The more they read, the more was revealed of the Mother.
"Ma’am," Richard couldn’t help but speak up.
"Hmm?" Mrs. MacNeil responded from the center.
"You knew from the beginning that the children were also the materials?"
"Of course," Mrs. MacNeil replied matter-of-factly. "Otherwise, if I’d killed them all, we wouldn’t be able to do any reading tonight."
In that moment, Richard understood the true meaning of the first round of the fight.
Captain Whitfield’s axe could never have killed the children, not from the very beginning.
Sarah’s Silver-Lead Bullets could only pierce their hearts, not make them dissipate.
The two Hunters were tasked with one job: "holding them in place."
Hold the children in place and let Mr. Hutton and the four Newcomers read them, section by section.
This was tonight’s true Crossing Veil.
Every time a child emerged, Mr. Hutton would tear away a section of the inscription it carried.
"Edmund, the words lighting up on the back of the third child to the northeast."
"’In nomine Spiritus Sancti’ (In the name of the Holy Spirit)."
"And after that?"
"’Qui pacem dat’ (He who gives peace)."
"The one who grants peace," Mr. Hutton confirmed. "The Gaelic counterpart? Maggie."
"’An tí a thugann síocháin’ (The one who bestows peace)," Maggie recited smoothly.
"Your Gaelic is way better than your Latin," Theodore mumbled under his breath from his position.
"Still better than you knowing nothing at all," Maggie shot back, her eyes fixed on the floor.
"Focus," Mr. Hutton said, not tolerating any distractions.
"Yes," the two Newcomers replied in unison.
"Richard, connect it."
Richard pulled the corresponding transitional inscription from his mind.
This set was more difficult than the last, because the Medieval Church and the Pre-Roman Druids had entirely different narratives for the concept of "peace."
The Church’s peace was the "peace of heaven."
His Scholarship dredged up a passage from his mind: an early bilingual vocabulary list from the Alexandrian School, set eleven, line three.
"’Pax inter lapides’ (peace among the stones)," Richard called out.
"Good." Mr. Hutton drew a line on the Rubbing Copy with his red pencil.
The second segment of the Judgment came online.
It shot out and latched onto the third child to the northeast, yanking it to a halt.
The rhythm of the deconstruction was picking up. Richard’s mouth was painfully dry; his microcirculation was on fire.
The faster he recited, the faster he burned. The faster he burned, the faster his mouth dried out.
He used Breath Healing to moisten his throat.
The breath flowed through him, mending the strain on his body.
"Maggie."
"Here."
"The sixth child to the west."
"I can’t read all of it," Maggie said, slightly out of breath.
"If you can’t read the whole thing, just recite what you can."
"’Ash’ or ’salt’... I can’t tell which."
"Which section on her body is lit up?"
"The section on her shoulder."
"In the Pre-Roman system, the shoulder section corresponds to ’salt’," Mr. Hutton judged instantly. "Go with salt."
"Yes. ’An tí a chuireann salann’ (The one who scatters salt)," Maggie recited anew.
"Good."
"Edmund, the bridging term for salt in the Medieval system."
"’Qui spargit sal’ (He who spreads salt)."
"Richard, connect it."
Richard’s mind was already buzzing.
"’Sal sub umbra’ (salt beneath the shadow)."
"Salt beneath the shadow," Mr. Hutton confirmed. "Good."
The sixteenth child slipped past the captain.
It seeped up through a minuscule crack.
When the captain swung his axe, it slipped past the back of the blade.
When Sarah raised her shotgun, it slipped under the barrel.
The golden threads spat out by the wolf were busy intercepting another figure pouncing from due north, and paid it no heed.
It emerged halfway from the floor and seeped into Richard’s shadow.
A weight settled in Richard’s chest, and the next segment of the Judgment he was about to recite caught in his throat.
He looked down. His shadow had folded at his feet, and from within the crease, the face of the sixteenth child emerged.
