Page 28 of Soul Hate

G oosebumps rise up my arms. Bile pools at the back of my tongue as the cheap door between the inside room and the courtyard opens.

“Here.” Idris sets a wooden cup on the stone floor where I’m sitting. This little courtyard is protected from the breeze by large crumbling walls that box out pretty much everything but the sun. The sky is a brilliant blue as sweet birds call to each other from the undulating rooftops.

For a moment I forget the bloodshed. Forget the horror and the death.

But not for long.

Alfieri, Emilia and Serra left an hour ago via the sewers to scout for more information, whatever that means. Michelle is taking care of Giulia, who has returned upstairs for another nap. There is still a lot of healing for her body to do, though thankfully some colour is returning to her cheeks as the Red Root leaves her system.

I’ve spent that time resting—on strict orders from my friends. Apparently I’m to try and recover while coming up with a plan, as though such a thing is easy. I cross one leg over the other, the stone biting uncomfortably into my butt as a wave of goosebumps crawls over my arms. Tilting my head down, I watch Idris’s shadow sink to the ground on the other side of the doorway. His back rests against the opposite side of this wall. With only a wall between us, he leaves the door open so we can speak.

I pick the wooden cup off the ugly stone patio. “Thank you,” I say, sipping on the water much to the delight of my dry lips.

“No worries. So, you got anything good?”

I sigh, running a finger around the rim of the cup. “Lots of bad ideas. You?”

“Lots of bad ideas,” he agrees.

I snort. “Shame. I thought you might’ve spent time with some master coup strategist during your world tour,” I tease.

“No. Eight months in Rhone with the Sarpong family. But… nothing we can use here.”

“You’re such a name-dropper,” I groan half-heartedly, tilting my head back against the cold wall. Its gentle chill soaks into my shoulders, providing a moment of relief against the brewing headache.

“Had to do something with my travels,” he chuckles, completely unabashed.

“What really happened in Malaya?” the questions spills forwards. Idris is quiet for a minute.

“What did Nouis tell you?”

“That you killed his best friend,” I summarise quickly, deciding not to breathe any more life into the potential lies I’ve fallen for. Idris pauses for a long time before telling his version of events

“I went to Malaya with some friends I’d made in Coari, to learn the art of mind-stilling. We’d been there for about six months, studying with their spiritual guides, helping amongst the community, befriending the locals, when Nouis’s expedition turned up,” Idris says, a sigh lurking in his voice. “Instantly they started to rub people up the wrong way. They were so disparaging of the local people, their culture, and above all their religious practices. The Church Militia, with their black and white garbs, called themselves defenders of the Holy Faith—but they were just insulting and disrespectful of their hosts. It was appalling to even think I shared a faith with these people. Their conduct made me question a lot of my beliefs in the Father Fate and his Daughters, Sister Love and Sister Hate.” Idris sighs again before continuing, “Still, they demanded they be allowed to look around. They demanded entrance everywhere, including a great spiritual temple called Sadhu. Sadhu is a temple reserved for Spiritual Vestals—holy women, their versions of nuns. Many live their lives in isolation there, for a variety of reasons. Others train up in skills like midwifery or other service skills. It’s also a refuge for any woman in strife. Anyway, they forced their way into this sacred sanctuary.”

I close my eyes to the horror of what comes next. Nouis’s crooked words and half-truths change their footing and make me want to vomit.

“While looking around, as they called it, Nouis’s commander Orsino found his Soulmate. A girl called Ananda. She was a Vestal, a midwife—one of the most talented in the region. Ananda refused to leave with him, so he tried to take her by force. But no one would let him. It wasn’t just the other Vestals; everyone in the village was alerted and came to try and help her. We of course rushed with them. Ananda had delivered many of the babies in not only this village but many of the surrounding provinces. Every man and woman knew someone she’d saved. She’s beloved and the people were ready to leap to her defence without hesitation. But by the time we got there, the fight had already broken out. So many were dead, including many of the Vestals. Unarmed.”

Idris’s voice gets thick. He pauses, clearly skipping parts of a story that aren’t relevant or are too painful to voice aloud.

“I managed to find Orsino, in the chaos. Then I saw him, in a fit of rage, shove his Soulmate into a bonfire.”

The gasp had my mouth hanging open in horror. My eyes burn with how wide they are; my stomach pushes bile up my throat until I almost gag. How could someone do something so awful?

“So yes, I killed him,” Idris said, voice low, lethal and filled with regret, not for his actions but for not feeding an altogether darker instinct, “And chased Nouis and his company all the way back to their ships and off that continent. After everything, we didn’t stay long. The locals weren’t too fond of violent outsiders anymore—and I couldn’t blame them.”

