The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun)

by Shami Stovall

  Vergess released Lucas. “Go.”

  The boy, shaken, shifted his gaze between Vergess and Geist. After a moment he glanced down to the red on shirt—a mix of his and his father’s blood—and took a deep breath. He ripped his attention away from the horror and returned it to Geist.

  Lucas rubbed at his eyes, smearing crimson across his cheek. Each word he spoke came out terse and reserved, as though he held back a flood of emotions. “Take me with you. I want to fight them.”

  “You won’t survive,” Vergess stated, not bothering to look at the youth.

  Lucas turned his attention to Vergess and took a step closer to him. “I don’t care!” he cried out. “I don’t want to survive. I want to fight.”

  He was younger than Battery and smaller to boot, almost smaller than Geist herself. Sunken cheeks and protruding collar bones spoke volumes. Determination shone in his eyes, but a body couldn’t sustain itself on revenge alone.

  Vergess shook his head. “You can’t help us, kid. Protect what little family you have left.”

  “You don’t understand! I’ll do whatever it takes! I don’t care if you’re demons or wizards—I’ll give you whatever you want if you take me with you.”

  Vergess grabbed the teen by the shirt and jerked him close. The boy gasped and trembled, taken aback by the other man’s sudden assault.

  “You’re weak,” Vergess drawled. “You’re not like us. You can’t stand against the enemies we fight. Stay home—in a realm you understand—and do what you can there.” He shoved the teen back, sending him to ground with little effort. Dirty street water splashed onto Lucas’s soiled clothes and the boy glowered up at Vergess with a wet sheen to his eyes.

  Unfazed, Vergess strode away, his back to the boy and his expression nothing but ice. He walked past Geist, intent to enter the heart of Antwerp. Geist’s chest seized up with indecision. Vergess wasn’t wrong. The boy couldn’t even fight normal soldiers, let alone sorcerers.

  But…

  You’re weak. You’re not like us. Stay home. Do what you can there.

  They were the arguments used against her—the very reasons she wasn’t allowed to be a soldier or join the Ethereal Squadron as a woman. If Geist followed Vergess and left Lucas, she would be a hypocrite. She would be using the exact same excuses on another person. She would be judging him unworthy without testing—tacitly saying that she knew him, and what was best for him, without his input or capabilities taken into consideration.

  Geist exhaled and walked over to Lucas, her pace quick and her mind dwelling on the enemy soldiers that were sure to arrive any second.

  Lucas stood and met her gaze with his own. She sensed his grit.

  “Our foes may be insurmountable,” Geist murmured.

  He squeezed his hands into tight fists. “If they are, we’ve lost anyway. I’d rather say I fought than say I did nothing.”

  Geist smiled. That was exactly how she felt.

  She handed over the Luger pistol. “If you mean what you say, you’ll find passage to Le Havre. Speak to the BEF soldiers there and ask for the Second E Squadron. Tell them what you saw here, and no one else.”

  “Le Havre?” Lucas repeated in confusion. “You’re not with the resistance in Liège?”

  “No. Go to Le Havre. They’ll know who sent you.”

  Holding the Luger with both hands, Lucas stared at it in deep contemplation. Geist turned on her heel and ran to catch up with Vergess who had already traveled down the long road and waited in the broken shadow of a nearby building. She didn’t know if Lucas would make it to Le Havre, but a piece of her hoped he would.

  When she joined Vergess, they walked together into the main district of the city, avoiding everyone along their way. Through controlled breaths he said, “You’ve sent the boy to his grave—you realize that, right? The non-magical men in the Ethereal Squadron don’t last the year.”

  “I’m not so arrogant as to say I know what’s good for everyone,” Geist said with a huff. “Maybe it’s best he’s ruled by his own foolishness, rather than someone else’s wisdom. Lord knows that’s what I wanted at his age.”

