The Key To The Grave (#2 The Price Of Freedom)

by Chris Northern

  “I knew you would come,” she said, with fierce pride. “I knew it!” Then she ruined the effect by bursting into tears, because she hadn't known it at all, she had only hoped.

  I held her for a while; it felt good. It didn't taker her long to get a hold of herself.

  “Don't kill them,” I said. Not exactly the first words I wanted her to hear me say, but I needed to respond to what was happening, not what I wanted to happen.

  It was something that had been bothering me, and when Sapphire made to dispatch the wounded, I intervened. It was his way; your enemies are dead, you've won, but if they still live you haven't won yet, so kill them. But it wasn't my way, it wasn't the way of the city. We won by beating our enemies, and letting them live with the knowledge they had been beaten. A dead man is no use for anything but fertilizer, but a beaten enemy can be productive. We taught them that opposing us was not only futile but wrong, that our way was better, that peace, safe passage and a free market enhanced their lives. It wasn't the time to preach; I didn't think the wounded men would be receptive, but it was an opportunity for me to stop them from becoming so much meat, so I did.

  Still, I had to tell them why I was sparing them; no sense doing it else. There were only four who looked like they might live, and I picked the most attentive, addressing myself to him; he clutched a wound in his thigh, keeping pressure on so that he did not bleed out, eyeing the wound dispassionately, and regarding me with masked fear and open hatred.

  “I am Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, patron of the city. Understand this; if you had not raised arms against our people you would still have a land to call your own. Go back among the Alendi who still oppose us, and tell them this; we will not tolerate that our people be harmed, so it is too late for them to reclaim their lands or seek our forgiveness; those lands are ours now and we will doubtless keep them for a time. Tell them to go where they will and make what lives they choose elsewhere, but not to seek to oppose us, for we will surely destroy them. Tell them to remember that in times to come we will hold no grudge and treat fairly with them, but for now they had best not fall under our sight. Tell them to look to the future, while they still have one to look to, and not oppose the city again, nor ally with our enemies, for their lives and freedom depend on it.”

  Sounded a little portentous even to my ears, but the point was made. Live in peace and leave us in peace, no problem; anything else, you'll regret it or not live to feel any regret.

  When I turned my attention to Sapphire, he shrugged and looked around, seeking some other task.

  “We'd better camp here for the night; secure them for now, tomorrow is soon enough for them to go free.”

  “Speaking of freedom, are you planning to untie me at all?”

  Yes, well; that was how long vulnerable and tearful lasted. I stuck the tip of my sword into the ground and pulled free my belt knife to work on the ropes that bound her.

  Even as I cut her free, my attention was drawn elsewhere. Dubaku had sat up, and that drew my eye. I was glad he was unhurt, but that wasn't what held my attention; it was the way he was looking around, as though he were unsure where he was and was trying to get his bearings. He saw me watching him and grinned, eyes dancing with mischief, then gave a friendly wave and climbed to his feet. The hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms stood on end. “That isn't Dubaku,” I muttered, dropping the knife with which I had managed to free her hands and taking up my sword once more; wary, I went forward.

  Dubaku stepped to meet me, still smiling, eyes still dancing.

  “Who are you?” I said.

  He cocked his head to one side, peering up at my face, expression thoughtful. His lips moved as though he were testing out the words, or experimenting with how lips and tongue moved to form them.

  “You wouldn't understand,” he said. It was Dubaku's voice, but slower, almost questioning.

  I didn't know what I faced. But I knew it wasn't Dubaku. He had never smiled, or frowned. In fact I'd barely seen his face show any expression, and his eyes too gave nothing away. This man wore emotions on his face freely; this man's eyes danced with humour, were wide with delight and a kind of wonder as he looked around, only returning to my face for a moment at a time, as though to check I was still there.

  I raised the tip of my blade slightly, not quite a threat. “Just tell me. I'll understand.”

  He glanced toward the blade, then to my face, then away again, taking in everything and settling on nothing.

  “You are not Dubaku,” I said.

  His gaze snapped to meet mine, then away again. “Of course I am, though of course I am not. I am his eyes and ears, his other spirit, his guide and mentor, his fetch. I am Quickmoon. I don't get to do this often. Is there any food? It's been an age since I ate something. And drink. Drink is good.”

  He had been right, I didn't understand a damn thing he said. His other spirit? What did that mean? Fetch? I just plain didn't know the word. “Where is Dubaku?”

  He waved one hand airily. “Over there, fighting. It has to be him, the other spirit touched him, not me. It's better if he is there than here,” he touched himself on the chest, then rested his palm flat and smiled in delight. “A heartbeat,” he looked at me in wonder. “Isn't it fine?”

  “Will he be all right?”

