Rivers flow to the sea, and carry with them a portion of the land. In ti the land wears away under their touch, and diminishes, as the water collects in the sea.
But the rain cleaves from the sea, and the mountains from the fiery bosom of the world. In this way the breath of the world continues, and its life extends. The division of like from like is the rock on which that life is built.
To n it is natural to think that an ending should co from division. We see our bodies riven and our bones shattered, and we know it as the face of death.
But our lives are nothing against the weight of the world. True death cos from a union that will not be broken. Endings are natural and expected; far worse is when an ending never cos, choosing instead to guard jealously all that it has hoarded. Rain does not fall, the wind scrapes the land to its bones.
Attend to this verse, o reader! It is the last, for union holds all endings.
The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Union. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)
By the ti they had reford the column, morning had passed into midday. There was even talk from so of the Safid officers of holding until the next morning to let the n rest, but Michael wouldnt hear it; the wounded stayed behind with a token force, and their diminished column set out south across the border to Ghar while the sun was at its height. One advantage to the smaller cadre was speed; the fortintes had taken minimal losses relative to the unsouled corps during the battle, and it let them move rapidly down the long descent from the pass.
There were differences to the countryside. It was still bare and pastoral, but bore the telltale signs of a land picked clean by an armys passage. The few farmsteads they saw within sight of the roads were vacant, their doors kicked in and granaries thrown open. The road was a raw, muddy rut that spilled out beyond its bed. It was a small detail, but one that lent the land an unsettled aspect.
Not that Michael would have felt particularly relaxed otherwise. His stomach churned with acid tension, only growing worse when they caught their first glimpse of Gharons sprawling ruins in the distance. It was too far to make out anything but a dark blot upon the terrain, but sothing about the sight of the old city chilled him, forcing his vision back to it again and again.
They pressed onward until they could see the orange hues of sunset lighting the city, close enough now to make out details of the buildings, the gates, the crumbling city wall. Michael called for a halt when they were still far distant; if Sofia wanted to shell them shed have to haul guns outside the wall.
It was a good reason, and a sensible choice, so nobody pressed him on it; in truth, he was also relieved not to make camp in the cold, dead confines of Gharon. Whenever Michael contemplated drawing closer, his skin prickled with tension, his stomach clamping down on remnants of Safid rations. The distraction was minor, but constant, like a noise just outside the range of his hearing.
While the n made camp and ate their dinner - with fires, since the light made little difference against Sibyls gaze - Sobriquet sat and began to roam the streets of Gharon. Michael sat by her cot and waited, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
So, Zabala said, leaning back against his own cot, lets say she does find your wayward obruors, or so portion of them. Theyve been in the city for the better part of a day already, most likely. Even if the people fled, resisted - with Sibyls direction, the Ardans should have been able to replenish their ranks appreciably.
Michael grimaced. Probably, he said.
Probably. Zabala squinted at him. Probably more n than weve got here. Im not saying that their obruor units could stand against Safid ensouled, because weve just seen so fairly compelling evidence that says they cant. But that was in Saf, with prepared positions. He gestured to the city. Now theyre the ones defending, with a supply line through the port. Gharon is famously defensible. Theres a couple thousand years of precedent saying that a besieging army cant take it.
Its hardly the city that it used to be, Michael muttered.
Zabala snorted. Were hardly an army. More of a task force, even if we are a powerful one. Youre our only real advantage - so before we think about going after those walls, you need to be honest about what sort of battle this is going to be. He sat up, his eyes fixed on Michaels. This isnt going to be a battle of armies. If it cos down to it, well be watching you kill a few thousand n, then moving in afterward to pick up the pieces. You need to decide if youre okay with that, and if not - you need to get these n out of here while you think of sothing better.
Michael saw an old nightmare flash through his mind, one that had plagued him after he saw Leire unleash her soul the first ti. He looked out over a city, stretching out his hand; the buildings shuddered at his touch. They cracked, crumbled-
He licked his lips. Im hoping it wont co to that, Michael said. Id rather not kill any of the obruors victims if I can help it, and its far from a sure thing that theyll be able to mount an effective defense of Ghar.
