by Jon Skovron
“But I got free of their control,” he said instead. “That monster is gone. I swear.”
“How did you get free?” asked Brigga Lin, her tone strangely neutral. “Overlaying a secondary mind needs to be carefully woven into the host mind. It’s not something one simply discards like a piece of clothing.”
“I don’t really understand how it happened,” confessed Red. “A friend of mine took me to this … wisewoman on Lesser Basheta. Sort of like Old Yammy, but not as nice. She had me do some stuff, and I think she was also doing something? Although honestly it looked like she was just sitting there. Eventually I passed out, and when I woke up, I was fine. Even when I got back to Stonepeak, and the biomancers tried to command me again, it didn’t work. I’m free. I don’t know how I can prove that, but it’s true.”
He looked pleadingly at Hope. “You have to believe me.”
Hope felt like her heart was being slowly turned in her chest, like the winch on a ship that raises the anchor. She knew that Brigga Lin’s caution was the most logical and pragmatic approach. But when she looked at Red, all she saw was Red. Even in his current fear and frustration, his voice was like cool water on her burning skin. There was so much she wanted to tell him. So much she needed to tell him. And there he was, after all this time, right in front of her. And he looked completely brokenhearted in a way she’d never seen before.
Of course, that could merely be an act. He was, according to Broom, a fine actor. Perhaps that’s what Brigga Lin was thinking.
But if he wasn’t faking it, then she was now bringing new and completely unnecessary suffering into his life. She was hurting him, and that was one thing she never wanted to do.
How could she tell if he was being truthful or dishonest? Trust him, and potentially welcome a coldhearted biomancer assassin? Or distrust him, and potentially break the heart of the person she cared about more than anyone? It hardly seemed fair that after everything else they’d gone through, both together and apart, it now came down to this simple, unsolvable riddle.
Experience had taught her that the world wasn’t always the way we wanted it to be, and it sure as piss was rarely fair. But wisdom had taught her that sometimes the world was how we chose to see it. And if there was no “solution” to this riddle, perhaps the only choice to make was the one she felt in her gut was right.
Hope walked slowly over to Red. She noticed a tremor beneath his eye she’d never seen before. A strange twitch brought on by fear of discovery? Or the pain she had caused him by not rushing immediately into his arms? She didn’t know. Maybe she would find out.
She laid her one good hand gently on his cheek. He hadn’t shaved recently, and his stubble felt rough against her palm. He closed his eyes when she touched him, and she felt a shudder run through him as he leaned into her hand.
“I believe you,” she said quietly. “Not because you have somehow convinced me, or that you have charmed me into thinking there is no risk. I believe you because having you back in my life is worth the risk.”
His eyes remained closed, but his mouth parted slightly, and his warm breath escaped against the inside of her wrist. His lips were large for a man’s—sensual and expressive. It was what made his grin look so pronounced. But when he wasn’t smiling, his lips did something else. They invited her in. When she saw his mouth was soft and open like this, something caught in her chest, and she felt the short space between the two of them as if it was something warm and alive.
She had never kissed anyone before. It honestly hadn’t even occurred to her to do so. She’d felt affectionate impulses, of course. Grasping a hand, patting a shoulder. The rough fondness of comrades-in-arms. The rowdy bonds of friendship. Those she knew very well. But this was a gentler, more vulnerable impulse. And yet, there was also an intense heat to it that kindled deep within her. She had no guard against it. No countermeasure to put in place to protect herself. A warrior should always be aware of her surroundings, and yet, everything around her slid away until there was nothing but the pull she felt toward him. It was a longing that had stretched across the empire and over a year without breaking, and yet now seemed unwilling to bear even a moment with a few inches of distance. There was, she decided, no need to be strong all the time.
