by Mirren Hogan
"Have you any dead?" a heavyset reasoner asked.
"Just one," the younger teacher replied. "I can take her body to her family." His eyes were glassy with grief and shock, but he had the presence of mind to be careful with his answers. If the reasoner noticed anything untoward, they didn't show it. In all likelihood, they'd been at this for hours already, and it'd take days, if not weeks, to finish assessing and cleaning up after the wave. One deceased, errant child was of comparatively little concern.
The reasoner nodded, and the contingent made their way back out to the street.
"Are you sure?"
Daven turned to see the teachers speaking, heads close together, Rahkin's body cradled in the younger one's arms.
"I know where they'd be," he said, eyes shining, voice shaky. Daven considered trying to heal him, but a sudden change in emotions would be too obvious if it worked at all. Instead he had to watch the man walk away, shoulders hunched, the child wrapped in a piece of cloth they'd found amongst the mess. It wasn't clean, but it'd afford her some of the respect she deserved.
Every few minutes, Daven glanced at Bakel. If the man was busy working, he might take the chance to slip away unnoticed. As if Bakel knew, he’d remained close by the entire time. It could be a coincidence, but whatever Daven did, Bakel was within reach.
Finally finished, or at least as much as they could do, they slumped down on the front steps of the school and ate the meal a parent had dropped in to them. Daven glanced around for Emmin but couldn't remember having seen her for at least the last hour. He didn't want to be alone with Bakel, but the teachers were standing apart from them, talking to some workers from a nearby building.
"It's nice to see there's some kindness left in the world," Bakel said, raising a cup of water to Daven, who smirked.
"If there was, we wouldn't be here," he pointed out.
"That's true," Bakel said, "if the reasoners didn't hunt down magin, we'd all be home in our beds."
That hadn't been what Daven meant, but there was no arguing with the man, and he was too tired to bother trying. He just shrugged instead.
"So, what are you planning?" Bakel asked before taking a bite of his chicken and vegetables wrapped in flat bread.
Daven froze, his food half way to his mouth. "What are you talking about?" He tried to sound nonchalant.
Bakel smiled like he had a window to the inside of Daven's mind. Of course, the man was a seer, he probably knew what he was going to do before he did it.
"Did this go how you saw it?" Daven asked, gaining satisfaction from seeing surprise on the man's face. He didn't see everything; that was useful to know.
Bakel swallowed and shrugged. "For the most part."
"Did you know that girl would die?"
"Foresight isn't that specific." Bakel lowered his voice as two children walked past.
"And if you'd known?" Daven asked.
"You didn't answer my question," Bakel pointed out. "I can see that you're up to something. I can't see what, or if you'll succeed, but it's something. Are you trying to leave without saying goodbye?"
Daven couldn't think how to respond to that. Lying seemed pointless, so he opted for the truth.
"I don't see a point in staying."
"Well, you have to do what you have to do," Bakel said, nodding slowly. "I won't keep you with us if you don't want to stay."
It was Daven's turn to be surprised. It wasn't the first time Bakel had said he could leave, but he seemed so unconcerned, even uninterested. After what they'd done, it stood to reason that he'd want to keep him close, so he didn't go and turn himself in to the reasoners. He could tell them quite a bit about the magin, including the whereabouts of their hideout.
Before he could respond, Bakel's expression became less congenial and he held up a finger.
"You must think the matter through before you do anything rash. If the reasoners catch you, you'll be arrested. In a group, we can sit here and not look suspicious, but a single person glancing over their shoulder is another matter. You're unused to being a fugitive, you stand out too much. Look at you right now, your body is stiffer than the wall behind you. Your eyes are wide. You look like a man who is in over his head and scared out of his wits."
Daven thought he was exaggerating somewhat but shook his shoulders to relax his posture. He might not be slouched over the step like Bakel, but he was less rigid.
Bakel's smile was lopsided. "Better, but you still look like a dragon in a field of sheep."
