by J. C. Staudt
“Aw. Idn’ that just the sweetest li’l thing,” said Mellobar, shifting on his splinted leg. His knee was taking a long time to heal, but since the bullying northerner hadn’t asked Merrick for help, Merrick hadn’t given him any.
“She was probably an orphan,” said Merrick. “There are way too few children in this city to begin with. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with helping a child who’s on her own. For all Pilot Wax’s faults, he’s right to place so much emphasis on the children. We’ve got no future without them.”
Mellobar made a stop sign of his hand. “You want to hand out your rations to disease-infested ragamuffins, that’s up to you. You don’t much need it for the old girth, anyway. Do you?” He patted his belly to prove his question rhetorical. The others snorted—as if it wasn’t the same joke they’d been making for weeks.
Laugh it up, dways, Merrick wanted to say. You just keep right on laughing. “The way that jerky tastes, my girth could use a break from it.”
The laughter died away prematurely. Merrick knew Peymer’s group didn’t like him, and that was fine. After he’d spent some time under Raithur’s tutelage, he’d make them regret not giving him a chance.
“Light-star’s coming up,” said the alley guard.
Peymer shouldered his pack. “Let’s get moving, boys.”
The air flushed a rose-colored gray as they funneled onto the open street. Slivers of a sweltering red blob flooded through the gaps between buildings on the eastern horizon. The nomad camp was already stirring when they arrived. Merrick wondered how much earlier the nomads might’ve granted them access to the inner courtyard if Peymer hadn’t been so bullheaded about going elsewhere to hide. Shadows masquerading as men, Merrick recited to himself. Shadows with a reputation to uphold.
The savages gave them wary looks when the guards brought them in, though they never strayed from their work. Inside the factory, Merrick found himself glad of Siler’s report. In a far corner on the factory floor stood a group of light-skinned men dressed like nomads. And in their midst, standing with his charred black hands at his sides and a flowing gray-white beard covering half his chest, stood Raithur Entradi.
Raithur turned when he saw them coming. Most of his companions were standing around him, but a few were still sleeping. He glanced protectively down at them, though he needn’t have worried; his massive form was enough to stop the Revs in their tracks.
“Hi, Raithur,” Merrick said.
“They told me you came looking for me,” Raith said, flexing his fingers. “Who are you?”
Merrick removed his filtermask.
Raith’s mouth fell open, his expression passing from recognition to bewilderment and back again. “How—” He interrupted himself. “I don’t need to ask that. I know how.”
“You,” said one of Raith’s companions. Merrick recognized him as the prisoner—the man who had killed him. “You. It’s you. Raith, that’s—”
“I know who it is, Jiren.”
Jiren spent a moment studying Merrick. “It’s really him. He’s alive.”
“Yeah, I am,” said Merrick. “And I need your help.”
“You tried to kill me,” Jiren said.
“You did kill me.”
“You should’ve stayed dead.”
“Sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know how to deal with what’s happening to me. I didn’t have a clue back then, either. What I did, it was… done out of frustration. Out of anger. I was wrong to push you aside. I need you.”
“What is it you need?” Raith asked.
“I want you to teach me.”
Raith’s eyes darkened. “My students spend years honing their gifts. It often takes weeks just to find a blackhand’s ignition triggers. I don’t have that kind of time.”
“Please. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m going to overthrow Pilot Wax.”
“Wax is dead,” said Jiren. “Raith killed him.”
“I’m relatively sure I killed him,” Raith clarified.
Jiren was incredulous. “Relatively sure? You said you didn’t know how he could’ve survived…”
“That’s the truth,” Raith said. “I don’t.”
“I do,” said Merrick.
“What does that mean?”
When Merrick’s eyes met Raith’s, he saw that Raith knew before he could speak the words. “I healed him.”
Jiren lost his temper. His tirade startled his sleeping companions awake. He was screaming something about the stupidest thing anyone could possibly have done when Raith intervened.
“Would you heal me if you could? If I would die otherwise?”
“Of course, but that’s diff—”
“It’s no different, Jiren. There’s nothing to be gained by punishing a man for his mistakes. Especially if it wasn’t a mistake at the time he made it. How did you end up here in the south, Merrick?”
Merrick told them the story. His exile, his run-in with the hoodlums, his chance meeting with the Gray Revenants, and their failed attack on the old church. He even told them about the raid on the zoom den, and about all the people searching the city south for the healer whose reputation was spreading like wildfire.
“So you’ve come to embrace your gift,” Raith said, “and you want my guidance.”
“It’s more than that,” Merrick said. “I plan to travel the length and breadth of the city south, and I want you with me so I can train as I go.”
“Why travel?” asked another Decylumite, still in his sleeping sack.
“To heal the sick and gather support for my conquest of the city north.”
The Decylumites shared glances and laughed.
“That wasn’t a joke. I’m going to rally the south behind me and take back what belongs to us. Open the borders, and give everyone access to the life enjoyed by the privileged few.”
“The city north would languish if they let everyone in,” said the same man. “They’re prosperous because they’ve got a controlled system.”