So she pulled him to her. She felt the heat of his stomach and chest against her as she pressed her lips onto his. She felt his own doubt and fear be replaced with an intense hunger that matched her own. The smell of him, earthy and spicy, was heady this close, and she could not quite clear her mind. Soft sighs escaped his mouth in the moments when his lips weren’t pressed against hers, and his hands clutched desperately against her back as she held him closer than she’d ever held anyone in her life.
Hope knew something about the elasticity of time, of course. That it was subjective and strange, and not altogether accountable. But she had never before felt it rendered completely meaningless. Somehow beyond words and expression, she and Red were reconnecting, reaching through time with all the joy and suffering it had brought each of them. Hope was always Hope, and so even in this moment of passion, there was a small part in the back of her head that said, Aha! This is something new to understand! But that didn’t take away from the way it felt to have him back, to have him more than back. And if there was still some sort of biomancer control, she would find a way to tear its grasp from him. She would burn it with the white flame of her own passion, if that’s what it took. Because she was not letting him go again. Not ever.
But just as time can be forgiving and elastic, it inevitably reasserts itself. And so after an unclear number of minutes, Hope gradually became aware that she and Red were kissing in public in front of a bunch of people, including a group of fully armed and perhaps not entirely friendly Vinchen warriors, and a few dead bodies. She might have felt the sting of shame or embarrassment at the inappropriateness of it, if this kiss hadn’t felt so long in coming and, frankly, so well earned. So instead she just gently disengaged, and smiled at him.
“I should have known you’d be able to free yourself from the biomancers.”
“I’m a bit offended, really,” he said. “I hope you weren’t fretting about it too much while you were off having adventures.”
“It may have caused some worry now and then,” she admitted.
Then a sharp pang of guilt hit her in the gut like a rock. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Red, I’m so sorry. Sadie, and Filler—”
“It’s okay,” he said quickly, wrapping both his hands around hers. “I know all about it. Nettles told me everything.”
Another pang of guilt. “Nettles …”
“That’s not on you. None of it is on you, keen? We each make our choices, and we have to respect the choices others make. Besides, I wouldn’t give up on the old Black Rose quite yet. She might still surprise us all.” He smiled happily. “Someday I want to show you the mural I made for Filler and Sadie. I think it’ll help.”
“Mural?” asked Hope.
The old rakish twinkle returned to his eyes. “I might have taken up painting again. Art is good for the soul, it seems. Those doing it as well as those viewing it.”
“I look forward to seeing it.” Hope turned to the others, who all looked uncomfortable to varying degrees, but were either kind enough or courteous enough, or perhaps simply too shocked to have interrupted.
“Sorry, everyone,” she said.
“Is the kissing over?” Jilly asked sourly.
“I owe you another apology as well, Jilly,” said Hope. “You and Brigga Lin. The three of us made a commitment to each other, and in my doubt and fear, I broke that commitment.”
Brigga Lin shook her head. “Even though I was physically present, I also broke my promise to Jilly. The two of us have proved to be unworthy teachers.”
Jilly’s eyes flashed warily back and forth between them. It was in moments like this that Hope remembered Jilly had grown up on the hard streets of downtown New Laven. That she was someone used to getting let down. It mad
e Hope sick to think she’d only confirmed that worldview.
“Yeah, well,” Jilly said finally. “I’ve messed up a time or two. Seeing as how this was your first try at being teachers, I reckon I’ll give you another chance. If you want it. I still want to be the world’s first biomancer Vinchen, after all.”
“I’m sorry, what?” said Stephan.
“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, boy,” Brigga Lin told him in a tone that bordered on contempt.
“I plan to pass on everything I have learned, which includes the Vinchen arts passed down to me by Hurlo the Cunning,” Hope told him with what she hoped was a much more cordial tone. “But of course she won’t be an actual Vinchen.”
“That’s right,” said Brigga Lin. “She won’t be encumbered by your order’s misogynistic and myopic attitudes.”
To Hope’s surprise, Stephan seemed more hurt than offended, and didn’t try to defend himself or his order. The other Vinchen seemed to look to him, and so they followed his lead, saying nothing. They all seemed so young and unsure of themselves.