Thats not an answer. Zabala raised his eyebrow. But you dont owe the answer to now. You just need to know it, in case you owe it to the n later.
Michael nodded slowly. I understand, he said, looking down at his hands. Scarred, dirty - one borrowed, one his. But Im not going to make decisions in advance about this. I wont decide to kill arbitrary n, faceless n, before theyve lined up to fight. Ill wait. Sofia will do what she chooses to do, as will the n under her command. Ill make my decision on those who stand against .
Thats all very nicely said, Zabala muttered, but its generally a good idea to retreat before youre forced into conflict, if you wish to avoid killing.
Michael sighed and let his hands drop down. I do want to avoid killing; thats the entire reason were out here, after all. He raised his head to look at Zabala. But that ans making a world where Luc isnt a threat. Where Saf doesnt make war on its neighbors. I believe theres a path from here to there, but peace is only the destination - not the path.
That sounded downright Safid. Zabala grinned, stretching his shoulders; the ndiko soldier leaned back once more on his cot. I figured our hosts would rub off on you so, but at this rate youll be preaching next to Taskin before were through.
Hes tried the bald look before, Sobriquet said, one eye cracking open. Not his best.
Michael turned to look at her, straightening up. Hey, welco back. Anything interesting?
She shook her head, sitting up. Nothing. And I an nothing. No sign of Sibyl or her obruors, or of any Ardan presence at all. No conscript army. She frowned, turning towards where the old city lood outside the tent wall. Just people huddled in their ruins, sa as the first ti we passed through.
That doesnt make any sense, Michael frowned. Why would she make a run for the city? Did she move past it, to the southern beachhead? He thought on that notion for a mont and shook his head. But that makes no sense. They have a perfectly good port right here, closer to Saf.
She could have left by ship, Zabala said. If we assu Lucs forces are still fighting Taskin in the west, then its possible that she went to reinforce them. She would know their situation even without a ssage reaching her.
In which case we should be on our way west as well, Michael said, tapping his chin. He looked up at the city, letting his sight soar above the tent so he could see it clearly. It was silent, waiting; the dread in his stomach flared back to life at the sight of it-
Michael frowned. Was there anything unusual in the city? he asked.
Possibly, my vision isnt that clear, Sobriquet said. Nothing the size of an army, or a large mass of ensouled. Aside from that, the place is a maze; I could have missed any number of things. All of Ghar is clouded with Lucs presence, and youre-
-not helping, you ntioned, Michael sighed. All right.
She peered at him. Dont give all right; tell why you asked. Should I have seen sothing unusual?
Michael let his breath out slowly, shrugging. Im not sure, he admitted. But theres sothing unsettling about the city. Cant put my finger on it from here - and I dont feel comfortable leaving it at our backs, not like this. He stood, dusting off his trousers. I want to go take a look. See if we cant find so answers about where Sofia went.
Where do you want to start looking? Sobriquet asked. Ghar is huge. We could focus on the port, or the river, but thats still the entire central district. Searching all Is would be quicker.
The ndiko port sounds like a fair bet, Michael agreed. But I hadnt counted on us finding answers that easily. I figure well make our way there, poke around a bit - and wait for Marcus to find us.
Sobriquet gave him a flat look. Thats placing quite a lot of faith in Marcus, she said. You dont know that hes here, or that hes willing to talk. Or that hes still friendly, for that matter.
Or alive at all. Zabala crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking unimpressed. That said, I dont disagree with seeking intelligence. Im going to ask around for our radion and see if I can learn anything about the fighting at the western pass.
Sobriquet raised an eyebrow. I didnt hear anything from that side the entire ti we were at the Safid camp, nor did I expect to. If Saleh is using his soul then its unlikely they can communicate; not unless they want to drop their defense against Luc.
Yes, but Im confident that I can easily find a radioman to check for , Zabala said, smirking. Have fun looking for your Gharic prince.