“They’d have to find work for more people, sure,” Merrick said. “But they’ll have a larger area to draw from. More resources. As scarce as they are in Belmond, they do exist. We’re going to make it work.”
“I think the Commissar is a son of a bitch,” said Jiren, “but he obviously knows what he’s doing when it comes to infrastructure, to have maintained a functional society as long as he has. Twenty years or so, isn’t it?”
“Seventeen and change,” said Merrick. “Systems can be altered. We can give everyone a chance at a better life.” He cringed inside as he heard himself say the words, knowing they were lies. He didn’t believe everyone deserved a better life. Muties, for example. He hated them. He hated half the scum in the city south. But they would be the building blocks of his new empire. The bricks in his staircase to success. It was these heads he’d step on—these hearts he’d bleed dry—on his way to the top of the Hull Tower.
“You’re sincere in these intentions?” Raith asked.
“Absolutely. I want to make a positive difference in this city. Will you help me do that?”
“We only came back to Belmond to reclaim our brothers,” Raith said.
“So stay for a while.”
“There are other factors at play. Our situation is… complicated. While touring the city south would let us continue our search for survivors, I won’t make a decision until we’ve had a chance to talk it through.”
“I can wait.”
“I’d prefer to speak with my brothers in private. It could take some time.”
“That’s okay,” said Merrick. “Send word when you’re ready. I’ll be outside the break in the south fence.”
The Revs left the factory and took shelter in an adjacent building while Infernal’s light spread over the city. Merrick paced the floor, unable to sit still with his future hinging on a single decision. His unease dissolved a few minutes later, when Jiren came out to the fence and signaled them. The young blackhand looked sullen and grouchy, and Merrick took
that as a good sign.
Jiren didn’t wait for them to get back to Raith before delivering the news. When Merrick and the Revs came through the fence, Jiren said, “We’ll travel with you. Raith is going to train you along the way.”
Merrick rejoiced, but kept it to himself. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He turned to Peymer. “And what about the Revs? Will they lend me their aid as well?”
Peymer shrugged. “The Revs are in charge of their own lives. It’s up to them.”
Merrick had been wondering how the Gray Revenants were organized ever since he met Caliber and Leuk. How did they foster such cooperation and allegiance without any clear leadership structure? They still hadn’t told him who was in charge—who governed their various cells throughout the city. The Gray Revenants are bigger than you realize, comrade, Rhetton had told him. You haven’t learned the half of what it means to be a Revenant. “In that case, anyone who wants to help me take the north is welcome to come along.”
“We got things to do,” said Oban. “I can’t spare the time to follow you around.”
There were murmurs of agreement.
“I see,” said Merrick. “After I’ve gathered the support I need, I’ll contact the Revenants again. When it comes time to take the north, I hope I can count on having you with me.”
No one spoke.
Merrick handed Peymer his jacket and filtermask. “Hold onto these for me. Take care of yourselves, all of you. We’ll see each other again.” There was no fondness in his words. He would miss Swy and Cluspith, but the rest of them could eat dirt. Without ceremony, he turned and followed Jiren back to the camp.
“Where are your friends, the ghosts?” Raith asked when they returned. “Have they abandoned you?”
“It looks that way. For now, at least. They’ll be back.” Merrick caught the sarcastic glance passed between Jiren and his friend with the shaggy blond mane. They think I’m crazy, he realized. Even the other blackhands doubt me.
“How do you suggest we go about touring the city?” asked Raith. “You know Belmond better than we do.”
“I figure we head east toward the outskirts, then make our way around the southern perimeter, through the suburbs and around to the rust bucket in the west. Lots of old train yards and smelting plants and steel mills out that way. From there we can head through the heart of the city. It’ll take us a few weeks, but that’ll give me plenty of time to train, and you plenty of time to search for your brothers.”
“And what do you propose we do about food and water? How will we survive while we do all this traveling?” asked a short balding man with beady eyes and a scowling mouth.
“We have our rations for the return journey to Sai Calgoar,” said Raith. “And we’ve got some coin to spare. We’ll live on what we have until we can make other arrangements.”
Merrick had a feeling that once he learned enough from Raith to begin healing people regularly, they would never want for food or drink again. He kept this thought to himself, however. Better to surprise them with a future boon than promise them something that may never happen. “It’s probably best to wait out the day here at camp and leave at nightfall,” he suggested.
“So we have all day to sit here and do nothing,” said a big man whose blackened right hand was missing a finger.
“Raithur and I won’t be doing nothing,” said Merrick.
Raith lifted an eyebrow. “Oh no?”
“Nope. I’m ready to start learning.”
Raith paused. “We’d better go outside, then.”
They left the courtyard for the large open lot inside the fence.
“First let’s talk about how your gift has been behaving lately,” Raith said. “Can you tell me a little about the experiences you’ve had since I saw you last?”
“I can’t seem to ignite when I want to, unless I’m filled to the brim with energy. At the same time, my body’s been healing itself faster than before. These scars on my face… on my chest. I was injured in a fight and I healed within seconds. Although the scar tissue is hideous.”
