by Levi Jacobs
Tai did, finding a clear spot to drop them. Weiland sped one way, Karhail running the other. Tai shoved himself up, speeding at a distracted wafter, then veering away as he recognized the green scarf. Rebels were still massed below the walls, the launching system working well. But there were so many fighters on the walls—too many.
“They knew,” Tai breathed, slowing. “They knew our plan.” His back knotted, thinking of Theron cut down under a mass of men, of Lumo in full rout. Anger rose in him, a fury that cared for justice than life. The Blackspine. “Traitors!”
Tai scythed down, smashing a mercenary from the wall. Back again, slamming into another, body stiffened with uai. Tai smashed through the lines like a pendulum, knocking fighters to their death, seeing red, knowing only anger. How had they known? It didn’t matter. He would kill them all.
The battle then was darkness and rage and screams and blood, Tai a fury at the heart of it, knowing only power and pain and death.
Hunger found him sometime later, a deep, gnawing hunger in his spine. Then fire, a second arrow lodged in the meat of his leg. Tai shook his head, feeling bruised all over, exhausted.
“Tai!” a voice came over the din.
He spun. Karhail, waving his arms. Tai pushed over, realizing the walls were emptying, enemy soldiers cut down. They’d taken the walls, despite their betrayal. He pulled another blossom of mavenstym, began chewing.
“Tai, we have to go!” Karhail yelled. The Seinjial was covered in blood, armor battered, bleeding from a dozen wounds.
“What?”
“The city!” he yelled, pointing down. “We’re outnumbered!”
Tai looked—the streets were swarming with white coats, mercenaries and soldiers, clustered around the battlement stairways. “Prophets.” He looked to Karhail, holding his resonance against a building nausea. “We were betrayed.”
“Aye,” the Seinjial growled, face a mask of gore. “And we’re trapped up here. They don’t have the air power to take us, and we can hold the stairways for days, but even then it’s only a matter of time.”
“Shattermeck.” A rebel groaned on the walkway near Tai—one of the miner ghosts. “Isn’t there a way to retake the town?”
“No. We’re done, Tai. Soon enough they’ll have men on the outside too, and we’ll really have no escape.”
Tai thought desperately, trying to see a way out. A fire. A flood, to wash the soldiers away. Stones dropped from the sky. An attack of air. They all ended the same—soldiers holed up in buildings, or the entire population fled. And they needed the population, or taking Newgen meant nothing.
Karhail was already shouting orders to other wafters. “Tai! Go!”
With a curse Tai went, latching on to a group of fighters, two wounded, wafting them off the wall to the ground below. They ran. He bounced up for another, two women and a man with a stomach wound.
It was bloody work, and grim, defeat and urgency mixing in the air. Soldiers began coming around the side curve of the walls, retreating rebels engaging them there as others fled. Eyna wafted next to him, the woman’s red-and-black hair matted with blood, a determined look in her eyes. The line on the wall broke, and people began jumping, Tai zipping back and forth to catch them, break their fall.
It was a full rout. They’d failed. Karhail stayed on the wall till the end, Lumo next to him, holding off one arc of soldiers as Tarnst and a Yershman did on the far side, weak and wounded escaping. “Kar!” Tai called, exhausted, hunger again gnawing his spine. “It’s time to go!”
“Take the others!”
“It’s only you! Now come!”
With a powerful slash Karhail beat back his opponent and leapt. Lumo went a moment later, and Tai caught them in air, dropping under their weights. “Fly us back!” Karhail called.
Tai lurched in air, bone-weary, flying them over a stream of retreating rebel fighters. They cut a clear path through the fields toward the forest hideout. “They’ll follow us.”
“Aye. They have more soldiers than we’d planned. The Arbiter kept his forces hidden.”
Lumo coughed, blood coming from his lips. “We have to retreat. Fall back and rebuild our forces.”
“No!” Karhail tensed under Tai’s grip. “It’s now or never! We regroup!”
They came over the trees to a fresh scene of slaughter.
