by Nik Korpon
“OK,” I say finally. “I’ll do what I can to help. But I can’t do anything that will endanger the boys. I won’t.”
They both smile, relief settling over their faces as quickly as the optimism bubbles. We all shake hands, then Dyvik brushes it away and pulls me in for a hug.
As quickly as those revolutionary feelings returned, they dissipate even faster when I look over Dyvik’s shoulder and see the look on Donael’s face. I remember feeling that too, when I’d first heard about the villages taking up arms against the Tathadann, the feeling that I was about to become part of something bigger than myself.
And right now he’s feeling that same thing, only it’s for some villagers he doesn’t know, next to his hypocrite father.
Would you have done this, Walleus? Or would you have kept him away?
16.
EMERÍANN
I stretch out my legs beneath the table in the kitchen, not necessarily because I slept wrong and they’re cramping but because I can. After more than two weeks stuck in shoeboxes disguised as living quarters, I’ve earned enough trust to be allowed to roam the house, though I’m still under lock and key at night. At first I was insulted, thinking I was being treated like a dog that was only partially housebroken. Then I decided I would enjoy it for what it is and look around.
I wash my dishes in the sink then pour myself another cup of coffee, wrapping my hands around the mug and letting the steam drift over my face.
There’s not much to the house that I hadn’t seen in my few trips in and out, but everything has taken on a different quality now, being able to wander of my own free will. The wallpaper seems more vivid, the chairs softer, the color of the wood deeper than it had been, despite the scuff marks I left while digging my boots into the floor, trying to stop them from restraining me. Henraek would say my head is about to float off my neck, but he takes everything too seriously to allow himself any flights of fancy.
Since that first night, Brighid has come into my room a few times more. Always with food, always something that reminds me of home, like she somehow found my mother’s recipe book, learning how to make delicious food from scraps. As the week’s progressed, she’s worked her way from the dresser, to the bed, until we were both sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed with our legs flung out. It was how I always imagined women – girls – acted, but I never had many girl friends when I was growing up. Possibly because none of them were particularly keen to clomp around the bogs and shoot things. Or because most of them were cunts.
These conversations have not only humanized her more, but also reinforced that she genuinely wants to improve Eitan. Do I agree with everything she says? Absolutely not, beginning with murdering Speider. But, in some perverse way, I understand. I shot the young woman in the water distribution plant because she was in my way. Would she have shot me? By the way her hand shook I’d say no, probably not. Brighid is confronting what Henraek and I would’ve had to deal with, were he still here: what do we do once the Tathadann is gone?
Though we had discussed it a couple times, neither of us had a good answer.
I take a big swing of coffee, forgetting it’s hot, and burn the everloving shit out of my mouth. I hurry to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. It sputters, only a small stream of water coming out. I take a sip and hold it in my mouth. It’s more than I’d get at the apartment but still doesn’t help.
The front door closes. A woman’s and a man’s voice come down the hallway. I recognize the woman’s gravelly tone and the man’s soft Brigu accent. They were outside when I was waiting for Melein. I’m about to step out of the bathroom when I hear the woman say, “If you don’t get them in line, we’re going to miss our opportunity. We’re never going to make this work if we don’t do this now.”
I ease the door mostly closed, press my ear against the crack.
“I told you they would comply and they will,” the man says. “Don’t question me again.”
“Then don’t make me have to.” The woman reins her voice in. “We’re only going to get this chance once. I don’t want to miss it.”
“I still don’t understand why that space is so important. It’s a shitty old building.”
“It’s not the building.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “It’s the power. You have the land, you can see the right things. You can see them, you can get the power.”
“What are you going to do once you get the power?”
I can practically hear her smile. “What do you think? Get more.”
The man barks out a laugh so harsh and abrupt that it startles me. My hand jumps back and clips the edge of the coffee cup, knocking it off the sink. It shatters against the tile floor. The man’s laugh dies immediately. I hold my breath. I’m trapped. I don’t know who they are. I don’t know what they’re planning. I don’t know who else is out there. I don’t know what weapons they have.
I flush the toilet and close the door, the click buried under the rushing water. Outside the door, I hear their footsteps receding. I crack the door and peer through the sliver to outside. Only their backs are visible. A tall and gangly man, his bald head with close-cut ginger hair that looks like rust. Medium-height woman with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, as generic as can be. They hurry out the door without looking back.
As I scoop up the broken pieces of ceramic, I wonder who they are. It sounds like they’re going to do something with the high-rises, but I don’t know what and I don’t know when. And to Brighid, me not having those details could make all the difference.
Every time Brighid looks at me, I can feel her eyes worming under my skin. Every glance seems accusatory and every look away feels dismissive. I’m probably being ridiculous, but that’s the weight of uncertainty, as Henraek would say. But what am I supposed to say? Hey, I overheard some people – Who? – I dunno who, but they were planning on doing something – What? – Dunno that either, but they want to take over a building – Which one? – I think the high-rises, not sure about that either, but it’s definitely to seize power.
