by Jane Baskin
These, murdered when found. Others, bringing home only the news that the North, as ever, hummed with industry as it always did in the summer months. The exact nature of the busiest factories, hidden by a superficial output of ordinary goods. Piping for central heating. Newly efficient boilers. Toilets. Perhaps in a gesture aimed at the South, carloads of toilets, heading toward the southbound trains.
The arms, moved by tunnels to special depots unknown even to the factory workers.
Nayan, like a cat on the hunt. Did he wonder if Darleigh wondered … about him? Did Darleigh dream at night of the varied ways in which he, Nayan, now the Lord of Cha-ning, would exact vengeance on an old fool?
Odds were, Darleigh knew nothing. Busy, most likely, running down the remaining peasant armies. Even with the blow of Gwildan’s death, these: still numerous. After Gwildan’s head met the pike, more vicious than ever. Southern lords: slow to learn. Slow to understand that martyrs inflame wars.
And southern lords: born for war. A warrior class. What to do with themselves, without an enemy?
Nayan, conferring with northern lords; all remaining at Cha-ning for the rest of the summer. Noar and other young leaders involved. Especially Zoren-te.
At first, some resistance to her involvement. (Mostly from Noar) But she: facing this resistance like a warrior. “This began with me. It ripened with the death of my family. It will end with me.” This, stated in a tone so flat, so matter of fact, so true: even Noar had no ready argument.
And in truth: Zoren-te, an excellent resource for mapping and strategizing the South.
Unsaid: the marriage contract between her and Nayan, still in effect. But this: no time for weddings.
Nayan: patient. Known to be a patient hunter, when the time called for it. If stores of meat ran low in winter: could lie in wait in the cold for a day and a night, to get the right shot. Asked by many how he could do it. Shrugged. “I’d rather set my mind to the cold, than stay out there for a few hours and miss the shot.” The other answer: the lions taught me … unsaid.
Could just decide not to be cold, just choose to slow his metabolism … and it was done.
So now, when young and old soldiers from all over the North chafed at the bit to ride south, Nayan: able to wait.
“It’s not cold enough yet. We’ll lose half our number just crossing the equator.”
“Commandeer a train, the way Darleigh did.”
“I have no such authority with the train companies.”
“How did Darleigh do it?”
“I have no idea. But you can bet that since he did it, he’ll be on the watch for it. We’d never make it through the border checks. He’d probably meet us there.”
Unpleasantly correct, this. Everyone knowing: a jungle crossing. Tough, but their only option.
But waiting in sorrow: oh. Sorrow driving rage, and rage, needing an outlet. To put the sorrow down in the hot rush of killing something.
Still Nayan, able to wait. And People – oddly? – able to let him lead. Not quite thirty years old … and able to command.
Even the elders, Aurast, Rhymney, others: quiet before Nayan’s other-wordly judgment.
“He’s been there.”
“The young lord knows what he’s doing.”
“He knows.”
Unsaid: He’s always been weird. He knows things. Just knows.
Less often said, but that much more true: the young lord’s partner: their greatest ally. Because Zoren-te was from the South, a daughter of Vel. Because she knew not only the keep of Vel but Darleigh as well, the two lords having been close enough through marriage to have partly lived at each others’ homes. Zoren-te: knowing the keeps, knowing Darleigh’s people and his commanders, knowing southern customs. All of which: invaluable to the North.
Which knew: they would be hopeless outnumbered by southern armies. Just Vel and Darleigh alone: twice or three times the number of northern warriors.
So Zoren-te and Nayan: planning much of the action apart from Noar and the others. Long nights in his rooms, maps spread out on tables. Many of these different from the maps spread out on library tables downstairs. Communicating silently, no need for words. Just thinking to one another. Zoren-te: able to not just describe, but show Nayan the layout of the castles, the surrounding areas. Sending him the pictures in her head. Enabling him to see what she saw, in her mind’s eye.
Once, Noar entering Nayan’s rooms on some errand, seeing the obvious tools of war. Zoren-te: absent at that moment. Noar, confronting Nayan about it: “What’s this? Do you and Zoren have something of your own going on here?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Noar, running his hand over what appeared to be a map of private rooms at Vel. “This is different from the maps downstairs.”
“It’s the map of her family’s rooms. So what?”
“Why isn’t it shared?”
“It will be.”
Noar, turning from the maps. Crossing to a window, staring out for a while. Then crossing back to a fireside chair, seating himself. “Look, Nayan. I know your feelings for this girl. I know the alliance Mother and Father wanted to make. But that’s all gone, now … isn’t it? There’s no point to an alliance now. What’s going on here?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You treat the girl like a partner. Like a wife. You’re not seriously planning to execute the marriage contract, are you?”
Nayan, sitting down in the other chair, facing his brother. “Yes, I’m planning to marry Zoren. I asked her to marry me before Mother and Father’s maneuverings. I want to marry her.”
“Have you noticed she’s a southerner?”
“Noar, you don’t know anything.”
That. The way he just – dismissed him. Noar, feeling his cheeks warming, his stomach tightening. His older brother. The lord, now. You don’t know anything. How many times had he said that to him?