He turned and left the tent. Michael and Sobriquet exchanged a glance.
He learns it from you, Michael muttered, grabbing his pack from the ground. Youll keep pace from here?
She nodded, giving Michael a quick peck on the cheek. Be careful. I didnt see anything odd, but thats odd in itself.
Michael nodded, pausing for a quick smile - then turned and began to run. His strides ate up the distance between their camp and Gharons walls, though with each pace he felt the air deaden around him, growing thick and inflexible. It dripped with tension, fear - dread, thick as porridge, sloshing around the periter of the old city.
Michael slowed before the great walls grimacing. He had felt fear from cities before, along with a whole host of other unpleasantness. This was different. Worse. Gharon was transfixed with horror, focused on nothing else. He had mistaken the sensation from far away - but then, he had never before felt any emotion from such a distance.
It felt like striding into a bright light of fear, feeling its heat on his skin and its glare in his eyes. Michael grit his teeth and clamped down on Spark, dimming the sensation to a tolerable level - tolerable, but still maddeningly persistent.
He jumped over the wall and began to jog through the outer reaches of the city. Sobriquet had been right; it looked much the sa as it had on their first visit. Nearest settlent? he murmured.
Ahead and to the left, not far, Sobriquet replied. Although theyre not up to much. I missed them the first ti I passed over this quarter. No fires, nobodys outside.
No fires, Michael muttered, bending his course to the side. Snow kicked up from his footsteps where it had collected in great dirty drifts between the buildings. The cold of the winter seed to pulse from the stone, more frigid by far than the air around him. Sothing is very wrong.
Sobriquet had no reply for that. Michael pressed on until he saw the telltale signs of recent habitation amid the ruins - buildings with boarded-up doors and windows, and walls patched roughly with rubble and mortar. He walked up to the nearest door, sending his sight into the building. It was dark inside, and cold. The tiny kitchen was vacant, as was the table in front.
In the back, though, he found the occupants. A couple with their young son, huddled together under what appeared to be every blanket they owned. What Michael could see of them was pale, filthy - he had seen corpses in better condition.
But these were no corpses, for their eyes remained fixed on the door, listening to the tread of his feet outside. They trembled at the noise, slouching under their covers, save for the young child; he did not react at all, save to blink languorously over a glassy, vacant stare.
Michael pulled his sight back, reeling, and sent it into a neighboring house - then another. Each had only mute, staring occupants, recoiling from the faint noises of Michaels presence in their town. He relaxed his hold on Spark slightly, imdiately regretting the decision; the howling blast of fear that whipped his mind nearly sent him toppling back into the snow. He hastily restrained that soul.
Sera, what am I looking at? he muttered. Theyre petrified. Dying n arent this afraid. Nobody is.
I didnt think they had instigators alongside obruors, at least not in quantity, she replied. And they dont feel like the obruor units did, theyre not - scraped hollow. Theres still a mind in there, albeit a terrified one.
Michael shook his head. Of what? Sofia is apparently gone, along with any remaining troops. Theres nothing left here but cold and people too scared to light fires against it.
We still dont know enough. Her voice was low, rasping. And these people arent likely to tell us much. You should keep going towards the river.
Reluctantly, Michael began to run south towards the river, hewing close to the coastline. He let his sight sweep back along the cluster of houses before he left and found them unchanged. Silent, staring.
He set his eyes forward and kept running. Buildings flowed by to either side of him, crumbling ruins crusted with ice. Most were empty. Those few that werent were all the sa: boarded up, with their occupants sheltering in quiet dread. Michael did not bother to stop and look closely, after the first. He pushed forward until he saw the broad expanse of the river that cut the city in two, and the well-laid order of the ndiko port near its mouth.
As he approached, he saw that the port complex had not fared well in its builders absence. The gates had been thrown open, the walls scorched and gouged. Windows were shattered. Glass sparkled on the ground, blending with the ice; Michael slowed to a walk as he wound his way between the gutted buildings.
