Now I Rise

by Kiersten White

  “They will all be killed,” Petru said, frowning.

  Lada and her men were too high up for accuracy with arrows and bolts. And the Bulgars wore heavy armor. They would waste all their ammunition with very little effect.

  But…

  “Have you ever heard the story of David and Goliath?” Lada remembered that one. She only really cared for the old stories, the ones about battles and lions and armies. She had no use for Jesus with his parables and healing. She liked the wrathful god, the god of vengeance and war. She picked up a large stone, tossing it in the air a few times.

  Lada looked across the canyon at Nicolae. She hefted the rock, then pointed at the rear of the Bulgar line. There was an area of the hill that spoke of years of rockslides—no trees, dirt recently churned up—and at the canyon’s rim a collection of boulders waited patiently for time and the elements to free them.

  Lada mimed pushing, then let the rock fall from her hands. Nicolae looked at the boulders. He waved an arm, then ran with Stefan and several men toward the boulders.

  Lada waited, Petru crouching next to her. The sound of the battle beneath them was terrible. She had never seen one this big, this close. She watched, fascinated. It was not what she had expected. Her only experience with hand-to-hand combat had been with assassins or in practice. She saw how Hunyadi directed his men, how even from the ground he acted as though he had an aerial view.

  She also saw how, in spite of his intelligence, he would lose. He had chosen honor instead of practicality. He should have sacrificed her men to slow the Bulgars, then regrouped elsewhere, ignoring the threat to his village.

  But he had not counted on her.

  A clatter that shifted to a rumble snapped Lada’s attention back to Nicolae’s work. The boulders crashed down, accompanied by a huge plume of dust. The fallen boulders were not enough to fully block the canyon, but they were enough to make it impossible to get more than one man at a time back the way they had come.

  Hunyadi looked up. Catching sight of Lada, he shouted something, gesturing angrily toward the rocks. Lada laughed, knowing what it looked like. They had just guaranteed that the Bulgars could only go forward, into Hunyadi.

  Lada picked up a rock, so heavy she had to use both arms. Then, with a loud whoop, she threw it.

  The rock sailed downward, landing with a metallic thunk on the helmeted head of a soldier in the middle of the Bulgar ranks. He slumped in his saddle, then slid to the ground.

  On either side of the canyon, Lada’s men set to work. There was no shortage of rocks. The Bulgars were packed in so tightly that there was no need to aim. Throw a rock, hit something. It was as simple as that.

  The Bulgars started to panic, trying to shift out of the way, but there was nowhere to go. Their horses screamed. Soldiers dismounted and tried to climb up the sides of the canyon. They were met with rocks. A few kept their wits and pulled out crossbows, but the distance was too great and Lada’s men had too much cover.

  The Bulgars in front made a desperate push, but Hunyadi had grasped that his role was to block them. He set up a firm line impervious to the chaotic attacks of the Bulgars, and then waited.

  By evening, Lada’s arms screamed with weariness as she tossed a last rock down. Then, exhausted, she sat. Nicolae and her men on the other side of the canyon followed suit. There were so few Bulgars left, it would be easy for Hunyadi’s men to pick them off with crossbow bolts. It looked as though a careless god had passed through, tossing bodies aside like refuse. Men and horses clogged the path, broken and tangled together.

  When Lada and her men stumbled down from the hills, they were greeted with roaring fires and waiting food. Hunyadi’s men cheered, welcoming them with open arms. Hunyadi pushed through to Lada. He picked her up and spun her in a circle. “That was brilliant!” he shouted, laughing.

  She waited until he put her down. Then she met his gaze with an unsmiling and unflinching one of her own. “Yes,” she said. “It was. You are no king, and I am no wife. I am a leader and a ruler, and I want your support.”

  Hunyadi nodded solemnly, his fingers once again disappearing into his beard. “You have much value outside of marriage.” He did not say it jokingly or dismissively. Lada could see in his eyes that he considered her differently now.

