Page 133 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“But when she sees that we don’t have The Eyes, we’ll be outnumbered and in trouble.” Gurice glanced at Mojag, probably worried about her brother.
“Outnumbered, yes, but I’ll be there.” Shyla’s statement was met with less enthusiasm than she’d hoped. Only Rendor failed to look queasy at the idea. Time for a demonstration. She removed the mental shield, hoping twenty-five people wasn’t too many for her.
“Ah, no offense, Shyla,” Gurice said. “But you just got those new eyeballs. And you just learned how to use magic. Do you really think—”
Shyla pushed her will out in a wave.
Gone.
Gasps echoed. Mostly from the acolytes who hadn’t witnessed magic in use before. They glanced at each other, confirming what they’d just seen.
“Does anyone see her?” Ximen asked, scanning faces.
No one. Conversation erupted.
Another push.
Silence.
They all stopped talking at once. Alarmed, many of them gestured and a few turned bright red as they tried to speak. Rendor grinned. Shyla stood. Her legs trembled with strain. She’d overdone it. Moving with care, she looped around behind them. And as pain bloomed in her head, she released everyone.
Noise erupted until they spotted her. Then it died as a stunned silence filled the room.
“Yes, Gurice,” she said. “I do think I will make a difference.”
Gurice stared at her. “You ain’t kidding.”
CHAPTER
21
By the time she arrived at level fifty-one, Shyla’s legs trembled with fatigue. She really should have rested more. But Ximen had delivered the news that the Heliacal Priestess set the exchange time for angle two-twenty. They only had sixty angles to plan. At least no one bothered her or even looked twice at her as she descended to this level.
Pausing at the end of one of the tunnels that led to the chapel, Shyla removed her mental shield. A few people milled about the chapel. She reached and found Mojag hidden in a shadow as he kept watch on the entrance. Before the mission, she’d read Mojag’s jumbled soul so she would be able to connect with him. Mojag’s emotions swung from boredom to worry about Jayden to fear and back again.
Shyla needed to get into the chapel without anyone seeing her. Even with her limited experience with The Eyes, she suspected using “gone” wouldn’t work as they’d have to see her first. She considered a couple different commands, but decided to use “look away.”
Nervous energy buzzed in her veins as she stepped from the tunnel. Gathering her energy, she projected her will and chanted.
Look away.
Look away.
Look away.
She pushed it out in a wide circle around her as she walked toward the chapel’s entrance. A part of her tuned into Mojag’s thoughts. If he spotted her, then she’d know her magic wasn’t working.
Her pulse skittered and drawing a breath became difficult, but no one glanced in her direction. Mojag yawned. The two deacons guarding the entrance failed to raise the alarm. She passed them without incident, which gave her the confidence to cross to the hallway that led to the back rooms. A shudder rippled through her as memories welled. The unmistakable sound of a whip cracked the heavy air that smelled of blood and urine. Sobbing and rhythmic cries of anguish tumbled from the confession rooms.
Sick to her stomach, Shyla added freeing these poor souls to her list of wrongs she needed to fix. Too bad she was unable to help them now. Instead, she stole a deacon robe and put it on. It was too big for her. The material sagged on the ground. She checked the others and they all were oversized. Nothing she could do except tuck some of the material into her pants. Shyla returned to the main sanctuary.
Ten rows of kneelers faced the altar, which spanned most of the front of the room opposite the entrance. Behind the altar was another doorway to the back rooms, or so she guessed—having never been through it, she’d no idea where it led. Each row of kneelers held a dozen. Five people knelt in prayer—three citizens and two deacons, scattered in the first four rows. Shyla selected a kneeler at the end of the ninth row where, hopefully, no one would witness her sudden appearance.
When she settled with the robe’s hood pulled low over her face, Shyla stopped chanting. She braced for an outcry, but no one noticed the addition of one deacon. Resting her forehead on her forearms, she drew in deep breaths. The effort to remain invisible had drained her energy. According to the sand clock, she had twenty angles to recover. As long as she didn’t give in to the temptation to check on the status of her people, it should be enough time. Should was the key word. Shyla really had no idea—not the most comforting thought.
Pulling her mental shield back in place, Shyla calmed her heart and allowed the familiar peace of meditation to flow through her body. Except a memory kept replaying in her mind, stirring her soul.
Right before she had left the monastery on this mission, Rendor had caught up to her on the top level. The sun had hovered ten angles above the horizon as the sands cooled. She’d borrowed a sun cloak from the monks.