The ugly old rivalry … now raising its head like a snake in warning.
Maybe Nayan … treading in a place he should not go.
21.Blood Flows in Veins and Rivers
Zoren-te, on the hunt with him. In his deepest heart, wanted her to stay at Cha-ning for safety. But. His try: faint-hearted at best. “I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“I wish neither of us would go, but we both have to.”
Nayan, understanding. Both their families, murdered. Her father’s head on a pike. No way in creation she would not join the war party.
Knowing: to have a partner worth having, would always run the risk of losing her. Reminded of his parents: their excellent match. Wondering how many times Father must have worried over Mother. Her bold advance against raiders, every time. The time she was surprised in her bedroom, asleep, by a spy lucky enough to get over the bridge … beating him senseless with a firebox tool. The time she threw two armed invaders off the great hall balcony single-handedly. Every time she rode her mad beast of a gantha. Who had dropped other riders to their deaths. Several of them.
But she was – as Father often confirmed – so worth having.
Nayan, knowing: if Zoren-te were to be his partner in living, she would also have to be his partner in danger.
So, waiting for summer to pass. For the edge of fall to become brittle. Waiting, as breezes blew, birds called their leaving, flowers withered over scores of graves.
Finally, Nayan, seeing his breath forming steam before his face. The first frost. The second. Now a hard freeze. Then the nights, turning cold for good.
Then all the pieces of a war machine, falling silently into place. The North, traditionally small group fighters. Experts at guerilla warfare. The terrain: too rough to move large armies or the machines of war. But their guerilla units: so deadly. Crafty in the way of hit and run, strike and retreat. So Nayan’s plan: move guerilla armies in small groups over the equator. Carrying weapons, supplies on pack animals. No motors, no noise. Moving in different directions, to regroup outside the keeps of Darleigh and Vel. Bra
ving, in their small groups, the second most deadly terrain on the planet: the equatorial jungle.
But Nayan and Noar, having some familiarity with this. Knowing spots that were passable and spots that were not. Mapping it out.
Cha-ning, the closest of the three northern provinces to the portion of the South now claimed by Darleigh. Claiming the widest peninsula that joined North and South, that hosted the planet’s largest city, that provided one of the fingerlike land bridges across the northern sea. The area most often infiltrated by southern spies. Often, performing for them. Spreading disinformation to forestall raids.
Now, using the excuse of a fall festival – which they had never had – to bring residents (and soldiers) from the cities. So that when groups departed for the South, the population of the castle/village would not drop noticeably.
Lord Gan and Lady Jiren-te of Aurast, Lord Augan and Lady Kir-ye of Rhymney; quietly joining the war parties. Leaving Rhymney’s Peoples’ armies to safeguard the Chani seed.
Ganthas rounded up from every farm, every keep. For every beast that carried a rider, another carried weapons and supplies. As quickly hidden as they were rounded up.
Massing in small knots here and there throughout Cha-ning Province. Behind villages, in barns, on the outskirts of towns. In patches of wood and open terrain too wild for spies to go unnoticed. Troop movement: stealthy. In small groups. Secret supply lines set up, stretching over train tracks from Sauran City southward … should they be needed. But this, doubtful. The action: planned – of course – as hit and run.
Much like the so-called peasants of the South.
While a wealth of disinformation poured over the message lines. Something about a new type of gell developed in the big research center just outside Sauran City. Gell that could be grown in the warmer months. That would make the crop a year-long staple. That would make the North rich beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.
Designed, of course, to draw raiders into the city. Where troops hidden in buildings, homes and sewer systems awaited their arrival.
In the end, so far as anyone watching could tell, Cha-ning Castle: still flying its black flags. Still encased in mourning. Not unusual, for the numbers of dead.
Above all: doing nothing out of the ordinary.
Crossing the equator. Hard; but not a soul lost among man or beast. Moving southward. Now: slowly, quietly, almost imperceptibly … reassembling into two groups. One north of Vel, one north of Darleigh. Both keeps, unusually close to one another, given the size of the provinces. But this: an ancient design. A design predicated upon alliance: if one were attacked, the other could come to its defense. An alliance that was always shaky; sometimes shredded. But not unwise. Lots of enemies, back in those days.
Now the two keeps: united strongly. By treachery and murder.
Northern groups, staying to the woods, not even entering the brush. But digging under it, yes. Lifting the brush, now burnt by summer and dried by fall winds; piling it up just a bit higher than normal. Not enough to be noticeable; just enough to hide the digging of trenches.
Quietly, by night. Giant trenches forming, stretching before Darleigh and Vel. Right at the tree line across from and to the sides the two castles. Encircling them. Hidden by brush, just waiting.
No fires. The southern autumn: like summer to northerners. All, subsisting now on dried meats, fruits, cheeses, nuts. Nothing that needed to be cooked. Not even speaking.
Not even speaking.
At last… the gift: out of its hidden den.
Had started with Che. Mourning over his mother’s corpse, his shredded heart wailing to all the heavens. I could have saved her! I could have saved them all! His thoughts, so ferocious, so entirely uncontainable, so unrestrained … heard.
Heard.
