by Myke Cole
She looked up to see the Black-and-Gray who held Sigir. His arm was across the Maior’s chest now, his knife blade against his throat. He glanced down long enough to ensure his boot was firmly on Heloise’s arm, then back up again.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Stop or I will cut your precious villager’s throat. Throw down your weapons!”
The Sindi froze, and Heloise’s heart lurched, not because she feared the Sindi would abandon their knives and let the man go, but because she feared they wouldn’t. Sigir was precious to her, but she could see the calculation in the Sindis’ eyes. They had come to stop the enemy from alerting the rest of the Order. Saving a single villager was not their first concern.
Sure enough, Giorgi’s smile returned. “I have no weapons,” he said, and Heloise saw the flame-man rise from the burning corpse of one of the enemy, crouch, and head for the man at a run.
The man cursed, pressing the blade harder against Sigir’s neck. Heloise strained against the heavy boot pressing hard on her arm, her fingers grasping uselessly toward the rock. He hadn’t pinned her feet, though, and she pushed off with them, trying to force her arm out from under him. The man rocked, stamped down harder, thrown off balance, his blade momentarily falling away from Sigir’s throat. Heloise could see the flashing of silver as the knife-dancers lunged toward him.
The man shouted and raised the blade to Sigir’s throat again, as Heloise’s foot lost traction and skidded across the ground.
Her foot.
She threw herself as far backward as her pinned arm would allow, bringing her foot up with all her might. It skipped up the enemy’s thigh to thump between his legs. Heloise winced, half-expecting him to be wearing leather armor, but she felt only the soft impact of his manhood, heard him cough and double over, dropping the knife. The pressure lifted from her arm as he stumbled back.
And then Onas and the flame-man struck him at the same time. Onas’s knife pierced his throat and the flame-man’s embrace set him smoldering. Sigir spun away, cursing, as the man fell across Heloise. She rolled just as he hit the ground, scrambling to Leahlabel’s side.
The Sindi Mother was rising to one elbow, dabbing at the blood trickling from her temple. “I’m … I’m all right, Heloise. Are you…”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Did we…”
Heloise looked up. The field was littered with dead, but she could only see Sindi standing. Sigir was blinking at the carnage, shock plain across his pale face.
“Yes,” Heloise said, relief making her weak, “yes, I think we won.”
Leahlabel clambered to her feet. “Giorgi! Did any get…”
“It’s all right, Mother.” Giorgi’s smile was back, his calm. “We got them all.”
Heloise jumped to her feet, ran to Sigir. “Are you all right? Did they hurt…”
Sigir blinked, distracted. He put his hands on her shoulders, but his eyes were still on the field, roving over the dead. “I can’t believe…” he whispered, “I can’t believe you killed them all.”
“They didn’t hurt you?”
“No, child.” He finally looked down. “I’m quite all right.”
Relief swamped her, and she threw her arms around his waist. “I’m so glad. I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again.” She felt his fingers stroke her hair.
Giorgi was helping Leahlabel to her feet, touching her face with a tenderness that Heloise had only seen among married people before. “Get off,” the Sindi Mother said, “not the first knock on the head I’ve taken.”
Giorgi frowned, glanced at Sigir. “I certainly hope you’re well, villager. We lost good men here.”
“Thank you,” Sigir managed, still looking stricken.
“They didn’t tie you,” Giorgi said.
“They didn’t need to,” Sigir replied. “I’m one old man in the company of young, trained warriors. They wouldn’t have had any trouble running me down.”
“We should get back,” Leahlabel said. “It won’t take the Order long to start wondering why their scouts haven’t returned. But first we should clean up this mess. Onas, go back to the camp and fetch more help. We must bring our own dead back to send them on up the wheel, and burn the enemy’s. And the machine … is it broken?”