Daven laughed at the analogy. "You're no sheep. You're more like a predatory dog, circling and waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting."
Bakel grinned. "That's an amusing comparison, but inaccurate. I'm more like a snake—misunderstood, rather good-looking and keeps out of sight more often than not."
"And venomous," Daven added.
"Sometimes." Bakel didn't even flinch. "Now, where were we before we started flinging insults? Oh yes, your fate. You've been stuck with us since we pulled you off that train."
"Since you murdered people on my behalf," Daven corrected. "Something for which I'm not grateful, by the way."
"That's a good point. You could certainly be nicer to me. You'd be dead right now if I hadn't done what I did."
"And those other people would be alive. I'm not worth all of them."
"You should give yourself more credit," Bakel said. "You're invaluable. That teacher would agree. She would have died, wouldn't she?"
Daven licked his lips. "She might, but that's not the point."
"To her it is. To everyone whose life you save from now on, it is."
"Now you care about people's lives?"
"I've always cared. We didn't start with this you know. We tried to arrange meetings, broker peace. The government wouldn't listen. They executed the messengers. We attacked their chain of supply, like steel for swords and knives. They caught and executed several magin and a few witnesses who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, they'd say otherwise, and who will stand up and disagree with them?"
Bakel took a breath, looking ruffled for the first time since Daven met him. "Do you know what happened to the last people who dared to defy the reasoners? They became outcasts. As one, Dargyn turned its back on them."
"The draakin," Daven said softly.
Bakel nodded. "Ah yes, your mother is one."
"Yes." Daven was still unsure how Bakel knew that about him. Perhaps the telegram the official had sent to the reasoners had mentioned her, and his father. He still wasn't sure how they'd intercepted it. "Yes she is."
"Which dragon?" Bakel asked, his face reverent. That was an interesting reaction considering that during the war, the dragons were on the side of the regime which spawned the reasoners. But then, times changed, and bedfellows swapped places.
"Risper," Daven replied. Anyone who had studied history for any length of time knew their names, albeit mentioned in infamy now.
"Ah, the glorious Risper. Hero of the battle of Tharay."
"Don't call him that to his face," Daven said, "he doesn't like to think about those days, or so my mother says. He regrets killing." He accompanied the words with a pointed look.
"Ah, but he did it because he had to," Bakel said.
"Always an answer for everything."
Bakel chuckled. "Usually. Now, would you rather rot in a cell until you're dragged out and hanged in public, or—" He paused.
"There's another option?" Daven asked. "A viable one?"
"There's always another option," Bakel said. "You could stay and help us fight for our freedom."
"Murder isn't freedom," Daven replied. "They'll catch you and kill you. Emmin too. Is that what you really want?" He'd hit a nerve mentioning his daughter, he saw it in the minute flinch the man gave before catching himself. If he didn't care about his own life, maybe he'd care about hers.
"She understands the risks," Bakel said, his voice rough. "You may not think this is fair." He gestured around him. "The mess, t
he destruction, the lives lost. But this isn't meant to be fair. This is war. I think you'd like me to apologise for people dying, but I cannot. I will not. We didn't create this situation. Reason only knows we tried hard to avoid it, but these are the cards we've been dealt. This is the corner we've been backed into. This is war and we'll fight it. We'll die if necessary. I'm prepared for that and so is Emmin."
"I don't believe you," Daven replied. "I don't think either of you are ready to die. I think you foresaw yourself leaving the train, or you wouldn't have been on board. If you foresaw anything which might be a risk, you'd avoid doing it. You think you're being noble, but you're just a man who strikes out because he doesn't know which way to turn."
Bakel laughed. "All true. But I'm also a man willing to kill to get what he wants. That includes you, if you get in my way." The way he said it, he could have been discussing the weather. His expression remained congenial, even amused, but his eyes held a dangerous glint.
