Child of Sorrows

by Michaelbrent Collings

  Sword had flown before. Through the Gifts of Wind and Cloud, she had flown. But never like this. Nothing could be like this.

  The rushing noise – the fires at the old man's feet and back – suddenly exploded into something like the roar of a mad beast. Sword was jerked forward and worried she would fall again, but the man's grip – or the grip of the suit – was stronger than the metal from which it had been forged. She felt wind on her face, and her eyes ran with tears that slid sideways instead of down as the wind slapped away gravity and made direction a thing of imagination.

  A leaden heaviness again made her feel as though she were falling, though she knew now she was not. She was, instead, climbing through the sky. Rising in the metal hands of an enemy who had cast her to her doom… only to save her from what he had wrought.

  The fall had taken forever. The ascension took only an instant. She flew, and then she was suddenly flying no more and yet longed to return to flight again.

  The rushing sound of flame stilled as the armored man's fires banked. Metal clanked as he touched down on the stone of the air-dock, and she felt the solid rock beneath her feet as well. After such a flight, it felt clumsy and out of place. A man-made thing that served only to beat back the air, to hold back flight.

  She marvelled at what the flight had done.

  Then marvelled more at who had done it.

  She looked at the old man, and he bowed. Not the short nod of the head he had given her before – the nod of a soldier to a worthy foe. This time, the metal of his suit creaked and the gears ground as he bent at the waist. Smoke billowed from the joint on his arm that she had attacked, but he seemed neither to mind nor even notice.

  "Forgive me," he said.

  Sword almost reeled. Still more when she realized that many of the wounded – the men and women who had been trying to kill her only a moment ago – had struggled to their feet. And then, like the old man, they also bowed.

  "What….?" She felt lost. Like this was a cage she didn't understand, a trap she could not escape because she could not even see it. She looked back at the old man, who still bowed to her, his head so low it was nearly even with her own. "I don't understand," she finally managed. "You were trying to kill me."

  The man finally straightened. His face bore an expression that was part suffering, part elation, part confusion. "I am sorry for that. I did not know."

  "Know what?"

  Now the confusion took the fore. He cocked his head. "Why, that you were her. That you were the savior. That you are Judge and Jury."

  The trap seemed tighter, closer. She looked around again. Knuckles had raised to heads in salute. Several of the wounded could barely stand, and even as she watched one tottered to the side and fell. But he still saluted, even on his back he pressed fist to forehead and as he caught her eyes he murmured the thing she had heard before: "Judge." Then he added the word that she had seen others mouth, but had never quite made out. "Jury." And then a final pair of words, which made just as little sense and yet were more shocking: "Thank you."

  Sword looked back at the old man. "I don't… I don't understand."

  "You don't understand? How can you not –" The old man searched her face. Shook his head. "All that you have done, and you have no idea what it means." He held her gaze for another moment, then abruptly looked away. "See to the wounded."

  Sword didn't know who he was talking to, but there was a flurry of movement as everyone seemed abruptly to remember that they weren't in a strange parade inspection. Salutes fell away and those that could saw to others who were wounded worse than them.

  The old man, to her surprise, settled to the ground. He bent as though to sit, but as he did his suit split and shifted and smoked, and before he completed the motion he was sitting on a mechanized chair of some kind. It belched dark smoke out the back, the same smoke she had seen on the suit where she wounded it. Something ground, and the old man grimaced as though vaguely irritated at the evidence of – very minor – damage.

  All that – all I could do – and I managed to barely bother him.

  She also saw his legs, blasted and wasted-looking even through the cloth of his pants. And wondered anew. One thing to create a suit of armor the like of which had never been seen before. Quite another to create a suit that gifted the power of movement to the unmoving.

  Who is this? What else can he do?

  The old man waited. Finally, unsure what else to do, Sword sat as well. A large chunk of stone had been blasted apart during the fighting, and she settled on it as a chair.

