Wide-eyed, Kael stiffly nodded at Els. Whether Joss was an exiled priest of Morvana's church or the leader of the fallen Ragged Crown didn't matter. He was a threat.
His eyes trailed from Joss to linger on Tonio, then back to the ledger hovering beside him.
You chose to break your anchor to save us. I'm glad Joss knocked you out before you did. This is my choice... and your teachings, Tonio.
"What are you looking at, heretic?" Joss flung his blade to the ground, hurling sparks toward Kael without moving from his spot. He didn't need to. He towered between Kael and the doorway, the rat-man at his mercy, the girl in his machete's reach.
Kael knew how it must have looked to Joss: him staring at the junk wall behind the ledger. But his gaze locked on a single entry woven in sky-blue ink. An unowned truth.
I wanted more time to experiment, but I met all the conditions. It's not a desperate gamble or a wild hope; it's my chance to beat his predictions.
Clenching his jaw, he tore his gaze from his ledger. He raised his hand, his left foot leaving the pavement in a forward step. Joss lowered his posture, his calm grey eyes darting across Kael's body as if searching for something until his gaze found Kael's right hand, the one he clutched the knife with.
Kael didn't pause, didn't even slow. His mind excavated memories he tried to keep buried: the night Tovin stabbed him, his refusal of death, and the sensation of anchoring a truth.
Bind it to something in his body first. To what?
His foot hovered mid-air, his wounds bleeding his energy out. It was exhausting to move, to think. Exhaustion then. Now, the vow—the core he thought about.
He screamed it in his mind... until the sound of Joss' machete raising faded... until the sound of the flickering lamppost vanished... until the vow swallowed even the sound of his own ragged breath.
The first strike is the only one that matters!
His foot remained suspended, slowing to a crawl. The anchor of his endurance throbbed painfully, rejecting the folly he enforced upon it. A folly he chose. A folly he embraced.
Across from him, Joss already began to swing, his machete sealing every angle. It would hit him the moment his foot hit the ground, before he even began his own swing. Predicted again.
What if... the parameters changed?
The first strike is the only one that matters! He roared this time, steeling his will against himself, against the world.
The throb of his anchor spread in an invisible outward wave.
And the world answered by shoving the wave back inside him.
It dug past the anchor of endurance in his mind, cracking it dangerously as it travelled down. It warmed his head, neck, and chest, settling behind his heart. It compressed itself dozens, hundreds, thousands of times, locking the core of this new truth in an anchor that beat like an ethereal organ. Something was wrong: a feeling, a pull down, while endurance pulled up.
Both anchors tore him in that heartbeat of frozen time. His mouth slowly opened, words of plea forming in his throat. He shoved them down, anger searing his marrow.
His eyes caught the doorway behind Joss. A golden glow erupted from the frame, whispering that escape was the only answer as his raised foot shifted.
What on the pile of dung he was born in...
The doorway... cross it, survive on your own. His fingers loosened around his knife.
He gripped it hard enough to engrave the metallic patterns of the hilt on his palm. Something's messing with my mind. Friction between truths? Curse your incompatibility. I'm stabbing Joss. Now.
The hesitation slithered to a corner of his mind, inactive. Waiting. Urgency to flip his ledger open for answers replaced it, but he ran out of time.
Time...
Wait! The anchoring couldn't have slowed time, or Joss would have killed him the moment it ended. The damn hesitation lasted for three seconds on its own. So, why was he still standing?
He gazed ahead and almost choked on his breath. The machete inched toward his neck, barely two fingers away from decapitating him, the blade reflecting his blue irises beneath the blood that turned his vision crimson.
Expecting to move as slowly, he lowered his head. The blade blurred, then Joss. He gazed at the pavement, his face below the arc of a blade that wouldn't reach him.
And he understood.
Time never slowed. His perception quickened, making him faster. For how long? The first strike only, as he had planned, as he had wanted.
He stomped his raised foot down, weaving beneath the machete. Joss had shifted as he swung, his chest protected by the blade, his head too high for Kael to strike without jumping into the swing.
Another perfect prediction.
And he shattered it with a sidestep to the right. Now facing Joss, he plunged the knife into the bastard's side. Flesh tore, and ribs cracked. But blood dripped hesitatingly, as if it had forgotten how to find the ground.
Then, Kael's speed faded like a dream. Blood sprayed to the ground as he pulled his knife out and jumped back. The moment he landed, his legs bent and his arms sagged, demanding a flat surface to rest. So did his heavy eyelids. Sleep would be a king's ransom. But he couldn't appear weak, not when it was his turn to predict Joss.
Clenching his jaw, he crossed his arms against his chest and straightened his legs.
Joss' free hand shot to his side. Blood oozed between his fingers, his voice slurring. He fell on one knee, planting his machete beside Tonio's limp head before crashing. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his gray eyes darting between Kael and his bloody knife. "I saw myself slicing your thread with your head as you aimed for my heart. How in Morvana's name did you break it..."