  She stood a little straighter. She had done something good. She had secured an ally through her own merits. And she would use him however she could to destroy her enemies.

  IT WAS A FESTIVE day in the port city of Bursa.

  Ribbons adorned everything, whipping gaily in the perpetual wind that blew from the Sea of Marmara and through the streets. Children laughed, darting through the press of people. Vendors called out their goods—mostly food, and most of that fish—over the noise of the crowds.

  Radu let the crowd pull them along. Nazira pointed out a young girl carrying a screaming toddler nearly as big as herself. The toddler managed to wriggle out of her arms. The little girl grabbed his wrist and dragged him on determinedly.

  “Does that make you miss your sister?” Nazira asked.

  Radu shook his head. “Lada would never have been so tender.”

  “I wish I had gotten to know her better.”

  “No, you do not.”

  Nazira stopped, looking into Radu’s eyes. “Yes, I do. Because she is important to you, and you are important to me, so she is important to me.”

  Radu shifted away from acknowledging Lada’s importance to him. He tried not to think about it, or whether he was actually important to her. He had made his choice. Again. “You would not like her. And she would not like you.”

  Nazira sniffed, lifting her nose haughtily. “Everyone likes me. Just because you could not make your terror of a sister be civil does not mean I would have fared so poorly. I am the sweetest person alive. Or have you not heard?”

  Radu laughed, taking her hand and rushing through a brief opening in the square. “I have heard, and received ample evidence to support the rumor.”

  After a few stops for Nazira to purchase ribbons for waving, they reached the docks. It took some time to find a spot to stand, but people tended to make way once they noticed Radu and Nazira’s fine clothing. Radu still dressed the part of a frivolous member of the court, with bright robes and as much jewelry as he owned. Nazira wore her status with the easy grace of one born to it.

  The day was brilliantly sunny, the warmth cut through by the wind. Light reflected off the churning water, and small waves slapped at the dock they stood on.

  Out on the water were Radu’s ships. Well, the empire’s ships. But Radu felt a flush of pride looking at them. He had visited the construction docks under the pretense of going to his country estate with Nazira. Suleiman was ambitious but practical. Under his hand, everything went according to schedule. And now, before them, were the fruits of their labors.

  It was a glorious sight to behold.

  Nazira pointed out the different types. “Three of the big ones! What are they called?”

  “Galleys. The largest ships the empire has ever owned, all brand-new.”

  “And those five medium ones?”

  “Also galleys. Three are older, two are new.”

  Nazira sniffed in disappointment. “They should really be cleverer with naming than that. Big galleys and medium galleys. What about the smaller ones moving between them?”

  Radu laughed. “You are going to be disappointed.”

  “Galleys?”

  “Yes.”

  She scowled crossly. “I should have been consulted. Still, it is amazing! Look at them all! How can the water hold that much weight? Oh! They are moving.”

  Sails unfurled. Though the ships were too far out for Radu to see their decks, he knew the sailors would be scrambling to tie things off and adjust the sails to capture the wind. There would be even more men on benches manning the long, heavy oars for navigating rivers.

  The boats danced on the water, cutting through the waves or skimming on top of them, depending on their si
ze. Every time a boat maneuvered particularly well, the crowd cheered. After a few minutes, all the galleys lined up near the shore and stopped there, close enough for the onlookers to see the flurry of on-deck activity. And then the cannons fired across the water, away from the bank.

  Though the ships could not bear the load of too much heavy artillery, the sound was terrible and impressive. Babies and children cried in fear and surprise. Everyone else clapped and waved their ribbons in the air. Never before had the Ottomans had such a navy. Never before had any of them seen such a demonstration.

  Radu smiled, because he knew the truth: this was only half of their fleet. The other half was hidden in a boatyard on a little-used section of one of the tributary rivers.