  But Vergess was right. Non-sorcerers did join the Ethereal Squadron from time to time. They were men who had discovered magic or were born to sorcerer mothers and non-sorcerer fathers. They chose to help in the fighting—in the secret war between magic-wielders—but their limitations gave them little opportunity to do much in service of their new comrades. Still, their bravery impressed everyone. Those who didn’t die won the respect and care of the sorcerer families they fought alongside.

  Perhaps Lucas will find solace fighting his enemies—at least for a little while.

  Vergess slammed his back to a stone wall across the street from their pub. The roads were filled with patrols of soldiers running to the walls. The soldiers ran in lines of ten, some in groups of thirty, and the citizens of Antwerp knew not to venture outside. Geist wondered if Lucas would fare well enough to escape. If caught, the soldiers would surely blame him for the death of the men beyond the walls.

  Geist slid close to Vergess and glanced around. The pub sat unmolested, and she wondered if the rest of the team remained inside.

  “Is this how Victory always operates?” Vergess asked, staring at the locked wooden door.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the city swarms with the enemy, and we’ve been gone for some time, yet your advisor did nothing.”

  “He waited, as he should. We aren’t a team of lone wolves. We have to work together.”

  “There’s no cooperation if some members aren’t invested in cooperating.”

  Geist glowered up at him. “If you have something to say, out with it.”

  Vergess ground his teeth loud enough for her to hear. He met her glare with one of his own, cold fury in his eyes.

  When he remained silent, she continued. “Why are you acting like this? Is it because we’re approaching Germany?”

  “Of course,” he snapped, rage behind his words. “I never wanted to return. And here I am, standing on the very precipice.”

  Geist caught her breath. She had never considered that Vergess wouldn’t want to be a part of Operation Prometheus. Forcing him to venture so close to his homeland might be more painful than leaving had ever been.

  “I’m sorry,” Geist said. “I was the one that asked you be moved to this team.”

  “I know.” He snorted and turned away.

  “I didn’t think we could do it without you. You’ve already done so much, from the U-boat to the IDs. Please understand it wasn’t to hurt you. We need your strength.” She took in a deep breath. “I… I feel more secure when you’re around.”

  “I’ve lost people here. In Germany. In Austria. In Serbia.”

  “Is this about Isidora?” Geist asked. “The woman you loved?”

  Vergess gritted his teeth. “You don’t understand what’s it’s like to return to a homeland filled with painful memories.”

  “I do. I swear it.”

  When he returned his gaze, it had softened, but not fully.

  Geist exhaled. “My father is Austrian. We’re getting close to my homeland as well. I hate to see Belgium like this. I came here as a child.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true, all right? No one else knows.” Geist shook her head. “Well, I told Battery. But no one else outside of you two knows.”

  Vergess stared for a long moment, his eyes widening until he looked at Geist as though seeing her for the first time. “You’re a Cavell,” he drawled. “I can’t believe it. The house of assassins. The kingkillers.”

  The shock lasted a full second. He pieced it together that quickly? How?

  “House Cavell has access to specter, apex, and corpus sorcery. That has to be the house you’re from. I’d stake my life on it. They serve the Royal House of Habsburg-Lorraine.” Vergess narrowed his eyes. “Are you… working for them? Is that what this is?”

  “I have nothing to do with my h
ouse,” Geist blurted out, desperate to stop his line of thought. “I wasn’t lying when I said I ran from them. I swear it. My father tried to marry me to Leopold and—”

  “The crown prince?”

  “Yes, and—”

  “Why would you keep this hidden?” he asked. “If you aren’t involved with them, it should be common knowledge, to avoid suspicion.”

  “I told you. I have nothing to do with my house.” Geist spotted a group of enemy soldiers heading down the street in their direction. She grabbed Vergess by the coat and pulled him further into the shadows, her knuckles white and her heart pounding. “Do you think anyone would’ve taken me into the Ethereal Squadron if I told them who I was?”