  The old man looked as though he approved. "I am Tiawan," he said.

  "Sword," she answered, surprised at the sudden turn. He tried to murder me. Shall we now have tea?

  "No," said the old man. "Not to us. You are not Sword to us, you are Judge and Jury – or simply Judge to some."

  "You said that already. I don't understand it. I'm just Sword."

  He laughed at that. A laugh so loud and strong it was hard to believe it came from such a blasted body. When he finally stopped she felt vaguely embarrassed for not understanding the joke. And as though he sensed her embarrassment, Tiawan stopped laughing suddenly and stared at her with an intensity that reminded her of the kennels – of Dogs taking one another's measure before the dealing of death began.

  "The men of the Empire, the… officers and nobles…." Tiawan's face twisted at the last, and he spat to the side. "They have long had the freedom to do what they would. To our children, to our daughters."

  Sword shook her head. "Malal –"

  Tiawan held up his hand. "Don't speak of that monster!" The chair shifted behind him, as though sensing his sudden rage and aching to turn back to its armored shape, its true shape. Something seemed to glow beneath his shirt, as well – a dim yellow under his clothing, a spot over his heart. It pulsed once, then darkened, and as it did the chair settled into itself once again. Tiawan sighed, getting himself back under control. "You will have your time to speak your story, Judge. But now I will speak it." He looked at his legs. "The law has been in place for centuries – perhaps as long as the Empire. For centuries we have been culled, the children of the poor and the weak stolen away, to be put in the kennels – or worse. And we could do nothing."

  "The law changed." The words came as a whisper.

  "And nothing else. Not until you." He pointed at her. "Not until the girl who came to kill those who broke the law. Not until the dark lady with the flaming swords, who stole from the rich the lives they sought to steal from others." The puzzlement reappeared in his face. "Why would you fight me? Why would you go against me? Was your need to kill Malal so great that you would destroy any who sought the same for themselves?"

  Sword blinked, not understanding what he had just said. Not for a long moment, until –

  Gods, he doesn't know. Doesn't know I'm with Malal. Doesn't know I live at the palace and work for the Empire. He thought I was at the castle to kill him myself.

  "It's not what you think. None of this," she said, gesturing at the wounded, the air-dock, and whatever lay beyond in Fear, "is necessary."

  He frowned. "I would have thought our Judge, our champion, would understand –"

  "Don't you see? I'm not the judge or the jury. I'm just the executioner."

  Now it was Tiawan's turn to look confused. "But you –"

  "I was acting under orders. The orders of Malal." Shock tore Tiawan's expression, and she pressed forward. "Tiawan, there are things you aren't aware of. Things you don't yet understand." The chair started to change, shifting into armor, one plate of metal at a time. Sword hurried, trying to stop the change – and the violence it promised. "Tiawan, you don't have to fight against the Empire or the Emperor." The change continued. Slowly, but she couldn't be sure if that was because he was confused or tortured, or if it was simply that he wanted her to see doom coming. She blurted out the one thing she never thought she would say. The most dangerous thing.

  "Malal is already dead."

 
; The clanking stopped as quickly as it had begun. The change didn't reverse – Tiawan was still stuck somewhere halfway between a man sitting on a chair and one encased in armor – but at least it halted. "What did you say?"

  Sword looked around. The others on the air-dock had stopped moving, orienting on their leader as soon as his chair began to transform. But they hadn't moved to attack – not that there were many left who could.

  More important, they were far enough away that none had heard what she had said to Tiawan… or what she was about to say next.

  Sword leaned in close to the old man. He tensed, clearly expecting foul play, but she kept her hands visible, her fingers outstretched. "Tiawan, I understand your fear, your anger." She glanced around again. "Have you ever heard of the Cursed Ones?"

  He nodded. "Of course. Though many have wondered if they were destroyed during the attacks that destroyed the Grand Cathedral and called up the lava to consume the Army's Acropolis. The Imperial Army was present at both, and the people all believe they were called out in force to fully and finally destroy the Cursed Ones. Surely the people have heard of no activity from them since those events."

