by Nik Korpon
20.
EMERÍANN
Brighid bangs on my door at some ungodly hour. I don’t know how I know it’s her, but somehow I can tell. Every rap of the knuckle is another rifle shot, another twitch and flail of the squatters in the warehouse. When I drag my hand across my forehead, the sweat comes back clear, but it feels like blood.
After an exorbitant amount of effort, I roll my body out of bed and plod across the floor to the door and pull it open.
As expected, she’s in full fatigues, unslept as ever. She looks me up and down.
“You look like hell.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
She nods, as if she totally understands. I’m not sure she’s ever understood.
“Get dressed. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
By the time I drag myself downstairs, she and her usual two soldiers are tossing their dishes in the sink and checking their weapons to head out.
“Can I at least eat something first?”
Brighid nods at the counter, at a sandwich wrapped in foil sitting next to a travel cup of coffee. It’s so domestic it makes me want to puke. I grab the food and follow them out to the trucks. The soldiers toss some extra ammo in the back then jump in, and we take off. Brighid leans back in her seat, enjoying the wind whipping her hair around.
In some perverse way, I admire her ability to distance herself from the fighting, from the bodies, from the blood. It’s probably better for her mental wellbeing. Not that I have had trouble forgetting about the bodies during the uprising, or even the few I saw during the Struggle. But those felt different. They were warranted, and the people knew what kind of agreement they were entering when they picked up a gun. You’re going to try to kill me, and I’m going to try to kill you first. Even the young woman in the water distribution plant felt acceptable to me, though her face does flash through my head at times. So what makes the squatter special? They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time? So were all the people who died after Henraek and I blew up the water distribution plant. The man died defending his friends, his family, whatever they were. So did a lot of people after the uprising started. That little girl could’ve easily grown up into the girl at the water plant. I have more blood on my hands than I want to admit. I know that I should just let this one go, that people die for no reason all the time, but for some reason I can’t.
Is it because I’m just tired of being the harbinger of death? All I’ve wanted to do was help create something better.
“Emeríann,” Brighid says, nudging me. I’m dully aware that she’s done it before.
I look around and we’re near the foothills, but not too far from the city. In the distance, I can see the shape of the high-rises where the insurgents are detained. Above us, giant boulders rest on the mountainside, balanced like the moss growing on them is the only thing keeping them from rolling down the hill and crashing into our cars like bowling balls. Water drilling rigs poke out at odd angles along the ridge, between the evergreen trees. Spread out in front of us is a field fallow that has become overgrown. On the far side is a thresher, a giant machine to scalp the tall grasses.
Brighid hops out of the truck and trots toward the field with a small hologram machine in hand, the soldiers falling in line behind her. I jump out and jog to catch up.
“This was once Tobeigh land,” she says, gesturing out over the field. “My great-great-aunt raised six children here and grew crops large enough that she could give some to her neighbors when they experienced blight. Her daughter took over when she died, and my great aunt continued to work the land, raising five kids of her own. Like her mother, she helped those around her when they needed it, and they helped her. Before the resource companies came in and seized the land, forcing my great aunt’s family to flee for the mountains and seek shelter with my family, the people who lived here were a community in the truest sense of the word, sharing what they had, relying on help when it was needed. No one was better than anyone else and no one was scorned or turned away.
“That is what Eitan City used to be like. One large community, a set of neighborhoods interconnected and interdependent on one another. That is what it can be again. We can rebuild what the Tathadann has destroyed, and capitalize on what they never could: our spirit.” She looks over at me, some dreamy look on her face. “Despite decades of war and oppression, they have never been able to break the spirit of the people. We can use that to prosper again, together. To create something bigger than Ardu Oéann has ever dreamed and give us a seat on the world’s stage.”
She turns on the hologram machine. It clicks and whirs a moment as the internal systems boot up, then projects a schematic. She holds it up so that the schematic is superimposed across the field.
“This is our new power system. The one I told you about. It is self-sustaining and has zero impact on the land around us. With this new structure, we can get energy to every neighborhood, without any of the fluctuations we have now. We can run water purification plants, as well as the synthesizers that will create more water. No longer will we have to rely on condensers to draw tainted water from rotten air or generators to give us electricity. We – everyone – can have real, pure water. And it’s all free.”
“That’s insane.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it’s what I’m thinking.
Brighid glances over at me, her expression unfazed by my outburst. “It is insane. It’s insane to think we – you all – have been living under such wretched conditions for so long that you’ve accepted it as normal. It’s insane that the city hasn’t torn itself apart just trying to live. Frankly, it’s insane we didn’t hear about the revolution sooner.”
“But,” I sputter, “how? How are we supposed to do this?”
She smiles even larger, if that’s possible. “That, my friend, is where you come in.” She hands me the projection device. “All of the schematics are in here. Now you need to figure out how to make it as quick as possible.”