  “I told them when I defected,” Vergess said. “If you had been truthful—”

  “Don’t,” Geist snapped. “How can you stand there and say if I had only been truthful from the beginning that everything would have worked?” Her nails dug into her palms, even through the fabric of Vergess’s jacket. “They wouldn’t have accepted me. Not as a woman. Not as a defector of House Cavell. I had to keep it hidden. Changing a few lines on my registration was all it took to remove the doubt—to remove the barriers—to allow me a chance to prove myself…”

  It took all of Geist’s willpower to keep her frustration in check. She never let go of her vise grip on Vergess’s jacket, dreading what he would say next.

  “The Verdun general doesn’t know you’re a woman, does he?”

  “Cross knows,” Geist forced herself to say.

  “I see.”

  The silence that followed twisted Geist’s stomach into knots. They didn’t have time to bicker about her past. They had a mission, but it would never be accomplished with doubt plaguing them at every step.

  “I’ve wanted to know your name for a while now,” Vergess said, breaking the stagnant atmosphere. “Florence Cavell.”

  She held still, waiting.

  “You trusted me, even when the others said I would betray them. I know they didn’t want me on this mission, I could hear it through the walls anywhere in Fort Belleville, but you insisted.” He took one of her hands in his and rubbed at her knuckles, relaxing her grip. The simple motion took her by surprise. “I’m going to offer the same trust in return. If you say you have nothing to do with House Cavell, then that’s what I choose to believe.”

  Geist stared at his hand, her fears melting away despite the echo of marching boots and the sound of distant gunfire. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “We both want to do right in this war,” he continued, his voice low. “I’ll try to keep some perspective as we get closer to the German Frontline Command.”

  The soothing Belgian breeze washed between them. Geist could see Vergess relax; his posture loosened and his breathing returned to normal. No more words were needed.

  When Geist attempted to reenter the pub, Vergess held her back, keeping his hand on hers.

  “I hope you were serious when you said you were no longer engaged,” he said.

  Geist locked up, her thoughts grinding to a halt. After a belabored moment, she found her breath and shook her head. “I—uh…”

  “It would be trouble for us if they’re looking for you. I’d hate to have to kill a prince.”

  Geist went to speak, but stopped herself short. She hadn’t given that situation consideration. They won’t be looking for me here… right? And Vergess’s statement almost sounded like a promise.

  Then he brought her knuckles up to his lips and gave them a light kiss.

  “What’re you doing?” Geist whispered, unwilling to take her hand away but trembling from the contact. No one had ever done this for her, not even the crown prince of Austria.

  “I’m making my intentions clear,” he said. “As any gentleman should. Now would be your chance to deny me.”

  “But—I’m not—I mean, look at me.” She gestured to her body, her curves dulled, her clothes splattered with blood, and mud on her knees and hands. “I’m not like the others. The women. I’m—”

  “We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I,” Vergess interjected. “And you’re terrible at hiding your beauty.”

  “I…” Geist took in a breath, at a loss for words.

  “You won’t deny my advances, will you? If you say no, I’ll stop now, before it becomes serious, but I want the chance to win your affection.”

  “Vergess, I… we’re in the middle of an operation,” she said. “We’ll talk about this once we’re back at Fort Belleville. Please. We need to go.”

  “Yes, I know. But promise me we’ll speak afterward.”

  There was a long silence. Then: “I promise.”

  Geist gave a curt nod and urged him toward the pub, desperate to leave the conversation. I can’t do this. Not here, not in the middle of Antwerp.

  Once convinced the soldiers had left the street, Geist returned to the pub and slammed in the heavy wooden door. It remained locked, much to her frustration. Vergess ran up and motioned her to one side.

  He placed a hand on the handle, and after a moment, rot spread from his palm to the door. His ruina sorcery broke down and aged anything, from flesh to metal. Blackish rotting power degraded the copper handle, unraveling it to dust.

  Vergess pushed the door and stopped his ruina power from consuming the rest of the entrance. They walked in together, Geist avoiding all eye contact, and found the front room empty. Victory, Blick, Battery, and Dreamer sat in the back room at their table, bowls of soup and slimy bread sitting before them.