’Shit.’
Mr. Hutton caught it in his periphery. The red pencil in his right hand paused, but he couldn’t move either.
On the outer circle, Captain Field’s roars echoed one after another.
Sarah let out a muffled grunt, having been struck in the shoulder by something.
Richard tried to reach for his gun, but he was completely pinned down.
He gritted his teeth, and an idea suddenly struck him.
Shadow Armor was the inverse of Stone Armor.
It added the "weight" of stone to a target’s shadow, making the target heavier.
But his target now was his own shadow.
He couldn’t add weight to his own shadow; that would only make him heavier.
He needed to stabilize his shadow. Shadows were, by their nature, things of the Ether Layer.
The essence of Breath Healing was using Ether as a restorative medium.
’What if I push this restorative effect down from my chest and apply it to the shadow at my feet?’
Richard didn’t waste another thought.
On the exhalation of the third cycle, he reversed the direction of the Healing from his chest.
Instead of mending his microcirculation inward, he directed it outward to mend his shadow.
The breath traveled down from the Throne of the Sun.
It passed through his abdomen, crossed his hips, and flowed down the Ether pathways along the inside of his legs to his ankles.
He pushed the breath down past his ankles, out the soles of his feet, and into the shadow beneath him.
The shadow accepted it. Richard knew instantly that it was working.
Its once-fluid edges stabilized, and the breath smoothed out the crease.
The half-emerged head of the sixteenth child was forced back into the shadow from below by this wisp of restorative medium.
Richard’s shadow changed from a fluid state to a solid one.
His shadow was now more stable than one in the Material Realm.
"Are you clear?" Mr. Hutton asked from his side.
"I’m clear," Richard replied, panting.
"...Ma’am, it seems your help isn’t needed after all."
"Then continue," Mrs. MacNeil replied from the center.
She gestured, and the Moonstone Pendant Spirit, which had been about to move to Richard’s feet to "negotiate," returned to its post.
"Right." Richard quickly finished reciting the stuck segment of the Judgment: "’The one who grants shadows to his own children’."
"Not bad." Mr. Hutton’s red pencil slashed across the paper.
’Breath Healing’s stabilizing effect on shadows seems to be stronger than its restorative effect on the physical body,’ Richard silently mused.
’Probably because shadows are already on the Ether Layer.’
’Repairing the physical body requires converting Ether from a restorative medium into a form the flesh can absorb. There’s an efficiency loss in that conversion.’
’A shadow is just an echo on the Ether Layer, so no conversion is necessary.’
He made a mental note of this.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
"Richard, connect it."
Richard’s mind spun again as he struggled to call up the corresponding term from the Alexandrian School:
"’Consolatio sub velo’ (’comfort beneath the veil’)."
Mr. Hutton confirmed, "Good."
As Richard recited, he glanced toward the outer circle.
The Judgment was nearly complete. The Scholars’ blade was almost forged.
But the situation on the floor was changing. Sarah was already injured.
The Female Hunter had an impact mark on her left shoulder. An Ether wound wouldn’t bleed, but she had to brace her left wrist firmly against her knee just to load each bullet.
She was aiming at another tangled shape pouncing from the North—three children balled together, lunging for Edmund’s feet.
If that circle of light was broken, Edmund’s post would be lost.
If Edmund’s post fell, one of the four corners of the outer circle would be gone. The central formation would have to redistribute the weight, making it even harder for Mrs. MacNeil to free her hands.
Sarah had to break up those three children first.
BANG!
She fired another shot.
On the other side of the outer circle, Captain Field’s roars turned into pained grunts.
Richard glanced over.
A hand was clamped on the captain’s left thigh, and it had begun to seep into his muscle.
The child was "eating" the captain’s shadow.
For a Hunter in a heightened state, the pain was temporarily suppressed.
It hurt, but not enough to affect his movements.
The captain gritted his teeth, hacking at numbers twenty and twenty-one.

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