  Sword nodded. "No, they wouldn't have heard anything. Because those things happened when Malal and his Chancellor tried to wipe out the Cursed Ones and those who fought with them. But they failed. The Cursed Ones weren't destroyed, they – we – destroyed the Chancellor. We killed Malal. The Empire does not need to be overthrown, because it already has been."

  "And yet Malal still sits upon the Silver Seat."

  Sword shook her head. "No. One of us – a Greater Gift who was once named Smoke – transformed himself to Malal's form." She paused, sitting back. "The Cursed Ones are in charge. We are in charge. And things are changing."

  Tiawan no longer looked confused. Now he looked stricken. She didn't understand. "Tiawan, this is good news. Things –"

  "Yes, things are changing." He waved her words away. "So you said. But from where we sit," he said, indicating those around him, "nothing has changed. We are still taxed, our children still stolen."

  "I stop the people –"

  "You stop some of them. You stop those who break this new law," he said, his lips curling, "near the palace. But what of those in the outlands? In Fear, or the northern reaches? Do you think the nobles or their lieutenants ceased pillaging simply because some faraway Emperor-child told them to do so?"

  Sword put her head in her hands. Tears wanted to come. She knew what he was saying was true. She and her friends had decided on a course – revolution was well and good to talk about, but too often anarchy followed, and that would be far worse – but the reality was that they were moving too slowly. Far too slowly.

  And will it ever be fast enough? Can we ever change what needs to be changed, short of letting the Empire simply die and then waiting to see what will rise from the ashes.

  And what if nothing does?

  "We're trying," she finally said. It sounded petty. The words of a spoiled child caught not doing its chores. She abruptly thought of the paper that Malal –

  (and he is Malal now, not Smoke, Smoke is gone and just the Emperor remains)

  – had ordered for his wedding announcement. The expense that had gone into the making of it, magics that had cost more than some families spent in food for a year.

  And was that because it was part of the charade, something the real Emperor would be expected to do? Or was it simply because he had grown accustomed to the wealth and power that his new position brought?

  "Trying is not enough," said Tiawan. His voice was low, but hard. Not grandstanding or preening. Simple conviction. "Things must change. Now."

  "But if they change too quickly –"

  "No! There is no such thing as 'too quickly'!" The metal around him shifted, and now he was back in his seat. "You have not seen. You don't know…."

  Now something cold took hold of Sword. "I don't know?" She indicated the scar on her face, the thin line running from just under her right eye to the corner of her mouth. "Do you know where I got this? The kennels. Put there, and my parents killed, because I was witness to a coup attempt upon the Emperor's house. I've forgotten more about suffering than most of you will ever know." Light began to flare under her palms, and she had to concentrate to dim the fire that wanted to brighten as weapons in her hands.

  Tiawan met her gaze evenly. "I believe you," he finally said. "And I weep for you." He seemed to lose himself for a moment, thinking hard about something before finally saying, "Come." He held out a hand, and as he did the chair shifted and whirred and the armor grew once again to envelop him.

  Sword stepped forward. She didn't hesitate. She was here to find out what was happening in Fear. To find a cure for Malal.

  This was the man who could provide all of that. She wasn't sure anymore if he was her enemy – he very well could be. But he had what she needed.

  She took his hand. Great fingers closed around hers, surprisingly gentle. Then the giant took her in his arms, cradling her like a baby. The fires at his back and feet stoked high. The rushing came.

  "Where are we going?" she said. She was not afraid, which surprised her.

  The metallic voice answered, "To the place where we may speak further. Where we may know each other's stories. And where I will decide whether or not to kill you."

  9

  "Are we going to talk about it?"

  "About what?"

  "About the man who tried to gut you like a fish."