Bodies lay in heaps, Councilate archers high in the trees cutting down fighters as they came. Too late, flyers fought against them, returning fire with their own bows. The hideout was razed, carts overturned, the fort a smoldering ruin. People wandered it or lay wounded, dead.
Fear struck deep in his heart. The kids. “I’ve got to go,” he said urgently. “I’ll drop you outside.”
“Tai no! No one’s left in—“
“I don’t care!” he screamed, dropping them outside the line of fire and blasting himself through the trees.
The longhouse. These were a ruin, some just ashes, others still ablaze. Third from the left, one up. There. The house was in pieces, half-burnt and smoldering, bodies and signs of fighting all around it. “Curly!” he called. “Pang! Fisher! It’s Tai! Are you here?”
The house was a charnel ground, beds and bodies half-burnt, moans escaping from some. One still clung to a sword, and with a lurch Tai stopped. “Curly. Oh Prophets, Curly, what—“ A wafter came at him, bow firing, and Tai did something with air, the man’s bones snapping. He dropped, Tai already forgetting him.
The boy’s eyes were lifeless, his stomach opened from hip to ribcage, mouth caught in an ‘O’ of surprise. Next to him was Fisher, gold beetle still clutched in a pale hand, red in her ash-white locks.
Tai clutched them, eyes wide, no fear or rage left. No false voice for comfort. Nothing. Fisher was dead. Curly was dead. It had all been for nothing.
Tai sat in the ashes and wept.
Sometime later he let the bodies down. He saw no sign of Pang, at least—maybe she had escaped. On the edges of the hideout, wounded rebels came and fell before Councilate archers, secreted high in the ridgeleafs, a second massacre to finish the first. Those were his friends too. His living friends, and they needed him. First do what you can, Marrem would say, then deal with what you cannot.
Tai closed Curly’s eyes, laying the sword across his chest, and did the same for Fisher, laying a kiss on her forehead. “I will come back for you two. Prophets speed you to new life.”
Tai rose from the hideout, ragged column of rebels milling in the plains beyond, army in total disarray. He found Karhail on the plains, the blocky Seinjial milling with the rest. “Karhail! What happens here? What’s our plan?”
Karhail said something, too quiet too hear.
“What?” Men were looking at them, looking to anyone for some direction. The Councilate couldn’t be long in coming for them. Already he saw men slipping away into the forest.
“We are lost.” Karhail’s voice had a strange whine.
“No.” Tai shook his head, “It’s like you said. It’s now or never. We retreat, we regroup, we fight again!”
Karhail snorted without passion. “You do not regroup from this. This is total defeat.”
Some of the men overheard, eyes widening. “NO!” Tai shouted, leaving Karhail. “There’s nothing for us here! The hideout is razed! Retreat to the mines!”
The men looked at him, eyes glassy. “The mines!” Tai shouted again, Lumo taking up the call. “Retreat to the mines!”
Tai pushed into the mill of men, grabbing two who were unwounded. “You, and you! Run back down the line, spread the word! We retreat to the mines, the rear entrance by the rocks! I will be there!”
“Tai, we will be trapped,” Lumo worried, coming up behind him.
“We’ll be cut down out here,” Tai said. “In the mines we have food, water, and only two entrances, highly defensible. It’s our best option. The MINES!” he began shouting again. After a moment others took up the cry, and the mill of bodies began moving again.
“And what,” Lumo asked,
“do we do once we are safe?”
“We stay alive,” Tai said, remembering defeat at Councilate hands long ago. “And we figure something out.”
35
It has become clear, as the glory of Councilate spreads further, that religiosity is related to hair quality: the darker, the thicker, the more superstitious. Thus we find tales and worship of the Prophet most strong in the south, among the Yati and Achuri, whereas among the Councilate and Yershmen it has waned to a collection of festivals and wive’s tales.
--Eglen Fetterwel, College Papers
The caves rang with the wails of the wounded. Tai sat on the scree floor of a storage chamber, unknown man binding his foot, exhausted. He had stayed at the entrance till all the retreating fighters had made it in, then descended and fallen asleep, dreaming of blood and ash and Ella in the streets of Newgen, cut down by Karhail’s sword.
