The Worldbreaker Saga Omnibus

by Kameron Hurley

  Zezili walked over to the next tent where a long table was set up. Three fires blazed nearby, one with tea and two with some kind of bubbling stew. She didn’t want either and still found it bizarre no one here had interrogated her yet. Maybe they were all busy working on the ship. Maybe she didn’t look dangerous? The second idea bothered her. Did she not look dangerous anymore, with her clear skin and lack of scars and all her limbs in place? She wondered if she could find a mirror. Zezili sat at the table where a few Dhai were having tea. They tried to make conversation, but she didn’t want tea and she didn’t want to talk.

  “You know where I can find a mirror?” she asked.

  “The infirmary,” one said.

  “Maralah may have one,” said another.

  “Who’s Maralah?”

  “Tall Saiduan woman, older. Very growly. Makes a face like this.” The man scrunched up his face as if he tasted something sour. The others laughed.

  Zezili didn’t want to get too far away from Lilia. The trouble with not being used to pain and discomfort anymore was that when it came, it bothered her more than it probably should have.

  She wandered back to the infirmary instead, and asked the Saiduan doctor for a mirror.

  The woman returned with a palm-sized mirror framed in silver. It had once had a handle, but it had been broken or seared off.

  Zezili held the mirror back as far as she could and scrutinized her face. She barely recognized herself. Some younger version of who she had been stared back, all soft skin – hardly a wrinkle or a crease, and certainly no scars. The Empress of Dorinah’s cats had left her with a monstrous visage, and seeing herself as she had been when she was newly recruited into the woman’s army brought with it a wash of both good and terrible memories. Her marriage to Anavha. The fights with her sisters over him. The estate the Empress granted her, and the dajians who were as useful to her as her dogs. Daolyn. What had ever happened to Daolyn, that eager little gem of a dajian? She had made the best coats.

  Lost in memories, she hardly noticed the image passing behind her: a tumble of brown hair, a handsome curve of a familiar face.

  Anavha.

  Zezili closed her eyes. Opened them. There, staring back at her in the mirror, was Anavha. Tall and still very thin, bearded now, but hardly enough to hide who he was. He looked freshly washed. Big brown eyes. They widened as she met his look in the mirror.

  I am imagining things, Zezili thought, but she turned anyhow, her heart catching.

  And there was Anavha.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. What was there to say? How was this possible?

  He took a step back. That couldn’t be right. Why would he fear her? He was hers. Like the dogs, like the dajians… Dajians like Lilia, like these people who had taken her in and fed her, more fool them. Right?

  Anavha gaped. His face flushed. He grabbed at his coat, as if trying to shield himself from her.

  “It’s all right,” Zezili said. She held out her right hand, her perfect right hand, good as new, as unmarred and far softer than it had been on their wedding day.

  “No!” Anavha said, and he ran.

  Zezili’s heart ached.

  25

  Natanial had chosen his side, mostly freely. But choosing and being contented in that choice were very different things. While he had been unable to sleep since the Empress of Tai Mora had warded him to ensure his loyalty, Otolyn had snored softly and serenely ever since crossing over with his force of fighters. The Empress had access to more jistas, many of them loyal to a woman called Gian. The extra jistas meant more traveling from woodland hill to woodland dale, popping to and from areas where they had limited intelligence about a Dhai presence.

  Natanial was not keen on stealing or murdering children, but the Empress’s orders were precise, and he understood her reasoning, even if he didn’t agree with it.

  “A woman and a child,” Monshara had said after they left the Empress’s presence. “She didn’t tell you it’s her woman, and her child.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Shadows,” Monshara said. “She wants us to find them so she can kill them and bring her version over.”

  “Surely she’s had any number of people pursuing them?”

  “Of course. But we have good intelligence now. A captive rebel from Tira’s Temple who broke in an interrogation.”

  “The first to break?”

  “Of course not. Just the first to break who actually knew something. Biggest camp we’re clearing yet.”