“What happened to the older brothers?” she asked. “Brother Yeta? Brother Kentish? I know there was more than this when I left.” She may not have been friends with any of them, but she remembered them well. After all, she had watched them, cooked and cleaned for them for years.
“They left Galemoor with us,” said Stephan.
“Except old Brother Wentu,” said a different Vinchen.
Stephan nodded. “That’s right. He remained behind. In retrospect, he must have seen, even then, that Racklock was becoming mad with power. The older brothers you name left us later, when Racklock decided to form an alliance with the biomancers. I’m not sure where they went, although I doubt they went back to Galemoor. I’m ashamed to say we destroyed it when we left. It … seemed an important gesture at the time. We were so caught up in Racklock’s fervor.”
“Manay the True built the temple well,” said Hope. “You didn’t destroy it completely. Brother Wentu and I did some work to restore it. The rest of the repairs may take some time, but with enough willing hands, it could be accomplished.”
“Even in this you prove yourself a better Vinchen,” said Stephan.
“Stephan, that’s … blasphemy,” said a third Vinchen.
“Is it, Malveu?” he asked, turning on his brother. “To commend someone, man or woman, for restoring the rightful home and temple of the Vinchen order? You call that blasphemy?”
Malveu was silent.
“I’m sure this is a very important discussion,” said Vaderton. “But perhaps we could do it somewhere other than in the middle of a square strewn with dead bodies?”
“It’s not like the imps are likely to cause much problem,” said Red. “Since thanks to your man over there”—he nodded to the now-unconscious form of Racklock—“there aren’t any. But we’ve probably drawn more than enough attention to ourselves already today.”
“We will need to bury our dead first,” said Stephan quietly.
Hope noted that there were four townspeople who had been killed during the fight before she had arrived. “It’s commendable to care for these innocents.”
Stephan looked at her steadily. “I meant our people as well.”
“Your people?” she asked.
“Oh, uh …” Red looked suddenly sheepish. “I may have killed one of them when we were making our escape from the Past Is Forgotten.”
“That was Frache,” said Stephan. “There is also Hectory.”
He pointed to a small pile of pulp beneath one of the buildings. It took Hope a moment to realize it was a head.
“Where is … the rest of him?” she said.
He pointed wordlessly to a headless corpse on the roof of the building.
“Who did that?” Hope looked at Brigga Lin and Red, but it didn’t seem like the sort of thing either of them was likely to do.
“He did.” Stephan looked at Racklock, and the fury on his face was unmistakable.
“He … killed one of his own students?” she asked, not quite able to believe it. A teacher could be hard. Cruel, even. But the punishment of death was only for the very worst crimes, such as Hurlo’s heresy when he trained Hope. “What could he have possibly done to warrant that?”
“He objected to the slaughter of innocents.” Stephan’s voice was bitter, but he seemed more angry with himself now than anything else. Perhaps he regretted not speaking up as well.
“Right.” Red rubbed his hands briskly together. “So, four townsfolk and two Vinchen. Plus, we’ll have to lug around old broken bones here if you’re not going to kill him. Jilly? Vaderton? Let’s go get a wagon. We’re going to need it.”
As the three of them trooped off, the Vinchen whispered quietly among one another, probably trying to decide what they should do with Racklock, and how much they could trust Hope. It must all be very confusing for them.
While they discussed among themselves, Hope knelt down next to the Song of Sorrows. Ignoring the unconscious Racklock, she gently wiped the sticky, drying blood from the blade. She pulled the sheath from Racklock’s belt and slid the sword home.
“I’m sorry, old friend,” she whispered. “Perhaps you can finally rest now.”
She stood back up and handed the sheathed sword to Stephan.
“I would ask you not to ever use this sword lightly, or without honor. It suffers greatly when you do.”