  He looked puzzled. “When?”

  “What? I mean, will he win?”

  His gaze slid past me. “His will is like water, fluid and strong, I doubt the other will dominate him. I think she is angry.”

  I took a couple of steps back before I glanced over my shoulder. Jocasta was sitting down, using my knife to cut the rope that restricted her stride, and as she sawed away she glared at me.

  I looked at things from her point of view for a second and then winced. I hadn't been playing my role very well.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think she probably is.”

  #

  We took care of the ugly details; stripping the dead of their armor, weapons and valuables, moving them away from the camp that we had decided to take over for the night, building cairns to cover the dead. The wounded had to be guarded, and Sapphire had agreed to do that while Dannat and I took care of the rest. After the dead were dealt with, we led our horses back through the trees, into the firelight and hobbled them to keep them from straying.

  To my surprise, Sapphire had spent some time helping the wounded. They were clustered around one of the three fires, wounds bound, sullen but uncomplaining. Sapphire was standing close by, watching them but seemingly unconcerned. He turned his back on them and came to join us as we worked on securing the horses.

  “They want to talk to you,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating his charges.

  I glanced at them. One, at least, met my gaze. I didn't know what to make of his expression but I nodded assent. “I'll hear them in a minute.”

  Sapphire pitched in to help us with the horses. “When you leave a living enemy behind you, you may feel a knife in your back.”

  I frowned, giving him the respect of actually thinking about it even though my mind was made up. “As I understand it, the Alendi and the others were acting out of fear of the Necromancers, not out of hatred for us. They had traded peacefully with us for decades...”

  “Since the last time you trounced them. And why a man tries to kill you hardly seems relevant.”

  I couldn't argue with the first point; it was true enough. “The men we killed in the pass were doing their job, finding out why we were acting suspiciously instead of openly approaching their settlement. We killed them because they were inconvenient. So, does the reason we kill matter?”

  He didn't answer for a good while as we continued about our tasks.

  “Survival isn't a popularity contest.”

  Well, I couldn't argue with that either. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I wished I were at home in the city, comfortable in my own bed with a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, dealing only with abstractions a
nd theories instead of messy reality.

  He wasn't quite done. “I've been killing people my whole life; we weren't much encouraged to consider the ethics of things, and those that by inclination did so anyway didn't make the cut,” he grinned suddenly, facing me fully. “No pun intended.”

  It was a fierce grin, with something deeply disturbing about it, but I sensed there was a hint of genuine humor there, somewhere. I let a smile relax my features. “I'll try not to let it bother me.”

  “Do that. If it bothers you, you will think about it and it will slow you down, and then it will be the other man agonizing over your death. That's not an improvement, as far as I can see.”

  I left it at that. There really was no point arguing with him; his nature had been forged in blood and death since childhood, and there was no changing him now. But I would try and make better choices in the future, try not to repeat the mistakes of the past. Someone had said something similar in something I'd read; those who do not heed the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them. Or was it history? Never mind, the idea was clearly sound and easily applied. I stopped thinking about it for now and went to see what our prisoner had to say. What I really wanted to do was talk to Jocasta, but once this was done I could spend as much time with her as I liked. Right now she was talking to Dubaku, or Quickmoon. She was safe. She was free. To say I was glad just doesn't cut it.

  It was the man with the wound in his thigh who paid me the most attention as I approached the four warriors, so I addressed my question to him.

  “You wanted to talk to me?”

  He looked pale and drawn; his thigh was now heavily bandaged and it looked as though the bleeding was staunched. I guessed he'd live if he didn't move for a few days. I'd make sure we left enough supplies so that they could stay put. Any or all of them might die of infection, of course, but there was nothing I could do about that. I was giving them the chance to live, not taking responsibility for their lives.

  “Why did you spare us?”

  Guilt. But I wasn't going to say that, and it wasn't the whole reason, so I didn't have to. But instead of giving a direct answer I asked a question. “What will happen to your lands now?” He didn't make an immediate answer, so I went on. “Some of our army will be settled there, granted land that was yours. They will bring families, build towns, work the land and prosper. In time, some of the Alendi slaves will win their freedom and return there and also settle. They will be clients of a patron of the city, so the roads will be safe to travel, trade will flow freely, the people who reside there will be secure and prosperous. If you had not made war against us much of this might have happened anyway, but the difference is that your people would still be alive or free. So let me ask you this, how did rising against us benefit you?”

  “We could have won,” he seemed serious. “It won't do any good, and I won't throw my life away by trying.”

  I guessed he meant that he wouldn't convey my message to his people. Well, I couldn't force him to do it. “If your people attack lands controlled by the city, they will die or become slaves. Are you saying you won't try and save them from that fate?”

