A man chanced to walk beside the Caller on the road one day. At first the man held fear in his heart, and did not speak in the Callers presence. The Callers kind voice cald the mans fear, though, and soon the two were talking as old friends while they walked.
The man noticed that the Caller would stop to inspect the trees at the roadside, speaking to them with words that no man could hear. They grew strong and tall at his urging, and the man felt the light of the divine touch his heart.
But the Caller also stopped to speak with fallen trees, and rotting stumps, and all manner of dead and decaying trees. This confused the man, who could at last no longer hold his tongue. He asked the Caller why he spoke to the trees that could not heed his words.
The Caller smiled at the question, and said that the living trees only were so because the others had perished. Trees and n share a fate, he said, in that they die for a cause. So to provide shelter and security, others for comfort and sustenance. Others still for no obvious aning, though what they leave enriches the way for those who follow. Our duty does not end with death. In many ways, it is only then that we may begin to see how well we have fulfilled it.
- The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Growth. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)
Michaels eyes slid open. His heart was pounding, clothes drenched with sweat under a thin sheet. He recognized the cramped tal construction of the airship, the antiseptic sll of the dical bay; he let his sight drift up, not much cherishing the thought of actually moving at this early juncture.
The quiet of early morning stretched through the space, and even though the airship still humd its usual tone of distant clamor, there was a solidity and weight to the silence that Michael had not felt before. It was solemn, sorrowful - funereal, in point of fact.
Sleep fled, and reality asserted itself. It had happened, all of it. Leires fla burned impossibly alongside the growing chorus in his chest, while her soul was far beyond his reach.
He tried to sit up, only to pause as he felt sothing shift across his stomach; he turned his sight around to look and found Sobriquets arm laid across him, her hair splayed out across her face as she slouched forward in her chair at his bedside.
Michael felt a warm, painful swell of love; it was almost enough to distract him from his own appearance. He had kept his hair rough and short as best he could during his ti on the continent, growing increasingly-used to the scruff of beard on his chin. The hot glass that had imprisoned him had robbed him of every scrap of hair, even his eyebrows.
There was a distracting and unfortunate resemblance to Saleh, now.
His skin appeared whole, though; there was no trace of the burns that he rembered from his chaotic, narrow recollections of Lucs escape. He brought his free hand up to pass it over his scalp - and paused.
Michael studied Lucs hand where it sat affixed to his arm. He had long since ceased thinking of it as so foreign violation of his person; most days the sharp line at his wrist passed beneath his notice. Today, though, it troubled him.
Thoughts began to stir restlessly in his head, chief among them - how? Michael berated himself for not asking Jeorg the question during his dream, but in the fluid realm of his thoughts it had not seed as pressing. It had happened, clearly; acceptance did not require understanding.
His waking mind was less sanguine about his lack of knowledge. He stared at his hand, flexing it idly. It would have been Leire that he asked, if she were here. She would have been enthralled by the question, monopolizing Michaels ti while she made him recount every half-recalled mory from his ti with Spark.
Now she only burned within him, inscrutably mute alongside all of the others. Michael was surprised at the upswell of feeling that struck him as he contemplated her loss; he did not even particularly like the duplicitous, irritable old woman. When he contemplated the space left by her passing, though-
Well. Perhaps it yawned so impossibly wide because there was a good chance people would ask Michael to fill it.
He sighed and lowered his hand to caress Sobriquets hair. She made a soft noise and turned, then raised her head; Michael felt the gentle thump of relief and happiness as her eyes crinkled in a smile.
Good morning, she said quietly, sliding up to kiss him.
After a short, morable span of ti had elapsed, Michael smiled up at her. Good morning, he replied. Sorry if I worried you.
If you want to apologize properly, stop rendering yourself senseless, she muttered, straightening her hair as she settled back into her chair. Sotis it feels like every week finds you face down in the dirt.
Michael snorted. I dont aim for it. Life conspires to place there. His smile faded. What have I missed?
Chaos, as you might expect, she sighed. The ndiko were shattered at Leires death, even as Antolin pushes them to the west. I suspect hes rushing to occupy them with sothing other than distraction. The armor columns left Is before first light; the Safid have fallen back to Agnec. Its two days for the ground forces to make the transit if theyre not opposed, and so far that seems to be the case.
Agnec, Michael muttered. Im not familiar.
No reason you should be. Its a regional capital, but not a large one. Its been under Safid control even longer than Is. Ive been helping the ndiko scout it as best I can, my sight- She pursed her lips together. As best as we can tell, the city has been turned into a fortress. Trenches, embrasures, artillery. Sobriquet shook her head. You kept saying that Saleh wanted one final battle to decide everything. It looks like hes chosen the location.
Michael humd softly. I should talk with Antolin, he said, pulling the blanket off of himself. Find out where- He paused, looking down; Sobriquet raised an eyebrow.
I should find so trousers, Michael anded. Then talk with Antolin.
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