Heloise reluctantly let Sigir go and went to the machine. The metal around the engine canister was dented, but it seemed whole, and the seethestone bag was still drawn tightly shut. “It doesn’t look broken…”
Onas began signaling to the other knife-dancers. “We’ll help you stand it up.”
“There’s no need,” Heloise said, climbing inside. “If it still works, it will move as I do. I can stand it up myself.”
6
DELIBERATIONS
It was then that Shasta knew she would die, and it unbound her. She surrendered to the Great Wheel, knowing that it carried her where it would no matter what she did. Thus freed, she spent her last moment in what she loved most. While the enemy churned about her, she threw up her hands and danced. When, at last, she lowered them, she was not dead, and her foes were all around, laid open as if by the teeth of some beast.
—The First Knife-Dance, Kipti story
The sun was setting as they limped back into the camp, carrying their dead with them.
Samson sat on the steps to Leahlabel’s wagon, head in his hands. He stood when he saw Heloise, but didn’t go to her. “You’re all right,” he said.
Barnard stood beside him, arms folded. The color had returned to his face, “See, Samson?” he said. “I told you the Emperor would not let His own come to harm. I knew she would rescue Sigir.”
The Maior still hadn’t recovered from the shock of his rescue. He looked dazed, nodding distractedly as the villagers crowded around him, clapping him on the shoulder and shouting questions.
The Sindi had stoked the great fire in the center of the camp, taken down the hooks and pots, and laid blackened wooden wheels alongside. As Heloise watched, they tied each of the fallen knife-dancers to one. “From their families,” Onas explained, “to send them up the wheel.”
Other Sindi gathered around the machine, staring up at it in wonder. Many reached out to touch the metal, running their fingers along the straps and rods until Barnard cleared his throat and shooed them off.
“We lost four,” Tillie said. “That was a steep price to pay.”
“We got all of the Order’s spies, Mother Tillie,” Giorgi answered. “It will be a day at least, I would guess, before the Order realizes their people aren’t coming back. We must be gone by then.”
And suddenly, the villagers were underfoot. The Sindi busied themselves packing up the camp, stowing their chairs and dousing their cook fires. Women appeared with broad-shouldered cart horses and put them in their traces to pull the wagons. Heloise’s people had only what they carried, and after the Sindi refused their attempts to help, they gave up, huddling miserably just outside the ring of activity as the sun sank farther and darkness enclosed them.
The Sindi shot glares over their shoulders at the villagers as they worked, but none said anything. By the central fire, the four slain knife-dancers lay strapped to their wheels like an accusation.
“What are they waiting for?” Samson asked.
Sigir shook his head. “I do not know, but they are moving on. We should speak with them. There isn’t enough room in those wagons for all of us.”
Heloise looked at the dead on their wheels, felt dread pricking at her stomach. “I don’t know that they want us to go with them.”
Sigir nodded. “I fear you are right.”
“The Emperor will provide for us,” Barnard said.
“We need to know.” Heloise could hear her father struggling to keep panic out of his voice. “If they won’t have us with them, then we need to be moving too, and now. And we need to see what supply they can spare.”
The dread in Heloise’s stomach rose into her throat. “Can we…” She turned to Sigir. “Can we outrun the Order, witho
ut horses?”
Sigir looked at his feet and said nothing.
Heloise looked across the camp. There were sixteen knife-dancers who had returned with her, and she counted at least another twenty. You have seen the knife-dance now, Leahlabel had said, all Sindi boys are raised to it.
She thought of the Black-and-Gray, his knife held to Sigir’s neck. Tone, swinging his flail over Gunnar’s hammer. Anger flared in her chest. “They shouldn’t leave. They don’t have to.”
“What do you mean—” Sigir began.
“We can’t just stand here, waiting,” Heloise said. “If they’re going to turn us out, we need to know. The Order is coming.”
She strode to where the Mothers stood outside Leahlabel’s wagon, talking in hushed tones with Giorgi and Onas. Sigir, Samson, and Barnard exchanged glances before hurrying behind her.
