One sumr day, the tortoise ca upon a village of n. He saw that they had cleared away the sweet brush of the forest and laid fences around their lands, that none might walk on the crops they jealously guarded. He saw that they took animals from the forest and ate them, and chopped down the mightiest trees.
The black hound saw the tortoise watching and ca up to greet it, but was surprised to find the tortoise full of ire against the n and their village.
The tortoise asked with anger why the n despoiled the forest, which was older than they and should remain unchanged by their hands.
To the surprise of the tortoise, the hound smiled. He said that there is balance in all things. The boar uproots the forest even as the tortoise packs it down in its passing. The white wolf harries the flocks, and the black hound protects them. The raven brings light where the mockingbird hides shadows. All was balanced - save for man.
The tortoise agreed, his anger rising. Man had no notion of order, and therefore no place in the world.
The hound gave a sly smile and said he had a riddle for the tortoise, and stated it thus: what opposes order?
- Pre-Gharic Ardan manuscript, vellum, c. 500 PE
The road to the plaza was choked with ndiko armor, their guns trained westward toward the offending plaza. They stopped well short of it; a few burning hulks still blocked the road where the prior advance had failed, the street beyond them strewn with rubble and hastily-erected barricades.
Even from this distance Michael could see the massive gouges in the wrecked tanks armor. Scorchmarks marred their exterior, and patches of black and silver showed where the tal had lted to drip down onto the street, forming fresh shining cobbles atop the road surface.
Scalptors, calorigens, Michael muttered. Lucigens?
A few. Antolin grimaced, gesturing to charred lines etched into nearby building facades. Perhaps only one that can address armor, from their sparing use. Three or four scalptors of comparable power; those were the bulk of our casualties on the first attempt. He gestured to the open space beyond the tanks, a seemingly-empty plaza that seed to slide away from Michaels vision when he focused on it. They have a fairly comprehensive obfuscation of the plaza as a first layer of defense. I would expect mundane fortifications reinforced by a cadre of fortintes comparable in skill to the others. If we could see them to concentrate fire, that might be surmountable with tanks alone. As it stands we may need Leire to break this position.
Michaels eyes widened, then narrowed. I thought you were reluctant to use her in the city, he said. That you doubted her restraint.
I am, Antolin sighed. And I do. But this mornings foray is all the delay I am willing to tolerate. We will pay in ndiko lives for the chance at sparing this city her destruction; we will lose far more if our advance is stalled against Safid positions. He t Michaels eyes. I hope you find a more palatable solution today. If not, however she has always been our final option.
A quiet, sick feeling took hold in Michaels stomach; he nodded. All right, he said, turning towards the front. Anything else I should know, before I stir them up?
Antolin shook his head; he said nothing more. Michael inclined his head and turned to walk towards the front. Soldiers huddled behind tanks, watching him pass. Their muffled trepidation and awe made an uncomfortable backdrop as he walked down the clear center of the road. Before long he was past the forward elent, standing among the smoldering wreckage of the last assault. The sll of burnt oil and fuel choked the air, the faintest undercurrent of charred at churning his gut.
He pushed it aside and stood before the plaza. Now that he was standing close he could make out the edges of the obscured area more clearly. To his eyes it appeared normal, if preternaturally still. In Stanzas mirror-light, however, it was a silent void amid the lambent curves of the city outside.
Michael raised his head. His thoughts were unsettled, churning at the destruction at the prospect of more, should Leire intervene. He imagined the plaza as a burning pit, the buildings around it reduced to slag. Sera, he murmured. Are you with ?
Always. Her voice ca in a quiet buzz by his ear. If I see an opening, Ill wreak what havoc I can. Be careful.
He almost laughed. I dont think thats the plan, he said, spreading his arms and taking a step forward. Michael focused on the unfortunate passage from Salehs book, warning of a calamity that would undo the world. The words resonated within him in the quiet tones of his own speech and then sothing more as he found the voice of the man the Safid feared within him.
I am Michael Baumgart, he said, quiet and deafening. Co forward and be tested.
His heart beat out a steady count; no movent ca from the deadened air of the plaza.
