by Mirren Hogan
"Why?" Brish's looked down as a rug squelched under his feet. Maybe there was a trapdoor beneath it. As far as he could recall, there had always been some kind of floor covering there, usually one that looked expensive.
He was about to suggest it to Harm when he gestured for Brish to hurry up.
"But—"
"Come on."
Brish took hold of his side, groaning as they righted the desk. It was heavier than it looked, and wet and slippery. More than once, Brish had to stop his fingers from sliding off and dropping the desk. Knowing that it'd make too much noise gave him the strength to hold on. They carried it to the centre of the room and lowered it to the floor.
"So I was thinking, there might be…" Brish started as Harm pulled a chair over and climbed up onto the desk. "What in the name of reason are you doing?" Had his friend hit his head during the wave? That might explain his current behaviour. "I don't think the desk is made for that. It's not a tavern table."
Those were designed to withstand fights, dancing and reason only knew what else. The desk, on the other hand, was a little more delicate. Well, he thought, strong enough to survive the wave, but this…
"Don't worry so much," Harm called down, "you sound like an old hen."
Brish scowled. "Don't make me push you off the desk."
He shook his head as Harm chuckled and pushed at the ceiling.
"Now I know you're crazy."
Brish swallowed his words a moment later when a section of the panelling moved aside, revealing a square of space large enough to fit through.
"What the haze? What is that, and how did you know it was there?"
Harm grinned down at him. "Daris. He mentioned a hidden room. He might have been drunk at the time, but he was right."
"Oh good. Haze only knows who else he told." Brish ducked as a ladder tumbled out of the hole and hit the desk before sliding to the floor. Made from rope and timber, it looked dry and sound. He grabbed a rung and tugged. Whatever it was attached to, it was tied fast.
"All the more reason to hurry up," Harm said. He grasped a rung and pulled himself up. After a few moments he disappeared.
Brish didn't mind heights, but he didn't much care for enclosed spaces. Still, he wasn't letting Harm leave him behind. He took a hold of the ladder and, swinging wildly, climbed up toward the hidden room. When he reached the top, Harm was there with a hand to pull him up and inside. It took a moment to accept that the floor beneath them was solid before he released Harm's hand.
"Well, this is surprising." Even in the faint light from the office below, Brish saw that the room was larger than he'd expected. He couldn't make out the far corner, but it went past the wall in the room below.
"Daris was full of secrets," Brish remarked. "Do you think Hailyn knew about this?"
"I don't know, but I'd bet a bag of braids she didn't."
"She knew a lot of other things. Why not this?"
Harm hesitated. "I'm not sure Daris trusted her enough. I mean, yes, he told her about the magin, but that was hall business. This is different."
"That's a big assumption given we can't see anything."
Harm chuckled. "I'll be right back." He climbed down the ladder. His footsteps faded after a few moments.
Brish sat down in the dust and suppressed a sneeze. He mulled over the events of the last few days, especially the previous hours. As much as he'd like to blame Daris, Hailyn or even Harm for getting him involved in this, he could only blame himself. He'd followed Daris, listened in on things he shouldn't, and let his curiosity lead him around by the nose.
If he hadn't involved himself … He stopped for a moment and reminded himself that his actions had brought him to Daris' attention. If he hadn't done that, he wouldn't have come to Hailyn's. They wouldn't have considered sending him away to Hoza, to infiltrate the magin. He wouldn't have been on the street, and able to climb to safety. He would have been in the work room, or perhaps asleep after a night of wandering the city looking for information. In either case, he'd be dead now, drowned along with the rest of the hall.
His meddling, he concluded, had saved his life. That should be some consolation, but sitting in a dusty room, above a building filled with dead friends, dampened his spirits further. He'd stand up and pace if he didn't think he'd fall over something. For a few minutes he let his imagination run wild, turning shapes into sinister things. A box became a torture device of some kind. What looked like a long chest, he pictured holding the bones of the long dead General Sandvaal. Thoughts which should have disturbed him gave him a measure of comfort, if only because he knew that's not what any of those would be.
"Here, take this." Harm's voice speaking suddenly made him jump and let out a squeal of surprise. Harm's arm stuck up from the hole, an unlit torch in his hand. Brish rose, grabbed it with one hand and reached out to help Harm with the other.
"I hope you brought flint," he said, smiling so his teeth stood out in the dark.
"Reason! I knew I forgot something," Harm said, patting his pockets. "Oh, look, I didn't."
"Haha." Brish held out the torch while Harm struck the flit. Sparks flew before the pitch lit in a whoosh and the room was bathed in light.
"Oh, haze." Brish stared around him. "What are you doing?"
"Being careful," Harm said, He grabbed the ladder and pulled it up into the hidden room. Tossing it over to one side, he crouched and pulled the piece of ceiling back into place.
The torch flickered in the lighter air, but, thank reason, it kept burning. He didn't want to be up here in total darkness.
"All right then, where do we start?"