  Inmil looked at his sister. Maci was younger than he by several Turns, but she had always managed somehow to seem older. Especially at times like this, when she folded her arms and looked at him with a cocked head that reminded him so much of their mother.

  So long. Has it been so long since she died?

  For a moment, Inmil felt himself a child again. Hearing the screams of his mother as the soldiers came for her.

  No, not for her. For Maci. And Mother got in the way, and then….

  He refocused. Thoughts like this came occasionally – and more and more with every passing Turn. Age drove him into the past, just as it drives young men into the future. The ache to achieve was gradually burning out, replaced by a need to….

  What?

  "Well?"

  Maci's word – and the tone she spoke in – finally pulled him fully away from the memory that had threatened to intrude. The screams, the blood… and the far worse that came after.

  He turned away from her, back to the Old Book with the tree on the front – that strangely familiar tree. "Well what?" he said.

  He sensed as much as saw her frown. "Don't pretend to be an idiot, Inmil." She shrugged. "Though I must admit that particular mask does fit you rather well."

  Inmil shook his head, but didn't take the bait. He kept his face bent to the book. Hard enough to do, since Brother Luca was intently studying the page opposite the one Inmil was looking at, a half-dozen other Old Books spread out on the huge slab of stone that served as a table in the Archive.

  Brother Luca bent a bit nearer to the page each time Maci spoke, as though to prove how much he wasn't listening by how close he could get his nose to the old paper.

  "Inmil, I'm talking to you."

  Inmil sighed. She wouldn't let it go. She never did. He had tried to ignore her since her very first words – not even words, really, just burbling and screaming that rubbed his young nerves raw. Even when Maci grew enough to speak – and to become very smart and even more interesting as a person – she still annoyed him.

  He loved her. Gods, how he loved her.

  But that didn't mean he had to like her all the time.

  "Still waaaaiting, Inmil." She drew the word out, letting him know she was willing to be as irritating as need be to get her answers.

  "Fine. Fine!" He pushed the book away. "What is it you wish of me, dear sister?"

  "Some basic common sense, first of all." That look was still on her face: that look that told him no matter how much older
he might be, somehow she had managed to become an elder sister. "What happened in the tunnels? Who was the man?"

  "What man?" Maci opened her mouth – no doubt to really take him to task, but he waved her off. "I'm toying with you, dear sister." Her brows came together in irritation, and he couldn't help but smile for just a moment before growing serious. "The truth is, I've no idea."

  "So you finally have total strangers trying to kill you now? It's not just me anymore?"

  "So it would seem."

  "It's about the book, obviously." She nodded at the Old Book, which Brother Luca had gotten close enough to that he looked like he was trying to inhale the thing.

  "So it would seem," repeated Inmil. He sighed. Looked at Brother Luca and then at his sister. "I need to tell you."

  "Tell us what?"

  They both knew some of it. Knew about the attack that had leveled the Grand Cathedral, obviously; and though Brother Luca had never been a part of the church councils that discussed the problems in the Empire – and possible ways to stop it – he would have to actually be as blind as he was now pretending to be not to know that things were terribly wrong.

  Maci knew more. She was higher-placed among the Faithful, and Inmil had confided some of his own knowledge to her. She knew that there was revolution in the wind, and that it actually had a chance of succeeding. But even she didn't know that the revolution had already occurred. Almost no one did.

  "What I tell you now, I tell you in secrecy. Swear it on the Gods."

  Brother Luca gave lie to his pretended avoidance of the conversation by straightening and immediately raising his hand to the square before solemnly intoning, "I so swear."

  Maci was more difficult about it. Of course. Finally, though, she mirrored Brother Luca's actions.

  And Inmil told them. Told them everything.

  He had the great satisfaction of seeing his sister go from all-knowing to utterly stunned. Something that he had only seen once before – and this time it was under much better circumstances.

  Then it was Inmil's turn to be shocked, for when he finished Brother Luca snorted and said, "Is that all?" before turning back to the Old Book.