Resurgence

by Alex Janaway

  ‘Right.’ Cade climbed off the wagon and waited for Issar and Rula to join her.

  ‘I’ll head off and get these barrels sold,’ said Anyon.

  Cade didn’t bother to correct him. They weren’t strictly selling them so much as swapping them for other things.

  ‘Who’s buying?’ asked Issar.

  ‘Cline wants a couple for the Duke of Aberpool.’

  ‘Well, don’t let him screw you,’ warned Cade.

  ‘He won’t. He knows he’ll have to deal with you if he does,’ Anyon grinned back.

  ‘Damn straight.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.’ He nodded, before flicking the reins and the wagon rolled off.

  Rula clapped her hands. ‘I’m going shopping and then I’ll do some rounds,’ she announced and marched off.

  Cade looked at Issar.

  ‘Shall we?’

  They strolled across the square towards the hall. Issar reached into a haversack and withdrew a couple of sheets of paper. Cade eyed them suspiciously.

  ‘What are they?’

  Issar shrugged.

  ‘Just some notes.’

  Cade stopped a moment and frowned at Issar suspiciously.

  ‘What are you going to do with those?’

  Issar pulled at his ear defensively.

  ‘As your secretary, I keep a track of your business dealings and your governmental decisions.’

  ‘Is that what you call them?’ Cade chewed her lip and then sighed. ‘Right. Good. Carry on.’

  She set off again and the two of them entered the cool, shadowed interior of the hall through a small entranceway that led into a large single chamber. A horseshoe of mismatched tables and chairs took up much of the central space. Cade glanced up at the balcony. It was empty. A hum of chatter from groups gathered about the chamber faded as she entered. Faces turned her way as people moved to take their positions at the tables.

  Cade scratched her head and nodded to several faces, including Sent who hurried to take a position in the middle of the horseshoe. Staying close to the centre of power, huh? Sent left the middle seat for her and Issar took the one on the other side.

  Sent leaned close and whispered in Cade’s ear. ‘Almost on time.’

  She grunted. ‘I wouldn’t want to get predictable.’

  ‘Cade, in your own way, you are very predictable.’

  She shot him a hard look. He smiled back, his eyes twinkling.

  Fucker.

  A loud bang next to her was created by Issar pounding his fist on the table. ‘Good afternoon, everyone, I would like to call this council meeting to order,’ he announced.

  The gathering settled expectantly.

  Issar shuffled his notes and began to speak.

  ‘Firstly, I would like to start by reminding everyone of last meeting’s decisions. Number one, it was agreed that a census be taken to properly establish just who we have in the community.’

  And at that point Cade started to drift off. She did try to engage but an endless list of tasks, jobs and problems to address just merged into one interminable stew of nonsense. Every now and then someone would expect her to voice an opinion or decision. Other times she just had to stick her hand up when things were put to a vote; she retained the deciding vote if the group was evenly split. It wasn’t that she minded being the one to make the call, it was just that everything seemed a lot easier back in the mountain. She had her crew, she kept things orderly and everyone knew what they had to do. And she reaped the benefits, such as they were. But finally, having found this place, people were starting to think beyond the simple matter of survival. They were thinking about the future. Things like building lives, having babies, getting real food on their plates that hadn’t been provided by their dwarf masters or stolen from burning settlements. They wanted to grow and build. And that required cooperation and, it would seem, compromise. And that gave her a headache. For some reason they all still looked to her for leadership. And that was fine, but why couldn’t they just make the decisions? She could sit back and be the figurehead. As long as she had plenty of wine and nothing particularly important to do.

  ‘Cade?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I was just asking, do you agree that our current system of barter and exchange will need to change at some point?’ asked Sent.

  ‘Hmm. I suppose.’

  ‘But just what do we use as currency?’ asked a young female Riverlander called Heled. ‘The only thing we have lots of is wine and fish.’

  ‘And should the vintners and fishermen be the new nobles?’ threw in the bulky Highlander Rabb, a stonemason by trade.