  Natanial stood with her now in a slight clearing as a new pair of winks opened, giving their forces a view of a few simple tents and the old, scattered remains of large bonfires. It certainly didn’t look like over a thousand people lived there. How they were supposed to root out a single woman and child from this rats’ nest was a mystery, but Monshara had taken charge of this one.

  “They’re underground,” Monshara said. “That’s what the intelligence says.”

  “You going to drown them out?” Natanial asked.

  “No, no, Natanial. We’ll burn them out, like rats.”

  Natanial could not help but wonder if Anavha was somewhere there, huddled underground with the unwashed refugee Dhai. If he was, there was a good chance he could save himself. The Empress had been right, though. Anavha was not a complete fool; he would have gone home, to Aaldia. Natanial certainly hoped so.

  “Not very sporting, is it?” Otolyn, his second, said from behind them. She was still on the other side, waiting for her own wink to open. She was due at the opposite end of the camp where they had found a secondary exit. She still carried that damn Dorinah head with her, like a talisman, dangling from the back of her mount.

  “Hold the commentary,” Natanial said.

  “This better pay a lot,” Otolyn said.

  “When the fire starts, you’ll smell it,” Monshara called back. “Kill them as they come up for air.”

  “Here we go,” Otolyn said, and moved away from the frame of the wink and toward her own squad.

  Natanial moved left, and Monshara went right; their respective forces joined them, spreading out quickly over the ground of the clearing. The jistas stepped into the circle made by their two forces: two sinajistas and a tirajista. The response from the Dhai came quickly, far more quickly than Natanial had anticipated.

  A trembling wave of tumbling vines erupted from the ground. Even as Natanial reined his bear back, the Tai Mora sinajistas were countering, sending waves of flame into the writhing plant life. Smoke billowed into the air, caught up in the tree canopy. Bits of ashy leaves rained over them.

  An onslaught of arrows fell from the trees, one wave, then a second. The sinajistas burned them out of the air, but a few got through. One took their tirajista in the shoulder, and she went down.

  “Should have brought more jistas,” Natanial muttered.

  Monshara called another wave forward from a new wink gaping at the center of their forces. Six more jistas moved onto the field, this time placing themselves squarely behind Natanial’s mercenaries. To the Empress, his people were little more than a human shield for her gifted troops.

  Natanial started a count, wondering how long the Dhai here could truly outlast them. No doubt this show of strength was meant to delay them so the others could flee out the far exit, but Otolyn and her troops would be there waiting for them.

  All he wanted in this moment, as the next wall of fire came down on the camp, burning away the tents above ground and swirling into the underground tunnels, was to have a little farm in Aaldia like the one where he had found Anavha. The little farm that had almost certainly been destroyed behind them, the way he was destroying this settlement.

  I made a stupid mistake, he thought. He hadn’t been able to see any other life but this one, his fighting arm directed by the most powerful person around him.

  Dhai began pouring up from the ground.

  Natanial held his fist high, cautioning his troops to stay still. As
if they needed encouragement to do nothing! But if one of them dove into the fray now for easy killing, they would only put themselves in danger of getting pummeled by their own sinajistas.

  The smell of burning flesh and hair, green wood, and the tangy bleed of bonsa sap filled the air. Cries, shouts, yes, some of those too, but mostly he heard the crackle of the flames and the hiss and pop of heat-expanded water and sap exploding from the vegetation.

  The bodies kept coming up. They had likely found Otolyn’s troops at the rear exit. Those who were not trampled would be suffocated by the smoke. Natanial observed the bodies coolly. Singed hair. Raw, blistered skin. Tattered, still flaming clothing. One child ran screaming, naked, across the fallen bodies of three adults before a lashing vine caught it up and crushed it.

  The tirajista was doing precise, surgical work. Natanial watched her, curious to see signs of distress or distaste, but she worked with furious concentration, deeply focused. Whirling vines tangled up the defensive units in the trees as well, and they began to drop like mashed insects to the forest floor.

