It is not uncommon that I hear voices of discontent at the lack of progress in the War. Mine rose among their number, when I was freshly-ensouled and new to the conflict. That we have fought for nearly a century and find ourselves trading the sa denuded scraps of land back and forth each season - it feels futile, and in its imdiate context it is.
What I did not realize at the ti was that there is no short path to triumph, for the long conflict of the War must test us in its fullness before any aningful resolution. Anything else only prolongs the pain for no benefit; we must undergo the depths of this trial. Struggle is the vehicle by which a man makes himself fit for a soul, and what is true for one is true for the multitudes; in this crucible of violence we refine the soul of our people into sothing worth venerating.
There are many who misunderstand the concept of the peoples soul, thinking it either a pleasant fabrication spun to placate the unsouled multitudes or, conversely, a literal soul of surpassing magnitude. It is neither, being more real than the forr and less real than the latter.
To understand, answer this question: what does a soul recognize in a man, to deem him worthy? Every child knows this answer; it is that every man carries within him the echo of the first soul. In rising to struggle we find the divine within ourselves, which we retain even if no soul answers.
This renders the War a worthy pursuit, independent of any eventual victory. We raise n through this conflict into their divinity. Not all n may know the joy of having a soul, but each who marches into battle may know the honor of deserving one.
- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687
They were underway before too long had passed, with Michael resuming his duties to forge a path for the cart. It had been hard-used in their flight over the tundra, with a jagged crack through one of the wheel rims and an axle that had been knocked just slightly out of true.
The horses, too, were sorely fatigued from their run and the terror that had gripped them on the mountainside. Between the cart and the horses Michael fancied that he could see Emils hair turning greyer with each passing mont, the carters eyes darting towards every creak of wood or stray hoofstep.
It took until nearly sunset for the rain to llow, still falling uncommonly warm and with the occasional grumbling thunderclap from high overhead. As the downpour lessened Michael began to sll the faint odor of smoke and other brassy, burnt notes that he could not place.
The slope gentled as they worked their way down to lower altitudes; after the crisp and dry air on the mountain the oppressive humidity lower down felt nearly suffocating. Sweat began to mingle with the rain soaking Michaels shirt, and he heard mutters of discontent from within the cart.
Through the trees they caught an occasional glimpse of the massive black do that obscured the highlands below, but when they ca around to their first large clearing just shy of the mountains base it had vanished. In its place hung a large cloud of haze leavened with darker smoke from a hundred tiny fires that smoldered within.
Sobriquet fuzzed into sight just ahead of Michael, looking out over the treeless expanse beyond the foothills. A pity, she said. It would have been convenient for him to mask the field until we were safely away.
Youre hiding us from view anyway, Michael noted. Does it make a difference?
She gave a shrug. Everything makes a difference. As it stands, we will have to cross under my protection alone. Hopefully whatever the darkness was ant to cover has left enough chaos in its wake to ease our crossing.
Michael nodded and set off forward. The rain dwindled to a sulking drizzle, then a mist that clung around the crows of hills and left moisture beading on the outside of the cart. The clouds took on a golden tint, and as they reached a small adow Sobriquet called for a stop.
Well not make it to the front for another few hours, she said, and much past here cover starts to beco scarce. Well rest the horses, have sothing to eat and continue on in the morning.
They made camp wearily but with all the more enthusiasm for it; it felt as though they had woken south of the pass last week rather than that morning. Emil busied himself brushing and feeding the horses. After fetching so water for the rest, Michael drew another bucket from the shallow stream cutting through the adows center and brought it to him.
For the horses, he said. Let know if they need more.
Emil gave a wordless grunt that might have been gratitude, turning his attention to the horse he was currying. The horses simple relief and pleasure at the combs touch drew a smile to Michaels lips; he lingered for a mont before his presence earned him an acid look from Emil.
He sighed and moved to help the others, distancing himself from the carters irritation. A small fire was laid and lit, food prepared from their stores. Vernon woke just as the first stars were erging overhead, to everyones relief, and was helped down to a seat by the fire.
Can you hear at all? Charles asked, overloud.