  Now that was an idea she could get behind. She had wine and she had an island surrounded by fish.

  ‘And how much is my grain worth?’ asked the farmer, Walsh, who had taken to planting crops on the mainland.

  ‘You give it to the taverns so they can make ale and you can be a damned prince,’ said Cade.

  That sparked a few barked laughs and smiles on faces. Though not on all, she noticed. The thing was everybody had been rubbing along just fine these past few months since they had got settled. No one, as far as she was aware, went hungry. Sent had kept hold of the food stores and distribution, everyone delivered, and everyone took. She had to admit, it was quite a feat considering the thousands – what did someone just say – nine thousand and something? Yes. Not bad. But money … now that was something to think about …

  ‘We don’t have any coins. We’d need to mint them,’ someone was suggesting.

  ‘But coins aren’t worth anything. Someone’s time and the fruit of their labour is!’ someone else threw in.

  Cade blinked her eyes. Best she took an interest in this. It actually mattered to her how this might turn out.

  ‘Sent?’

  ‘Yes,’ he turned to look at her.

  ‘I imagine there is no easy way to square this?’

  Sent made a face. ‘I know a little of how this all got started. Promissory notes of exchange were issued first, before coins, and were set against an agreed value of worth. Like a bag of grain. And there is the spice wage.’

  ‘Huh? The what now?’

  ‘The soldiers of the early empire were paid in valuable spices, and salt, that was a very important commodity. Think about it, it preserves food, allows for a stable community to thrive throughout the seasons.’

  That was good news. They had salt in their cellars, thought Cade.

  ‘That’s utter horseshite,’ said Issar quietly, as he wrote.

  Everyone stopped and looked at him.

  Issar looked up, a quizzical expression on his face. ‘What?’

  ‘Horseshite?’ prompted Cade.

  ‘Oh. Yes, the salt thing. Sure it’s valuable but they never paid soldiers with it. Think about it, Erebesh has large salt deposits. Ever see us getting rich?’

  ‘The Empire did invade you,’ said Sent, a little testily.

  ‘True. But even so, it’s still a stupid concept,’ Issar said, just as testily.

  ‘Alright. Before we start a knife fight,’ interjected Cade, ‘it sounds to me like we need to look into this. I reckon a committee should be appointed, one that represents the farmers, fisherfolk and anyone else who produces food or some such. Until then, I reckon we stick with the barter. Agreed?’

  There was a general murmur of assent.

  ‘Good. Sent, you can head it up. Just no horseshite, like Issar said.’ Sent dipped his head. She tapped her hands on the table. Her stomach was starting to growl. ‘I think we’ve done enough for today, what do you all reckon?’ Again agreement. ‘OK.’ She stood up and chairs scrapped on the paved floor. Hang on. Cade put a hand up. ‘One last thing about the barter system. Everyone is doing something and getting something right?’

  The group looked at each other and nods were exchanged.

  ‘As far we know,’ said Walsh.

  Cade studied the faces for a few moments, making sure they knew she had marked thei
r responses. ‘Make sure it stays that way. I don’t want to see or hear of anyone who is being screwed over and can’t afford to eat or live under a roof. Trust me, I’ll be looking. This ain’t the Empire. It’s just us. Make sense?’

  ‘I hear you,’ replied Heled, with a determined face. Standing next to her, Rabb folded his arms and nodded vigorously.

  ‘Right. I’m thirsty.’ With that Cade walked out of the hall.

  ‘Nicely done,’ said Issar, as he hurried to her side, stuffing more sheets of paper into his haversack.

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘Looking out for the little people.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Well, it’s true.’ She spotted Anyon parked up on the other side of the fountain and made for the wagon. ‘People get forgotten about, they start making their own rules, start thieving. Then other folk start using them.’

  ‘That’s how it goes.’

  ‘It’ll happen eventually. I mean, look at us.’