  After about a quarter of an hour, the bodies heaving up from the ground grew fewer and fewer, and the waves of fire and skewering vines came further apart.

  “That’s it!” Monshara called, and raised her fist.

  Time to clean up.

  Natanial sighed and got off his mount. He began to pull the children’s bodies away from the others, making neat, long lines of them. It was grotesque, filthy work, and he began to question, for the first time, what the fuck he was doing here. Working for Saradyn had involved much distasteful work, but that work always felt purposeful. The death was leading somewhere. This was… wasteful.

  Otolyn and three of her company arrived, herding a long line of young girls ahead of them. The girls were roped around the neck, six or seven of them. Otolyn slid off her bear and gave them a tug. The girls shrieked and sobbed at the sight of the bodies, all but two of them, who appeared struck dumb by the horror some time before.

  Natanial went over to meet her and Monshara. “You know what she looks like?” Natanial asked Monshara.

  “I do,” Monshara said. “I’m looking for a little girl called Tasia,” Monshara said to the girls. They huddled together, shaking and snuffling. Monshara peered into each face in turn. Lingered on one, a narrow-faced girl with big eyes and half her hair burnt off. One ear was slightly charred. “Tell me your name, child.”

  The child said nothing.

  Monshara took off her helmet and knelt beside the girl. “What is your name, child?” she said, more softly.

  Nothing.

  “Child,” Monshara said, “I can’t take you back to your mother if I don’t know your name.”

  Another moment of hesitation. Then, “Tasia,” the girl whispered. “I’m Tasia Sona.”

  “All right,” Monshara said, and straightened. She released her from the rope and put a hand behind her shoulder, leading her back away from the field of dead and toward the open wink with Madah, who was getting an update from Monshara’s second.

  “What do we do with the rest?” Otolyn said.

  “I bet I can guess,” Natanial said. He gazed into each grubby face. He was going to get very drunk tonight.

  “I liked it better when we were killing evil fucking Dorinah,” Otolyn said. “These are just a bunch of fucking roaches.”

  “Greater rewards,” Natanial said. “The fighting is almost done.”

  Otolyn spit. “That wasn’t a fight.”

  Natanial couldn’t argue.

  “Some of them got away,” Otolyn said. “None of them were kids, though. I sent a couple of people after them, but no doubt these roaches know the woods better.”

  “She only wanted the child,” Natanial said. “I don’t think she’ll begrudge us a few extra lives.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not counting on that.”

  He didn’t want to stay and see what she did with the children, so he walked back over to Monshara. She had already handed the girl over to Madah. Natanial saw no sign of her.

  “We need you to move north,” Madah said as he approached. “We’ve discovered a larger camp there.”

  “Any more kids we need to kill?” Natanial asked.

  “Possibly,” Madah said, without hesitation. “We need the ground cleared here, though. You can take prisoners if you like, and interrogate them. Remember we’re still looking for Yisaoh Alais Garika.”

  “Spoils of victory,” Natanial said. “There was nothing worth taking here but human flesh. What am I supposed to do to keep my troops’ morale up?”

  “They are your soldiers, not mine,” Madah said. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

  “It’s going to take at least two days to clear this area,” Monshara said.

  “Yes,” Madah said.

  The wink closed.

  “She’s delightful,” Natanial said.

  “Like her mother,” Monshara said. Natanial had no idea who Madah’s mother was, but Monshara appeared wistful. Another dead woman? “The Empress will be pleased with this, though.” She patted Natanial’s arm. “It will be worth it.”

  She sounded very confident. She had been doing this a long time.

  26

  Kirana was in the baths when Madah brought the child down. Kirana heard the shrieking. The slap of flesh. More shrieking, raised voices. She knew who it was, and pulled herself out of the water and began to towel off.

  Madah had the girl by one arm, and yanked her forward. “Is this her, Empress?” Madah asked.

