by L. W. Jacobs
The force of the vibration stopped the tender in his tracks. Gasps rose from the side, and the man’s eyes widened. There was a hunger in them. “You—have yura?”
“I have the blessing of the ancestors,” Tai growled, letting the resonance drop before a lighthair noticed. “Unlike you. So, back off.”
He shoved into the crowd, pulling his shirt on. He had no time for petty thugs—he needed to find his kids. Though the question nagged at him, what an Achuri man—a prisoner too, clearly—was doing carrying a weapon and bullying people. It reminded him uneasily of Tulric, the gang-tough-turned-lawkeeper.
The people parted for him, waves of dark hair and dirty clothes and sunken cheeks. “We’ll come for you!” the man yelled after him. “Your yura can’t last forever!”
He has a point, Tai.
“I’m not using yura,” Tai muttered back, pushing on and grimacing at the feel of lumps in the mud beneath his feet. Did they want the whole camp to die of filth diseases?
But you are counting on your uai. And the more times you have to use it, the less power you have to get out of here.
“Doesn’t matter till I find them, anyway.” He’d already decided there was no leaving without his kids. If his uai ran out before he found them, he would stay here with them, protect them, trust in Karhail and the rest to eventually break them free.
I’m not sure you want to do that, Hake said as the crowd thinned out around a pile of clothes. No—not clothes. Tai’s stomach heaved, and he turned away. Bodies. Bodies getting loaded on a cart by other Achuri who looked little more than rags themselves. His stomach turned again. What was this place?
A place we should spend as little time in as possible.
“I’m here for your sister, Hake. Or did you forget that?”
That shut him up. Tai focused on his surroundings, heading away from the loaded cart. The inside of the fort was a single open space, ringed with high walls and towers, soldiers and lawkeepers heavy on the walls. He noticed with a grimace that as many faced in as out—good for an attack, if they ever got a chance, but bad for escaping. If his plan would even work.
A woman in stained roughspun held a child close to her, looking a bit healthier and clearer-eyed than the rest. “Excuse me, older sister,” Tai greeted in humble-polite form. “I am new to the camp and seeking my family. Have you seen a pack of three children, two girls and a boy, two with mixed hair?”
She gave him hawk eyes for a moment, and Tai feared she would pull a stick of her own, but when she spoke, it was surprisingly soft, and in the familiar form. “I’m afraid not, little brother. There are not many children here, and yet too many to count.”
Tai thanked her and moved on, asking others, getting only the same reply, or sometimes nothing at all. Anxiety grew in him—had Tulric lied? Were they still on the streets somewhere? Or—
He couldn’t think of that. Not until he’d made a thorough search of the place.
He began to make distinctions between the people, as he made a slow circle through the five-hundredpace-square camp. There were those like the woman, looking reasonably healthy and appearing to have their wits about them. There were those who appeared more listless, more drawn into their own thoughts, many of them talking without pause to their guides, seeming not even to hear him when he tried hailing them. And there were those who had given up, shells of people who sat against the rough walls or lay in the mud, gazing blankly, emaciated, often with no or very few clothes to cover themselves.
The worst would be to find the children like this. He had already seen a few, terror striking as he made himself look into their eyes, check their faces, make sure they weren’t one of his. Rather that they were dead. Rather that they were anything other than these, the given-up.
He saw more tenders too, though by this time, Tai had learned to look normal, to pitch himself somewhere between a reasonable and a listless inmate, eyes down, movements slow. He felt no fear of them—what he felt was anger, that anyone would take advantage of their own like that. But anger would mean fighting them, drawing attention to himself, losing the fragile chance he had to find his kids and get them out.
And there were others who made him angrier still. For all that those Achuri should know better, there was something deep in him, something animal that understood. Survival came first, and there looked to be precious few options for survival here, though Tai would take them all over walking on the backs of his fellow inmates. The guards, however, the Titans and lawkeepers and soldiers pacing the walls, they had no excuse. There was no way one human could look at another, in conditions like these, and not know what they were doing was wrong. And yet they paced and joked and smiled up there on the wall, sharing food and smoking pipes as though this were any normal day.
