’s not true. I… I was a heretic too, once. My people gave tribute to the Storm Goddess. Prayed to them. I’ve seen the Endless Storm.” I sense the slightest tensing from Nolan at this tidbit, there and gone. “I didn’t worship Tempestra-Innara. And still, they chose me, blessed me with their divinity. The Goddess can, and does, forgive all.” I can lie too, when I need to.
“No.” Magda’s eyes go terrifyingly distant. “No, there is no forgiveness. He judged me, saw the truth inside… I won’t… can’t…” Her words flake apart like ash.
I turn to Nolan, unsure of the next tactic. There’s something strange in his face, something I can’t quite read. He enters the cell and reaches for Magda. She comes alive again, a cry of horror catching in her throat, but he merely lays a hand on her shoulder.
“An Arbiter’s judgement is a harsh thing,” Nolan says, “but it is not nearly as bad as the divine flame.” He removes his hand. “I can tell you this with absolute truth, Magda—your execution will be a hundred times worse than anything you’ve experienced so far. Do you understand that?”
Instead of answering, Magda looks to me.
I’m not sure where Nolan is going with this, but I nod, having seen more executions than I care to remember. “A thousand times. The flame purifies.” I can tell the truth too. “And as it does that, it’s going to feel like you are being spit roasted while having your skin flayed as a bunch of angry rats chew their way out of you. What I’m saying is that it’s going to hurt… a lot.”
Nolan kneels down beside me so that he is at the same level as Magda. “You don’t have to die like that. Whatever you owe the people you call friends, it is not the horrible fate that is waiting for you.”