Chapter Four
Nothing remained in Daven's stomach. As a healer, he should be used to death. Nothing he'd seen compared to this. He'd already been sick and retched several times as they made their way toward the train station via the worst of the damage. At least two of the piers which made up the docks of Paryos were gone, washed away by the wave. That no ships had been birthed there at the time was either incredible luck, or part of Bakel's plan. He wanted to think it was the latter. He knew the magin were desperate, but there was some decency in them, maybe even in their leader.
They walked past a group of men cursing at their upturned stalls, items scattered or gone. He gave them an apologetic look and wished he'd been able to talk the magin out of this. Short of killing Bakel, there was nothing he could have done. If he were honest, he hadn't been convinced they would actually carry it out or wouldn't be caught first. Hanging on a reasoner's rope, in a line with these people, would be preferable to the misery they'd caused.
He shot a look at Bakel and frowned. Haze, how had become caught up in this madness? He should have run when he had the chance; caught a ship to anywhere else. By now he could be so far away no one would ever find him.
He stepped over what looked like a dog, stiff, its body shattered. He leaned over and retched again. If Bakel noticed, he didn't comment, but Emmin glanced at him several times, her face unreadable. Once in a while he thought she seemed as horrified as he was, but she'd schooled her expression the moment she'd noticed him watching.
Reason only knew where Laena Rhel was. Daven had stared at the rising water, watched it wash over the city, not believing what he was seeing. By the time he thought to look, she was gone. He suspected she'd left the moment she'd finished using her magic to murder innocent people. Did she regret her part in this? He wasn't sure these people were capable of feeling compassion for anyone but themselves. Bakel, in particular, seemed pleased at what they'd done.
"The water went just where we needed it to," he remarked, his expression smug. "The bards' hall. Shame about the reasoners' headquarters."
"Minimal damage there," Emmin remarked, poking a pile of rubbish with her foot. "It was virtually untouched."
The bards' hall, a block closer to the waterfront, looked deserted, the doors torn away. Daven thought he caught the movement of a curtain in one window at the front, but it was gone before he could be s
ure.
They circled around the back. Here, there was less damage, the hall having—to some extent—blocked the force of the tsunami.
"Haze, there's a school beside the bards' hall." Daven blinked away tears.
"That's regrettable," Baskel agreed, "but most should have gone home after morning classes."
"What if they didn't?" Daven asked. "There might be someone alive in there, needing help." He expected Bakel to decline, or laugh, but he nodded.
"Go on. We should be trying to help, or our presence here would seem suspicious."
"Shouldn't we be getting out of Paryos?" Emmin asked, eyes flickering around nervously.
"What would look more suspicious than fleeing in haste?" Bakel replied. "We should look concerned, help where it's needed. Be good citizens."
Daven snorted. That confirmed what he'd suspected—Bakel was insane. Or at least his view of the world was skewed. He'd grown up knowing there were many ways of looking at things, and different perspectives of right and wrong. On some level he understood their need to lash out at the rest of Dargyn. Magin had spent a hundred years being persecuted and punished for the actions of some during the Dragonwar. He agreed that it was time for that to stop, but to do this and then act blasé about it defied logic. It was a step beyond what he could handle. He was done with these people, but he'd help the school first. He owed them that much.
Emmin fell in beside him.
"You think we're monsters, don't you?" she asked, blunt as ever.
He gave her a sidelong look and replied to her with his own question, "Would I be wrong?" What else could he call them? How many people had they killed in this attack? He might never sleep at night again. Neither should they.
"All we ever really wanted was to be left alone," she said, her voice terse.
He gave a short laugh. "So this is how you do that? This is going to guarantee they come after you." The reasoners would hunt him harder now. Bakel and his group had given them even more incentive. "They won't stop until every one of you, men, women and children, are dead."
"I thought you were one of us," Emmin said.
"That's what you took out of that?" Daven asked, "Do you even care about the repercussions of this?"
"Of course I care, but I also need to know who I can trust."
"I—reason!" Daven stepped into the school. The first room must have contained rows of neat desks and chairs. Every one of them now lay on their sides, or upside down, smashed against the far wall, and coated with a layer of silt. Children's art, once displayed proudly on the walls, were torn, dripping and bleeding.
"Help!" A small voice came from the far corner. It contained a bigger desk, probably used by a teacher in the past. It had been upturned with the rest of the room, and a leg protruded from underneath it.
"Hold on," he called out. "Get the other side." Without waiting to see if Emmin obeyed, he gripped the legs and started to shift the desk.
The trapped teacher—a small woman in her fifth decade—cried out as the heavy timber desk slid from her. Even at a glance, Daven saw her leg was broken, possibly both of them. They'd both been crushed under the impact.
He and Emmin hefted the desk over out of the way and he crouched down beside the woman.
"Just a little scratch by the look of it," he said, "just give it a moment and it'll feel better." To haze with the reasoners, this woman needed help, and he could give it. He touched her leg lightly and felt the magic spark and flow into her limbs, knitting bone, healing arteries, and restoring the flow of blood.
He glanced at her face at the exact moment the pain left her body. Tears of relief leaked from her eyes, and her face relaxed.
"Thank you." Her voice was faint, exhausted, but grateful. "I thought my bones were broken."
