“Sound? There’s no sound,” he says, mirroring my thoughts. “Just let me pass—please.”
Leon nods to Alastor, and the blond fae steps closer, addressing the man.
“There are several sets of footsteps approaching from the way you just came. Who do they belong to?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Alastor use his magic on someone else, and it’s fascinating to watch. The man’s face relaxes, the panic disappearing as his eyes go slightly glazed. I remember the sensation of being flooded with trust, thinking Alastor was my best friend.
“It’s the Temple.”
“Who from the Temple, and why are they following you?” Alastor presses.
The man’s eye twitches, like part of him is trying to resist answering, but his mouth opens, and he starts to speak again.
“It’s the cleavers. I’m moving some loot. Stolen Temple property, gold votives and the like. They’ve been hunting me since Xatus. Even coming into the tunnels didn’t shake them. So when I heard you, I ran your way, figuring I could lead them to you and then use you as a distraction to buy me time to escape.”
“The cleavers?” Alastor throws Leon a look. “They didn’t have those when we were here last. Which ones are they?”
My blood ran cold as soon as I heard the name, and I answer before the man does.
“The cleavers are the Temple’s hunters,” I explain. “They use them in the purges. They’re not like normal clerics.”
“You’ve met one?” Leon asks.
“No, but I’ve heard the stories.”
Leon curses. “We don’t need a confrontation with the Temple right now.” He turns back to the smuggler. “You’re going to show us the route you were planning to take out of here.”
He roughly drops the smuggler to the ground, who scrambles to his feet and, without another word, bolts back the way he came. Even I can hear the cleavers’ footsteps now, marching in perfect unison like a loud drumbeat striking the earth over and over.
“Move faster—we have to follow him,” Leon says to me. “And on the way, tell us what you know.”
We sprint after the smuggler as I give them what little information I have.
“The cleavers are trained like soldiers—and their focus is hunting blasphemers.”
“So far, not scary,” Alastor says. “Plenty of soldiers in the world. What’s so special about them?”
I struggle with how to get across the sheer, icy dread everyone feels when they so much as mention the cleavers. “Their name is only ever whispered, like saying it too loud would summon them…and the evil they bring with them.”
“Like some sort of nightmare,” Alastor says and Leon’s back tenses.
“I don’t know for sure exactlyhowthey train them. The rumors are…” I grimace, “…varied. But they say that by the end they’re not truly human anymore. More like puppets—empty shells. Some people have tried to bribe them, plead with them, seduce them. But the cleavers have no conscience and no mercy. All they have are their orders, and they follow them to the end, no matter what. The high clerics lead the purges, but the cleavers do the dirty work.”
The marching is only getting louder as the smuggler darts down a side passage. We turn left after him, along a narrow offshoot with no torches that eventually leads us back out into a main passageway.
“Anything else?” Leon asks, grabbing my wrist and pulling me in the right direction when I almost take a wrong turn.
“A lot of them are twin-blessed,” I explain. “But they select for the most dangerous combinations.”
It’s a unique privilege to be one of those rare people born with two powers. It means the patron god of your element has gifted you twice over. You might be a geostri who can charm rabbits but also grow grapes, or an aquari who can summon dew and purify water to drink. All twin-blessed are automatically recruited by the Temple, but not all of them become cleavers. That’s reserved for those with the deadliest powers.
“Slow down,” Leon orders the smuggler after he disappears around a particularly sharp corner. But when we reach the turn, he’s gone. Leon runs ahead, and I hear him curse again.
“Bastard knows this labyrinth like a rat in a sewer,” he growls. When we reach him, I see we’re at an intersection of four different passageways, with no indication as to which way the smuggler went.
“I can’t hear him over that damned marching,” Alastor says, glancing back the way we came.
“We won’t find him again now,” Leon says, raising his sword. “He left us behind on purpose. He’s back to his plan of using us as a distraction for him.”