I hold the device in my hand like a dead fish that fell from the sky. “I can’t build this, this reactor or whatever the hell it is. I don’t know the first thing about engineering.”
“You don’t need to.”
I just stare at her because I don’t have the slightest idea what to say.
“How long did you run Johnstone’s for?” she says.
“A couple years.”
“You told me it was eight.”
I shrug. “OK. Eight.”
“Was the bar doing better after you took over?”
“It’s impossible for a bar to fail in Eitan.”
“But did you make it run better?”
It sounds strange to say it, like I’m bragging, but yes, the bar was much better off after I took it over.
“During the uprising, what was your role?” she says.
I look at her like her head is floating away from her shoulders. “You were with us for most of it, you saw. I did everything.”
She points at me. “Exactly. You fought the Tathadann, you organized your fighters, you delegated, you planned offensives, you prioritized sites.” She holds her arms out like she holds the answer to everything. “That is what we need, what Eitan needs, for this system to become possible. That is why I want you on this.”
My chest begins to swell at the thought of all the positive things this energy system could provide but I tamp it down, tell myself not to get too outrageous yet.
“Is this because of yesterday? You’re trying to, what, boost my confidence? Keep me away from intelligence so more people aren’t murdered?”
“Yesterday was unfortunate, yes, definitely. But I’ve had you in mind for this since Ødven offered their technology. You’re perfect for this, Emeríann.” She leans in closer to me. “And I think you know that, too. Take a couple minutes, look at the field, look at the holograms, let your mind run wild with all the possibilities this project could present. Think about how grateful the people of Eitan will be once this is built, how they’ll si
ng out your name in praise.”
My shoulders sink slightly. “I don’t care about praise. That was never why I did any of this.”
Her smile returns. “I know. Which is why you’d be so good for this.”
I stare out at the expanse, letting my eyes flit between the hologram and the field. Beyond it too, imagining what Eitan would look like without the wires looping across alleyways from building to building, the windows adorned with flowerboxes or found-art pieces instead of moisture condensers, the narrow passageways filled with the sounds of kids running around instead of humming generators that cough more smoke and fumes into the already-clogged sky. Creating something better. I imagine Cobb and Donael tearing into the apartment after playing in the park and filling a large glass of water from the tap then draining it and filling up another, instead of splitting one glass between the two of them because it’s all we have left in our supply bottle. I imagine Henraek and me eating a whole meal without the power flickering, or just going dark all together.
“OK,” I say to Brighid. “I’m game. I’ll do it.”
Across the field I see four large trucks weaving along the road, coming in our direction. Trails of dust follow them. Two have flat beds in the back that carry large metal pieces. The other two are large transport vehicles, each carrying about fifty people.
“What the hell is all that?” I point at the trucks. “And who the hell are they?”
“That’s your crew,” she says.
“My crew?” I look around, confused for a moment. “The crew for the power system? But I only said yes five seconds ago.”
“Emeríann,” she says with something like a laugh. “I knew you were going to do it before I even asked. And I needed to make sure they got here early.”
“Why?”
“Because we need this done yesterday.”
21.
HENRAEK
After being in the countryside for a bit – if that’s what you can call Rën – the city is nearly overwhelming. Everything seems to loom over me, menacing and oppressive. The sun glints off windows like gnashing teeth. The metal bars stretch like tendons of a great monster. Even the smiles of passersby feel like a veiled threat. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing, they say. Don’t think they won’t find out. I sneer at a woman passing me. Her face curls up like she’s just smelled sour milk and she turns away. I keep my head down to avoid causing any scenes and hurry along.
Life in Ragjarøn headquarters shushes along with the same quiet efficiency as the last time I was here. Ødven’s secretary sits behind her desk, earpiece illuminated while she jots something down on a pad of paper. I keep throwing glances her way, as if it would somehow hurry Ødven through whatever he’s doing and get him in here so I can get back home. She continues to go about her job, conspicuously ignoring me. At least Federijke hasn’t come in to seduce me in hopes of getting me to agree to help assassinate her husband or facilitate a coup.
For as independent as the boys like to tell me they are, they sure as hell took forever to get out of the house this morning. I know they can fend for themselves in Rën for a few hours while I’m here but, given the new pin on Donael’s jacket, I’d prefer to get this done quickly and not to be away from them for longer than I have to. I told Donael I had to do some work and deferred any of his questions, which led him to believe it’s regarding Nyväg. That’s not a lie, even if it’s not specifically true. Still, he went away happy.
For now.
With nothing else to do, I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling.
The door whooshes open and I snap upright, fists clenched and ready to counterattack. The room goes hazy a moment as blood rushes away from my head. Ødven laughs to himself.
“The life of a revolutionary, always on guard,” he says. “I’ll bet you sleep with a knife under your pillow.”
“No,” I lie.
“It’s OK,” he says. “I have since I was sixteen. Only now it’s for the woman who shares my bed, not my enemies; though sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the two.”