That last part is the most dangerous. To seize power. It’s a direct threat to Brighid – to all of us, according to her – but the source is unknown. If I tell her there is some vague threat, I can easily see her thinking I’m sinking back to my rebel ways, eroding the foundation of her group with disinformation, making people question one another.
And the worst part is, I don’t know if I’m more worried about being labeled a rebel or walking into an ambush. Because either will result in a bullet in my head.
The road crests the hill that overlooks Fomora, near the spot where Brighid took me last week. I close my eyes for a second and concentrate on the air passing over my face, glad once again to be out in the open. Our truck passes by the high-rises where the insurgents are detained and winds into a more residential area near the edge of the city.
The houses are small but well kept, or as much as anyone can manage these days. Small rectangles of yard, waist-high fences keeping people out. Cars sit in some of the driveways, and most of them look to be autodrivers. Could be that the people are older and can’t drive themselves anymore or could be that they’re largely former Tathadann people and can afford that kind of stuff. Some of the yards have small plaster statues of frogs and elves, and many of the others have children’s toys strewn around, probably for the grandkids. One house has a granite statue of a woman’s torso on a serpent’s body. I recognize it as one of the old gods from farther north, not quite as far as Brusandhåv but just as illegal. Or used to be. One of the many things that’s changed since the uprising. Still, I wouldn’t let the boys play there if that person was our neighbor.
I lean over to Brighid. “You sure your intel is up to date on this one?” I nod at the various topiaries. The urge to tell her about the saboteurs rises along with my anxiety of being caught off-guard. “This doesn’t strike me as a hotbed for insurgent activity.”
Brighid doesn’t bother to look back at me. “Which is w
hy it’s the perfect place to hide.”
I lean back in my seat and worry the bottom of my shirt. She has a point, but it’d be pretty shitty for them to use their grandmothers as human shields. Then again, part of the reason the Tathadann was so effective was because they would stoop to levels we wouldn’t. If these insurgents are so dead set on taking down Ragjarøn, they could adopt Tathadann practices. The two saboteurs in the house seemed pretty set on taking over the space at any–
Something flickers in the corner of my eye, some small movement near the edge of a house. I squint, trying to figure out what it is, when something jumps up in the yard. A snake.
A snake?
Then I see the points. Not a snake. A chain, with three-inch metal spikes.
And it’s lying across the road.
“Stop!” I scream.
The driver stands on the brake, slamming me and Brighid into the seats in front of us. The truck skids to a stop, and then the trailing vehicle crashes into us and pushes our truck over the spikes. The front wheels explode. I jump out of the truck, pistol in hand, and tell Brighid to take the other side of the street. I point behind us, tell the trailing soldiers to clear those houses and the soldiers in our truck to stay where they are and give us cover. I duck behind an ornately trimmed bush and clear the yard before strafing across to the next one.
“How many?” Brighid yells over to me.
“Don’t know.” I pause, hear a rustling beside the house. Probably the person who was holding one end of the chain, which means there’s someone in a parallel position on the house side.
I chirp a quick whistle. Brighid turns to me and I mime going around the house, rounding them up and pushing them into the street where the soldiers are waiting with their rifles. She gives the go sign and we move.
The side of the yard looks largely like the front, though with no topiaries. I feel exposed out here with nothing to hide behind and keep my back against the wall, checking in front of me then behind, then scanning the yard across from me. Several of the soldiers yell out clear as they check the nearby houses. As I pass the halfway point, I catch movement in the neighbor’s window. I whip my pistol up and train it on the glass. An old woman freezes, teapot in one hand, a ceramic mug slipping out of the other. It shatters on the floor. I flick my pistol, telling her to take cover, then continue.
At the edge of the house, I take a breath to ready myself, then glance around the corner. Small backyard. Self-propelled lawnmower – though not an automated one – sitting in the yard, unused. A small shed in the back corner, ringed by tiny red and orange flowers, meticulously planted. But no attackers. I hurry across the backyard, pausing by the back door, though there is no one peeking out the window.
I haven’t heard any of the soldiers yelling anything other than clear, so the attacker is still on the side of the house. I glance around the corner and see an exterior ventilation unit. These bastards have it all up here. Henraek and I were lucky to have a fan. And right beside the unit, I see someone’s back, crouched down and hiding.
I creep around the corner, stepping lightly with my pistol held before me. He keeps peeking out, looking for a good angle to get off a shot. Even from a distance, I can tell by the hair it’s the tall man from earlier.
When I’m a short distance away, but not so close that he could reach me, I call out to him. “Stand up.”
His body goes rigid, ready to jump up then thinking better of it.
“Drop your weapon and stand up,” I tell him again, creeping a little closer. “I don’t want to shoot you but I will.”
“That was you in the bathroom, wasn’t it?”
My face burns. “Bathroom? No, I don’t hang out at those kinds of bars anymore.” Past him, I can see the soldiers moving in, providing backup. Brighid yells something across the street and the man winces.