  They reached the wagon and Cade hauled herself up. ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘I was thinking, maybe we should get ahead of the game. Get ourselves a piece of the action and make sure no one else can.’

  ‘A racket?’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe we corner the market on wine or some such.’

  Issar laughed as he made his way to the back to the now empty wagon bed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cade. You know we don’t have to do that. You are the closest thing to a town mayor, and something of a legend. Apart from those of us who know you.’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘And did I mention you happen to have the army on your side?’

  ‘The army? You mean Devlin and his hundred odd followers?’

  ‘Veterans. People who know which end is the pointy one. Remember, they’re volunteers. They chose to continue under arms, patrolling the borders. Keeping us safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ Cade scoffed. But, yes, they followed Devlin, and he followed her, or he did when he wasn’t giving her shit about something. At least having him spend half his time out on the mainland meant avoiding his disapproving looks. It was nearly as bad as what Meghan used to do. She blinked. Anyway, moving on.

  ‘Boss?’

  Cade looked at Anyon who was holding the reins expectantly. ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Where we going?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where we going now?’

  ‘Oh. Um.’ She looked at the back. ‘Where’s Rula?’

  Anyon shrugged. ‘Said she had shit to do and will make her own way back.’

  Cade grunted. She turned back to look at Issar. ‘What are you saying, ’cos I’m not really clear?’

  Issar shook his head. ‘You don’t need to start a racket. You are a public figure. You can do it all legit.’

  She blinked again. ‘What, go straight and narrow. Be honest and work for a living, that kind of shit?’

  Issar grinned, his face never looked more rat-like. ‘I wouldn’t go that far. But you know, if things pick up, folk will start wanting the good things in life.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘What’s your favourite thing?’

  Cade didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Wine.’ She smiled. ‘You are talking about wine.’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded eagerly. ‘We got vineyards. And, with a bit of sweet-talking, we can get the next island to work for us as well.’

  ‘They do all the heavy lifting …’ said Cade, mostly to herself.

  ‘Just something to think about, while there’s still time to take advantage,’ said Issar.

  ‘Yeah. Something to think about.’ She was also thinking about supply and demand. Why stop at the production? Folk needed somewhere to drink it. And that was where the money was made.

  Anyon waved a hand in front Cade’s face. ‘Boss?’

  She brushed it away. ‘What?’

  ‘Where we going?’

  ‘Let’s go to Cline’s.’

  ‘But I just been there!’

  ‘Then you know the damn way, don’t you?’

  Anyon made a face as he flicked the reins and got the wagon moving.

  ‘You thirsty, Cade?’ asked Issar.

  ‘You know me. Besides, we know Cline’s merchandise is good.’ And I’d like to have a little chat with him.

  CHAPTER 3 – MICHAEL

  Father Michael walked the streets of Aberpool in silence. He was unsure of his direction of travel, allowing his feet to take him where they would. His mind cast back to the last time he had been in that once great city. He had arrived in darkness along with the Arch Cardinal, the Empress and their mixed convoy of nobles, priests, functionaries and guards, fleeing for their lives from the forces of destruction chasing them. The city had already been evacuated when they entered it, and they had quickly boarded the waiting ships in the harbour. His abiding memory was of the thousands they had passed on the way in. He had looked upon them with a kind of pity, but the knowledge of their impending fate had not moved him. There’d been a greater prize, the life of the Emperor. His role, his purpose was all that mattered. But now as he wandered along an empty street, given over to the growth of weeds, flowers and shrubs, he thought back on his actions. How he had slaughtered loyal Imperial soldiers, just because there was no room on the boat. How he had not, for a moment, thought about them as human beings who were just trying to survive. He thought about it now. He thought about it a lot. And he felt regret.

