Morning broke over the city with the toll of bells—not the constant, comforting ring of the Sanctum, but a set of ringing, insistent peals. Elias was already alert, sitting on the side of his bed, last night's Script still burned into his mind.
"The mask will determine. The Reader will disapprove of the selection."
Outside in the barracks courtyard, Brynn was disparaging a Guild leather runner. She called Elias over.
"The Sanctum and the Guild are quarreling like dogs," she told him. "A Guild caravan was seized at the south gate last night. The Faith claims it was dealing in relics. The Guild claims that the Faith planted them."
Elias didn't need her to explain that to him: escalation. And the city was not good at surviving escalations.
At midday, the streets surrounding the Guild Quarter were crowded with citizens—some jeering the priests in their robes of braided silver, others shouting Guild slogans. Brynn had deployed soldiers to keep the two groups apart.
It was then that Elias saw the mask again. High up, on the roof of the Exchange Hall of the Guild, staring down at him.
Karric appeared out of thin air beside him. "The Faith's going to ride this until blood is spilled," he said. "We could do with a man who knows the ending."
Elias gazed upwards towards the roof. The mask had disappeared.
Karric followed his gaze. "If that thing's involved, you'd best decide quickly. Faceless don't wait for consent."
The crowd suddenly moved in a violent manner before Elias could answer. A bloodied priest emerged from the crowd while holding a dagger in his hand. A Guild enforcer lay motionless on the ground behind the priest.
Shouts erupted. The soldiers pushed forward to maintain separation between the two groups.
The masked figure remained stationary at the center of the chaos.
Time cramped around it. The shouting faded, the movement behind. Elias's breathing was short and shallow.
"You are between them," the masked one said. "The Script aligns on one side. Your obstinacy aligns on the other. I will choose."
Elias's voice was thin. "Choose what?"
"Who lives."
The mask waved a hand towards the priest. The dagger in the man's hand turned black dust, floating in the air.
Then it moved towards the Guild enforcer on the ground—and the man's chest convulsed with a sharp intake of breath as air flooded back into his lungs as if life itself had been forced back into him.
The world returned to motion. The priest went to his knees, trembling. The Guild enforcer curled onto his side, gasping with great wrenching coughs.
But the choice had been made: the Faith lost a weapon; the Guild gained a man.
Brynn was by Elias's side in a heartbeat. "What happened?"
Elias shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me."
Selin came out of the crowd, narrowing his eyes. "It's already started. The mask just made its stand, Reader. And whether you intended to or not—you're on the Guild's side now."
That evening, Karric discovered him at the Arcanum gates. "The Faith will find you now. They'll call you defiled, a pawn of the Guild. But we'll shield you."
Elias hesitated. To accept would be to fall into a web of which he could never emerge. To refuse would be to face the Faith's full wrath unaided.
The Script floated in the space between them.
"The Reader selects the Guild. The Faith selects the grave."
Elias looked at Karric. "I'm not going with. But I'm not staying still either."
Karric grinned weakly. "Then we're clear. For the moment."
In his quarters, Elias sat in darkness, reciting the mask's words.The Script leans to one side.If that were true, each step he took from this moment forward was going to lean the story further in one direction.
And if the gods didn't like the imbalance?They'd send a far worse person than a Weaver to fix it.