“How are the stairs, man?” Tai asked. “Any news?”
“So far as I know they hold,” the rebel replied, bandage around his arm proof he had been in the fighting too. “You gave the Houses a hard lesson today, sir.”
“I gave?” Tai hissed as the man rubbed salt into the wound—they must be out of hardenswort. “I would say we all fought bravely.”
“Aye,” the man agreed, “but you’re the one who saved the wall. I was nearly cut down myself before you knocked the man from the wall.” He touched the bandage on his arm.
“You’d have done the same for me.” Tai hardly remembered that part of the fight—it was a blur of white coats and grey steel and blood. What he remembered was the O of Tiggins’s mouth, how tiny Fisher’s hand had been around the goldbeetle. Gods allow Pang at least had escaped. He needed something.
Shouts sounded from the next chamber, familiar somehow. “Is someone yuraloading over there?”
“Aye.” The man knotted the bandage around Tai’s foot, sending another spasm of pain as he pulled it tight. “Karhail’s orders: all those who haven’t overcome are to do so, now. Says we’ll need ‘em for the next fight.”
“Enough,” Tai growled, getting up. He winced.
“You’ll want to go easy on that foot for awhile, sir.”
“Right.” Tai struck his resonance, gliding over the ground, looking for Karhail.
The Seinjial was in the main chamber, wrapped in bandages, sharpening his sword. Lumo was there, and Beal, along with a crowd of relatively-fit looking fighters. They would be the first response team, if the Councilate did attack. People looked up as he wafted in, breeze washing over them.
“We’ve got to stop yuraloading,” Tai said.
Karhail looked up, eyes red. “It’s the only way, Tai. We’re outnumbered. If the Councilate hits now we need every edge we can get.”
“There are enough dead without us killing our own. We need a strategy, not just more fighters.”
“We had a strategy. Someone betrayed it.”
“Because we recruited star and sun. Who knows how many Councilates we had in our ranks? Still have?”
“If they were among us, they were willing to die for it in yuraloading.”
“And those who survived will have brought the secret back to the Councilate. They are probably forcing their own recruits to load right now. We need to be better than that. Starting with this.”
“That’s not how the army works Tai. Think where we would be if you didn’t waft like you do—we would have been lost long ago.”
“It is true,” Lumo said. “The archers would have cut us down out there if you hadn’t stopped them, Tai.”
Others nodded. “Without yuraloading, we are no better than the Councilate.” Karhail spoke as if it was agreed on.
Tai slashed his hand through the air. “With yuraloading we’re no better than the Councilate! We didn’t even save our wounded back there! Beal is still on a rooftop back there and Theron is still dead!”
“That’s war, Tai,” Karhail growled. “People die.”
“Then maybe we need to stop making war. Maybe it’s the whole reason the Councilate’s corrupt, is they think so long as their armies are bigger that they can force their system on other people.”
Karhail sighed, looking exhausted. “So what do we do?”
“Something different! Anything! These people are not our enemies—look at how many mercenaries are fighting with us now, who used to work for the Houses, or lighthairs who used to be my enemies on the streets. We shouldn’t be fighting them.”
“They’re the enemy.”
“No! That’s how the Councilate works. The idea that money and power come before people, that’s our enemy. These are just people caught up in it. Like us, unless we find a new way.”
Karhail spread his hands. “You’re still here. We’re still the best thing going.”
Tai spat. “Our best could be a lot better. And I’m not sure I’m staying.”
A shocked silence followed, but the words felt right. “You can’t leave us,” Lumo said. “You are the reason we’re winning.”
“The reason we had a decent strategy to begin with,” Weiland put in. “If you go, I go.”
Karhail stood, neck working. “Don’t try to take leadership from me, Tai.”
Tai tore the green scarf from his neck. “Take it? I don’t want it.” He began limping for the door.
“What are you going to do?”