Heard by other young people, other defenders of the Cha-ning castle village. Who heard the wail inside their heads, who felt the agony in their own hearts. Who came running. Whose thoughts spread like a virus among themselves.
Heard also by many of the older residents. Who fought it at first. Whose heavy indoctrination from youth wrestled with the thing they were not supposed to name. To feel. To use.
But who, under the horrifying circumstances, finally let it forth.
Good thing (for him) that the expedition commander had already ordered a retreat.
Because the last few southern attackers to leave … stragglers … fell where they stood. Fell where they tried to walk. To run. Fell, bleeding from everywhere. Fell, brains coming out their noses. Fell, without a sound.
Just a handful of young northerners standing at the moat bridge. Killing. Just by seeing it.
And they … heard by everyone else.
I’m still nervous.
About what?
That the gene has been expressed.
You saw what happened back at the castle.
Yes. But …
Spit it out, old friend.
I’m nervous that you’ll still intervene.
I believe they can handle themselves. He won’t fall. None of them will.
Don’t be silly. Many will fall. Warmongers fall in war.
Yes of course. But the gene will not fall. It won’t let itself.
(Sigh) The gene has fallen before. I know you’ll intervene if –
If what?
You feel you must protect the gene. The seed.
All right then. You know me well, old friend. You’re right. If I feel the gene – or the seed – is at risk, I will probably intervene.
You’re reckless.
I’m committed. The gene must not fail. There are two civilizations to consider, here.
You’re saying the gene must not be allowed to fail.
Yes, that’s what I’m saying.
I must ask a most unorthodox question.
Yes.
Why?
Now, moving almost silently, one at a time as necessary. Ganthas kept at a distance, so if they shuffled or snorted it could not be heard.
In all, northern fighters … amazing at stealth. Even more so, with the gift now out of its cage. Not everyone having it, of course. But enough, so that stealth was easy. Camping within miles from two of the South’s most powerful keeps for five full days, without being noticed. While silent scouts infiltrated outbuildings, hiding explosives and containers of flammable liquids … especially at the weapons barns. Some, placed far south of the keeps, to be fired at just the right moment. Spies and soldiers, trickling into the castles themselves.
This, thanks to Zoren-te’s meticulous maps, and knowledge of the daily routine of those who were now her enemies. Knowing the shift changes of guards. Knowing their most vulnerable moments. And knowing, from her rebellious childhood, secret or unused entrances to the keeps.
Nayan, questioning her directly – finally. Zoren, we’re going to rain hellfire down on your home. Do you understand that?
I’m helping you do it. Of course I understand it.
But this is your home. This is where you grew up. All your memories are here.
Listen to me, Nayan. I miss my home, like I’ve told you before. But it’s not my home any more. I miss what’s in my memory. Everything else is gone. I’m the only survivor of my entire family. The most loyal servants, even the loyal soldiers – I know Darleigh. And he knows who they are – or were. I promise you, anyone who ever loved my family or me is dead. All my memories … are ghosts.
You’re sure of this.
Darleigh has always been in competition with Vel. For generations. The marriage alliances softened it … somewhat. But this Darleigh always resented my father. He resented his power, his intelligence, how people listened to him and followed him. All qualities he never had. He always bowed before my father, and resented him for it.
Killed him for it.
He must have been so delighted … to finally have an excuse.
Was that a flicker of moisture in her eye? But Zoren, this is more than revenge. You can never go home again.
; What a silly notion, Nayan. All that waits for me now is the pike.
Nayan, running a hand over his face. A sigh. We both know that. But it’s more than that.
What?
Zoren … Zoren, can you really make a life in the North?
Why would you ask that? I have for a year, now. And I like it there. It suits me. And with no one left to go home to … Yes, that’s moisture in her eyes. With no one left to go home to, the North is my home now.
Took her in his arms, rested his head on her head.
She, looking up at him for a moment. A smile. A little hesitant? And besides, the North has you.
Some northern soldiers, even getting inside the attics of both keeps. This, one of Zoren-te’s most deadly plans. Soldiers hiding with weapons and flammables. Also with Zoren-te’s palm sized bombs, that could be tossed by hand to explode on impact, sending shrapnel in every direction.
Even some of the female soldiers, posing as maids. Unnoticed as strangers, with all the shifting personnel of Darleigh’s recent maneuvers. The pistols and hand bombs inside their old fashioned, long, voluminous skirts – standard garb for housemaids – also unnoticed.
Now Darleigh’s patrols guarding the castle roofs; coming and going up the attic stairs. Stores of weapons in the attics, in case of attack. So that sharpshooters could arm themselves on their way to the roof.
Unless. Unless there were enemies hiding behind the stores of weapons.
Other northern scouts: hiding in closets just outside the line message room. With explosives, ready to blow the door when the action commenced.
Five full days of preparation, stealth. So deadly the purpose! Every northern soldier, simmering with the need to avenge his or her dead. But used to holding their rage in some sacred, quiet place. Used to being outclassed, by the very land upon which they lived. Used to being careful, expert. Used to leaving no room for mistakes. Used to hiding in wartime. To breathing quietly, to eating soundlessly, to eliminating their waste into sealed containers.