  Kirana wrapped the towel around her waist and took the girl by the chin. It was always remarkable, how much they all looked alike despite their circumstances, as if there remained some tenuous connection between them, despite the distance of their worlds. Kirana had not borne children, herself. And only Corina had been born of Yisaoh. Tasia and Moira had been born to Yisaoh’s long-dead cousin, and Kirana and Yisaoh had fostered them since they were infants.

  “Your name is Tasia?” Kirana asked.

  The girl nodded.

  Kirana released her. That was likely enough, but she wanted to be absolutely certain. No mistakes, this time, no lookalikes. “And who was your mother?”

  “Lilia is my mother,” Tasia said.

  “Lilia?” That did not sit right. Then she remembered the Dhai habit of calling any older woman who shared the household a mother. “I mean, who is the woman who birthed you? Could you tell me about her?”

  Tasia shook her head. The girl’s eyes filled. “Please, I want to go home!”

  “You can go home,” Kirana said, crouching before her. “But I need to know your mother’s name. The woman who birthed you. You remember?”

  “Please let me go home. I have a bird at home. A poppet called Jahin.”

  She was too frightened. And Kirana could not stomach any more of it. She recognized her well enough. “I have something for you. Turn around for me,” Kirana said.

  Tasia turned.

  “I can do it,” Madah said softly.

  “No, no,” Kirana said. “This was my promise. My family.” She held out her hand.

  Madah handed her a knife over the girl’s head.

  Kirana was quick. The blade flashed before the girl understood what had happened. A quick strike to the jugular. Kirana had not wanted to see her face. She held the small body against her as the blood pumped out over her arm and pooled on the floor, slipping across the tiles and making long crimson runnels that drained into the pool, swirling and dissipating in the water. The great living water spiders ballooned up from the bottom of the pool and came to investigate.

  Kirana waited until the girl was still, the body drained, then rolled her toward Madah. “Have someone else come for that,” she said.

  Madah bowed and left her. Kirana took off her towel and waded back into the pool. She floated out onto her back, gazing at the intricate details of the ceiling: happy, peaceful carvings and mosaics of birds and cats, sea creatures and snapping lilies, wa
lking trees and great puffy seeds that navigated the air like something alive. A peaceful people, a peaceful country. Everything she wanted to build. But was it possible to come back from all this darkness? To establish a nation on war and genocide and then wean them off it, promoting peace and cooperation, understanding? She closed her eyes and thought of how she could work with Gian’s people. More jistas to help with crops. More mouths to feed, yes, but Gian’s people had brought stores with them on the ark. They could trade goods and favors with Aaldia, perhaps. Maybe the killing would be over.

  At some point a few of her people came to take the body. She knew she should get out and go to her own Yisaoh, her own Tasia immediately and bring Tasia over. But she lingered. She had always known what saving her people meant. Some days, though, were easier than others.

  A gaggle of new bathers arrived, loud and laughing until they saw her. They quieted, but the spell was broken.

  Kirana got out of the great pool and dressed. Servants moved out of her way in the changing rooms; one old Dhai woman worked at replenishing the flame fly lanterns. All of the Dhai in the temples were warded; they could not commit physical harm against Kirana or one of her people, but those wards could be removed. Worse, she felt it made her people complacent, knowing the Dhai slaves could not physically harm them. They saw them as ghost people, hardly human, and though Kirana understood that was sometimes easier, she had learned to see every potential adversary clearly, especially those she kept under a fearful thumb. She knew love was a better way to rule than fear, but fear worked much more quickly than love, and she had not had time to woo any of them. It wasn’t exactly a good time to start, either, with their food situation still precarious. They might end up eating Dhai bodies for dinner yet.

  As she left the baths, a little runner arrived, gaze lowered. “Sai Hofsha has arrived,” the boy said.

  “She still in the foyer?”

  “Just now, yes.”

  “I’ll meet her there. Go.”

  The runner went ahead. Kirana took her time, and arrived just as Hofsha strode in, followed by two attendants. She had taken on a great number of slaves after the invasion.