Co forward, he said again, taking another step. The cloaked area filled his vision, making his head swim. It was comparable to staring directly at Sobriquets avatar; a dull ache had taken root behind his eyes. Be tested against the Heart-
There was only the barest whisper of air before a blade lashed out to take him across the stomach. He felt the sting of it, his arm coming up instinctively to cover his gut. Before he had completed the motion another blade ca, and another. There was real power behind the attacks; despite his potens soul, Michael saw his skin redden where he was struck. A thin line of blood welled up on his exposed flesh.
Michael spat a quiet imprecation and stepped backwards, shielding his eyes. The attacks continued unabated. Shreds of his uniform dropped to the ground, the toe of his boot skittering away across the road. There was a lurch in the skein of mirror-light, a sudden blast of chill air before a lance of burning white shot forth from the plaza to impact his chest; Michael grunted and staggered back. It hurt, the light searing his skin, setting the rags of his shirt alight. He choked on air that reeked of smoke and burnt hair, his focus fled against the sudden burst of pain, a noise he couldnt quite hear echoing in his ears-
The light slid into deep jeweled tones before the world around him dimd. The blistering pain of the attack faded, replaced by an all-encompassing heat. Michael felt it flowing into him, overflowing, the forge-bright glare of it all he could see. He tasted blood and hot tal. Almost by reflex he pushed back against the torrent of light pouring forth from the plaza; the heat followed his will easily. Cobbles cracked and chipped, the thin traces of dirt between them belching steam.
Still the light continued; still the heat replied. Michaels mind drew clear of the panicked reflex that had grasped him now he wielded Vincents soul with deliberation, narrowing the outpouring of heat, focusing it.
The light cut off, though the airy blades of the scalptors continued to harass him; Michael swept the dwindling blast of heat left towards where he thought they might be. The forge dimd. He settled Vincents soul back into quiescence and took a step back, then another. The blades pelted him like a hailstorm, drawing welts and small bloody creases across his chest. One laid into his cheek, another across the hand shielding his eyes.
Abruptly, the assault ceased; Michael watched as the blades careened past him to impact one of the smoldering tanks, rending another gash in the ruined armor. He hastily stepped backwards, his breath coming fast; the Safid attack burst forth for a few more monts before faltering, a few confused-feeling slashes sweeping down the avenue before it ceased entirely.
You idiot, Sobriquet murmured in his ear. I tried to mask you but it doesnt help much if you dont move afterwards. Didnt you hear ?
Michael shook his head, panting. Sorry, he gasped. Got distracted.
She snorted. You look like youve been whipped, she said.
Its a nasty habit of mine, Michael replied, straightening up to look at the plaza; it had returned to its eerie stillness. That didnt work nearly as well as I had hoped.
Sobriquets avatar ford beside him, looking out at the plaza. It was worth a try, she said. It would have been better to cut the Safid out from the city. She looked towards the east.
Michael followed her gaze. They could not see the airships silver bulk, but he knew that he would soon enough. Now well have to burn them out, he murmured. Are you okay with this? If we follow Antolins plan I dont know how far the devastation will spread.
The buildings around the plaza are deserted, Sobriquet said, sounding weary defeated. I looked. The fighting has been intense here, nobody in their right mind would stay. I helped a few holdouts on their way, they had nightmares of dying in the crossfire all last night.
Good of you, Michael grunted, straightening up. So this is happening, then.
Ill take Daressan ashes over a Safid city, Sobriquet said grimly. We can rebuild. But first we have to win.
Michael could not enjoy the gentle breeze that blew through the garden, ruffling the leaves of the orchard and setting the grass alight with hypnotic waves. He could not relish the sll of flowers, nor find peace in the deep, earthy scent of the forest. The blue sky was lost to him, the swelling fruit no more than aningless color.
He sat surrounded by beauty and shivered. Quiet footsteps drew up behind him. A shaky smile pulled at his lips, jitters of nervous energy infecting his breath.
I cant do it, he murmured. Youre here to tell that I have to accept this, that Im more than I believe myself to be. He turned to look at the quiet old man standing behind him.
