Siege of Rage and Ruin

by Django Wexler

  “Don’t worry about me. Worst comes to worst, I can always roast Jack.”

  “Tender Jack would no doubt be delectable, but opines that she would hardly be a morsel,” Jack says. “If anyone is to be eaten, Zarun seems the better candidate.”

  “Hard to argue with that logic,” I say, grinning at the two of them.

  * * *

  To leave headquarters, we enlist the help of a group of Blues, who still command a superstitious fear from the crowds. Also, if there’s any trouble, the Blues at least can be relied on to obey orders and not lose their heads. Watching them silently push the crowd back with their spears, I feel the quiver of unease I always get in their presence, and I know without looking that Meroe feels the same.

  Kindre. It seems impossible, but it has to be. But Tori? Really?

  I shake my head and put it out of my mind. We have more immediate problems. The Blues surround us in a bubble of open space, but they don’t block the shouts and stares. The people in the square are mostly from the poorer districts, refugees from the Sixteenth with their clothes in rags or laborers from slightly higher up the hill. But there are men in dirty but respectable robes mixed in, too, and women with colorfully patterned cloth stained with sweat. Many people have brought rice bowls with them, which they wave in the air in silent accusation.

  We’re trying, rot you. Screaming at them would be worse than useless, so I only grimace as the Blues shove their way through. When we finally reach the edge of the square, the crowd thins out, and we manage to break into a jog until we’ve turned a few corners. Here, the streets are eerily empty—everyone who isn’t gathered at rebel headquarters or standing in line for rations is hunkered down, waiting for the worst.

  Meroe pauses, leaning on a wall for support. I motion the Blues to give us some space and take her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask her.

  “I just … wasn’t expecting that.” She swallows hard and looks up at me. “They’re angry at us.”

  “They’re hungry,” I say. “They’re angry at everyone.”

  “I’ve never seen a crowd like that.” Her eyes look haunted. “Back at home, when people filled the square, it was to cheer for my father.”

  “He must have been a good king,” I say. “Apart from having you kidnapped and sacrificed to a ghost ship.”

  “Apart from that.” She gives me a wry smile. “Sorry. I’ll be all right.”

  “Take as long as you need.”

  Seeing Meroe unsettled shakes something in me at a deep level. Since practically the day we met, she’s been the one I lean on, the unflappable, indomitable one. She straightens up and stretches out, then gives a decisive nod, but I can’t help but watch her more closely. I tend to forget how much strain she’s under, how much she takes on herself. Everywhere we’ve been, she wants to save everybody. Even if they want to kill her. But not even Meroe can save all of Kahnzoka.

  We have to get out of here.

  Moving north and east, we make our way through the Eighth Ward, toward the Temple of the Blessed’s Mercy. It looks ancient, with bronze work on the outer fence that’s gone green with the passage of centuries. The wide grounds are covered in tall, gnarled trees. The main gate leads onto a path that wanders up to a great hall with a double-curved roof, surrounded by lower, newer buildings. Every available space is covered in canvas, tents and makeshift shelters set up side by side. People are everywhere, sitting in group prayers, doing chores, or minding the dozens of children who run freely.

  A pair of young women guard the gate, if guard is in fact the right word. They’re unarmed, and at our approach they straighten up. They both wear plain gray robes with white belts, and their heads are shaven.

  “Welcome,” one of them says. “Do you seek the Teacher’s wisdom?”

  “I need to see Kosura,” I tell them.

  “The Teacher is very busy,” the other girl says. “But lay down your weapons, and you are free to come into our sanctuary. She will attend to you as her duties allow.”

  “I’m here as a representative of the Red Sashes.” I step closer to the guards. “Please tell your Teacher that I want her out here now.”

  “The Red Sashes have no authority within these grounds,” the girl says. Her hands are trembling a little, but her voice is firm. I have to admire her nerve.

  “If I come in,” I grate, “how do you propose to stop me?”

  Her eyes are very wide. “I will put my body in your path.”

  “And when you’re dead?”