"You'd go to all the trouble of making one train break down, and derail another, just to kill me now? That doesn't seem very efficient." Daven tried to keep his voice light, but his heart pounded. He was pressing his luck with a dangerous man, but at this point he had little to lose.
"We gamble," Bakel replied. "Sometimes it pays off. Sometimes not. Have you ever worked hard to save a patient, only to realise they'll die, no matter what you do, so you give up?"
"No," Daven replied, "I've never given up on a patient." The librarian's eyes gave him an accusing look in his mind. She wasn't someone he'd treated, but he'd let her down. He blinked, realising for the first time that he was sitting beside the man who'd orchestrated that attack. He'd killed her and made Daven scared of shadows.
He wanted to punch the man, but that would be the last thing he did. He might yet be of some use to the world, but he couldn't do that from a grave.
"That's why you'll stay," Bakel said, rising to his feet and brushing crumbs from the front of his trousers. "Because anything else is giving up."
That seemed like an over simplification to Daven, but Bakel appeared to view life as black or white, nothing in between. He was certainly single-minded when it came to his cause. No obstacle was too big, no life too precious. "It doesn't seem I have a choice." As many times as Bakel said he did, he did a good job of convincing him otherwise.
Bakel clapped him on the back. "Ah, here's Emmin with our train tickets. It's time to go home."
Home. He knew Bakel meant Hoza, but it wasn't that to him. The only place he could give that title to was Tsaisa, and he could never go back there. For some reason, that made him sadder than anything else right now, even the idea of dying.
Emmin handed him a ticket and leaned to whisper in his ear, "It'll be all right." She straightened and looked away. She seemed troubled, but her mask soon slipped back into place. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get your bag and let's go."
He nodded and went to do as she asked, his eyes on her for further sign of what was on her mind. She gave none, instead bustling about in her usual abrasive manner and hurrying her father and him toward the train station. He didn't argue. He'd be glad to get out of Paryos and never return.
Chapter Six
"What is this place, anyway?" Brish asked. He blew the dust from the pile of papers sitting on the side of a shelf and sneezed.
"It's an archive of sorts," Harm replied.
"The hall has an archive. Well, had." Brish looked toward the floor and let out a sigh. A hundred years of records were little more than pulp now. Granted, most were boring, and the bane of apprentices who had to look through them, or tidy them up, but they were still a loss to Dargyn. How much of that was up here, preserved, at least for now?
"It had two I suppose," Harm said. "Did you ever wonder what happened to the records you had to write out when you started as an apprentice?" From the tone of his voice, Harm had endured hours of it too.
"Don't remind me." Brish glanced up to see light in a crack in the wall. It was day already. They must have been up here all night, and he still didn't know what they were looking for.
"Are you sure no one else knows about this place?" he asked.
"Just you and I do, as far as I know. Unless there are existing plans for this building."
"That's likely," Brish pointed out. "They'll be stored at the government offices somewhere. And they'll dig them out and look them over before they do any work on the place."
"Right." Harm scratched his ear. "All the more reason to hurry up."
"If I knew what we were looking for—" Brish's stomach rumbled. "Did Daris keep any snacks up here?"
Harm laughed softly. "I don't think so, sorry." He turned back to look through the cupboard in front of him.
"It occurred to me," Brish said, replacing the dusty papers where he'd found them, "that what we're looking for wouldn't be under dust." He glanced over to Harm, who was staring at him. "I mean, this is new information isn't it?"
He startled as Harm clicked his fingers. "Of course. At least some of it is. I should have thought of that."
"It's been a long night. Neither of us is thinking straight," Brish said, but he chastised himself for not realising earlier.
"Now isn't the time to miss something that important." Harm picked up the torch and held it high. "We've disturbed a lot of dust, but look for a place with less."