Jeorg smiled. No, he said. You know that already. There was a quiet grunt of effort as the old man lowered himself to the grass beside Michael. Just here to say that youre being rude.
Michael couldnt help but laugh, a sickly thing that skittered across the fields like a tide of spiders; the trees jumped in a sudden breeze, the grassy waves dissolving into windblown chaos. Rude, he said. Rude. Of course not. Wouldnt want to be impolite. Wouldnt want to mar all of this death and destruction with incivility, that wouldnt be - wouldnt be proper, now would it?
Days like today need that consideration more than most, Jeorg said. Acknowledgent. Recognition of the human. He turned his head to look behind them. Youre frightened. Its reasonable. But - so are they.
A shiver crept up Michaels spine; he was suddenly very aware of the space behind him, a patch of grass he had steadfastly kept from his sight. It pulled at him, numb and blank - but not empty. Slowly, he turned around.
Nine small flas burned on the grass.
So were steady, others flickered fitfully in an imagined breeze. Each was subtly distinct from the rest, variant in color and shape. Michael watched them dance on the grass for a long mont, and wondered who they had been before they died.
There was a blurring of the grass; Michael found that he was closer to the flas than before. He reached out towards the nearest - and paused. Now that it was outstretched, he saw that his left hand was a tapestry of bruises, blood caked under his fingernails and glistening still-wet across his skin. He withdrew it, wondering, but the fire flared and keened upon the grass. Now that he was closer, there was a palpable distress in its movents, lingering on the air with unpleasant and oily persistence.
He reached out with his right hand, his fingers trembling as they passed through the ghostly pale tongues of fire. Flashes of mory passed through him: a childhood in a small Daressan farmhouse, replaced shortly thereafter by ash and blood wearing Safid uniforms. Death crowding in around him until only grim violence was left, a hardened existence that grew in the space between patrols and encampnts.
And there was a softening, a rembrance. Revenge was tempered with the recognition that what he had known in his childhood was better - the love, the peace. He wanted it again, wanted to reach back for those shattered fragnts of Daressa-that-was. Many of his companions scoffed at it, but he tried to believe that he fought for more than spite.
That quiet hope blossod into an inferno when ndiko steel rolled across the border, Safid and Ardan alike fleeing before the implacable tide. The Mockingbird rode at their head, erging from the shadows where she had always watched in silent guardianship over true Daressan patriots. Many took her ergence as a sign, redoubling their calls for blood - but not him. He had rested overlong in the forge of revolution, grown brittle among the coals. That dream from childhood found another figure standing by the Mockingbirds side, a man who fought with gentled hamrblows and usurped enemy legends in service of his own. A savior-killer, wielding the souls of those who held freedom dear.
The paradoxical image burned bright in his mind, persisting even as the air turned pungent and sharp, setting his lungs afire; choking, dying, one last velvet thought crept forward.
He hoped that the legends were true.
Michael stiffened, feeling the fla seep into him, spreading with uncomprehending joy until it nestled next to Clair and Vincent in his chest. There was a lingering pain, though, a discomfort Michael could not dispel - that swelled slightly with every heartbeat. He rubbed his breastbone lightly, frowning, then turned to Jeorg.
But I didnt know him, he whispered. And he didnt know , not really. Wed never t, and probably never would. Theres no - theres no reason for it. He looked towards where the fla had been, feeling the pain intensify within him. That man he saw wasnt .
Even the man you see isnt you, Jeorg chuckled. He saw clearly enough. Held you in his thoughts. Affinity isnt knowledge, or familiarity. Its using another life as a support for your own. Leaning on them, trusting in the bedrock of who they are. Roots tangled together. He nodded towards the remaining flas. And then becoming one, when all but the bond is lost.
Michael frowned. Theyre shaping themselves against a fiction, he said. A legend.
Real enough, Jeorg grunted. He walked over to stand beside a low and guttering fla that danced across the top of the grass in ti with the wind. This one.
