Earthwitch

8. Wenyanga

Wenyanga tapped their rings against one of the pillars lining the hallway while Thula opened her medical kit on the floor.

"What do you think?" she said, laying out gold instruments on a silk mat.

Wenyanga stared at the only door in the passage, and shrugged. "The day started on a bad note, I woke up thinking it would end on a bad note, and it's almost noon."

Sanele grunted and his soul flared. It was a subtle warning, but every Petty-level guard within earshot would feel it. Thula kept organizing her kit without missing a beat.

"You'll want to stop flexing your soul so close to a dying Judge," Wenyanga said.

There was no one else in the hallway, or even this part of the wing, but they could sense the buzz of people coming in and out of the manse, and the dim noise of a thousand souls throughout the town.

"I appreciate a cool spirit under pressure," Sanele said, "but not a casual one. We are in a very dangerous moment."

"Soul extractions aren't dangerous," Wenyanga said. "They're either perfectly safe or fatal."

Sanele folded his heavy arms. "Which is why I consider it good fortune that you and the doctor happened to be visiting. I defer to your council, but I am still chief here."

"A Judge's soul is tricky," Thula said. "It doesn't just hang around as the body dies. It tries to fight back, and that makes it more volatile as the moment nears."

"So what would you advise?"

"I think it would be wise to evacuate the town, Chief."

Sanele looked uncomfortable. "I'd rather we handle this without anyone ever knowing."

"Then let them stay," Wenyanga cut in. "If a soul that powerful ruptures, they'll die before they know it. And just our luck, there's already a funeral going on."

A cold wind blew through the hallway, rippling Wenyanga's heavy white robe. A frown twitched inside Sanele's beard. 

"Beloved," Thula said, "enough."

"Let me guess," Wenyanga said, "you don't want anyone knowing there's some monster in your desert that can kill a Judge."

That frown deepened.

"Which means it's powerful enough to kill ten of you, Chief." Wenyanga threw their hands up. "Evacuate the town or don't, but do me a favour, don't base the decision on politics."

Sanele sighed, and bowed his head. "There's something else."

"Surprising."

"The Judge came here as a bounty hunter," Sanele said. "I paid him to hunt down the Pettygod. If his death becomes news, the Paramount will want to know what killed him, and that means the royal family getting involved."

And there it was, the only reason people in power ever did anything. The royal family getting involved carried the same meaning as "the hyenas have caught the scent."

Wenyanga opened their third eye, and felt the hint of pure power thrumming behind the door. "It's already too late for that. The Paramount will feel it as soon as he dies. I'd be surprised if she isn't sending a royal party to... investigate."

The euphemism hung in the air like a stench.

"Evacuate the town, Chief. If the Paramount sees that you tried to keep your people safe, maybe she'll just strip your title, and not your soul."