  “There he is.” Nazira’s quiet voice broke through the noise. Radu turned to see Mehmed, standing on a balcony. He wore deepest purple, with a red turban and a blindingly white cape. Nazira and Radu were not the only ones to notice him. Much of the crowd turned to cheer and wave their ribbons at him. Radu was too far away to be sure, but he thought Mehmed smiled.

  Radu pretended that the smile was for him, and joined the cheering.

  “We should take more holidays together,” Nazira said, leaning back in their carriage. “Fatima does not like to go to new places. It was all I could do to persuade her to stay in Edirne for this long. She loves familiar things, routine.” Nazira smiled fondly. “She has settled in nicely there, though. As long as she does not have to go out among crowds.”

  “I did not know she had such a hard time with them.” Radu watched the countryside pass by. He tried to hold on to the happy pride of seeing his work dance on the water. But the same scene kept playing out in his mind. Instead of being on the dock with Nazira, he had been on the balcony, at Mehmed’s side. As Mehmed watched the triumph of Radu’s planning, he shifted closer and closer. And then their hands, at their sides, brushed.

  Instead of pulling away, Mehmed’s fingers linked with Radu’s, and they stood like that, watching the ships, together.

  “Yes,” Nazira said, puncturing Radu’s fantasy. Which was just as well. It was poisonous, dwelling on such things. “Fatima does not— You see, when she was very young, she—” She paused, frowning. “I do not think it is my story to tell.”

  “I understand.” He took Nazira’s hand, which felt nothing like Mehmed’s had in his imagination. “I wonder if anyone gets through childhood without being broken. I certainly did not.”

  “Oh, I had a wonderful childhood! Our parents died when I was too young to understand it. Kumal made certain that my life was filled with love and joy. And then, when I discovered Fatima shared my feelings, I had even more love and joy. And then, when you married me, even more. I sometimes think I am the most blessed woman in all of creation. I pray God gives me an opportunity to repay all the kindness He has shown me.”

  They had entered the city. The buildings rose around them like guests at a party—familiar, all of them, but hiding so much.

  Radu squeezed Nazira’s hand. “You have nothing to repay. Your life is filled with the goodness you attract because of your own goodness.”

  Nazira laughed, then grew solemn. “I do wish to do more, though. Be more. Maybe, someday…” She looked down, blushing, holding her stomach.

  “Are you feeling ill? We have been in the carriage too long.” They had left Bursa earlier than anticipated. They were back in the city a full day before planned. He was heading straight for the foundry to check in on Urbana.

  She looked up, blinking rapidly. “Ill? No. No, I am well. Radu, I wondered…” She paused, sucking in her round lips. “Would you join us for a meal, a special family meal, next week?”

  The carriage stopped in front of the narrow street leading to the foundry. Radu gave Nazira a quick kiss on the cheek. “Of course. Give my love to Fatima.”

  “And give mine to Urbana?”

  Radu laughed. “Urbana would not care in the slightest for your love, unless it came with extra supplies of bronze, or a new furnace.”

  Though Radu did not like the intense heat of the foundry, he visited as often as he could. And it was a good thing he had come back when he did. Urbana was screaming in Hungarian at several confused workers. Radu jumped in as translator, though he left out most of what she said. He did not think telling the workers that they were “more useless than the rotting carcasses of a thousand dead dogs” would help morale.

  Later that afternoon, he leaned against the entrance and watched a small caravan approach. Urbana had told him they were expecting a delivery, but Radu did not anticipate the grizzled woman who showed up with the gunpowder.

  She climbed down from her cart, her back arched like a crescent moon. Radu moved to help her, but she waved him away. “I can manage, you young fool.”

  A bit stung by her dismissiveness—older women usually loved him—he directed two men to begin unloading the barrels of gunpowder. The woman watched warily. Another cart pulled up behind hers. A man jumped out to aid the unloading process.

  “How many, Mother?” he called.

  “All of it.” She shook her head. “That ass cannot keep a number greater than three in his head.”

  Radu frowned at her lack of maternal softness. She turned her critical eye on him, taking in his robes. He had taken to wearing jewel tones lately, bright and bold colors to combat how he felt on the inside.