Because it was. This was normal for them, had been going on for months, was likely all things they’d seen in Yatiland, in Seingard. The necessary steps to controlling a population.
It made his fists clench white. Rage coiled in his veins, begging to strike resonance and fly up to the wall and start killing. The same rage he felt in the days after Hake’s death. It drowned out Hake, drowned out Tai, nearly drowned out most logical thought, until he had to force himself not look up, lest the rage drown out his plan. To find his children. To save his children.
But even if he did, who would save everyone else? And what good would killing these men do?
The Councilate was a sickness. They had to be sick to think this was a good idea.
How did you fight this kind of sickness?
He nearly missed them as he paced the western wall, fists clenched and thoughts dark. Just another clump of mud-spattered souls, huddled at the base of one of the towers that studded the circular wood walls. Three frail figures in wool and roughspun.
Three.
Tai looked again, spotting a head among them as much light as it was dark, the strands of hair spangled like snowflakes on ash. Fisher. “Fisher!”
She didn’t look up. “Curly! Pang!”
That got their attention. A young boy fixed eyes on him, face a woeful map of mud and bruise. “Tai!”
His voice was hoarser, and he ran slower, but there was no mistaking the hair—it was Curly. Tai swung him up in his arms, rage and darkness evaporating in the heat of relief. Pang was there a moment later, wrapping arms around him, laughing, or crying maybe, asking too many questions to answer at once.
“Where did you come from?”
“How did you find us?”
“Where were you?”
“Are you going to get us out?”
Tai had his own questions too, more than he felt he could speak, but kept his head enough to shush them, steer them back to where they’d been sitting, not wanting to draw any undue attention. Fisher was still there, still staring in the distance, with a look he knew too well. “Is she—”
Pang nodded. “She’s out. Been out since we got here. How—how long has it been?”
Curly couldn’t wait for the answer. “Are you gonna kill ’em, Tai? Are you gonna get us all out of here?”
Tai glanced around, worried that someone might hear but grinning nonetheless at the spark that was still in Curly’s voice. He hadn’t given up. “Yes,” he answered, low as he could. “That’s why I came. To get you guys out. But I need your help, okay? We have to pretend like everything’s normal.”
Curly nodded, face suddenly serious. “We can do that.”
“Where’s Aelya?” Pang asked. “Is she okay?”
“She’s okay,” Tai assured her, smiling despite the situation. His kids were okay. He was here, with them. They would find a way out. Curly was too quiet, and Fisher was in full shock sickness, but they were together, at least. Now his plan just had to work.
They spent a strange afternoon together, squatting on the relatively dry ground next to the wall. Despite the bright sunlight and warm weather, the prison was dark, people drifting half-dead, as though searching for something they knew they wouldn’t find. In
contrast to this was Curly’s laughter, and—after a while—Pang’s crusty hand, clutching Tai’s as they sat. Fisher didn’t rouse or look up, but she at least scooted close to them if they shifted away.
The kids had seen the escape through the gate, had seen most of the people get shot as they ran. Pang was worried about Aelya, about whether she would get better or not, and Curly was all questions about the rebellion, sure the rebels were going to come boiling over the wall at any moment.
“So, what…” Tai wasn’t sure how to ask this question, but he needed to know. “How did you get by in here?”
Pang shrugged. She had taken charge, since they came in, and looked older than her twelve winters. “It’s not so different than the streets. Make sure you’re not the biggest gang or the smallest. Don’t take too much food and don’t draw much attention. Same as we always do.”
Pride swelled in him. “Well, good job. All of you. I’m so proud of you for getting by in here. Even you, little Fishy.” He reached over and tousled her hair. There was no response.
A bell began ringing on the far side of the prison, and Tai started. “It’s just the food,” Pang said. “They drop it in a big box and everyone fights for it.”
