by L. W. Jacobs
A heavy thrum of uai hit the body on top of him, the ground beneath him. Get up. He had to get up. Fight off the last Broken.
Tai rolled out from the under the bodies, blood running hot and wet down his arm, and got to his knees. The bends twisted his vision like ripples on a pond, but a man was between him and the Broken. Fighting them. Smashing a log three times his length into the one Aelya had wounded, sending it spinning into the wall. Roaring and slamming it down on top of the other Broken, so hard Tai felt the impact through the earth.
Was this a fever dream? Tai got to his feet despite the nausea, shaking his head, trying to understand what was happening. The first Broken had bounced from the wall, attacked despite what looked like a broken back. The militiaman impaled it with his log, shoving the splintered end through the Broken body and into the palisade wall behind.
“What?” he gasped. That kind of strength was impossible. Was he dreaming? Already dead?
A shoulder pushed under his, an arm circling his back. “Lord Tai!” someone shouted, voice strangely distant. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he muttered, then shook himself. “I’m fine. What—”
“One of the men, sir!” the man holding him called. “He’s killing them. It’s a miracle! Is this your doing?”
A cultist then. It didn’t matter. The Broken were dead. Just five, and it had taken everything they had to stop them. He looked at the one at his feet and saw a spray of platinum hair extending from beneath it. His heart lurched. “Ella?”
He thought he had seen her earlier, when the first wafter got impaled, standing on the far side of the fort yard watching. Tai dropped and pulled at the Broken body, limbs still weak, fear battling with exhaustion for the strength to roll the body off. The cultist dropped and rolled the mangled Broken off.
It was Ella, her face driven into the dirt, blood smeared across her clothes. “No,” he whispered, rolling her over, shaking her. “Don’t be dead, you can’t be dead.”
Her eyes opened, deep and brown. “Tai,” she whispered. “You’re alive?”
“Apparently,” he said, relief flooding into him. A bloody sword lay just out of her reach, and he connected it to the impossible slice across the dead Broken’s jugular, oozing weak spurts of blood even now. “Thanks to you?”
“Least I could do,” Ella mumbled, clearly still disoriented, looking ten years older.
She was safe. Tai stood, ordering one of the cultists to help her. Now Aelya. Now Weiland. Now all the rest of his people.
The fort yard was a disaster. Bodies lay like shattered plates, dead and dying, shouts and screams of the battle replaced by moans and rattles and the concerned calls of the living, moving among the dead. The iron tang of blood lay heavy on the air, and sections of the stout wood walls themselves were splintered.
“Marrem!” he barked, turning to a dazed but unwounded militiaman standing nearby. “Go to the healworkers, tell her what’s happened! Go now! Run!”
The man ran.
A single fighter stood in the midst of the swathe of destruction the Broken had made, chest heaving, impossibly thick log gripped in both hands. As Tai looked the man lost his grip, log thudding to earth, dead Broken at the other end. Sigwil. That was Sigwil.
“Hell of a morning,” someone drawled next to him.
“Weiland! You’re okay.”
The lanky Seinjialese shrugged. “Been better, but yeah.” He nodded his head at the wall. “See that?”
Tai looked, and understood where Sigwil had gotten the log from—he’d ripped it from the palisade wall. Prophets.
“Sigwil!” Tai called. “What happened, man?”
Sigwil turned to them, sheeted in blood from head to foot, a beatific smile on his face. “I don’t know. I—I was just fighting, and something happened with my challenges, and—”
“And then you meckshattered two Broken,” Aelya said, limping up from the other side.
“Aelya!” Tai said, but Weiland was already running to her. Her face was ashen, her iron fist covered in gore, but she didn’t seem to be bleeding. Weiland put a protective arm under her shoulders. “What happened to you?”
Aelya nodded at the Broken behind him. “That thing, I think.”
He looked back to see Ella up now, threading her way to them as Feynrick began to organize the remaining militiamen. “Your challenges, Sigwil,” she called, voice clear despite the mud and blood caking her. “They’re gone now?”
Wonder lit the man’s face. “They are. By the Prophets.” He shook his head.
Weiland grunted. “That’s how he did it.”
Tai thought back to his own overcomings, to the insane bursts of power he’d gotten afterwards. For a brawler—a powerful one—that would mean the ability to rip logs from walls. To defeat Broken, apparently.
“Shatting good timing,” Aelya said, leaning on Weiland.
“How did you do it?” Tai asked. “Was it just—by accident?”
He’d hate to think the only thing that saved their entire militia from being destroyed—their city, probably—was an accident.
Sigwil cocked his head, but Ella answered. “Maybe not an accident, entirely. Sigwil and I need to talk.”
15
If she had told me, in her dying moments, how lonely this life would be, I may not have taken it up. What use is limitless power if it cannot heal the human heart?
—Aymila Reglif, private journals
The healworkers arrived not much later, Ella working with the survivors to sort out the dead, dying, and healable. It reminded her too much of the day she spent in the Tower amphitheater, after the rebels tried to take Newgen: the moans of the wounded, the hopeless and desperate looks in their eyes, the smell of blood and offal heavy on the air.
