Three Acts of Penance [01] Attrition: The First Act of Penance

by S. G. Night

  “Agreed,” Garish rumbled. “With each passing day, the threat they pose becomes greater. Look at what they’ve done! In a single day, one of them split my city asunder and ripped the Burrows from the Dominion’s control. And now this. We can no longer afford to ignore them. They must be hunted and destroyed before they can do any further harm.”

  “And what of the laws?” insisted Amaranth. “The edicts? We swore that we would punish the Humans for every action these Majiski take. We must see to that punishment first, or else the populace will cease to give us credence.”

  “And what would you suggest?” Xaoc, the god of seas and chance, asked accusatorily. “Levy a tax? More executions? How do you plan to measure that, Amaranth? How many Humans lives are equal to one of our own? How much coin could repay the blood of one of the Nineteen?”

  Tempest, the Duchess of Oblakgrad raised her lightning-swathed hand. “We have an even greater problem to contend with,” she said. “Mitigating the damage that has already been done. If Tayran’s secret is compromised, if those who survived the fire discover that their host was, in reality, the Duke of Dor’mon and the Mnogo god of war…”

  She let the implication hang in the air. We all knew what would happen if the secret got out — the Humans would lose faith in the gods, and chaos would ensue.

  Tempest continued. “By killing Tayran, the assassins have left us exposed, putting all our secrets in jeopardy, and making a mockery of the Dominion’s authority. To survive, yes, we must destroy the Majiski. Yes, we must castigate the Humans. But we must also seek to solidify the people’s faith in us. We cannot maintain their devotion to the pantheon if we execute their children en mass. But neither can we let this go unpunished.”

  Another dramatic pause. “We have been stung by scorpions that we cannot see — we can either hunt them down while their venom slowly kills us, or stop to suck the poison out while they regroup and sting us again.”

  Bickering began arguments over how best to enact revenge, how best to heal the wound, how best to deal with Tayran’s body, etcetera.

  I wasn’t listening. I didn’t particularly care what they chose to do. I didn’t particularly care that Tayran was dead, either — in fact, I was glad of it. I’d never liked him.

  “What of the Hollow?” someone said. The other gods quieted and looked to the one who spoke.

  “We recognize Chryus, Mistress and Goddess of Hatred and Wrath, Duchess-Consort of Krvistata,” Kynn announced. “Go on, Chryus.”

  “The Hollow,” Chryus said. “The arena that the slaves have been constructing. It is slated to be finished within the coming month, is it not?”

  There was a murmur of affirmation.

  “We shall have the Church sanction a festival of games to commemorate the completion of the monument,” Chryus said. “Battles to the death. The Humans who die in the matches will satisfy the statutes of the edict, and we shall ordain them as sacrifices to Lavethion. Throughout history, bread and circus have been used to keep chaos at bay. The Humans will love the sport, and they shall worship us for it.”

  “And what of the Majiski?” Garish asked.

  “We devise a plan to find them,” Chryus answered. “Or at least find the ones responsible for Tayran’s death. We capture them, learn what we can of their comrades, and then throw them into the Hollow to die. We make a spectacle of them; display them to the Humans as savage, wicked animals. Their faith in us shall be restored, and the Majiski shall lose what sympathizers they have garnered.”

  There was a long pause. Many of the gods were nodding.

  “It seems we are all in agreement,” Kynn declared. “A wise plan, Chryus. Very wise indeed. Saccarri, on behalf of the Imperator, I am placing you in charge of finding these Majiski. Discover their whereabouts and bring them here to us.”

  I nodded half-heartedly.

  “How best to draw them out?” Garish asked. “Perhaps…we could drain their resources? Some form of attrition warfare? What if we—”

  The conversation proceeded from there. At least, for the others it did. But not for me. My mind was, once again, elsewhere.

  Something Garish had said sparked something in my chest. The word he had used: attrition. That word…since then it has become everything to me, a lynchpin of my very existence. But that was the first time that the word really entered my mind.