"What about there?" Brish pointed to a desk at the end of the space. It had been in darkness while they worked on the other side of the room. Now that he looked, the absence of dust was so obvious he could have kicked himself. All it needed was a writing tool and a glass of water, and he'd expect to see Daris sitting there working. The idea choked him up. He forced himself to swallow in spite of a dry throat and pushed down his grief. He missed the man, not just as a mentor, but as someone who would have known what to do. Harm was trying, but they were muddling through at best.
"Yes, it's possible." Harm stepped over and held the torch over the desk. He opened a leather-bound book in the top corner and nodded. "This will do for a start." He turned and handed Brish the torch, then leafed through pages beside the book. "And these." He slid open a drawer and pulled out a leather satchel.
"This should all fit in here." He stuffed the book and papers into the satchel and crouched to look into the drawer.
"There's something useful," Brish said, leaning over him to look.
Harm glanced up at him. "What is it?"
Brish reached in and held up a pin showing first-level rank insignia. "I would have earned this soon anyway."
"Are you going to use it?" Harm asked, looking more amused than annoyed.
"Why not?"
"It has to be given to you by someone of rank."
"You have rank," Brish pointed out. "You're the highest ranked bard in this hall."
"Technically yes, but only because the rest are all dead."
Brish forced away a stab of guilt. "I may need it in the near future." He couldn't foresee what might happen, but an apprentice was vulnerable to refusal by another hall if they were full. A first-level wouldn't be turned away.
"You might at that," Harm agreed.
"Would you?" Brish asked hopefully.
Harm shrugged and held out his hand. "Come on then, let's get this over with."
Brish handed the pin back and stood still so Harm could fasten it to the breast of his shirt. When he glanced down at it, the pin winked in the torchlight. Guilt entered his mind again, but he'd do whatever he needed to in order to survive, even this. He just hoped he could lie well enough if anyone asked for his promotion papers. Saying they were lost after the wave wasn't too much of a stretch. He'd have new ones drawn up when he'd settled somewhere.
"I'm sorry to disturb your moment, but we need to keep looking," Harm said, pulling another drawer open. "Who knows, you might find an order to give you that pin. Daris could have written one before he died."
That gave Brish the incentive to start opening drawers and rifling through papers, alt
hough with the torch in his other hand, it was more difficult. He found sheets of songs, even one or two written by him but nothing of any immediate interest.
"Reason," Harm said softly, making Brish drop a small book he'd found and look at him. His friend unfolded a map the size of six sheets of normal paper.
"What?" Brish squinted at the paper, recognising that some of the marks looked new.
"There," Harm tapped the page, "in Hoza. That's where the magin are."
Brish frowned. "Hailyn's map only said 'somewhere there'. It might just be Daris' guess."
"That's possible," Harm admitted, "but this looks specific. He's circled the former dam builder's settlement. It's as good a place for them to hide as any."
"There's places like that all over Dargyn, places which were towns during the Dragonwar then abandoned later. They could be in more places than that."
"That's possible," Harm squinted at the map, "but he hasn't marked anywhere but here. Maybe there's some significance."
"That's really close to the dam." Brish swallowed. "If they could do what they did here, reason knows what they'd do with all that flood water."
"Daris mustn't have thought they'd do anything, or he'd have told someone. Destroying the dam means a lot of people starve."
"What makes you think magin care about other people?" Brish said with a snort. Every person who lay dead in the hall beneath their feet suggested they put little value in the lives of others, even innocent ones. The deaths of Waya and Daris showed them to be nothing more than ruthless murderers. They had so much blood on their hands, they might as well bathe in it.
Harm made a noncommittal sound and folded the map before sliding it into the satchel. "We might need this, but we should destroy it before anyone finds us with it."
"I suppose so." Brish picked up the small book, set it on the desk and opened it. It contained a series of places and dates, the most recent the night before Daris died. "These look like meetings. I went to that one." He pointed. "That one was in his office. I walked past while it took place." He frowned. "None say who he met with, there's just a scribble beside them." Some looked like a tilted M, others looked like a Y with three prongs of equal length. It made no sense to Brish.