"No, not at all," Daven lied, "just a bit squashed. You should be fine now. Is there anyone else here?"
"I don't know, I've been here since the water came." The teacher sat up, moving shoulders, arms and legs, visibly surprised to find everything intact.
"The children," Emmin asked, "had they left for their middle-day break?"
Daven glanced at her, surprised at the genuine concern on her face. It was too little, too late, but the hint of humanity she showed was heartening. It made a change from her mask of guarded apathy. Perhaps on some level, she didn't approve of Bakel's methods either, but couldn't refuse to support her own father.
"Yes," the teacher replied, drawing his attention back to her, "most live a few streets back. They might still be safe." More tears flowed. Daven could heal her body, but her mind would take much longer. At least she'd been spared from pulling dead students from under the ruins of their classroom.
"Come on, let's see if anyone else is here." He patted the teacher's arm and rose. There was nothing more he could do for her now.
"I saw what you did," Emmin whispered as they left the first classroom. "You didn't even hesitate. See, we're rubbing off on you."
"Is that what you call it?"
"I saw the look on your face. You're done fearing it."
"I'm still scared of it," he said, "I just decided I'd not let another person suffer because of something that had nothing to do with them."
"You're still missing the point." She sounded exasperated. "Anyone who supports the reasoners supports the policy."
"Has it ever crossed your mind that people don't even think about magin?" he asked, stopping briefly to glare at her. "All most people want is to live their lives, put food on the table, be at peace with their neighbour."
"That's all we want, too, but we've been denied it for too long. How much longer do we wait? How many more magin die in the meantime?"
"How many others will die, too?" he retorted. "Do you really think this is any better?" He was rewarded with a rare show of raw emotion on her face—regret.
"No, I don't," she admitted, "but what alternative is there?"
"There's always another way," he said. He fell quiet at the sound of talking from the back of the school.
"Do you need any help?" Emmin asked, giving him a funny look before smiling at two male teachers who were busy setting tables back upright.
"We think there's a child trapped under these," said one. He sported a gash across his forehead and looked dazed but otherwise unhurt. He gave a confused glance, clearly wondering at her and Daven's presence, but turned away and gestured
"They didn't all go home?" Daven asked, reaching for a table.
The two men glanced at each other.
"Rahkin stays here during middle-break. She has no home," the second teacher said.
"Ah," Daven replied softly. While some folk did live on the streets, the reasoners rounded them up and found them shelter, but often broke up families. Children went to foster homes, or orphanages until the parents had gainful employment and a permanent residence. Sometimes that took years. Some preferred to live together in the backs of warehouses, or in parks. Going to school was a risk, since the teacher could inform the reasoners of their situation. Apparently these two had decided against that course of action. He would applaud under normal circumstances. Now, it might have cost a child their life.
"There's a hand," Emmin said, pulling a desk aside.
They worked in silence, shifting the furniture aside and trying not to get in the way of each other. The more they worked, the longer Daven waited for some response from Rahkin. When he pulled the last desk away and exposed her face, it was clear they'd get none.
She was lying against the wall, mouth open, eyes wide and glazed. Her hands were curled into claws, grabbing for something, perhaps air. There wasn't a mark on her, suggesting she'd drowned before the desks piled on top of her. Her last moments must have been ones of sheer terror, and absolute aloneness.
"Oh haze," one of the teachers swore. The other sniffed.
"I'm so sorry," Daven breathed. She couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old. Just a little one wanting to learn and make a life for herself. She'd had that s
tolen from her, a victim of a war that she knew nothing about. She should be laughing with friends, braiding her hair, playing with dolls.
"Thank you. You came to help when no one else did," one of the teachers said as the women whose bones Daven healed stepped gingerly into the room, her face still moist with tears.
"They'll come," Emmin said, "they just haven't yet. There was a lot of damage to this part of the city. I'm sure they're on their way."
"Yes," the man replied, looking vague. "It's too late for little Rahkin anyway."
"Yes, it is," Daven agreed softly. He looked at Emmin, his previous words hanging between them. She was thinking them too, he saw it in her eyes.
There is always another way.
He had to believe she wanted to find one, otherwise Rahkin had died for nothing, and reason knew how many would come after her.
That thought was accompanied by a peal of thunder and a flash of lightning before the rain began to fall.
Chapter Five
The rain stopped some time during the night, the storm blowing out toward the west. Daven hadn't noticed until a shaft of early morning sun slanted in through the windows. Together—with even Bakel lending a hand to the people he'd attacked—they'd moved the tables aside and cleaned the floor and walls. Everything unsalvageable was tossed outside for the street cleaners to haul away. Reason only knew when they'd make it here.
How much of the building would be useable in the long term he couldn't be sure, but for the next few days at least, the children could learn, and have some semblance of normality. A few of them had come to help, or attend afternoon classes, but they'd been sent away while the clean-up took place.
An hour after dawn, a contingent of reasoners arrived to assess the state of the building. Daven didn't pause in his work, he kept his head down while they wandered from room to room. Worried as he was, he didn't think they'd be looking for him—or any magin—here.
"Have you any dead?" a heavyset reasoner asked.