“Did she survive, Ananda?”

“Fate’s Mercy, she did. But covered in burns from head to toe.”

I sit there for a long moment, trying desperately to understand how on earth I could ever have believed Nouis’s version of events. My stomach curdles. My mouth fills with something sour.

We soak in the silence for a long time, breathing slowly.

Idris clears his throat, clearly aiming to lighten the mood. “So let’s hear your bad ideas. Because we don’t have long to get even a bad idea into motion.”

I take a deep breath, blinking to clear my head and bring my thoughts back to the problem at hand. “If we can close the gates, the army will pause. Because having open gates will be part of the plan?”

“I would’ve thought so. Bellandi wouldn’t make this harder for the Askerler Company, given it’s all a ploy anyway. Besides, closed gates means someone in the city knows they’re coming, and this is supposed to be a surprise attack from foreign enemies. No one inside the city is ‘supposed’ to know it’s coming.”

“Okay. And you think if Bellandi is dead and the gates are closed, you can use your connection to the Askerler Company leaders to convince the army to turn around?” I reaffirm.

“That sums it up.”

I set my cup down, dragging my feet up the stone until I can hug my knees. “So, first issue,” I state out loud, “we need to close the gates. We need to ring the warning bells which are in the Watchtower.”

“Which is in the Market Square … which will be absolutely crawling with Militia because that’s where the cardinal is.”

“The positive being that hopefully it’ll be mostly City Guard manning the gates. Meaning if we ring the bells, they’ll actually close them.”

“‘Hopefully’ and ‘if’ are not great planning words,” Idris groans, “but I agree.”

Silence passes between us for a second, both of us aware of the increasingly dwindling chance of this happening. I rub my eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Okay. So, we need a distraction so you can get inside the Watchtower,” I start again.

“Yes, it should be me,” Idris agrees as though he was expecting to fight me on this. “Undoubtedly they’ll be guarding the bells, meaning there’ll be violence.”

“If we get the distractions right, you won’t face too much.”

“That’s fine. I’m used to dangerous situations.”

My heart spasms. I bite my lip, looking down at my knees. Guilt flickers up my gut—his educational world tour had brought him this much danger? A world tour he took because of me.

“That doesn’t handle the Guard in the city,” Idris pushes forwards.

“No, but if we can convince the City Guard to fight with us, that we are the ones to trust, then maybe we could win. Particularly if the Militia aren’t expecting a fight within our walls.”

“It’ll be bloody … but we stand a chance,” Idris muses unhappily. “I suppose this could work. But it all hinges on those damn bells. So, distraction ideas. What have you got?”

“Well … I’m thinking we’ll actually need at least two. Bellandi will be expecting something. But the more we have… the more we confuse him.”

“Smart. Two distractions then. One big and obvious. One more subtle?”

“Exactly. Get him chasing his tail.”

“What could we do?”

“Serra has an explosion throwing machine,” I begin.

Idris barks with laughter. “What is it with your friends and explosions?”

“Hey, we didn’t start this,” I point out.

“Bunch of pyros,” he teases. “Still, I owe you an apology about Serra. You were right to rescue her. The more time I spend with her, the more I like her.”

“Yeah, she’s like that.” I don’t fight the wry smile spilling over my face.

“Okay, so explosion distraction. Alright, that’s big and obvious sorted. Any other ideas?”

The best idea is the one he’ll like the least. I hesitate before speaking, tensing for his backlash. “Me.”

The air instantly chills. All warmth drops from Idris’s voice. “What?”

“If I turn up, Bellandi will be preoccupied. I can be the distraction.”

“That’s suicide,” hisses Idris.

“It would work.”

“This is a sick joke. Tell me you’re not serious,” Idris snaps at me.

“It could work.”

“Bellandi will kill you.” Idris’s voice shakes the door. “You’ll die regardless of whether the City Guard fight or not, of whether we win or not!”

“Then I’ll die saving my city. Saving my home,” I shout back, hating the way my voice rings off the wall. Idris pants furiously, the shadow of his fist shakes on the floor.

“Selfish,” he hisses. “We need you—the people need you—and you’re going to give up? After everything?”

Selfish? After everything I’ve lost. After everything I’ve been through?

That bolt stole the air from my lungs.

“This isn’t giving up,” I gasp incredulously. “This is a strategic sacrifice.”

“No, it’s a loud and messy suicide. A spectacle of martyrdom.” His fist slams into the door, and it swings back to slam against the wall. I flinch backwards, knocking the cup on the floor and pooling water over the stone between us.

Silence hovers between us, brittle and thick.