  It was an emotion he had not felt since his last days in the arena. But there it had been mixed with the bitterness of despair and shame. This regret was something that had been with him since the retaking of New Tissan from Yarn and the crushing of her failed coup. He’d had a lot of time to think about that and many other things. So much sacrifice, so much death. He bore the scars to prove it. He’d been through the wringer when he had broken the Emperor out. Had he been in harder fights? Yes, definitely. As Arena Champion his masters had always looked for new challenges. But taking on two Gifted to free the Emperor had stretched him, and then the main event against Eilion had very nearly finished him off. He had no right to be walking, let alone breathing. But he was a tough son of a bitch, it was one of the few certainties in life he had. Though, he could it admit to himself and maybe one or two others, the recovery was getting harder. He still didn’t feel right. His limbs were stiff, the scar tissue tight.

  ‘Must be getting old,’ he muttered.

  Getting old and getting soft. It was a good thing that there was an end in sight, though it was still some distance away. Even so, it was an end made so much closer by their return to Tissan. The Emperor had finally returned to claim what was his. Father Michael thought of the moment, just six days ago. As the first skiff had landed on the beach to the north of Aberpool, the Emperor, wearing a fur cloak and sword by his side, had stepped into the water and collapsed to his knees as the surf rolled about him. Up above, all of their Eagle Riders wheeled in the sky, celebrating their return to land. Then, climbing back up, he drew his sword and looked out upon the small flotilla of boats bearing the rest of the landing parties. He had cried out ‘Tissan! Tissan!’ and in response a great cry erupted as a mixture of marines, sailors and soldiers responded. Father Michael had even shed a tear. And yet, it was not just for the Emperor that he did so: it was for all of them, his friends – Fenner and his marines, Cadarn and his Riders, the Admiral, and Ellen, too. They had all shared in the hardship, had given everything, had stayed loyal and true. And now they were home, with allies the like of whom this land had not seen in hundreds of years. The Nidhal had coaxed their vargr mounts off the big bellied transports on to the dry land with an odd sense of trepidation. It was hard to say who was more skittish, the beasts or their riders. They milled on the beach, sniffing at the air, the vargr tentatively scratching at the sand beneath their great paws. The Nidhal chieftain, Nutaaq, had explained it later, through Ellen interpreting. For the Tissans it was a homecoming, for the Nidhal it was so much more. It was the realisation of a dream, proof th
at their legends, their whole life story, had not been a lie. What had Ellen called it? Spiritual. Yes, he could well understand that sentiment. He had felt it himself, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  The Nidhal had quickly regained their courage and were even now ranging far beyond the limits of Aberpool, scouting the lands to the north, east and south, augmented by the vigil of the eagles. And, so far, nothing and no one had been encountered. There were no watchfires, no ambushes or enemy settlements, just blackened remnants of what once was. The enemy clearly had no intention of staying here. As was always plain, theirs was a war of extinction, not conquest.

  And what now for me? What more could he offer? The Emperor was home and had weighty matters to attend to. They were not matters Father Michael could advise on, and indeed, the Emperor had little time for his opinion these days, finding Father Llews a more useful sounding board. Father Michael could hardly argue with that. All he could do, as always, was be the shadow, the protector, for as long as he could be. It was a job that suited him. But sweet Emperor, he was tired.

  A noise, a distant shout made him stop. He looked around, taking note of his surroundings and realised he had no idea where he was. A street that was a mix of piles of blackened wood covered with weeds and wildflowers and sections of stone buildings that had survived the fires. He listened intently, heard the cry again. Someone was calling his name.

  He tried to pinpoint its source, but it was difficult, it echoed down the street, bouncing off structures.

  ‘Yes?’ he shouted. ‘I’m here!’

  Silence.

  ‘Where’s that then?’ came the distant reply.

  ‘Right here!’

  ‘OK. Stay where you are!’

  Father Michael waited in the middle of the street, looking both ways. A distant figure jogged into view at the end of the street ahead of him and carried on heading away down the T-junction.

  ‘I’m here!’

  A few seconds passed, and the figure reappeared, waving an arm in acknowledgement. Father Michael waved back and walked briskly to meet the figure who he recognised: Wendell. The marine slowed in front of him, red-faced and sweating.