Vernon winced. Yes, he whispered. Everything sounds strange, but yes. Please keep - quiet, if you can. Loud noises hurt.
Charles settled back onto a block of wood he had dragged near to the fire, giving him a thoughtful look. Ive seen wounds like that, he noted, his voice at a lower tone. Shell-bursts, mostly. Most n who have them go deaf for weeks, if not longer.
Most n arent auditors, Clair pointed out. I doubt he relies solely on his ears to hear. Michael can see if he closes his eyes - cant you?
Michael swallowed the mouthful of bread he was chewing and nodded. Not as convenient as youd think, he muttered. Makes it hard to sleep in a lit room.
Wait on, Charles frowned. Then why is he hurt in the first place? If his hearing isnt from his ears, theres no reason why the blast should have hurt him more than any one of us.
Clair matched his frown, then shrugged. A good question, she said. I dont know the answer. Sera? Sobriquet shook her head, and Clair turned to the other two n. Vernon, Michael?
I keep regretting that I didnt pay attention to that tutor, Michael sighed. Sorry, no idea.
No, Vernon said, wincing.
Souls which have a sensory component lead to long-term sensitivity increases in the relevant organs, Luc recited, looking up from where he sat close to the fire, his knees tucked up to his chest. One of the books I read said it was a limited form of anatontis altering the organs over ti, but Claude thought-
He broke off, seeming to realize that he had drawn the attention of the group. Thought that the theory was rubbish, he muttered, looking awkwardly to the side.
Michael leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand. Mind frees the soul, he said absently. Soul frees the body.
Whats that? Clair asked.
Charles laughed and grabbed at a piece of cheese. Lordlings finally gone mad, he said. Probably wondering what would happen if he put his own eyes out.
If I decide to Ill let you know, Michael said, looking up with a grin. But maybe not today. No, it was just sothing Jeorg said once - my old friend, the man who had Stanza before . He also said the mind shows the soul how to exist. He shrugged. Maybe the soul can do the sa for the body, after a fashion.
Another- Clair said, looking up as Sobriquet spoke over her.
-question for the ndiko, Sobriquet said, grinning. Be careful, we need to prioritize the use of whatever credit these docunts earn us. We ask them to rid Daressa of Ardans first-
Present company excluded, Clair said, nodding her head at Michael.
-and answer questions later, Sobriquet finished. Id like to see them try and evict Michael, its taken us most of a month just to get him to the border. She stretched, taking in the firelit faces around her. And on that note, we should turn in before too long. Its going to be a long, slow day tomorrow.
Going to be hard to sleep with that racket, Vernon muttered.
Michael raised an eyebrow and looked around; aside from the normal sounds of the forest at night and the gentle crackling of the fire, it was dead quiet. Doesnt seem any louder than normal.
Vernon shook his head irritatedly. Buzzing, off to the southwest. Hard to tell what it is, everything sounds - harsh, he said. Im surprised you cant hear it. Its loud.
No, hes right, Luc said, tilting his head. Theres sothing-
Aeroplane, Sobriquet snapped, shooting to her feet. The fire-
Charles was already on his feet, the tal flowing down his wrist to scoop dirt up and over the fire. It hissed as the wet soil smothered the embers, and Michael coughed at the sudden cloud of smoke that engulfed them.
Scouts? Looking for us? Emil asked.
Theres no wings based in the north that Im aware of, Sobriquet said, her eyes distant; presumably she was trying for a closer look at the craft. Hard to get parts and fuel this far from the coast. And its not a fighter, its too big. Bomber, maybe, but theres just one. Her eyes snapped back into focus, and she gave Michael a grim look. Coming up from the south.
Ice ford in Michaels stomach. Sibyls runners?
Hard to say from this distance, Sobriquet said wryly. Im not Sibyl, you know. But yes, Id lay odds that its appearance here has sothing to do with us.
Wonderful, Emil spat. More trouble.
Sobriquet nodded, then turned back toward the cart. Trouble for tomorrow, she said. Rest up. This was always going to be a dangerous crossing. Whatever theyre concocting for us, well throw it back in their face.
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