  I have always been a lover of words, and I knew what attrition meant. To erode; to wear away; to break down over time. That was the common definition. But attrition has another meaning, one that is much less known and seldom used.

  Sorrow for past wrong-doing; compunction; regret, especially for fear of damnation.

  It was the perfect word. It was the word that flawlessly described the ache that had been building in my chest ever since that night at Territh Umbra. The night I had looked up into the stars, and the stars had denied me. What I had been feeling for these past few weeks, the cold that had plagued my bones every night…was attrition…regret, for fear of damnation.

  I thought of that girl again. The Human girl at Territh Umbra, whose neck Tayran had snapped right before my eyes. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there who loved that girl. Someone who — to this day — weeps in the corner of his bedroom every night, missing her. Weeping, the same way I once wept…

  …The same way I once wept for years and years after I saw the empty, lifeless eyes of a different Human girl…the girl whose face I’d seen amidst familiar stars that now condemned me.

  I thought of the people I’d killed. People I’d betrayed and people I’d abandoned. I remembered the unspeakable agony that had ripped my soul apart when I looked into the eyes of my nightfire…and saw only death staring back at me.

  For the first time in a hundred years, something occurred to me, something that shook me to my very core. What if, during the time of my sins, I had taken away a life that was as beloved to someone else as her life had been to me? I might not have cared, might have been blind to how any other being felt…but she would have cared. She had been selfless. She would have cared about the people whose lives the Dominion had destroyed. Whose lives…I had destroyed.

  And she would have hated me for it.

  My hands were clenched down on the arms of my throne. I was shaking, though no one noticed. My eyes burned and I struggled to hold back the tears. I had never even stopped to think about it before, but in that awful moment, it seemed so brutally, painfully clear —

  She hated me. Hated me! I knew that she did. I knew that she loathed my every breath as she watched me from the starry skies. I knew that she despised me for what I was, what I had become, what I had done and justified in her name.

  The cold ripped into me in a way that I cannot describe, like a spear of ice piercing my long-dead heart. I was so alone. I was more without her now than I had ever been before. The clouds were closing over my head, and the distant stars — my beautiful stars! — were sealing themselves away from me. Because she hated me. And I now regretted every breath I’d ever drawn, for fear of my own damnation.

  God…is this what guilt feels like?

  This was the true beginning. The seed had sprouted from the soil fertilized by that single word. But the sprout was still young. It had yet to grow and mature. It had yet to bear fruit.

  That time would come later.

  For now, I only knew this small piece of guilt, just a tiny sliver of the anguish I would soon experience. But it was the first step, my first step down the road toward dissension and eventual absolution.

  In that moment, I entered attrition — my first act of penance.

  ***

  FIFTY-TWO

  Daragoian

  The Scorpions managed to escape Dor’mon in just a few short hours, before the city-watch could tighten security. By the time the guards at the gate had been doubled, and orders to screen any travelers leaving the city had been dispatched, the six of them had already hooked up with a Drifter caravan and were long gone.

&n
bsp; The Drifters welcomed the Genshwin warmly — in exchange for acting as caravan guards, they got free passage to the edge of the Spikes, plus treatment for Racath and Rachel’s injuries. The salve they’d given him (applied by the caravan driver’s wife) burned on his shallow wounds, but it was the good kind of burn. The mending kind. He could feel himself healing, and by the time they had come to the western foothills of the Spikes, he could walk again. Albeit gingerly.

  Rachel too seemed to be improving. At first, Racath had worried that the blow to her head might have done some permanent damage. Oron’s lessons on anatomy came back to him with grim clarity — nasty things like hemorrhaging, cranial swelling, and leaking spinal fluid. But after three days, she started complaining enthusiastically about how the medicine the Drifters had given her tasted like sweaty wool and dog piss. This, more than anything, confirmed that she’d make a full recovery.