“How can a sword suffer?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, really. But this sword and I have been through a great deal together, and I can tell you that the Song of Sorrows is not just a name.”
“And you’re simply … giving it to me?”
She nodded. “I love this blade, and it has taught me much. But I can’t walk its path any longer.”
He bowed and took the sword from her, although he suddenly looked a little apprehensive in holding it.
As he should be, she thought.
While they waited for Red to return, Hope learned the names of the other Vinchen and a little bit about them. Just as she suspected, they were all young and inexperienced. Stephan seemed to have emerged as their leader, although more from the conviction of his fury over the loss of his fellow brothers than from any actual leadership ability. That would come in time, of course. It was odd, though. Hope felt strangely protective of them, as if she could somehow steer them on a better path than the one Racklock had taken them.
“Well, this should be big enough,” said Red as he pulled a wagon into the square. He sat in the front, holding the reins, a big grin on his face. Jilly sat next to him, looking very pleased with herself as well. Hope thought it was pretty likely they hadn’t gotten the wagon or the horse by honest means, but she knew that asking Red not to steal was like asking Brigga Lin not to gruesomely murder people who angered her. And really, when seen in that light, stealing didn’t seem so bad.
“Wonderful,” she said instead. “Now all we need is a boat.”
Vaderton’s hand rose slowly from the back of the otherwise empty wagon. “I suppose that’s where I come in.”
16
Red knew that lacies often buried their dead in the ground, but that had always seemed a little unsettling to him. Maybe he just wasn’t used to the idea, since he’d never lived anywhere where there was enough dirt to do something like that. But the thought of taking the body of someone you loved and sticking it in the filth and muck of the earth, with bugs and worms and the like … it made his stomach squirm just to think about it.
Nea had told him once that there was a region of Aukbontar where people held air burials. Apparently, the trees were so big and so dense in that part of the country that it would have been impossible to dig a proper hole among all the overlapping roots. What’s more, there wasn’t a body of water large enough for a sea burial within twenty miles. So instead they climbed as high as they could on the tallest tree they could find, and they laid their loved one’s body so that it was cradled in the bran
ches, and after saying some suitable words, simply climbed back down. Apparently the birds and insects up there took care of the rest. An air burial didn’t sit too bad with Red. In fact, there was a strange sort of loveliness about it, being left up there high above the world.
But like any proper wag of the Circle, it was a burial at sea that seemed best to him. To be slipped gently back into the place where all life began. The place where storms come from. A place that was slow, and dark, and quiet. That’s where Red wanted his body to end up when he died.
As he drove the wagon of dead bodies through the streets of the Shade District, he was glad everyone else agreed that a burial at sea was best. Of course, they couldn’t exactly ask the family or friends of the dead townspeople, since they’d very understandably fled in terror as soon as they were able. Anyway, there weren’t really any other options. Vance Post was more dock than actual land, and there wasn’t a tree higher than ten feet in the whole place.
In Paradise Circle, as often as not, a person was simply tossed off a pier. But a proper burial at sea should be done far from land. Partly this was to reduce the risk of a bloated corpse showing up a day or two later a few miles down the coast. It was also because, in a true burial at sea, the body should sink forever into the watery blue, gone completely before it ever touched the ocean floor. Unless there were sharks or seals nearby, it needed to be deep enough to give the smaller sea creatures time to completely decompose the body on its way down.
It hadn’t been a pleasant task to gather the bodies and pile them in the wagon. It hadn’t been easy to lower the headless one down from the roof on a rope, either, but simply tossing it over the side seemed far too disrespectful. The barkeep at the Past Is Forgotten had been very grateful that they’d taken the dead Vinchen off his hands. As they loaded up the wagon, they didn’t bother to keep Racklock separate from the dead. They just tied him up and tossed him back there, broken bones and all. The endless, agonizing pain was keeping him mostly unconscious, but they’d remember not to toss him overboard with the rest. Probably.