“Are you gonna get us some, Tai?” Curly asked. “Are you gonna fight ’em?”
Tai hesitated, not wanting to leave them but wanting to make sure they had enough to eat. “It’s not worth it,” Pang said. “First meal of the day always gets rough. That’s how Curly got bruised up, trying to get in yesterday.”
Curly puffed up his chest. “And I woulda, too, if they hadn’t pushed me!”
“Okay,” Tai said. “We’ll get you real food tonight, after we’re out. Or I’ll go tomorrow, if it doesn’t work.”
“Doesn’t work?” Curly asked, and Tai felt the weight of his expectation. He was relieved to see Pang understand it in the glance she gave him—she was really growing up. Fast, just like he’d done.
Like he’d hoped to save them from.
The day passed. Many of the inmates lay down to sleep even before the sun set, and Fisher and Curly started yawning around the same time.
“When are we going, Tai?” he asked, snuggling against his shoulder.
“Tonight. But sleep now. I’ll wake you up.”
He straightened up. “No way. I’m staying up!”
He was asleep half a hand later, but Pang did stay up with him, watching the light shift from purple to starlit blue, guards lighting torches on the walls. They were still heavily manned, and Tai was dismayed to see how much light the torches cast down on the central space. It would be easy to see someone trying to waft out.
Especially if that someone was carrying three kids.
He periodically checked his uai, but like hunger, it was hard to gauge until it was really starting to run out. As the star sank in the west, Pang’s breathing started to grow more regular beside him, adding to the soft sounds of Curly and Fisher. The whole prison echoed, really, the ground and walls covered in sleeping forms, echoing in soft slumber noises like a chicken coop at night.
The guards thinned too, though there were still too many. Especially if they could waft like they had when he attacked the last time.
The star’s light finally dimmed in the west, minor stars beginning to appear in the black. Luck was with him, and the moon was mostly dark in the sky. There would be a few hours of darkness before the sun rose again. Had it been winter, the whole plan would have failed—the star rose exactly opposite the sun then, and as many people worked at night, tending wintercrops, as did during the day.
Then again, had it been winter, everyone here would be dead from exposure. What was the Councilate planning to do then? Build a giant roof?
With the star’s fading came a sense of urgency. This was their time, their window. He roused Pang, who roused the rest of them, all coming awake with the sudden watchfulness of kids raised on the streets. “Is it time?” Curly hissed.
“Soon.” Tai promised. He needed just one more thing.
It didn’t come. Still he waited, watching, hoping, Curly starting to get heavy again next to him.
Time passed, impossible to read in the darkness, and nothing happened. Tai shook his head. The rebels had abandoned him, then. Maybe they were just mercenaries at heart and saw there was little gain to this risk.
Tai flexed his shoulders. Little for them and everything to him. Time to go.
Tai gathered his kids close, pulling even Fisher’s head into the huddle. “We’re going to all fly out of here together, okay? Pang, Curly, I want you to hold on to my shoulders. Fisher, you hold on to my middle, and I’ll hold you too, okay?”
Curly’s eyes were saucers in the night. “Are you going to turn into the Blackspine?”
“Yes. But I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m just going to fly us out of here.”
Curly nodded, grabbing on. Tai was relieved to feel Fisher already holding tight. Pang took his shoulders from the back. “Are you sure you can do this?” she asked, mouth right next to his ear. “Do you have enough power?”
He wasn’t sure if she meant his uai, just beginning to ache in his spine, or the strength of his resonance, but it didn’t matter. Either way, he didn’t know. But that was not what you said to a group of kids you loved just before you flew them past hostile Titans. “I’ll be fine,” he said.
It was a gamble. But once his uai was digested—likely by the morning—they would truly be stuck. And a life inside these walls, having failed his kids, would be worse than death. Part of him still couldn’t believe the rebels hadn’t come, not at least Eyna and Theron, but maybe something had happened. “Here we go. Close your eyes if you get scared, okay?”