“You’re all right, Heloise?” Onas looked up at her.
“Are you sure we can’t help?” she asked, stalling for time, trying to suss out the kernel of an idea that was growing in her mind.
Onas looked uncomfortable. “The Mothers are … thinking about that just now. We will tell you when—”
“The knife-dance,” Heloise cut in, desperate to keep the conversation going, to buy the time she needed to think. “Do girls do it?”
“Why would a girl want to?” Tillie asked slowly. “The knife-dance is a sop for boys. They cannot do important things like lead a band, or have children. This is their part in the Great Journey.”
Onas smiled. “Nothing in the Great Journey says a girl can’t do it, Mother Tillie. Shasta was a girl.”
“You are no Shasta,” Analetta said. “That is the difference between girls and women. We don’t pine for such things.”
“I am very glad I am not a woman, Mother Analetta,” Onas said.
“And the wizardry?” Heloise asked Giorgi. “Can more of you work … fire?”
“Giorgi and I have the Talent,” Leahlabel answered for him. “There are others among the Traveling People, but we leave it to each one to decide whether or not to reveal it. Some of us fear your Order more than others.”
“It is not our Order,” Barnard said. “We love the Emperor and His holy Writ, but we do not truck with the brigands in gray cloaks that claim to be his own. They serve only themselves.”
“Brigands, maybe,” Tillie said, “but strong brigands, and numerous, and with enough money to buy arms and good horses, and to supply themselves in the field for as long as they please.”
“And they would kill you if they knew,” Heloise finished for her.
“They would,” Tillie said, “but since they do not, they merely rob us every chance they get, and call it a ‘tariff’ or a ‘toll.’ They take our goods, or our money, or our horses, when they can.”
“When they can?” Samson asked.
“We were the Traveling People long before the Order was chartered.” Leahlabel smiled. “Traveling gives certain advantages when one doesn’t want to be found.”
“Did you ever … fight them?” Heloise asked.
The Mothers were silent for a moment, exchanging glances. It was Leahlabel who finally answered. “We did. A long time ago.”
“What happened?” Samson asked.
“We lost,” Tillie said simply.
“And you just gave up?” Barnard asked.
“It is easier to travel carefully than to fight,” Leahlabel said. “The Order can have the villages, and we can have the roads.”
“Only when they’re not on them,” Heloise said.
“They are only on them,” Tillie’s voice was tight, “as long as it takes them to get to you. What are you driving at?”
“I just saw twenty knife-dancers beat a host of the Emperor’s Eyes. There are at least another twenty here, and I am with you.” She raised the machine’s metal fist, banging it against the shield’s edge. “Some of us are veterans of the Old War with Ludhuige the Red. We can fight.”
“There’s a we, now, is there?” Analetta’s jowls shook. “Your people stumbled into our camp, tails between your legs. Now we are sending four of our own up the wheel, and you want us to commit more to the fire. You villagers are a plague. This is your fight, and we would be well advised to leave you to it.”
“Mother…” Leahlabel began.
“No!” Analetta shouted over her. “It’s good she started this talk. We must decide what to do with them and now is as good a time as any. You have been soft on these villagers from the moment they limped in here. I knew it would come to trouble, I told you that it would come to trouble, and now it has come to trouble. We should move this camp and leave them. It’s them the Order wants, not us.”
The camp began to pause in their preparations, gathering around to hear the conversation.
“We must make that decision together,” said Leahlabel, but the angry murmurs of the Sindi made it plain to Heloise that the camp’s heart was not with her.
“Giorgi says we slew all of the Order’s spies,” Analetta said to Heloise, “so there are none left to know we helped you. If they catch us on the road alone, they might take some of our goods and let us go. If they find you in our train, they will leave none alive.”