  Eventually, they parted ways with the Drifters and continued on foot. Soon, they reached the labyrinthine ravine that led into the belly of Mount Thrace. Nelle knew the passages best, so she took the lead. She led them through to the large cavern with the subterranean brook and pair of beautiful dianimus trees. From there, they pressed deeper into the mountain.

  Racath could feel the suspense building for Toren and Alexis with every step, culminating in the moment of breathtaking awe as they stepped out into the artificial paradise of the domus. He couldn’t help but grin to himself, remembering how he had felt the first time he had come here. Now he was on the other side of the coin. Was this what it had been like for Nelle when she had brought him here all those months ago?

  He breathed in a deep breath of clean, crisp air. It smelled like home to him. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the vibrant blue of a free sky overhead.

  Their hearts were light in their chests as they made the hike to Oron’s cottage on the plateau, questions spilling out of Toren and Alexis like overflowing water. There was something about this place, something that instilled a childlike euphoria in each of them as they walked together. Even Notak cracked a smile.

  Oron, along with Sokol and Elohim, greeted them enthusiastically on the lawn. Racath made introductions — the older Majiski seemed quite pleased to have two more Genshwin under his roof (and away from Mrak), although Toren and Alexis still seemed a little shocked. He ushered everyone inside the house and began making tea for all of them while Racath gave a full account of the events in Dor’mon.

  From there, the discussion turned toward the question that had been looming over them for the past week and a half — what to do next? Oron suggested that the Scorpions lie low for a while, remain in the domus for the next few weeks. That would provide enough time for the chaos of Tayran’s assassination to grow, for Racath and Rachel to make full and complete recoveries, and for Oron to fill in some of the gaps in Toren and Alexis’s education. From there...well, only time could tell.

  ——

  The days began to pass them by.

  Racath and Nelle sat in on the lessons and lectures that Oron had prepared for Toren and Alexis, periodically adding advice and commentary. Oron tutored the two newcomers on history, magic, religion, the nature of the Demons, and so on. Toren and Alexis soaked in their lessons with wide, eager eyes. Racath remembered the deluge of information he’d experienced during his time in the domus. It felt odd for him, being on the teaching side of the table, but he quickly grew comfortable with it.

  Rachel and Notak spent most of their time sleeping. Racath hadn’t really realized it, but the two of them had been engaged in constant field-work ever since they’d intercepted Unin Tangaree’s letter in Oblakgrad. They’d earned a few days of sleep.

  Oron would have them regularly spar in the pit to exercise Toren and Alexis’s newly-learned skills. They fought in teams of three, pairs, four-on-two, one-on-five, and in free-for-all. Racath couldn’t remember ever having so much fun. He had never felt so much like he belonged.

  This…this was home. This was family.

  His family.

  ——

  The sun was setting. Dinner was over and cleaned up. Rachel and Notak were abed; Toren and Alexis were busy listening to Oron’s lecture on the Second Majiskuran Civil War. Racath and Nelle took the opportunity to be alone, deciding to take a leisurely walk to the dianimus trees and back. Racath put on the cloak-coat of his Shadow and slung Daragoian over his shoulder, but left the rest of his gear behind. Even his Stingers.

  “How’re your legs doing?” Nelle asked as they entered the tunnel at the edge of the domus.

  Racath grimaced a little and shifted his weight back and forth on his knees. “Getting better. They still hurt a little, though. Still feel a little weak.”

  As if the mountain were trying to prove his point, his foot suddenly hit a jutting piece of the rocky floor and he tripped. Nelle laughed delightedly and caught him by the hand before he could fall. He hoped she couldn’t see his blush in the darkness of the cavern.

  “Graceful,” she teased.

  “Oh, shut up.” He jostled her with his shoulder.

  Nelle laughed again. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

  It was another minute or so before Racath realized that she hadn’t let go of his hand. For that matter, he hadn’t released hers either. She wasn’t wearing her gloves, and — bare-markara as he was — he could feel her scars against his palm. It was an unbelievably personal contact. And it was comfortable.