  “I will add mine,” her partner says. “And when I fall, another will take my place, and another.”

  “I have to say, if I were you, I wouldn’t be thrilled with this plan.”

  The first girl swallows. “If we die, then we will be brought into the presence of the Blessed One, as he has promised.”

  Oh Blessed, do I hate fanatics. After a moment I realize the contradiction in that thought. Before I can try to formulate another threat, Meroe steps forward.

  “This is Gelmei Isoka,” she says. “Older sister of Gelmei Tori. I understand your Teacher was close friends with her. She’ll want to see us, believe me.”

  The two girls look at one another. The name has clearly sparked some recognition.

  “I will enquire,” one of them says eventually. “Wait here.”

  I’m already on the point of just pushing past them, but Meroe lays a hand on my arm, and I grudgingly settle down. It isn’t long until the girl returns, accompanied by an older man. He gives us a bow and a smile.

  “The Teacher will speak with you,” he says. “Your escort must remain here.”

  “Fine.” I snap an order to the Blues, and Meroe and I follow him across the threshold, dodging gangs of running children as we make our way up the path.

  “Isoka…” Meroe says, quietly.

  “Don’t say it,” I mutter. “I wouldn’t have actually killed anybody.”

  “I didn’t think you would have,” Meroe says. “But I’m not sure threats are going to get us anywhere.”

  “Fanatics.” I snort. “Maybe they’ll challenge me to a meditation contest like the last lot. No ice floes here, so we’ll have to lock ourselves naked in a cage over a fire or something.”

  Meroe stifles a laugh. “That’s certainly an image to treasure.”

  “The problem is,” I say, glancing at our guide, “other than threats, I’m not sure what leverage we have.”

  “We’ll have to see,” Meroe says.

  The great hall’s main doors are open, so I can see that the place is full of believers, chanting prayers in front of an enormous bronze statue of the Blessed One. The man leading us turns off the path, heading for one of the other buildings, and brings us through a smaller doorway into a comfortable sitting room. Another shaven-headed believer lays a low table with steaming mugs of tea and a tray of crackers, which is enough to make my stomach rumble.

  “The Teacher will join you soon,” our guide says, as he withdraws. Meroe and I sit at the table, trying not to stare at the food.

  “Would it compromise our negotiating position to eat them?” I ask.

  “Probably … not,” she says.

  “Good enough for me.”

  I grab a handful and force myself to eat them one at a time, washing them down with tea. They’re dry and tasteless, but food is food. Meroe is only a little less enthusiastic. By the time the door opens again, we’ve left only crumbs on the tray.

  “I apologize for our hospitality,” a young woman says. “But times being what they are, I hope you’ll forgive us.”

  The Teacher is probably a year or two older than Tori, and her shaven head makes her look younger. She’s a pale, delicate thing, pretty and graceful, though a fairly recent scar mars her face and she carries herself with a slight limp. The smile she gives us is bright and genuine, and she gestures for us to keep our seats as she comes and sits across from us at the table.

  “Isoka,” she says. “Tori spoke of you often.” />
  “I can’t say she ever mentioned you,” I deadpan, “but I’ve been out of touch.”

  “She thinks the world of you,” Kosura says. “They tell me you’re also with the Red Sashes, now.”

  “We’re not so much with them as providing temporary assistance,” I mutter. “But yeah, that’s about the shape of it.”

  “And who might this be?”

  “I am Meroe hait Gevora Nimara, First Princess of Nimar,” Meroe says, bowing. “It’s an honor.”

  “The honor is mine,” Kosura says with a slight smile. “I didn’t realize we were entertaining royalty.”

  “You’ve heard what happened in the Fourth Ward, I assume,” I put in.

  “Yes,” Kosura says. “We’re not quite as isolated as that. And a number of those who fled have entreated us for protection.”

  “Then you know that the Imperials captured much of our remaining food supply,” I say. “At this rate, we won’t be able to defend the walls.”