Analetta went on, but Heloise wasn’t listening. She could already picture her people strung out on the road to one of the other villages—Frogfork or Mielce, begging help from terrified villagers who would surely turn them away. She could almost hear the hoofbeats of the vengeful Order behind them, catching them on the open road … Her people needed refuge, a place to lick their wounds and figure out what to do next. And if they couldn’t take refuge with the Sindi, then there was no other place …
And then, suddenly, there it was. The kernel of a thought blossomed into an idea, a sudden mad plan. There was no time to think it through, but she had run on instinct since she’d first driven the war-machine out to face the devil. All ways are equally fraught, Sigir had said.
“You misunderstand.” Heloise raised her voice. The buzzing of voices went silent. “It is not we who should come with you, but you who should come with us.”
“What are you nattering on about?” Analetta asked. “Go with you where?”
“To Lyse,” Heloise said.
“The Hapti band trades at Lyse,” Tillie said, “and the great market isn’t for another turning of the moon.”
“We will not go to trade,” Heloise said.
Leahlabel sounded puzzled. “Traveling People only go to towns to trade, Heloise.”
“All my life the Traveling People have plied the roads,” Heloise said, “coming to us only in the seasons when they could get through, even when we both needed the custom…”
“That is our way,” Analetta said, “we are the Traveling People.”
Heloise’s stomach turned over at the enormity of what she was asking. Sigir’s words rang in her ears. We have consorted with a wizard, touched the body of a devil, ambushed the Order and made war on them. You think they’ll forgive that?
“Are you traveling,” Heloise asked, “or fleeing?”
“We don’t have to explain anything to the Caged,” Analetta practically spat. “We’ve taken you in and shown you every kindness. You’d be dead if it weren’t—”
“We are moving,” Leahlabel spoke over her. Her voice was calm, curious, “to evade the Order.”
Tillie gave an exaggerated shrug. “We have always done that.”
“Yes,” Heloise said, “maybe it’s time to do something else.”
Analetta laughed. “You don’t tell us…”
“Let her speak, Mother Analetta,” Leahlabel said.
“You can’t seriously be consider—”
“What do you offer, Heloise Factor?” Leahlabel asked.
“I know you would be free of the Order, given the chance. I would too. My people have beaten them once…”
“And been beaten by them after…” Tillie said.
“… After we hurt them,” Heloise shouted over her.
“We have killed them, Mothers. That is more than any other villager has done, and now you have, too. Together, we can do more.”
“And this is something to celebrate?” Leahlabel asked. “Men are killed easily enough.”
“The Order is coming for us, and we will not be able to stop them in a forest or a village. We will not be able to outrun them without horses.”
“But we will,” Analetta said.
“Yes, and you will keep running,” Heloise felt her chest swell as she spoke, as if some greater force were speaking through her, “as you have done for generations. You will practice your wizardry in secret. You will let the Order say when and where you come to market, and you will pay the Imperial Procurer his due before you can trade. Flight is not freedom. Running is not traveling. You are fugitives in your own valley and will forever be outside the Empire’s grace until the day comes that you chock your wheels and sign the village rolls.”
“We will never do that.” Tillie’s face was white with anger.
“If you help me, you will never have to.”
“Help you how? What do you intend to do?” Leahlabel alone did not seem angry, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly with her question.
“We will take Lyse,” Heloise said.
“We will what?” Sigir whirled on her. “Hel—your eminence. That isn’t…”
Heloise raised the machine’s giant empty hand and he went silent. “Help us take the town and the market is yours. You will pay no dues to the Procurer. You may say who comes to sell and who does not. Fair days when you like, come and go as you please. Sell what you like and only what you like. Put up your horses and lay down roots if you want. It will, for once, be your choice.”
“And what do you want, Heloise Factor?” Leahlabel asked. “Or do you mean to march on an Imperial town simply to give us a market?”
“No. Lyse has walls, and walls stop armies. If we hold it, we can stand against the Order.”
“Lyse’s walls are not so thick. And as few as you are?” Analetta laughed. “Even if you can take the town, you can’t garrison it.”