There were signs of use here; heavy bootprints and refuse marked the ground, along with the remnants of fires. He saw bedrolls and half-eaten rations inside the shattered windows of the barracks, the corners of the rooms thick with frozen filth. He was suddenly grateful for the cold; even now, there was a vile sll pervading the base. If it had been warr
He shook his head and walked further into the compound, sending his sight to the places he rembered from his prior visit. The Zuzendaritza offices were bare, stripped to the walls. The ports command offices were the sa, while the ss was more deserving of its na than usual.
Yet no Ardans remained. It seed strange for them to have abandoned the place entirely, even as part of their move north; this was ant to be their resupply, after all. Food and dical supplies bound north, ammunition, weapons, parts-
But all he could see was the ice-encrusted remnants of a camp, looking as though it had been disused for years. Michaels mind was racing in the chill wind, each passing second in the place unnerving him more. The pounding drumbeat of fear all around him did not help; he considered shutting away Spark entirely, but did not want to miss anything crucial.
Michael nearly jumped out of his skin when Sobriquets voice murmured beside his ear once more. Brig, she said. She did not comnt on his startlent, her voice grim and quiet. There are people there. Not many, but-
She fell silent. Feeling a different sort of trepidation, Michael turned towards the command area of the base. The prison wasnt large; really more of an extra barracks that had been converted for its purpose. The windows were laid with bars behind their shattered glass, and the heavy tal door had been thrown wide, its blocky lines distorted by so naless artifex.
Michael ducked inside and made his way past the foyer. It didnt take long to find the prisoners. Every cell was full - or had been. Now frozen bodies covered the floor of vast holding cages, packed in until they sprawled over top of each other. So had dragged themselves to the windows, others towards the door. It had made little difference, in the end.
Reeling, he bent down to inspect the faces that had been pushed against the cells bars. They had frozen to the tal, blackened skin next to white. Parts of his mind recoiled, gibbering in horror at the tableau laid out before him; the rest clustered around the steadying warmth at his core. It was a bright light, a human light, and it helped to drive away the inhuman dark pressing in from all sides.
Michael took a steadying breath and straightened up. Theyre Gharic, he said softly. All of them. There must have been so resistance to the Ardans sweeping through before-
Before they slaughtered them, Sobriquet said. Most of them, anyway. There are a few still living upstairs, in the smaller cells. Faint. Maybe ensouled, its hard to tell - anything.
She trailed off. Michael turned to ascend the stairwell, pushing aside creaking tal doors until he ca to a row of individual cells on the second floor. So of these were clearly ant to hold ensouled; they were bound in heavier tal, or paneled with incongruous hardwoods to stymie artifices. Most were empty; those that werent had a few frozen corpses in the sa condition as those downstairs. In the potens cells, though, behind the thick tal grating, Michael felt small, hard knots of fear still flaring.
He pressed his hand to the frigid tal of the cell door. The lock twisted and flowed away, letting the door groan open. The n inside did not react; it took Michael a few monts to see why. The entire cell was tal, to ward against their strength. Even the floor. The Ardans had not seen fit to provide the n with bedrolls.
There had been three potentes in the cell; one man was slumped against the wall with wide, staring eyes hidden behind a skein of frost. The others had collapsed to the floor. Their hands and feet had frozen to the tal where they touched, the skin of their faces black and waxy. Yet still, their chests rose and fell weakly as the soul within kept the cold from finishing its work.
Michael had no need to agonize over a decision. These n could not tell him anything; there was only one thing left to do. He reached down to each man, quickly, and sent Stanza into their flesh. The gentle rhythm of their breathing fell silent, leaving only Michaels breath fogging the room, quick and shallow.
Sera, he whispered. What is this?
Not sure. Her reply was terse, clipped. There are more, down the hall.
Michael found two more cells with potentes languishing in frozen agony, and left bodies behind. The last cell in the row was larger than the others, built more heavily. The construction was made to deter several types of souls, with interlocking bands of stone, tal and wood cunningly woven together. Michael drew so of the tal away from the lock and delivered a kick to the chanism.