  “And you know there are supplies under this temple, and others.” Kosura gives a gentle sigh. “Tori and I have had this argument before. I imagine she sent you because she was too frustrated with me to come herself.”

  I blink. She hasn’t heard. We hadn’t exactly publicized the fact that Tori had been captured, though I know rumors have been spreading.

  “Tori is gone,” I say, surprised at how much the simple statement of fact hurts. We’ll get her back. We will. “She was captured by the Immortals, almost a week ago.”

  “Oh.” Kosura sits in silence for a moment, absorbing that information. “I … didn’t know.”

  “Tori begged Isoka to help the rebels before she was taken,” Meroe says, leaving out the exact circumstances. “We’ve have been doing our best to keep things together. But now that the Fourth Ward has fallen, we can’t last more than another few days. If you do have food, we need your help. The city needs your help. It’s not just the Red Sashes who are starving.”

  “I…” Kosura shakes her head, and I see tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Give me a moment.”

  She cares about Tori. And it’s cruel of me to press an advantage, but I do it anyway. I lean forward and lower my voice. “We’re pretty sure Tori is all right, for the moment. As long as the city holds out, Naga needs her for negotiations, and we have a chance at getting her back. But if the rebels surrender, then all bets are off. I’m just trying to keep my sister alive, Kosura.”

  “I understand.” She sniffs, wiping her eyes, then touches the still-tender scar on her face. “Better than you can imagine, believe me. But…” She sucks in a breath, composing herself. “It isn’t that simple.”

  “It certainly seems that simple to me,” I grate.

  “The food isn’t mine to give,” Kosura says. “It was cached by the faithful, and brought here in the early days of the rebellion, specifically to make sure we could stay out of this conflict. If I offer it to the rebels, I will be breaking the trust placed in me, and endangering the opportunity of every one of us to sit by the Blessed One’s side.”

  I can feel my temper rising. “I don’t think you’re going to have much chance to repent and pray if the Imperials sack the city, or a hungry mob tears this place down around your ears.”

  “If that happens, it is also the Blessed’s will.” Kosura’s face is calm now. “I’m not sure you understand why we’re here. None of us expects to live out another month in the world as it is. These are the trials leading up to the Blessed’s return—we are being tested, and if we maintain our faith, we will be rewarded.”

  “You know we don’t have to ask,” I say. “We can come in here and take what we want.”

  “And we will stand in your way,” Kosura says calmly. “What then, Gelmei Isoka? Will you cut us down?”

  “If I rotting have to,” I growl. “I’ve done much worse, believe me.”

  “Then that is between you and the Blessed One,” Kosura says. “My path is clear.”

  Meroe touches my arm, gently, and I bite back my retort and grind my teeth as she clears her throat.

  “I wonder,” she says, “if you’ve fully understood the nature of the test being presented to you.”

  “The sacred texts are clear,” Kosura says, with a note of condescension. “I don’t know how familiar you are with our ways in Nimar, but if you wish to learn—”

  “In The Dialogues, Fasila writes that ‘those who remain true to the path will be reunited with the Blessed One, and share his bounty in Heaven.’ Correct?”

  It’s Kosura’s turn to be taken aback. She blinks and says, “That’s the modern translation. We believe it would be more accurate to render it as ‘under Heaven,’ implying that the reunion takes place in the physical realm.”

  “Interesting.” Meroe grins, and I suspect only I would see a hint of the shark in her smile. “I admit I’m not familiar enough with Old Imperial to venture an opinion there. But I’m more interested in what it means to be ‘true to the path.’”

  “It means holding to faith in the Blessed One and his redemption, in spite of the tribulations of the times,” Kosura says. “As I said—”

  “But surely,” Meroe interrupts, “it must also refer to living by the Blessed One’s precepts?”

  “Of course.” Kosura gestures at the temple. “That is why we refuse violence, as He taught us, and spend our time in contemplation.”

  “And in Parallels, chapter nine, the Blessed One instructs us to ‘provide food for the hungry, aid to the sick, and comfort to the dying, for this is the whole of the path.’ Unless you prefer a different translation?”

