“Tgurneu?” When Mora opened her eyes, that was the first word out of her mouth.
“It ran away. It’s a shame, but there’s nothing to be done. We’ll have many more chances to kill it.”
Fremy’s gun was trained on Mora. Mora had no intention of resisting.
“I want to kill you right this moment, but for now, I’ll have you explain yourself.” Fremy’s finger moved to the trigger.
The slave-fiends blocked her shot. “Chamo won’t let you kill her.”
“Move.”
“Auntie isn’t the seventh. She’s doing stuff that doesn’t make sense, but she hasn’t attacked any of us. You’re the suspicious one.” The two glared at each other.
Mora muttered, “Tgurneu said that I’m the seventh, didn’t it?”
“Chamo’s smart,” said Chamo, “so it makes sense enough. That was obviously just a lie to try to fool everyone. Fremy’s stupid, so she’s letting Tgurneu trick her.”
“Obviously, anything Tgurneu says is a lie of some sort. I have other reasons to suspect Mora.”
But Mora knew that Tgurneu had been telling the truth, because it could never lie to her. I see…so I was the seventh. That would explain the various inconsistencies, like how none of them had cooperated with Nashetania within the Phantasmal Barrier and why the seventh had not done anything in their initial battle with Tgurneu. Now both those things made sense.
“Move, Chamo,” said Fremy.
“Then lower your gun.”
Mora interrupted them. “Have Adlet decide whether I will live or die. I’ll abide by his decision.”
“Are you okay with that, Auntie? Adlet’s a dummy.”
“I trust Adlet. He’ll not fail to recognize the truth. Is he yet to return?”
“Not yet,” Fremy replied. “He hasn’t contacted me to say he’s found any proof yet, either.”
“I see.”
To Chamo, Fremy instructed, “Go and bring back Adlet. Tgurneu might be after them. You back them up.”
“And you’re not just gonna kill Auntie here?”
“I will, this one time, listen to what Adlet has to say. I won’t kill her until then. Of course, that’s only if Mora doesn’t do anything.”
“You watch out, Auntie,” Chamo said before she ran off eastward. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry, as she ran no faster than usual.
Fremy took about five steps backward, putting some distance between herself and Mora. She kept her crosshairs trained on the back of the Temple Elder’s head.
Without looking back, Mora said, “Fremy, allow me to treat my wounds.”
“Don’t move. Heal yourself with the energy of the mountain or whatever.”
“The energy of the mountain is not so all-powerful. Without poultices and sutures, the wounds will not heal.”
“…Fine, then,” Fremy said, gun still in hand.
Mora kept some first-aid medicine tucked away in her boots. Adlet wasn’t the only one who fitted tools into his gear. Under Fremy’s watch, she removed her vestments and armor and treated her wounds.
“…”
For three years, Mora had been tormented by nightmares of what would happen if she was unable to defeat Tgurneu, unable to save Shenira. Whenever she saw that possible future in her dreams, she would leap out of bed. Some nights, she couldn’t sleep at all without her husband, Ganna, by her side. With each nightmare that tormented her, Mora thought, I never should have become a Saint. I never should have become a warrior. Beloved Shenira had been targeted because her mother had become powerful enough to be chosen as one of the Braves of the Six Flowers.
Those nightmares had now become her reality.
As Mora treated her wounds, her thoughts turned to the past. It must have been about two years before when Mora and Ganna had been face-to-face in their bedroom. They had asked a maid to handle Shenira so the two of them could talk alone about the management of the temple, which she had left to Ganna; the leadership of the Saints, which she had entrusted to Willone; and the looming battle.
Once they finished the discussion, Ganna had suddenly said, “Mora…if it turns out that Shenira can no longer be saved…”
Mora was startled. Voicing that possibility had become a taboo between them. She would save Shenira, save the world, and return. That was what they had promised each other. “Don’t speak of that. Did I not say I would save her?”
“I’m no keener than you to discuss it. I don’t even want to think about it. But we must.”
Mora didn’t want to hear it. “You don’t trust me?”
“It’s precisely because I trust you that we must talk about it.” Ganna fixed his eyes on Mora’s. “If you cannot defeat Tgurneu by the promised day…if you must weigh the life of a Brave of the Six Flowers against Shenira’s…” He faltered, his expression heartbroken. “If that comes to pass, please, let Shenira go. You mustn’t kill one of the Braves of the Six Flowers.”
His wife couldn’t reply.
“I know just how much you love Shenira, and that’s why it frightens me that you may invite disaster in order to protect her.”
“They won’t lose. The Braves of the Six Flowers will not lose.” Mora averted her eyes.
Ganna gently embraced her and said, “Even if you were to kill one of the Six Braves, they still might be able to defeat the Evil God. But then what would become of Shenira after that? She would spend the rest of her life with a debt on her shoulders—the debt of being the daughter of a Brave-killer.”
“…”
“Shenira is a good girl. I know she’ll grow up to be a wonderful woman, like you. If she discovered someone she’d never met had died for her to live, it would surely bring her sorrow as an adult. It would wound her in a way that would never heal. I don’t wish that for her.”
“Stop it, Ganna. I can’t take it anymore.” Mora pushed her husband away and buried her face in a pillow.
“I’m sorry. I know this brings you more pain than me… I’m sorry.” He gently put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m a cruel father.”
“No…you’re not. Not…ever.” Mora buried her face in the pillow and sobbed.
It had been approximately one month ago,
