Page 118 of Terror at the Gates

“What does all this have to do with the dagger?” I asked. “You said there were seven and that they were once this sword?”

“The Deliverer,” she said. “It is relevant because reforged, the sword can open any of the seven gates.”

“Why was it…unmade?” I asked. I didn’t know what term I should use, but it seemed like a valid question.

“It was broken by the prophets who shared the seven pieces,” she said. “As the Deliverer, it posed a threat to their power.”

I considered asking how they’d all been able to handle the blade without dying, but I thought I could guess—it was their blood.Myblood.

I drew my tongue over my bottom lip. Suddenly, it felt harder to breathe.

“You said the church has three blades and I have one. Where are the other three?”

She had to guess I would ask, and she went rigid, her lips pursed.

“They are with the Order of the Serpent,” she said.

I raised my brows. I’d never heard of such a group. “And who are they?”

“Your church would call us witches, but the magic we practice is no different from the magic they steal from the Elohai. It is only witchcraft when it does not serve the archbishop.”

Well, that hit close to home.

“We are women who are tired of giving away our power,” she said. “Aren’t you tired?”

I straightened. I thought about asking her how she knewI had magic, but I realized she knew because I hadn’t died handling the blade.

“Tired, sure,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I didn’t want her to know that her question had made some deep part of me ache with the desire to be free. “But what does all this have to do with the blade?”

“If we remake the Deliverer,” she said, “we can free the true gods.”

I sat in confused silence.

“Why would we do that?” I asked.

“Because they have promised to serve us if we can open the Seventh Gate.”

“How can they make promises when they are trapped beneath a mountain?”

“I told you we are witches,” she said. “They have chosen us to save them.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “You’re serious? Can’t you hear yourself? You sound just like the Elohai who claimed to be prophets.”

She scowled. “We are not like them. Theyenslavedus.”

“How do you know it is a god who speaks to you from under the mountain? It could be…anything.”

“You sound like a woman raised in the church,” she said.

I clenched my jaw.

“Has it ever occurred to you that the prophets who wrote theBook of Splendorwarned us against communicating with unknown entities so we would not heed the pleas of our true gods?”

“As plausible as that might be, how can you trust their word?”

“Faith,” said Saira.

I scoffed. “I’m not interested in the belief required forfaith.”