  “That is…” Kosura shakes her head. “You cannot simply pick out a passage from the sacred texts. They form a whole.”

  “I understand. I just want to establish that feeding the hungry is among the things the Blessed One commands.” Meroe nods toward the city. “There are a great many hungry people out there.”

  “I know.” Kosura looks genuinely anguished. “As I said, it is not that simple. I cannot endanger my people’s souls.”

  “What if that’s exactly what you’re doing?” Meroe leans forward. “Have you considered that this may be the test?”

  “This—” Kosura blinks, and falls silent.

  “When the trials afflict us, it is to test our faith. And we demonstrate our faith in the Blessed One by following his path, not hiding ourselves away in prayer. If sharing food with the hungry seems to endanger us, isn’t that what makes it more demanding of our faith?”

  There’s a long pause.

  This can’t possibly work, can it?

  “I need to … consult.” Kosura gets to her feet, not really looking at us. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

  I glance at Meroe. “I suppose you had comparative religion growing up in the palace in Nimar.”

  “Of course,” she says, grinning. “We were intended for diplomatic roles, after all. Although I admit I did a fair bit of private reading. I always found the subject fascinating.”

  “But you don’t actually believe any of that.” I hesitate, a little uncomfortable. Meroe has never discussed what she does believe in, and I’ve never asked. “The Blessed One’s teachings, I mean.”

  “They’re not all that different from what our gods teach us. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. Be kind, obey the law, respect authority.” She shrugs. “I suppose the gods who teach ‘kill whoever you want and don’t pay your taxes’ don’t have followers who build empires, do they?”

  “But Kosura…”

  “She’ll help.” Meroe is confident. “She wants to help, but she felt like her duty required her not to. I just showed her a way to square the two. That’s another thing we learned about diplomacy—the easiest trick is talking someone into doing something they already want to do.”

  “You can be terrifying sometimes, you know that?” I lace my fingers through hers and smile. “My stra
nge princess.”

  “Thanks.” She cocks her head. “I think?”

  * * *

  As Meroe predicted, Kosura agrees. We’re summoned to another room, where she sits between a dozen shaven-headed believers, all looking at her with reverence. She gives me a nod, and then a deeper bow for Meroe.

  “My apologies for keeping you waiting,” she says. “And my gratitude for your … insight. Our stores are not unlimited, but we will offer what we can spare, to be used only by civilians.”

  That rankles, a little, but it amounts to the same thing—if the Red Sashes don’t have to feed the civilians, that means more for the soldiers.

  “The people will be grateful,” Meroe says. “As are we.”

  “Gelmei Isoka,” she says.

  I sit up a little straighter. “Yes?”

  “I know you will find your sister. I believe…” She hesitates. For a moment her face loses its serenity, and she looks like a scared teenager. “I believe that the Blessed One will not allow her to come to harm. But please. Help her.”

  “I will. Count on it.”

  “Princess Meroe,” Kosura says. “We would like your assistance arranging distribution of the food. Given the number of people involved, it will be trying, I imagine.”

  “Of course.” Meroe turns to me. “I’ll stay here and start putting a plan together. You need to get back to headquarters as soon as you can.”

  “Are you sure?” I glance around at the Returners. I have to admit they don’t seem like they present much of a threat.

  “I’ll be fine. When you get back, send Giniva to help. We’re going to need to be careful if we want to hand out food without starting a riot.”

  “No kidding,” I mutter. “Be careful, will you?”

  “Of course.” She leans forward and kisses me. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”

  “All right.” I glance at Kosura. “I’ll send some more help when I can.”

  “Thank you.” Kosura inclines her head. “May the Blessed favor you.”

  It feels strange leaving Meroe behind, but I remind myself again this isn’t exactly a den of thieves. Back at the front gate, I’m reunited with my escort of Blues. I pick four of them out and tell them to stash their weapons, go into the temple, and find Meroe, then keep her safe until I come and relieve them. The blank-eyed soldiers nod, detached as always, and stack their spears neatly in the street.