Tai struck his resonance and pushed up with all his strength.
They didn’t shoot up like he would have alone, but they left the ground fast enough. Curly gave a yelp and Tai winced, but there was nothing for it. They rose into the air.
And here was the test: the walls panned past them, three times the height of a man, four, five—then the walkway was sliding past, fighters lounging on the wall in the torchlight. All it needed was one of them to look over, to notice something in the torchlight, to feel a resonant hum—
They didn’t. Tai let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Pang relaxed against him as well. They were free.
Then someone shouted.
Tai cursed, eyes snapping to the wall, looking for targets, trying to think of solutions. Fighters were rising all around them. What could he do—drop? Ram them? Anything he did would hurt the kids.
But no one flew at them. Instead, more shouts sounded—from the far side of the wall. Where a ruddy orange blaze was growing in the night.
The rebels. They’d come.
Tai held back a shout of triumph as they rose higher, two paces or more above the guards’ line of sight now. The rebels had come as planned, dousing the stacks of timber stacks with oil, then torching them in the night. “Thank you,” he whispered as they rose higher. “Thank you.” Wafters rose from the wall to investigate, air humming with resonance. And only then did Tai realize his mistake.
A shout sounded, much closer by. A wafter. Tai looked left and saw him, flying for them. He’d spotted them when he rose off the wall to get to the fire. Of course.
Tai cursed and pushed upward harder, with little effect. He was at his maximum, and weighed down like this as Tai was, the Titan was faster. Something else, then.
Tai dropped his upward push and shoved them at the wafter, the sudden motion jerking them ahead. The Titan, surprised, shot out of the way, and Tai poured everything into the forward shove, losing height fast as they streaked over the wall. They wouldn’t get away with speed, and he couldn’t attack the man—he had to be smarter. So, one pace past the wall, he shoved down, dropping into the black shadow cast by the high wall in the torchlight. The kids tensed against him, feeling the drop, and he pressed them back, into the wall, three paces or so from the ground.
&nb
sp; The wafter shot overhead, then slowed, trying to find them in the flickering shadows, fire raging around the far corner.
“C’mon,” Tai found himself saying, pressing them all against the wall, “go, give it up, go.” His back ached—he was burning uai much faster than normal, holding up this much weight.
The Titan didn’t go. He circled around instead, looking for them. They were sitting ducks in this position.
The soldier wafted closer, even as shouts and cries rang out from the direction of the fire. Tai let them drop, slowly, backs to the wall, deep in the shadow, murmuring to the kids. “There’s a Titan who’s trying to find us. It’s okay, but when we hit the ground, I’m going to need you all to run, okay? Run into the woods, and keep running till you’re sure you’re safe. You can all meet at Marrem’s, and she’ll help you from there. Okay?”
Curly clutched him harder as they neared the ground. The Titan was almost directly overhead. “Tai, I’m scared,” he whispered. “Come with us.”
They touched down, Tai’s spine burning, and just crouched there for a moment, watching the Titan overhead. Forget it, Tai urged him. Just go.
A commanding shout came from overhead and the Titan flew off. Tai’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Can we go?” Pang hissed, staring up as well.
“Yes,” he hissed back. “We’re going to run for the woods. Stick together and watch out for stumps.” They all three nodded, eyes wide but determined. “I love you guys.”
They started to go, but Fisher stayed put, clinging to his coat, shaking her head. With a last glance up, Tai hoisted her onto his back, and they ran into the dark.
23
We have determined that the refinement of one’s thoughts is directly related to the consistency and tint of one’s hair. The Minchu, At’li and Achuri reveal their base natures in the twiglike proportion of their mops. The Seingard and Yati, though thinner in strand, are yet stained black and red by their baser mentalities. It is only we, the true Yersh descendants, who are possessed of the finest and lightest of hair, indicating our proper place in ruling the world.