“I can imagine.”
“But enough about me.” He lowers himself into his chair. “You have been meeting with Dyvik Sandströmm and Magnus Flagge.”
With his accent, I can’t tell if he’s asking me or telling me.
“Yes, I have. But there’s been a complication in the matter.”
He leans back in his seat, his face broadcasting that he is not glad to hear that. “Do explain.”
“I need something from you. Something important,” I say. “No questions asked, I just need you to help me.”
“This already sounds like a tall order.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m talking to the most powerful man in Brusandhåv.”
“Power is tricky, Henraek. I thought I made that clear when you were last here.” He looks out the window for a moment. “If applied properly, it’s as if it never existed. But if one takes it for granted, it can undo the fabric of the very society it seeks to protect and–”
“Ødven, look,” I say, not having time for this. “Not to be rude, but I don’t need your lofty pontifications right now. Are you going to help me or not?”
He runs his tongue over his teeth and the resemblance to a wolf before prey is uncanny. “That all depends.”
“On?”
“What I have to do and what I get in return.”
I lean forward in my chair, knitting my fingers together so he can’t see me squeeze them repeatedly, working myself up to speak. You’re doing it, Henraek. This is the moment when everything changes. This is the moment you become everything you railed against. You are now your own enemy.
And somewhere in my head I hear Belousz’s voice echoing. I shove it all down into the recesses, take a deep breath, and look Ødven square in the eyes.
“I need you to get me and my boys to Eitan, as soon as possible. We need protection while we’re there. And I need you to end your support for Brighid.”
Ødven stares at me in silence for what feels like an eternity, or maybe it only feels like silence because my blood is crashing so hard against the inside of my skull that I can’t hear anything else.
“That is in fact a tall order,” he finally says. “It would take some arranging, finding a suitable replacement for you in Rën, someone who knows the groups, someone who can integrate themselves with–”
“Cut the shit, Ødven.” I don’t mean to yell but I can’t help it. I swear I can hear the woman outside his office gasp. This is probably the only time in memory someone has yelled at him. The expression that plays over his face says I better have something fantastic to follow that up with if I don’t want to become a sacrifice to his wolf god. “We both know all you have to do is send a message and a boat will be waiting for us. It’s that simple but you’re drawing it out because you want to display your power in front of me. I get it. I’ve dealt with it for the last seven years, I’m sure I’ll see it for many more. But you need to talk straight to me.”
He barely parts his lips when he speaks. “And why would that be?”
“Because you want Nyväg, and I want my people safe.”
He doesn’t respond, just gives a slight nod of assent.
“They have members spread around the country, and they are planning to attack.”
“They have attacked before and they can attack all they please. None will ever make a difference.”
“This one will.”
He scoffs at me, the prick. He actually scoffs. “You’re asking me to give up a significant overseas territory just to defend myself against a handful of dissidents. Why should I care if they launch another attack?”
“Because I planned it for them. I showed them how to bring Ragjarøn to its knees.”
I feel sick as soon as I say it, but his expression tells me I have him. I know I have him. He needs to know about Nyväg and I need to get home. What will happen to the people here, I have no idea, and my soul hurts for the
m, but I have lost too many that I love and cannot bear the thought of any more. I cannot wait for Andrei and his boat, and I cannot leave the boys behind.
His laugh dies halfway up his throat. “Continue,” he says.
“You do all that for us,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady, “and I’ll tell you everything you need to know about Nyväg.”
22.
EMERÍANN
The next few mornings, I jump out of bed, I’m so excited to get to work on the power system. I wish Henraek could see what we’re doing, what we’re going to accomplish and provide for Eitan. I hope that he can come back soon. Maybe I can bring it up with Brighid. I’m sure she could sell it as part of getting the power system done faster.
I take a few winding roads out to the site, enjoying the feeling of the truck cresting the small curves through the city on my way to the foothills. Driving on my own is a strange sort of freedom I never would have expected to either take for granted or now relish. But nothing ever ends up like you expect it to, I guess.
When I pull up, there are already sixty-plus people working, most of them Ødven’s men from Brusandhåv. According to Brighid, they were shipped down here because they’d already installed these at home and it would make the process quicker. Some operate threshers, clearing out the remaining brush and grasses, while others work at configuring the wiring in the central dome unit. With so many people working, this whole thing is already going way faster than I expected. I figure it’s like a house too, where the outside seems to go up in two days, but it’s all the inside work that takes the most time. I flipped through the schematics a couple times yesterday and the wiring diagrams made my eyes cross quick enough for me to stop after a minute. The overall area is larger than I expected, given how advanced Tathadann technology was, but it probably takes a lot of space to cool the machines after they produce all the power. Or something. What the hell do I know about any of this? I’m a bartender and an instigator of unrest, not a foreman. Still, it’s nice to be outside, unwatched, for a change.