“You’ve no idea what you’re doing, Emeríann,” the man says, finally standing but not dropping the handgun as I’d told him. “She’s not what you think she is.”
“Drop it,” I say as firmly as I can, ignoring the crawling sensation beneath my skin at him saying my name. My finger tenses on the trigger.
He turns around to face me. His face is long and angular and rests well above my own. It makes me uncomfortable, having to look up to see his eyes. “You’ve got your mouth open like a fish, and all her plans are the hook set inside you.”
“Drop your weapon.” I say every word individually, readying myself to shoot if I have to.
“But you don’t know it because all her talk, her lies, that’s the worm wrapped around the hook. You can’t taste the metal, and you don’t know you’re being brought up into the air.”
I raise my pistol higher, pointing it right at his face. I can feel my hands tremble slightly and tell myself to stop acting like a pussy. “I will not tell you again.”
Behind him, Brighid is leading two insurgents into the street, one of the soldiers providing cover. She hands them off and looks up at the tall man and me.
“Just remember what I said when you finally break the water and find out you can’t breathe the air. See if your soul can handle it.” The man smiles. His teeth are surprisingly white. “Hořte v pekel.”
“What are you–”
Before I can finish, he whips his handgun up. I start to squeeze my finger but he’s faster and there’s a great boom, one that reverberates deep inside my bones, ricocheting off my rib cage, settling into the pit of my stomach. His body collapses, breath evaporating as the top of his head flies off, bloody scalp and hair landing behind him. It seems to take his body a second to realize it’s dead, his handgun still resting inside his mouth, now covered with rushing blood. Then it tumbles to the ground and I gasp like I’d been held underwater.
I sink down into a crouch, press my hand against the lawn to give myself some grounding.
Brighid rushes over, yelling, “What the hell was that?”
I’ve seen people die before. I’ve shot people before. But something about the way he did it, the calm way he spoke to me while knowing what he was going to do the whole time, was chilling. See if my soul can handle it?
“What the hell?” Brighid’s hands grab my arms and pull me up. “Are you OK?”
I nod, shake her off. “I’m fine. Nothing hit me.”
She looks down at the man’s body, nudging his arm with her foot. “Dumb sons of bitches. They’d rather die than work with us.”
“He was with us, before,” I say. She gives me an odd look. “He knew my name.”
I crouch down. Blood flows from the hole in his head and the sound of effluvia sloshing almost makes me puke. His eyes are still open, staring at me. Judging me.
“Shit,” Brighid says.
“What?” I say. “You know him?”
She nods. “Joined up with us recently. Maybe two weeks ago?”
“He had a friend too. They were planning this.”
Her head whips toward me. “What are you talking about?”
I swallow hard, looking at the dead man’s eyes. “I overheard him and some woman in the house this morning.”
“What did she look like?”
“Medium height. Brown hair in a ponytail.”
“So me or any of the other thousand women who match that description.”
“I was hiding in the bathroom so they wouldn’t see me. I only recognized him by the height and hair. They were talking about taking over a shitty building and the space letting them see the right things, giving them power.” I shrug. “It was all really vague. I wasn’t sure what it meant.”
“But you felt it. When we were driving.”
I look back to her, not following.
“You yelled for us to stop, right before we hit the road spikes. You felt something was off.”
“I saw the chain jump in the yard. That’s why I yelled.”
“No one else saw it. You did.” She lays her arm across my shoulders and leads me back to the street. “I think both of us could use so
meone watching their back all the time now.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“But you hear something again and don’t tell me immediately, we are going to have some very big problems.”
Five insurgents are gathered in the middle of the street, kept on their knees with their hands restrained behind their backs while the soldiers cover them with their rifles. Two are women, but one is a Brigu and the other is blonde. I don’t recognize any of them and wonder if they were recruited from another country specifically to fight.
“Neither of them?” Brighid says to me. I shake my head.
She steps in front of one of the men. “What building are you taking?”
He doesn’t respond. She moves to the blonde woman, asks the same question. Same response. She whips out her pistol and points it at the first man’s head. He flinches for a second then regains his composure, but the throbbing vein in his forehead says he’s not so calm inside.
“You’d rather let your friend die than help Eitan heal itself?” she says to the woman. “That sounds more like selfishness than civic pride.”
The woman swallows hard before opening her mouth. But instead of naming a building, she starts singing. Her voice is accented, but not from Ardu Oéann or Brusandhåv. “Down near the river where our brothers bled–”
They’re from the eastern part of the continent, brought in by Cantonae and his cadre. They’re co-opting our revolution.
And somewhere deep inside me, I hear something snap. I smash the butt of my pistol on the bridge of her nose. She grunts as blood pours out, smearing over the front of her shirt.
I crouch before the woman, making sure she’s looking right into my eyes. My breath comes in ragged waves and it’s about all I can do to keep myself from smashing in this amadan’s face with my gun. “You do not get to sing that song. What you are doing now is the antithesis of our rebellion. You are the Tathadann, standing between the people and a better life. I should gut you for even thinking you were the same.”
