Phantasia exploded into the audience chamber between the Patriarch and his target, hoping her last minute improvisation would work. The Patriarch’s attack manifested as a beam of black lightning, which crashed against her make-shift astral shield; if surrounding herself with purifying energy had been enough to dissolve the leansídhe, maybe it could act as a shield against darkness-fuelled magical attacks? There was no better way to test the theory than this!

It worked. The Patriarch’s attack crackled around her, but Phantasia’s own power subdued it, even as he intensified his assault. As the Patriarch attempted to overcome her defences, she heard Apeliotes’s voice in her head.

Why are you doing this? Why protect someone who isn’t on your side?

I don’t care about ‘sides’, she thought back. Just because we think differently doesn’t mean we can’t help one another!

The black lightning ceased and the Patriarch withdrew his hand into his gaudy robes. Phantasia could see, now her vision wasn’t clouded by his attack, that his appearance had changed: scythe-like tattoos traced along the lines of his face and down his neck like veins and there was a dull light in his eyes, which were now taking on a purple hue. These were the signs of a human who didn’t just use their internal chi energy, but embraced the mana around them and allowed it to flow through their body. Signs of someone who stood on the edge of sacrificing their material existence and embracing mana fully. Signs that, like a faerie’s wings, reflected the heart of the person.

The Patriarch’s markings began to recede into his skin and his eyes returned to their earthy brown hue, but the malevolent smile that split his face in two remained.

“An interesting ability you have there,” he said, “From the sudden change of clothes and phasing through solid matter, I can only assume you must also be one of those nasty little nature spirits. Garland certainly has a fondness for loitering around your kind, it seems,”

Apeliotes was standing beside Wotan, who held a protective arm around the boy, but they remained silent, watching Phantasia for her next move. Since one of her so-called abilities had worked, she thought it best to try another and tried to breathe in as much uncorrupted mana as there was left in the polluted manor.

“This fighting is pointless,” she said, “What’s the point in continuing this cycle of corruption? If you fight each other you just help push the world towards its death! Everyone has a different opinion, so why don’t we respect each other and work together?”

The Patriarch’s smile vanished, to be replaced with an amused smirk. “I’m not sure I understand you,” he said, “Are you suggesting I should forgive Garland his sins and leave the heretics of this town in peace?”

“Yes! What harm can they do you?”

The Patriarch shook his head slowly and struggled to contain his sniggering. “You poor, deluded thing! If I did that, there wouldn’t be peace! Garland and his conspirators would continue to oppose us Patriarchs and we would be forced into open conflict! How can you say we should avoid that, when what you’re suggesting we do will only lead to it?”

Phantasia scuffed her feet on the carpet as she tried to think of an argument. Only the simplest one came to mind. “Why can’t all of you just be friends? You, Bishop Wotan, Mr Payne, the Patriarchs – everybody?”

Chapter 22
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