  Geist hustled over and took her seat, her breathing still shallow. Battery scooted close and tilted his head. “We heard some commotion outside,” he said. “But Victory said everything would be okay. He was right, wasn’t he?”

  “Is that why you all stayed inside?” Vergess asked, taking a seat between Dreamer and Geist. “You put a lot trust in him. Imagine the consequences of a misprediction.”

  Victory smirked. “Well, fortunately, you’ve returned at just the time I saw you returning.” He rubbed the bandages over his face. “And while you were away, the owners of this fine pub have provided us with examples of ID cards. Dreamer believes he can make us look like citizens or soldiers, depending on the need.”

  “You knew what was going to happen to us?” Geist asked. He knew we would be attacked by soldiers and he said nothing to me?

  “I apologize,” Victory replied, glancing over to her. “I don’t fully know why or how, but I saw that if you and Vergess went out alone, you would return with valuable information. You would know where we should stop before the city of Spa.”

  “Where?” she asked, raking her mind for such information. Her thoughts went straight to her interactions with Lucas. He had mentioned a city. A city where the “resistance” dwelled.

  “Liège?”

  “The city of Liège?” Victory repeated. “I see.”

  Dreamer ran his thumb and pointer finger down the edges of his mouth. “Interesting. And now we have an advantage over our enemy. Vergess, do you know of any sorcerer families in the German Empire with this future sight ability?”

  “No,” Vergess said. “I was taught it died off with Anhalt.”

  “That’s what I thought. The sorcerers of the Najd believe those with destiny sorcery in their blood are descended from the prophets and that they died out long ago.”

  Victory shook his head. “Any of my brothers could develop the same magic if they focused. I studied the school of destiny magic to aid the Ethereal Squadron, but I’m afraid my inexperience limits its usefulness. I still cannot see our victory in Spa.”

  “You’re still the team’s most valuable asset,” Dreamer said. “We’ve got a destination and a clear way to avoid soldiers now. This operation will certainly be a success.”

  Battery rolled his eyes. Blick nudged him with an elbow and shook his head. Still, the younger man turned away from the conversation and glared at the table. He pushed his half-eaten bread around while Dreamer continued
his compliments.

  “You better now?” Blick asked, staring down Vergess. “Or are you going to have another tantrum?”

  Vergess snorted. “I’ll shape up once you stop acting like a wild dog around every woman we encounter.”

  “Gentlemen,” Dreamer said, holding up a hand. “If I may? Perhaps we should eat and be on our way without further discourse. If that’s all right with everyone?”

  Everyone in the team murmured agreements.

  Geist turned her attention to the food awaiting her on the table. The soup, mostly broth, contained goat-meat, onions, carrots, and cabbage. The smell didn’t invite consumption. But better than bread, she thought with a chuckle under her breath. She had seen the type of bread before in France—they called it “K bread”—a brick of foodstuff made from a mixture of potato, rye, and flour. The crust was tough as a rock and the soft slimy insides tasted like wet mold. Doctors advised to eat as little of it as possible, but sometimes food for the soldiers was scarce.

  Vergess ate his meal without word or complaint. First the bread, which he downed easily, and then he continued to the soup. Although the thought of speaking to him returned her to a flustered state, Geist knew she couldn’t keep quiet much longer, especially not in front of the others.

  I have to maintain myself and act as though nothing has changed.

  “So,” she said, her voice strained. “Which was easier to learn, apex or ruina sorcery?”

  A random question, she knew the answer to the moment the words left her mouth, and Vergess responded with a narrowed gaze.

  “Ruina. It’s a simple magic.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  He laughed and picked up his bowl of half-consumed soup. “It took a man several years to raise the animal that died to give its meat for this meal. It took another man several months to grow the crops. It took yet another man several hours to cook everything together.”

  Vergess tossed the soup to the floor, spilling the room-temperature broth across the wood panels.

  “It took me two seconds to ruin it,” he stated.

  Geist stood and stared at the mess. The others at the table followed suit, confusion on their faces.