The brittle stone snapped under his foot, the wood splintering with a sharp crack that seed profane in the quietly funereal prison. As the echoes of the crack faded away, they were replaced with a quiet, rhythmic noise.
It took Michael a mont to recognize it as laughter. It was weak and rasping, but unmistakable. He ducked through the ruined entryway to find the last cells occupant.
Marcus had been stripped and beaten, his hair roughly shorn away. Dark bruises covered him, and Michael could see the distorted lines of his body where bones had been broken. He hung from manacles on the wall; where the tal t his flesh, his wrists had frozen fast to the restraints. Everything past his elbows was blackened, twisted skin.
The Gharic leaders quiet laughter continued as Michael walked in, though his eyes did not co up to look. They were wide, staring, looking at nothing in particular. His lips parted.
Baumgart, he croaked. I owe you - apology. He gave a weak cough that dissolved into more wheezing laughter. You didnt lie.
Michael crouched down beside the man, holding tight to the light within. You idiot, he breathed. What did they do to you?
Whatever they wanted. He grimaced, coughing again. Ah - nimis est. Nimis-
Marcus, what happened? Michael asked, reaching out to touch him with Stanza. There wasnt much that he could do for the mans arms, but the rest of him was in better shape than the unfortunate potentes in the tal cells, by virtue of being suspended upright and away from the floor. Marcus gasped as blood flowed more strongly, his face contorting with pain. He was shivering from more than the cold, though; the rot from his arms had left the living flesh red and inflad where it was not frostbitten.
I was mistaken, Marcus said, his voice clearer after Michaels ministrations - though thick with pain. He raised his head and looked up for the first ti. His eyes were tight, clouded, glittering with tears. I thought I was dealing with n. n, I know. Always have. My house has shepherded the n of Ghar since the na ant sothing. But the Ardans arent - n. You tried to tell .
Michael raised Marcuss head up. What happened here? Where is everyone? Why are your people hiding in fear?
More laughter slipped past his lips, spittle flecked with dark blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. We died, he said. So quick. So slow. Others left, and theyll die slowest of all. A fit of giggling took him. Michael opened his mouth to press Marcus further, but the other man only shook his head.
We died, Baumgart. For our dream, we died, and woke to see the worst form of it co to life. He laughed again, weaker this ti; red foam dripped from his lips. Nihil reliquum. Princeps - tan in solio tandem sedit. Tandem, tandem sedit. He winced, his eyes coming up to et Michaels - and then rolling back in his head as convulsions took him.
Michael watched as the man sagged against his restraints. He reached out his hand to touch Marcuss cheek. The mans breath halted, then sighed out slowly against Michaels palm. After a mont, Michael let his hand drop back to his side. The world was spinning around him, his heart pounding; nothing was as it should be.
He was the last, Sobriquet murmured. I dont feel anyone else in the old ndiko base. She paused. Michael, I dont like this. Nothing about it makes sense.
Michael shook his head, trying to clear the last echoes of Marcuss voice from it. Right there with you, he said. Sothing is very wrong here. Its more than the dead n, and the fear of the living. He straightened up and turned towards the door, making his way out of the prison. I need you to find the biggest concentration of people still alive. Soone has to know what happened here.
There was a long pause before her voice ca back. On the other side of the river, she said. Around where we saw Marcus give his speech. Theres a scattering of people left. Not many, but- She broke off. Michael, we should consider going back. Whatever happened, its clear theres no threat left in this city. No troops, and no people for the obruors to recruit. The Safid lines are safe. We can leave the eastern pass to Amira and go west.
We wont delay long. Michael descended the stairs, then made his way out into the abandoned yard. But I need to know where Sofia went. Her obruors. The rest of the Ardan forces, Sera, there were thousands! Thousands we havent seen. Soone in this city knows what happened.
She didnt reply as he ran back out the gate, setting his course west to the river bridge. The ice crunched under his feet as he ran; it was the only noise that followed him through the ruins.
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