Only this time, she felt more at peace with it. This was clearly the Councilate’s fault, their aggression, unlike the rebellion violence she’d been part of. And this time, she’d already been working for the good of her people, to try to prevent this from happening. Learning how to overcome felt even more important now, after what happened with Sigwil. And the moment she shared with him, that strange harmony she’d felt between their resonances as she ran to save Tai, it couldn’t have been an accident.
Which meant it was the key to understanding everything.
So she worked with peace in her heart despite the despair all around her, bandaging the minor wounds, sitting with the seriously wounded and dying, offering them water and what comfort she could. All the while another part of her mind worked at what had happened, trying to understand it.
After Marrem, Leyra, and their assistants had done what they could, those in need of more care were carried to infirmaries, while families were called for those who would not survive the trip. The losses were staggering—Ella estimated over half the militiamen training there were dead or too wounded to be of any use in the coming weeks, and another quarter sustained wounds that would limit their ability to fight.
Meaning they were even more vulnerable to Councilate attack. If something didn’t change soon, she doubted they would survive another attack like this.
That knowledge was heavy on everyone’s faces as they gathered in the Tower for an emergency meeting. Arkless and Gellonel were there, along with a large number of cultists and regular townsfolk, people who had heard the shouts and cries, or caught news through Ayugen’s well-functioning rumor mill. Already she heard cultists talking of a second miracle, and seen a few of them looking at Sigwil with the same awe they looked at Tai.
Marrem started, recounting the granary she and Tai had been inspecting when the Broken came. Tai took over from there, describing how he tried to draw them out of the city, but the Broken had been too smart.
“There was a mindseye among them,” he said, wincing as Marrem drew a bandage tight around his bicep. “I’m sure of it. The moment I thought of a weakness, they started to exploit it.”
“I saw that too,” Ella said. “I was watching when Tai lost his resonance.
And no sooner had I thought of how vulnerable he’d be during the bends than all the Broken ran for him.” Theorists had written about how valuable mindsight could be on the battlefield, but yura had become widespread too recently for the Councilate to incorporate it into their tactics.
“They could have just seen that too,” Aelya said, cracking her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean they were reading your mind.”
“But they did read mine,” Tai said. “They knew I was trying to draw them away from the city, to burn their uai, because I couldn’t face them alone. As soon as I thought it, they split up and started drawing me back. They only ended up at the training grounds instead of back at that merchant’s yard because I masked my real thoughts, made them think the militia was what I was trying to protect.”
“Aye, no doubt they were coordinated,” Feynrick said, leaning thick arms on the amphitheater’s worn velvet seats. “Anyone who looked at them could tell that. Soon as they saw a weakness, they were on it. And those brawlers fighting back to back…”
“They were like one person,” Weiland nodded.
“Which means they had a leader,” Ella said, searching for something to lighten the mood in the room. The people needed something to cling on to, some hope. “A mindseye, using their higher resonance to communicate to the others, like we’ve been practicing. If we take that one out, they would at least lose coordination.”
“They were coordinated to the last, from my angle,” Feynrick said. “And the last two were brawlers, not mindseyes.”
“There was a moment,” Sigwil spoke up, face still mottled with poorly-scrubbed blood. “About the time Ella stabbed the second wafter, they all seemed to lose it, screaming and twitching. I think that’s part of the reason I got to them.”
“So the second wafter was their leader?” Tai asked. He was bruised and bandaged, but overall in better shape than most of the men from the fort. “I didn’t see the end of the fight. Were they still coordinated?”
“Hard to say,” Aelya smirked. “Sigwil was too busy shattermecking them to tell.”
“The question, my dears,” Feynrick said, “is how we find the leader next time.”
No one spoke up. Ella thought through what she knew of mindseyes, what she’d read in Kellandrials and other broadsheets, but you couldn’t tell someone’s resonance from their outward appearance. Especially not if they looked like those Broken.
“More importantly,” Weiland drawled, “how do we make sure Sigwil’s there?”
This drew some laughter, but Ella kept working at the problem. “Sigwil did what he did today because he overcame his voice during the battle, and there’s always a large surge of power that comes after. He’s unlikely to be able to do it again, but there might be a way to help others do what he did. Time their overcoming for when we need it most. I’m going to work on it.”
“You do that,” Aelya said. “Meantime, how do we find the traitors?”
“Traitors?” several people asked at once.
“Think about it,” the stocky street girl said. “A yershman no one recognizes shows up asking specifically for Tai, and then a minute later five Broken fly right there. He was part of it. He was leading them.”
Ella was not the only one to suck in air. She hadn’t had time to think about it, but Aelya was right.
“He did ask specifically for me,” Tai said, rolling his shoulders. “Said he knew something about the Broken, in the southern forests. I thought it was odd at the time, that he didn’t know you or Feynrick would be the ones to talk to.”
“Because he was a traitor,” Aelya said. “The Broken aren’t coming from the south, they’re coming from the west. From Gendrys.”
“We need to find him,” Tai said, voice going hard. “Interrogate him. Could be he was behind the attack on the granary too.”