“If Myriad were here, she could tell you more about your body’s ability to self-heal. Unfortunately, that’s something you may need to discover for yourself. My expertise is in helping you learn to wield and control the external manifestations of your gift. Igniting, as we call it.”
“Can you ignite whenever you want to?”
Raith smiled. He lifted a hand. His fingertips flared, darkened, flared, darkened again.
Merrick was reasonably impressed. “You can do that at will?”
“Will… now that’s a good word to describe it. Although it isn’t by sheer desire that one bends his will toward the gift. It’s a process of finding synergy between the logical mind and the emotional response; an awakening, if you understand my meaning.”
“What kinds of different things can you do when you ignite?”
“Many, depending on your gift. It’s different for everyone. You should be able to do any number of things, if you’re like your mother.”
“So we’ve gone past theorizing and moved to factualism, huh? She was my mother—you’re sure of that.”
“There’s no being sure of anything. My instinct tells me yes… Myriad was your mother.”
Merrick tried out the name. “Myriad… that doesn’t sound familiar. Whenever my dad talked about my mother, it was ‘that whore,’ or ‘that stupid bitch.’ Or, whenever he was feeling extra-nice, ‘the filthy cunt who birthed your pathetic ass into this world.’”
“Your father is dead?” Raith asked.
“Fates rest him.” Merrick concluded the comment with an obscene gesture.
Raith clenched and unclenched his fists. “All the better. Myri was an incredible woman of unparalleled talent. Any man who spoke of her like that is fortunate to have met the fates.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it kept him from meeting me.”
Merrick gave a grunt of derision. “You would’ve killed my dad for saying something like that?”
“A hundred times over, though she would never have needed my help.”
“Well, she was a cunt. She took off and left me with my father, that piece of—”
Before he could finish, Raith grabbed him by the collar with both hands and hoisted him bodily upward. When he looked down, he was surprised at Raith’s calm affect. “It isn’t your place to criticize her. You don’t know the whole story of her life, or why she left. If you knew what she meant… what kind of woman she was… you would never say such a thing.” Raith let him down. “You’re not invincible, you know.”
He needs me like I need him, Merrick thought. I remind him of her. Maybe he still thinks he can change my mind; convince me to go live in Decylum. Raith hadn’t said as much, but what other motive could the man have for helping him? “I know,” Merrick said, but didn’t believe it.
“That’s the most important thing I’ll ever teach you,” Raith said. “There are limits. There are always limits. If you learn nothing else from me, know that staying within your limitations is the key to preserving your gift… and by extension, your life.”
Merrick nodded, though in his mind he disregarded the warning. He was bent on pushing the limits, not staying inside them. The respect and admiration of the people depended on his ability as much as his ambition. “Teach me to be like her. Teach me to do what she did, and I’ll go far beyond it.”
“Slow and steady,” Raith said. “We haven’t discovered your trigger yet. Usually it’s a memory… a feeling. Not always a strong one. Sometimes focusing on a small thing is what it takes.”
They worked together in the paved lot until the light-star’s heat drove them into the shade. With Raith’s guidance, Merrick was able to narrow down his trigger to a specific feeling. Before today he’d never given that particular feeling much credence, regarding it with only a sliver of understanding; a fragment of something he could almost call an emotion. The first time Raith’s coaching helped him igni
te, it came as a surprise.
“Good, good, that’s it,” Raith said. “Keep it up.”
Merrick sustained the burn for a few seconds.
“Out. Extinguish it.”
Merrick did.
“Now ignite again. Feel what you felt. Isolate it.”
Merrick fixated on the sharp sensation once more. His fingertips obeyed.
“Off again.” Raith held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”
He returned a moment later with one of the Decylumites on his heels. “This is Edrie Thronson. He’s received multiple injuries over the past few weeks. He was shot in the thigh and stabbed in the shoulder with a spiked weapon of some sort. The nomads patched him up and he’s recovering, but the wounds are holding him back. Heal him.”
Merrick ignited.
At his touch, Edrie Thronson heaved an inward breath. His eyes went wide.
Merrick felt the wrongs righting themselves, and knew when it was over. He unwrapped the bandage around Edrie’s shoulder. Circles of scar tissue were all that remained where the cloth was stained pink.
When Merrick looked at Raith, the old man was beaming. “It has come to pass. You truly are the healer. The son of Myriad.”
“You talk about it like it’s some kind of prophecy or something.”
Raith’s age lines seemed to soften. “Not a prophecy,” he said. “A hope.”
CHAPTER 17
Home to Rest
The light-star was full in the sky when Lethari’s trackers returned to camp with word that the hidden cave had been found. It was Sigrede Balbaressi who burst into Lethari’s tent, throwing the flap aside in his excitement and forgetting to ask permission to enter. Lethari was sitting at his table, studying the goatskin record to determine where he might ambush his next trade caravan when they set out again.
Startled, Lethari tossed one side of the goatskin over the other to hide its contents. He stood and slid his body to block the tabletop from view.
Sig’s eyes narrowed. “What is that you are doing, my master?”
“It is nothing. A work of history I am recording for my son.”