"I piss on Morvana and her fate. She doesn't govern my life, and I'll never let her, not after she shoved us all into this hopeless pit from birth." Kael snorted, the final pieces falling into place. "You got your truth from that heartless bitch, like the priests displaying the miracles of the stray dogs they worship during the harvest festival."
His eyes found Els'. She stared back, her jaw closing when he nodded subtly as he continued. "You never predicted our moves. It was Morvana's thread of fate showing you what we'll do. Your truth allows you to understand. That's why you boasted about a sharp mind. Not so sharp, is it?"
"Blasphemy!" Joss' hands trembled around his blade. "Which god do you follow to be so brazen?"
Kael shrugged, but his voice roughened. "Mongrels like you can follow the eight bastards. I believe in myself. In Tonio, and Els."
Joss' face distorted in pain and anger. He heaved, his muscles trembling, his legs bending. He would rise, or at least, Kael thought he would. Instead, Joss coughed up blood, and his knees buckled. His head lowered, chin resting against his chest.
Kael let out a heavy breath, raising his palm toward Els.
Before he could talk, Joss' raspy voice broke the silence. "It doesn't have to end like this. I have gold and information worth much more than shiny metal." He pressed harder on his side, on the growing red circle smearing his white shirt. "I'll tell you about Garrick, Fen, Harrow, and Maelin Quor. I'll forget you're a heretic, and even that you exist. All I ask in return is to keep my life."
He slid his machete, pressing the edge against Tonio's neck. "Or you can lose the friend you believe so much in."
For a moment, they glared at each other. Then, the corner of Kael's lips curled. If he wanted Joss dead, the knife would already be in his eye. No, he would bleed the man's value out to compensate for his and Tonio's wounds.
"Speak."
"Swear it—"
"I swear on the eight bastards. Happy? Give something about Harrow, Garrick's origins, if other priests know us, and truths." Kael rolled his eyes, hiding that he fought to stay standing with each word.
"I'm bleeding out..." Joss snapped his eyes shut, lurching his head to suppress a groan. "Treat me first."
"Speak fast, then." Kael glared at Joss, thanking his skinny, wobbly legs, not to make his broad pants betray his exhaustion.
Joss bit his lip but eventually said, "Garrick ruled the slums before Morvana's church exiled me. No tracks of him, Brannick, or Silma anywhere. Perhaps the Broken Chain knew, but he destroyed them when his name spread. I don't know Garrick's truth; no one alive does. You'll see Silma's in a bit, and everyone knows about Brannick's."
Kael wanted to mock Joss and his Ragged Crown gang as failed information brokers if they couldn't dig anything out, but settled on a disappointed sigh.
Joss continued. "Harrow is older than the Broken Chain. She sorted and sent talented lads to the gang. That old witch twists words and beliefs to disguise herself as a follower of Morvana, but she worships Lyra. Her truth mirrors the fluidity of language... whatever bullshit it means. She just moves like water."
Kael grimaced. The fake sister fed them sweet lies wrapped in false teachings. Truly a witch.
Joss' eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then returned to normal. "You're safe... for now. Morvana doesn't actively hunt heretics, unlike Kythra's temple. Be wary of their priests. Once they get a whiff of your scent, they'll chase you to beyond the broken lands."
Kael finally sighed in relief. Good.
"Truths... I'll bleed out twice before covering a tenth of the subject. The short version is: High Priests recommend priests in training to a church's bishop. After agreeing, he escorted me to a room filled with a lacework of threads. When I bowed to the statue of the Weaver of Fates, the threads brightened and wrapped around me. A morsel entered my mind and became my anchor."
A furrow creased Kael's brow. "What about your vow and the price you paid? Do you know about truth mutation?"
Joss lowered his blade, the edge pressing a line against Tonio's fur. "Last answer till you treat me. Never heard about mutation. Vows are for heretics, not us. Morvana chooses the most compatible truth for us from her aspects. We pay similar prices for anchors that seldom break. For me, it was an obsession with machetes. A brother became terrified of thunder... You get it. Now, bandage my wound."
For a heartbeat, Kael's fingers clasped the sleeves of his shirt. Fear of lightning? Obsession with machetes? Ridiculous... Unfair.
His knife clanged to the ground as he approached Joss. The man's fingers tightened around his blade without real strength, and Kael paused right in front of him.
"What are you waiting for?"
Kael didn't speak; he lowered his hand, kicking Joss' hand. His right leg flew in a weak arc, his shin crashing against the fingers.
Joss howled, the impact reverberating in his wound. He jerked his head up, a new wave of blood pouring down his lip. His grip faltered, the edge of his weapon sliding sideways across Tonio's neck before dropping to the ground.
Before Joss could even understand the treachery, Els had already moved. She clutched a third arrow behind him. The tip drilled into the back of his neck, punching through his throat. His front teeth shot out as it emerged from his mouth.
Kael glared at Joss' wide eyes. Even as he crashed to his back, emptied of strength, he flipped him the middle finger.
Show it to Morvana if your soul ever reaches her divine realm, bastard.
With this last thought, the darkness swimming at the edge of his vision engulfed him.