Whats different about it? Michael asked. When Jeorg did not reply, he tentatively reached his hand out, feeling the cool brush of the fire over his fingertips-
Another sleepy Daressan childhood flashed before his eyes, another dissatisfied young man growing up under an oppressive boot - Ardan, this ti, rather than Safid. His life was not so horrible as to drive him into the arms of the resistance, however - his village displayed its quiet signs of disobedience, but never enough to bring consequences down upon them.
One day, however, the Ardan forces convulsed in disarray. The town found itself naced by a battalion of troops gone mad, obruor-touched. He was in the midst of working up his courage to join the defenders when the news ca from outside of town - the afflicted Ardans had been quieted by one man with a strange soul. It inflad his curiosity, and so he went to the tavern when he heard the man had arrived there-
Wait, Michael breathed, his exhalation rich with the fla as it settled into him. I rember this. I know him. He spoke to in the tavern that day - Marc. He watched the tongues of fire sink beneath his skin, flexing his fingers. His na was Marc. But that was far east of here.
eting you changed his life, Jeorg said. Gave him the fire he had been missing. He saw a poster, traveled to Leik - then to Is. Running ssages, helping with evacuations. He saved lives.
And lost his own. Michael frowned, slouching forward. Jeorg, I basically killed this man. He would be alive and well if he had never t .
Jeorg snorted. The Safid bear no bla, then? he asked. Or the young man himself? He traveled to a war zone. n die in such places. He crouched down beside Michael, carrying the subtle fragrance of pipe smoke with him. Werent you the one who determined that it was better to die as you should be rather than live an aimless half-life until the void claid you?
Thats - not even remotely the sa thing, Michael retorted, mopping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He changed his life after he t , and as a result he died.
Yes - he changed his life, Jeorg said. He changed. Not you. There was no Spark. It was his decision alone. The old man settled down onto a nearby rock. You know he doesnt regret it. Its all there, in you. They all are.
Michaels breath hissed out of him in a rush as jumbled mories surged past his vision; the flas that had been on the grass surged within him. ndiko soldiers, Daressan resistance - there were no faces in the torrent of impressions that buffeted his minds eye. He writhed on the grass, his back arching with each draught of embers in his chest. It pulsed within him - warm, alien, beyond anything Clair and Vincents flas had inflicted upon him.
What- he gasped, his speech mangled by a raw throat. I cant - Jeorg, please. He sank to the grass, feeling weak, ravaged. It burns.
Why? Jeorg asked, sitting nonchalantly on the grass beside him. These souls arent like Galens. No malice. No hatred. He took a slow puff on his pipe. But you wont let them in, not truly.
Michael grit his teeth, looking at Jeorg through the haze of smoke wafting up from his body. Doesnt - make sense, he rasped.
Jeorg shrugged. Doesnt make sense to you, he said. But it doesnt have to. These people were drawn to you, Michael. He tapped his pipe empty, then stowed it into his jacket. Slowly, he leaned forward to look Michael in the eye. They died for you. You respected Galens hate enough to destroy him. You could accept hate. But this?
W-why- Michael could utter no more than the one halting word before the pain grew too great, his body seizing in the grasp of it. He was dimly aware of Jeorg kneeling beside him, of a weathered hand sliding under his back.
Jeorg raised him upright until his face was level with Michaels own; his windburnt lips bore a sad smile. My dear boy, he murmured. I wish I truly were Jeorg. You might have listened to him more readily.
Michael lay in his arms, shivering uncontrollably, his mind afire with conflict, grasping at an understanding that slipped further away with every attempt. He didnt-
-understand, I know, Jeorg said. You hid that part of yourself away first, long before the others. The lesson you learned from your father. Ricard couldnt undo it. Nor Sera, as much as you deluded yourself. You still couldnt understand.
He pulled Michael into a hug, his arms as strong and unyielding as oak. His voice murmured into Michaels ears, a voice that sounded like paths and branches, mirrors and starlight.
Because you think them wrong to love you so.
Because you cannot see beyond your fear
The last to see the truth that others know
Hidden from you though it flowers near:
What they offer, you have earned.
Michael choked, surging with the fire; he saw the incandescent glory of it surging through every fiber of him. They had been human. Perhaps they still were, in the ways that mattered.
He let himself listen to them.
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