“I can’t…” His whisper barely limps to my ear. “I can’t lose you too.”

Blinking, words flee from my tongue as my lungs swell painfully. “Idris?—”

“I have lost everything. Everyone.” Idris’s voice cracks at his confession. “You are all I have. You are all that’s left of my world. I can’t lose that. I can’t lose you. I cannot watch you die. Please don’t make me.”

I sniff, wiping the water bleeding from my swollen eyes. He’s right. He’s become a constant in my life, an important strength I can’t let go. Someone I can rely on in a way I didn’t realise I needed.

I reach out, wrapping my fingers softly over the fist he slammed into the ground. I soak into the fiery warmth of his touch, drawing strength from the sensation that is entirely Idris.

“Isn’t it funny? Two weeks ago I thought I’d be lucky if I never saw you again. If you died some other way. But now? When Nouis was going to hurt you, all I felt was horror and pain. I couldn’t bear to watch you die,” I admit softly.

“What’s all this about dying?”

Michelle appears in the room behind us, Giulia at her side. Giulia squeezes through the open door towards the courtyard, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. Sunshine traces a crown through her blonde curls and dusts her skin with gold. Behind her walks Michelle wearing a quizzical expression.

“Renza has a suicide plan,” scowls Idris. Giulia sighs, as though not surprised.

“It would work,” I argue indignantly, hurriedly getting to my feet.

“We like you breathing, Renza.” Michelle rolls her eyes and folds her arms. “So any plan where you die is a non-starter.”

“We need distractions for the Militia so I can get into the Watchtower and ring the emergency bells to close the gates. Something other than Renza turning herself over,” Idris says, catching them up quickly.

“Distraction you say? Spectacle?” Michelle asks, a wicked grin springing to her face. “I think we might be able to muster some of those. Spectacle is something we Garden professionals are rather known for.”

“There’s a massive crowd in Market Square—we should be able to use that. What about actors pretending to see you? Even be you?” suggests Giulia, “They could even dress up like Church Militia and lead them marching in the wrong direction and barking the wrong orders.”

“I love it!” grins Michelle. “Break them into groups chasing down fakes.”

“Even if we could find people stupid enough to do this, what happens after that?” I argue. “When the Militia work the trick out, they’ll kill the actors.”

“Not if the actors get away,” points out Giulia.

“Or, hear me out on this … what if we lead them into traps,” Michelle says excitedly. “There are loads of little corners in Halice, ones the Church Militia won’t know about. We could design some traps around the city to take them out.”

“What kind of traps?” Idris moves to stand with us in the courtyard.

“Prisons, explosions, collapsing walls,” Michelle begins to list, eyes lighting up with ideas. “We can use the sewers to move around and set them all up tonight.”

“How? How are we meant to do all this?” I argue hotly. “We are only seven people.”

“We’ll get the whole Garden in on this,” grins Michelle. “They love you and will absolutely believe us. You can bet everyone will be begging to get their own back on the Militia.”

“They’re the best and brightest. If any set of people can pull this off, it’s The Garden,” says Giulia.

“This could work,” Idris mutters softly. “If we can thin out the Militia numbers, when the City Guard fight back they’ll have the numbers and a home-field advantage. We could win that fight if enough of the traps work.”

Horrified, my heart thunders in my chest. My mouth goes dry. My throat closes up.

“The City Guard need a leader,” says Idris. “They need Captain Collier to rally them quickly.”

“That could be your job, Renza. Get to Captain Collier and persuade him to fight,” Giulia suggests. “You’re so good with people.”

“He’ll be in Market Square. Bellandi will keep him close, just to be safe,” Idris adds. “You’ll have to find a way to get his attention to talk to him privately.”

“The crowds in Market Square should make it possible,” says Giulia. “You could blend in with them.”

“So this is the plan? Actors tricking one of the deadliest armies on the continent into setting off last- minute traps crafted in the dead of night that were transported through sewers? All in the hope that we can convince the City Guard to rally together and fight off what’s left of the Church Militia—if enough of the traps work? In that time, Idris will sneak into the church building and ring some bells to close the gates to an approaching army. That’s what we’ve got?” I repeat.

This is going to be a disaster .

“It’s not a guaranteed plan,” Idris admits. “But it could work.”

“This is going to be fun. I’ll go gather the others,” says Michelle, planting a kiss on Giulia’s cheek as she hurries over to the hatch leading to the sewers and drops down. I stare at the hole in the stone as she vanishes from view. Giulia comes to my side, wrapping a hand around my arm.

“This will work,” she promises. “We can do this.”

I grip her hand tightly, heart spasming in my chest.

“If we pull this off, it’ll be a miracle.”