  He wasn’t sure what to make of it. In a way, it felt like she was just leading him by the hand. In a way, it felt like she was supporting him, holding him in case he fell again.

  But in another way, a very different way, it felt like she was walking next to him — not leading or following, not behind him or in front. She was just…walking with him, and the gentle grip of her hand was like a tether between them. An equalizer that kept them side by side. A promise that if either of them stumbled, the other would catch them as they fell.

  They had been quiet for a long time. Too long. It reminded him too much of the chilly, wordless void that had surrounded Nelle before she had told him about her scars. As they entered the cavern with the dianimus trees, Racath broke the silence.

  “So…” he said. “How’re your visions going?” The words sounded unspeakably idiotic now that he said them aloud, but he bulled ahead. “Are we on the right path so far, or…?”

  Nelle’s expression was impassive. “So far, yeah. I guess so….” She shrugged. “You can never really know for sure, though. Augury isn’t a sure thing. Stuff happens, things change.”

  “Ah ha.”

  His attempt at conversation seemed to have fallen through the cracks. But, then again, he realized, what did it matter? Right now, they were enjoying a pleasant stroll. Together. Were words really necessary? Or were their bare, clasped hands already saying enough?

  They approached the brook, coming to stand-by-side at the edge of the burbling water, looking up into the entwined branches of the dianimus trees. The two of them were quiet for a long time. But this time, Racath realized that the silence was warm and peaceful.

  Nelle spoke first. “I realized that I never thanked you.” Her words were distant. She did not take her eyes off the golden flare of autumn leaves above them.

  “For what?”

  “For saving my life,” she answered. “That night on Territh Umbra. You saved me, and I never said thank you.”

  Racath put his arm around her and pulled her into a tight, one-armed hug. “You would have done the same for me, had the situation been different. That’s what friends are for. You don’t have to thank me.”

  “I know,” Nelle said, leaning into his shoulder, still looking up into the trees. “But I want to. So thank you, Racath. Thank you for being there for me.”

  He squeezed her once. “You’re welcome, Nelle. I always will be.”

  Nelle finally turned her eyes onto his. There was something in those bright blue eyes that spoke to him, something deep and lasting. “You
mean that?”

  “I do,” he said. And he did.

  Her lips lifted into a small smile. “I’m proud of you, Racath. Every day I watch you, you are more and more the man I dreamed of for all those years. You really are the Dragon Amongst Wolves. I’m lucky to be your augur. And I promise to always be there for you, too.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment. A tension built in the space between them, like the air had become electrified. He thought back to the night of Tayran’s party, when they had danced together. When he had kissed her forehead. He remembered the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin under his lips. At the time, he had meant it as a gesture of reassurance and comfort, but…had it been something else, too? Had she taken it as something more? Had he, on some subconscious level, meant it to be something more? And what was he supposed to do about it now?

  But the moment ended before he could think to act. Nelle swallowed and took a step away, blushing. Racath looked at the ground, his ears burning, clearing his throat in an attempt to mitigate his embarrassment.

  “So…uh…” Nelle hedged. “Yeah. I’m gonna head back now. You coming?”

  Racath bit his lip and shook his head. “No, you go on. I think I’m gonna stay and just…sit for a little while.”

  “Oh,” Nelle said softly. “Um…okay. If that’s what you want…I’ll see you back at the house?”

  Racath nodded. “Mhm.”

  Nelle hesitated for a moment, and then seemed to shrug to herself. “Alrighty then. See you there. Don’t get lost, now.”

  “I won’t.”

  Nelle turned and headed back toward the tunnel, waving over her shoulder as she went. Racath watched her go, staring after her until she had disappeared into the dark.

 

  The voice came out of nowhere. Racath jumped two feet off the ground in surprise and nearly pissed himself. He whirled around, his eyes searching the dim cavern for the speaker. His muscles tensed, ready for a fight, his veins burning with etheria and his heart banging madly in his chest.