  “Who put you in charge of so much gunpowder?” she asked.

  Radu tried on his best smile, but it slid off his face. It would make no difference with this woman. “We are building the largest cannon in the world. It could take down the walls of Babylon itself.”

  The woman snorted. “Nothing quite so useful as an imaginary cannon to defeat a city that no longer exists. I can see all my work and travel has been useless. One of these days I will be asked to do another stupid thing, and I will finally hit my limit on idiocy. I have a husband and three sons, so my limit is very high, but even I cannot bear all things. And on that day, there will be an explosion to take down the walls of every actual city in the world.”

  Radu shifted on his feet, wishing the men would hurry up so this horrible woman would leave.

  “You are not Turkish,” she said.

  Radu shook his head. “Wallachian.”

  She nodded, toying with several long white hairs on her chin. “Not a lot of Wallachians in the empire. Too stupid to be useful. But I met a good Wallachian a few years ago. Made an impression on me. I never forgot her.”

  With a shock like a cannon burst, Radu tuned in to the woman’s words. “ ‘Her’?”

  “Mean little bitch.” The woman smiled with tenderness, an emotion that looked out of place on her. “Clever as anyone. It was out in— Where was it? I forget.”

  “Amasya,” Radu said softly.

  “That was it. You know her?”

  “Lada. My sister.”

  Her gaze grew even more critical as she looked him up and down. “You do not seem like siblings.”

  Radu smiled tightly. “I am aware of that.”

  “Well. I always wondered what she might do, a bright, vicious mind like that. And those men followed her without question. She made me feel younger.”

  A sprig of affection rose in Radu’s chest. It was strange, talking to someone who had known Lada and admired her. Not in the way Mehmed admired her. That did not ever make Radu happy. But this gnarled old woman’s memories made Radu miss his sister.

  “Where is she now?” the woman asked.

  “In Hungary, I believe.”

  “What is she doing there?”

  “That is anyone’s guess.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it will not end well for anyone who gets in her way. The world will destroy her in the end. Too much spark leads to explosions.” She patted a barrel of gunpowder that had not yet been unloaded. “But your sister will destroy as much as she can before she goes out.”

  The old woman’s eerie prophecy rubbed at Radu like an ill-fitting collar. �
�Perhaps she will find a balance.”

  “No. She will go down in flames and blood.” The woman smiled fondly. “If you write her, tell her Tohin sends her regards.” Then, her eye catching something else, she shouted at her son, “Timur! Did you check the way they are storing them?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Timur said.

  Tohin stomped toward the storage building. Timur shook his head, giving Radu a long-suffering smile. “I have three children of my own, and she would still dress me if she could. You know how mothers are.”

  Radu’s return smile was reflexive. He did not, in fact, know how mothers were. But he knew what it was to have someone watching out for him. He stared at the remaining barrels, wondering. Lada was already playing with fire, taking up with Hunyadi. She might respect the man, but he had never shown kindness to their family. Who knew what purpose he had in taking her in?

  Radu had been flattered and angry when she demanded he come help her. But perhaps he should have been afraid. For Lada to ask for help, surely she was teetering on the edge of the destructive end the old woman saw for her. And though she had never asked for Radu’s help growing up, he had helped her. He had worn away her edges, talked their way out of trouble she would have welcomed. Maybe…maybe she had always needed him. And he always chose Mehmed.

  Someone shouted his name, and he hurried back to his duties.

  His duties to his God. His duties to the Ottoman Empire. His duties to Mehmed. Lada would have to figure it out on her own. He owed her nothing.

  But the promise of the guilt he would carry if she died without his help clung to his skin like a shadow.

  LADA TRACKED A GROUP of fifty Janissaries. They were a long-range frontier group, used for enforcing the empire’s will in vassal states. Hunyadi had no particular reason to attack the Janissaries, but he demanded no reason to kill Turkish forces.