“And the man with the fox,” a woman among the cultists said. “He was running toward Lord Tai before the Broken even came, like he knew something.”
Arkless frowned at this. “He’s not one of you? That’s what he told me.”
The cultist shook her head. “I’ve never seen him at a meeting, and I attend all of them.” The woman shot a glance at Tai, to see if he’d heard, and Ella suppressed a wave of jealousy. She had no special claims on Tai. Had no time to make special claims. But still.
“We need to interrogate them,” Aelya said. “All of them.”
Ella cleared her throat. “All of who?”
“The lighthairs,” Aelya said, dark eyes holding no sympathy. “That’s who did this. A Yershman was the plant. The Broken were all lighthaired.”
The ignorance of it was so bold Ella couldn’t think of a response.
Arkless did. “Dear, the Councilate is not only made of light-haired people. And if their darkhair plants hear you are only questioning lighthairs, they will send Seinjialese and Yatimen next time.”
“No,” Aelya said, good fist working. “They would only send ones they trust. Ones high up enough in their system, and we all know that’s not darkhairs.”
Ella bristled under her gaze. “Being a lighthair doesn’t mean you’re high up in their system either. That’s why the rebellion was full of them.”
“We interrogate those we have suspicion of,” Tai interrupted, raising a hand. “Hair color has nothing to do with it.”
Arkless cleared his throat. “With all due respect, I disagree with that too. Hair color itself is not an indicator of loyalty, yes, but split as our peoples have been until the last century of colonization, hair color does often indicate place of origin. More importantly, it often says something about how that person has been educated and what prejudices they hold, which can have an influence on loyalty. Judging by color alone is ignorance, but ignoring it as one clue in a larger puzzle is choosing blindness.”
“Well the stupidest thing we could do,” Aelya cut in, “is not act because we’re worried about hurting someone’s feelings. They are trying to kill us. We need to find out who’s working with them, and stop them before it happens again.”
“And you’re the one to do it?” Ella asked, unable to keep the ice from her voice.
Tai looked between them, mouth working. “Arkless,” he said at last. “Do you have time to take this on?”
The merchant sighed. “With the lack of any of my trading ventures coming back from Yatiland with goods to sell? Yes.”
Some tension left the room, and Ella’s stomach unclenched. Arkless was fine. He was educated enough to understand both sides, and having traded blackmarket arms trade under the Councilate was likely more subtle than most of them at ferreting out spies.
“Good,” Tai said. “Any word from your smugglers on trading Sablo for grain?”
“It’s been arranged,” Arkless said. “Five wagons of barley for Arten Sablo, to be exchanged at the abandoned village between Ayugen and Gendrys, in three days’ time.”
“And the information on what they’re doing?” Tai pressed, voice calm but eyes focused.
“Very little,” Arkless said, “other than that it is military, with rumors of things going on in the army encampment outside the city. To know more, we would need to actually get into the encampment.”
“Then that’s what we need to do,” Tai said. “We can’t take another attack like this, and the Councilate is getting better at making Broken. We need to figure out how they’re doing it, and stop them.”
The crowd murmured, tension returning.
“How?” Marrem asked, hands never paused. Why did the woman need so many packets of mavenstym? “We all agreed the parley is a trap, and these last Broken only prove it.” The healworker had cut the uniforms from them to reveal broadsheets identical to the first woman’s, calling for a parley at Gendrys.
“It might not be a trap, you know,” Arkless said, straightening starched cuffs. “The Councilate will be losing money from the loss of the yura trade. Coldferth, Alsthen, these houses substantially shifted their economic models to yura in the last decade. Now that their
source has dried up, I don’t doubt they are struggling financially, and secondary Houses are making a play to unseat them in the Council. They may actually just want to parley, to restore the yura trade however they can.”
“So we can start selling yura to our enemies?” Aelya asked. “I don’t think so.”
Tai nodded. “It doesn’t make sense to sell them weapons against us, especially if they’re using it to make Broken. I’m not saying we go to the parley. I’m saying we send a few people along on the trade, people capable of finding out what’s going on in the encampment. Mindseyes, or people who can blend in.”
He glanced at her, and Ella flushed. Go back to the Councilate? It was the last thing she wanted to do, even if Gendrys was hardly the same as Worldsmouth. But if it meant saving their city?
Marrem clucked her tongue at Tai. “And I suppose you’re one of these people?”
He shrugged. “We saw today that I’m still faster than their fastest wafter. If things go wrong I can get the others out.”
Aelya scowled. “You’re just itchy. You just want to go.”
“I do want to go,” Tai said. “And once we get the information, I might be able to do something then and there to stop them. The Titan who threatened me after the ousting said they had taken yuraloading and improved on it. So whatever they’re doing takes yura, which they’re not getting any more of. If the infiltrators can find where their yura is stored, maybe I can fly in and burn it. But if we wait for them to come back, then go? Who knows how many Broken we’ll have at our doors by then.”
Even Marrem nodded at this. It was a good plan, or good enough. They couldn’t wait for the Councilate to strike again. Not if Worldsmouth was capable of making Broken like the ones that attacked today.