“Something better. Anything.” Sounds of protest rose from the crowd.
A crackle filled the air, Karhail’s resonance thrumming to life. “Leave and I kill you.”
Tai turned, suddenly angry, suddenly not caring, his resonance roaring. A wind rose behind him, whipping the ends of his cloak. “Try it.” Pebbles picked up in the breeze, air howling through the caves. People threw up hands, shielding themselves from debris. “I dare you.”
Karhail backed away, an emotion in his eyes Tai had never seen there before: fear.
Tai turned and flew up the stairs, past the guards at the top, into the air.
It was still day, sun low in the west. Tai shot up, higher and higher, anger driving him on. Anger that they’d failed. Anger that he’d tried so hard. Anger that the two most innocent people in the city were dead. And anger that he didn’t know what to do about it. That much as he wanted the Councilate out, he didn’t want the rebellion in anymore. Not this rebellion. Not like this.
Marrem’s words rang in his ears—sometimes winning is not just beating them. It’s doing it better. He understood that now—whether they had taken Newgen or not, no one won when so many had to die. There had to be a better way. But what?
There’s no other way, Tai. I tried to warn you. This is war. It was Hake’s voice, as sure as if he’d never left. As if he’d never been fake.
“Then maybe we need to stop fighting a war!”
Or maybe you need to. There’s nothing for you here anymore. The rebellion is done, and your children are gone. There is no shame in leaving.
He slashed his hand in air. “The rebellion is not done. My kids aren’t safe, those people are still locked up, and now half my friends are wounded or dying in a cave waiting for the Councilate to come kill them.”
Your kids are dead. Fisher is, at least.
His heart clutched. “I know she’s dead. And Curly.”
Getting revenge won’t bring them back. It’s time to go.
“I don’t want revenge! I want a city where they wouldn’t have died in the first place. I want justice, at least for their memories.” Grief still clutched him, but he could feel determination rising through it.
You don’t have to die for this too. This isn’t your fight anymore, Tai.
“It is my fight. What else could I do? What could I possibly do?” Grief would follow him whatever he did—leaving, looking for his kids, giving up, going back to the caves. It would leave him wanting the same things, with less chance to get them. “I still want to stop the Councilate. I just—I need to find a different way to do it.”
There is no other way. In the end, yo
u can only protect yourself. And me.
It was tempting. The thought of just going. Of dropping it all. Except this wasn’t Hake. It was a demon. He was alone, like he always had been.
“I don’t need to protect you,” he said, but his mind was already elsewhere, spinning. Maybe there was a way, if he did it alone. They could still take the Councilate hostage, still force them out, but they didn’t need to attack Newgen, didn’t need to kill all those people—
Tai. No. You’re going to get us killed.
“You have no say in this.”
You’re going to get me killed.
“You’re already dead. And I know what I’m doing.”
No you don’t—
But he was already dropping toward Newgen, clouds flitting past his face, illuminated in the gold-red glow of the setting sun. He took a deep breath of the rushing air, feeling a huge weight drop.
It was easy: he just had to take the High Arbiter hostage. Then they would have to listen.
Ayugen came hurtling up, and Tai nudged himself west, toward the hills, slowing as he approached. Little white figures were out, cleaning around the city walls. Good.
Tai pushed himself low over the hills toward the western wall of the city. This area had seen the least fighting, the bodies already cleared away. He landed, wincing as weight came onto his foot, and stripped off his shirt while the bends passed. There would be no flying into the city, not on such high alert.
Tai followed the curve of the enclave, limping, until he came to a body, thrown many strides from the wall. People worked in the distance, loading bodies into a cart. Tai bent and stripped the soldier’s white tunic, splattered with blood but still usable. Chest bare, the soldier looked no different than any other man, than the bodies he’d seen in the rebel hideout. “Prophets speed you rest,” he murmured, then pulled the dead man’s shirt on and limped toward the gate.
There was no room for sympathy in him, or regret. Fisher had taken all of it. The rebellion had taken all of it. What remainined was just determination.
