“Otherwise you must make the journey alone.”
Thia’s sense of direction was bad at the best of times. She’d once gotten lost using Google Maps to get home from a café twenty minutes from her house. And if the nÿgens were anything to go by, she didn’t want to know what else might lie between Black Forest and the Mage King.
“It’s fine,” she replied. “Tell them.” She had to hope no one would believe it.
Pagdan nodded once. “Tonight then. At the bonfire.”
When the fire was crackling pleasantly, sending billows of smoke up into the twilight sky, Thia sat on a log near the back of the gathering. She’d picked the spot to keep hidden when Pagdan made his announcement. Sorscha, sitting to her left, threw nervous glances her way every few seconds, which did nothing to calm Thia’s anxiety. Her bowl of stew remained untouched in her lap, and her palms were damp with sweat as she ran them repeatedly down her thighs. It felt like a millennium had passed by the time Pagdan stood and moved to the center of the circle.
A hush fell over the crowd. Pagdan cast his attention around the gathering, firelight warming his skin. He cleared his throat. “There have been many rumors flying about this camp today.” He didn’t sound angry, but a few of those within sight of him ducked their heads. “It is time to put them to rest.”
Thia chewed her cheek. She didn’t think Pagdan knew where she was, because his gaze continued to wander.
“You know the prophecy of the Losrohir, how a Storm Crow shall appear to us. She who marks the beginning of an end to the Tyrant’s reign.”
A flurry of whispers broke out, one word markedly louder than the rest said with hope, surprise, skepticism, or all three.She.
Sorscha put a hand on Thia’s knee.
Pagdan said, “She is among us.”
The whispers grew to murmurs. Somewhere across the fire, someone shouted, “Who?”
Pagdan searched the crowd. This time she was sure he’d found her, as did about fifty others as they sought out the only unfamiliar face.
“Stand up, love,” Sorscha murmured.
Thia absolutely did not want to stand up but felt she had no choice. Her knees wobbled as she pushed herself off the log, and her cheeks burned under the weight of so much attention.
Pagdan’s eyes locked on hers. “Thia Sanbrooke of Kansas,” he said.
Her stomach churned. She could have sworn someone was crying; other looks she felt like daggers.
“How do you know she is the Storm Crow?”
Thia knew that voice. Oskaren. She was a few logs to Thia’s left, staring fixedly at Pagdan.
“I don’t,” Pagdan allowed. “We received a message this morning from the Silver Sorceress.” Murmurs followed this announcement. Thia couldn’t tell if they were more or less convinced.
“Quiet,” Pagdan commanded. “As the leader of your choosing, it is my duty to be honest with you. Thia makes no claim to be the child of this prophecy. She intends to seek the Tyrant to ask for assistance in the creation of a portal, with the purpose of returning to her own realm.”
The murmurs were angry now, Thia was certain. Those closest to her were leaning back when they had been leaning forward, expressions ranging from uncertain to glaring.
“I will not risk your lives on an uncertainty,” Pagdan assured them. “But neither do I feel right sending the girl alone, when she may be our long-awaited hope.”
“Don’t let her leave,” someone said, and Thia’s belly dropped to her feet. “Not until we know for sure.”
But Pagdan shook his head. “Thia is not one of us. I have no right to decide her fate. This is where I come to you for aid. I seek a guide, someone to accompany the girl on her journey to the Lightning Tower. She does not know these lands, or what treachery awaits.”
No one answered immediately. Thia didn’t know if she should be grateful or anxious. Pagdan seemed expectant, like he was waiting for some speech to rally his people. Like he really did believe she was the Storm Crow.
“I—” No sound came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You should know,” she started, and someone shouted, “Louder!”
“You should know,” she said again, the quiver in her voice audible, “I don’t plan onattacking.I-I’m not the Storm Crow.”
The same cleric who had been present in the meeting stood. “Your intent matters not. If you are our Storm Crow, Sothis—the Divine Realms—will take care of the rest.”
Silence met these words. Thia had no sense of whether anyone was actually considering it, or if they were too polite to contradict one of their elders.
