Scaa was absorbed in the stew and gave no reply.
“She did not know me. Her eyes, everything there was about her… it was as if she were sat at a table with nobles.”
“Did you not expect it?”
“I suppose I should come to. I had spoken with her before, even. Asked her about fish and where they came from because she seemed to like children and I thought she could give me a discount of some sort. What was her name?”
“Margáil, I think it was. I should know it better, to be honest. I must’ve heard it a dozen times. She never failed to come volunteer when something was needed.”
“All of them seem willing.”
“They believe in something.”
Óraithe scoffed. “In stories. Stories told by you, no less.”
“Oh, it’ll be like that, then?” Scaa laughed. “I must’ve told them well to have courted so many. Though, I had my reasons for it.”
“And what could those have been?”
“Well, for a start, you told me to.”
“I told you to gather people?”
Scaa nodded and shoveled some fish into her mouth. “Told me to gather an army,” she said, chewing. “It may not be much of one, but I thought that any army would do, considering.”
“Well, I may not remember saying so, but I do commend myself for a good idea.” Óraithe slid her bowl aside and climbed onto the table. She leaned across and kissed Scaa on the forehead, then retreated back to her seat. “You make me believe in all this, Scaa. That this can be more than just my suicidal vengeance.”
“I always believed you would do more.” Scaa smiled and lifted the bowl to her mouth to hide her blushing. “The shit you drag out of me. Awful.”
There was a minute of quiet before the thoughts in Óraithe’s mind turned the conversation to planning.
“Do we know the skills of the ones we’re bringing back? Can they fight?”
“Two dozen or so, actually. City guards who were exiled with their families when Briste decided they were against her. They have been training others as much as they can. We do lack for weapons and the materials to forge them so it is hard to say how many more will be of use. They will all fight. Or say they will. It remains to be seen how they will stand the sight of blood when faced with it. Or if they can put a blade through a man.”
“If they cannot, others will finish it for them. We must believe that or else unload the train and be done with it.”
“I expect even those less inclined to it may change their minds when they are again hearing the angry screams of uniformed men in Briste’s colors.”
“Just the thought of it makes me wish for someone to stab.” Óraithe chuckled and pushed her bowl around idly. “Are… are there any who are touched by the Gifts?”
“None,” Scaa said flatly. “Not a question I expected to hear out of you.”
Óraithe gave an uneasy smile.
“Oh, fuck off, you.” Scaa slapped playfully at the table and leaned forward, smiling. When Óraithe did not let the joke down, she stopped smiling. “You serious? How? When?”
“The satyr taught me. At least, he helped me understand the Gift somehow.”
Scaa twisted her face at the answer. “A satyr? Why would it do that?”
“I cannot say. He said something once which made me believe it was all to cure his boredom for a while. His escape is why I am here. A Drow came with another satyr and took him from the prison.”
“I did not want to ask more about the place, but now I regret the choice.”
Óraithe smiled. “Well, I said I had weapons now.”
“Sisters, I thought you meant me, the camp.” Scaa paused and stared at the wall a moment with her mouth open. She turned to Óraithe and waved her hands away from the table. “Well, you must show me. Go on.”
“I need to stand?”
Scaa shook her head, incredulous. “Do you not? I haven’t any idea.”
Óraithe stood and moved away from the table. She cast her eyes down to the floor, feeling with her mind to see what was beneath. The houses here were not on stilts, at least, so she would not risk being seen. Her body was still healing and the strain of party tricks to impress anyone who felt a need to test her would not do her any good. She tapped a spot with her foot.
“Here.”
All at once a square pillar of hardened sand and earth punched up through the wood in the floor. Scaa let out a yelp and jerked away so hard that she tipped over the bench. Óraithe could not control her laughter but paid for it in pain. Scaa stood, rubbing her head and laughing as well.
“It’s what you deserve for laughing at the pain of others.” She came around to the sand pillar and looked at it. “Is it solid?”
“It ought to be.”
Scaa put her hands around it and pulled. The pillar did not give and so she pulled harder again until she was basically yanking at it with the whole of her weight. She finally let it go.
“Well, it’s solid, then.”
Óraithe grabbed it by the top and pulled. The pillar snapped off where it came through the floor and Scaa made an annoyed sound. Óraithe laughed and handed it to her. She held it, letting it roll from face to face in her hands.
“Does it stay like this?”
“Only as long as I make it.”
The staff returned to loose sand and dirt and fell to the ground, scattering at Scaa’s feet. She stared at it, pushing the loose bits around with her feet for a moment.
“I was right to believe in you.”
“Well, I am pleased you are suitably impressed. I hope it will help.”
Scaa looked up and grabbed her by the shoulders. “How could it not?” Óraithe winced and she quickly pulled her hands away. “Ah, sorry. I… I