  He scowled up at me from where he sat with his back against a rock, the fire throwing a patina of light and shadow over him. “Ishal Laharek said you were a city built on the backs of slaves and you threaten us with that evil even as you try to make me betray my people. Your roads are like the choke-weed, seeking to strangle us and re-make us in your own image.” I couldn't argue with that, we'd long believed that if everyone followed our methods the world would be a better place. “You are the enemies of faith.” I wouldn't argue with that, wither; religion and unreason go hand in hand and faith gets in the way of thought. When you believe something you cease to question, and how can that be a good thing? Belief requires ignorance; we think it is better to know you do not know than to pretend you do. “Your godless obsession with trade consumes you.” Well, that at least was arguable; but the creation of wealth, that we are guilty of, yet we seek to make an even playing field, not force everyone to play. And wealth means a better life for all. Even at the simplest level, free trade and safe roads means no starvation when the the local harvest fails. And the benefits went far beyond that.

  I almost sighed. “I am not going to argue with you, I doubt you would understand the arguments, or even listen to them as you believe you already have the truth. I am just stating facts. If you oppose us you will die or be made a slave, and that goes for all your people and any people. But if you do not, we will not. You said you would not throw your life away by trying, are you saying that your own people would kill you for advocating peace?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Our chieftain has spoken. It is war.”

  “And how long has this chieftain ruled you? And how well? I am willing to bet that it is not long, and I know it is not well. I am willing to bet that Kukran Epthel killed his predecessor and made him into a zombie, a walking corpse moving among you as you chose another and more malleable leader, one who you knew would obey Kukran.”

  He looked away, saying nothing. I left him to his silence, confident that my guess had been correct. Ruled first by fear and then controlled by lies. They were already slaves, knowingly or not. I left him to it. There is no cure for stupidity.

  #

  “Now you have time for me?”

  I was bone weary; travel was making a mess of me, even though I was healing. My skin peeled, scabs dried, and only my thighs were still raw and ugly, and that only from riding. But the day's travel and the fight at the end of it had worn me to the bone. Still, I smiled. “Yes. Now I have time for you. I'm sorry,” I gestured pretty much helplessly. There really wasn't anything else to say about it. I was sorry. I'd wished for a better meeting, to offer some comfort, for there to be some warmth and tenderness between us, but things needed to be done and I needed to do them.

  She nodded and looked away. When she spoke, she addressed her remarks to Quickmoon. “Are you saying that you were an animal when Dubaku found you?”

  Nonplussed, I looked from her to Quickmoon and back again.

  “Once, in life, I was an Owl. Not smart, but still I remember something of it, an impression only. Being in spirit was easy for me then, I soared, accepting everything I experienced, and I grew. Then Dubaku came, his spirit found mine and we contested our fates.” His eyes danced with vitality, his expression animated, so much in contrast to Dubaku that no-one could mistake them for the same man. “Instead of making one a part of the other, he took a little part of me into his spirit, and I a small part of him. We became linked, and with that exchange our fates were sealed together.”

  I laid aside my weapons, stripped my armor and sat down, closer to the fire than I could have tolerated even a couple of days ago, the last time we had a fire. I didn't interrupt. I knew what she was doing.

  “When you say you contested your fates, do you mean you fought?”

  “You would say yes; he thought yes; but I did not. We were merely contesting the path I would walk, and in so doing made a new path we both walk. With a small part of his spirit made mine I grew again,” his eyes danced. “I became more than I was, became a creature with words. And he was touched by my strength, my perceptions, and grew also. The contest was over, our fates decided. He yet lived, though his spirit danced, so he must return. I approve of it, and since then I stay close, watching the dance for him. Sometimes, I become him to maintain his body and he dances alone.”

  “How did he come to you, when he came to contest your fate? How did he... dance?”

  Quickmoon grinned. “You burn here fiercely, your attention consumed by your own heat, but everything burns out in the end and dances coolly instead. He burned cool and so I could see him clearly. If the contest had gone differently, or if he had not found me and made us one, he would not have found his way back. From there only I could guide him. The thread was clear to me, but his mind could not see it, his cool eyes had not learned to see.”

  “The
thread?”

  He plucked a blade of grass. “See? It fades now, growing stronger elsewhere, but part of it still thinks it is here. Between the two beliefs is a thread. Soon the thread will fade as the spirit learns it is no longer here, its unsupported belief fades, its fires burn out and it becomes cool. No point being both places now, nothing to hold it here. It was the same with Dubaku. I could see his thread, his other belief unsure what it was, and he himself could no longer see. When we had agreed to be linked I became his self, strengthened it and he came back along the strengthened thread, and when we touched again, I let go.”