A man ca upon the Great Shield laboring in a mountain pass, breaking rocks that had fallen upon the trail. He stopped, for the path was still blocked, and gave the holy man his greeting.
How odd it seems, the man remarked, that I should chance upon the Shield of n as he is breaking stone asunder. Is not your power in solidity and strength? How can you bend your soul to destruction when it does not give you this power?
The Great Shield paused in his labor to respond. There are two truths, he said. The strength of the stone, and the strength of my fist. Both are true, and valid, and my soul upholds them both.
How then does the stone break, but your fist remains whole? the man asked.
The Great Shield picked up another stone, holding it within his mighty hand. My soul upholds both, he said, but my mind is the arbiter of truths. I may choose which is true, and which must yield. This is the power of the divine, which raises us above re nature.
The man recognized the sound of holy truth and sat to watch the Great Shield exert his truth upon the mountain.
- The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Union. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)
They stopped at sunset, while twilight still illuminated the world in muted colors. Western Daressa was not so different from the interior highlands, although the lower altitude spared them from so of the chill that would have otherwise crept into the evening. Instead, it was a cool night, the scent of the trees around them mingling pleasantly with the first notes of smoke and stew rising up from cookfires.
Michael had worried when they first stopped, for he had no particular expertise in setting up a temporary military camp; the Ardan troops went about their business straight away, however, leaving him standing at the roadside watching as they pulled supplies from the trucks and began to make camp in a flat stretch of adow.
He had expected that Lars might direct them in their efforts, but the Ardan captain had very little to say to his n. Zabala, however, found much to comnt on; he stalked back and forth among the n as they worked, changing the position of tents and fire rings, directing others to fetch water from a nearby stream, still more to plunder the remnants of an orchard that stood at the far end of the clearing, whose apples had mostly peaked and fallen to the ground.
Michael sensed the undercurrent of irritation building against Zabala almost instantly. n glared at his back, muttering imprecations against the ndiko interloper in their midst. More than one sent a glance at Lars, but he was deep in conversation with Charles; neither were sparing an ounce of attention for the camp.
Sobriquet walked over to stand beside Michael, arching one eyebrow. Youre brooding, she said.
Michael nodded towards Zabala, who was currently directing two mutinous-looking n to shift their half-dug latrine trench to the far side of camp. Hes not making any friends, Michael observed.
I dont think hes trying, Sobriquet replied. Ardan soldiers seem to offend him on a deeply personal level, its sothing I can empathize with.
Were going to have to work together for so ti, Michael noted. He watched as Zabala reiterated his demand, stepping closer. One of the soldiers, a stocky man with a flat, brutish face, raised his shovel angrily in response.
Michael began to walk towards them, only to stop as Sobriquets hand caught his wrist. He looked at her; she shook her head. They looked back just as the shovel wielding-soldier swung angrily at Zabalas head.
The tal blade of the tool struck Zabalas skull with a low clang, bouncing off. Zabala stood motionless, directing a profoundly unimpressed look at the soldier who had attacked him; one mont later he had closed the distance between them to grab hold of the mans forearm.
Instantly, the soldier dropped to his knees. His face contorted in pain, though Zabala gave no sign of exertion. Once more, the ndiko pointed to the latrine pit, then to the far side of the camp. He said sothing in a low voice that spurred a quick, pained nod from the Ardan man. Zabala released him and took a step back - then stalked away towards another section of the camp.
Michael blinked, bemused, as the air of resentnt and annoyance faded from the camp. The two n lifted their shovels and walked to the far end of camp, the rest listened to Zabala with nothing more than resigned acceptance, and even sothing that felt oddly like relief.
Soldiers, Sobriquet snorted, shaking her head. At least the ndiko are professionals. This lot feel more like pack animals than n. I wonder if it wouldnt be better to leave them and continue on with just Charles, Unai and Zabala.
We could, Michael admitted, rubbing the bristle of regrowing hair on his scalp. But even in western Daressa your support network is thin. If Luc crosses to Saf, what then? Even if youre doing the bulk of the searching, well need a base of operations. Food, supplies, lookouts - what?
Sobriquet was smiling up at him. Look at you, Commander Baumgart, she teased. Ill grant that theres often a need for extra hands, but these n? Most of them are good for little more than brute labor, and Im not sure Id trust them to stand watch at night without deserting or selling us to the Safid.
They were the ones that fought free of obruor control and stood up for what they thought was right, Michael noted. Thats got to count for sothing.
So theyre practiced mutineers, she deadpanned. Wonderful.
Michael looked out over the camp, watching the n trudge about their business. They dont asure up to the ndiko standard, its true, he admitted, watching as Zabala lood over another soldier struggling to set up his tent. But they turned against their masters because of , at least in part. They wanted a change, and fought for it. Its the sa spirit that I imagine you looked for in your own partisans.
Sobriquet wrinkled her nose. I suppose, she said. For a few monts she sat quietly, watching the n go about their work.
Clad in drab ndiko off-duty wear, they looked less like soldiers and more like a band of oddly-similar wage laborers playing at military tasks - which was broadly correct, Michael supposed. Aside from Zabala and perhaps Lars, their reasons for soldiery were limited to temporary circumstance; even then, they had rejected their Ardan colors for ndiko.
And now, they were in Michaels service. The thought struck him with uncommon force, racing around in his head unpleasantly while the camp went up around them and fires were lit. He was jarred from his contemplation by the savory slls of dinner reaching their peak; his stomach reminded him of more imdiate concerns.
Sobriquet had wandered, leaving him in his musings, so he walked to join the lengthening line. It was only seconds before the man ahead of him looked back to see who had joined their queue. The way his face paled would have been comical, though the humor of it failed Michael in the mont; he quickly beca the awkward focus of attention.
A mont later, the n shuffled aside, an obvious invitation for Michael to step past them towards the stew.
It was intensely uncomfortable, and Michael felt the urge to raise his hands, to motion them back into place, to protest that he would wait in line for his share along with the others. He let the impulse pass, listening to the still evening air. There was the old, familiar fear. It was disappointing, but expected; Michael had long-since stopped being troubled by it. He could not even say it was unfounded.
Beneath that sharp note, though, there was more. Uncertainty, tension, and sothing nebulous and bright - hope, perhaps, or expectation. n with a void where so rote sense of patriotism or duty had once lain, now seeking a new direction.
Michael did not want that; it was nearly painful to consider himself usurping the mantle of Michael Baumgart, Heart-Eater, this fictional man that all too many Safid and apparently Ardan soldiers had crafted tales of. It reeked of arrogance, of presumption, of behavior that was all too similar to the example set by his father.
Yet this was what he did not want; the n still stood waiting for him to take his stew first. Michael did not think for a mont that Zabala had any real antagonism towards these soldiers, only a species of paternal exasperation - yet the antagonism was there. The soldiers sought it, expected it, seized upon it like a drowning man clinging to a buoy.
Michael walked down the line with a asured pace, passing the waiting n to stop in front of the stewpot. It slls delicious, he said. Whats in it?
The man with the ladle dropped his gaze. Nothing proper, he said. Just salt pork and potatoes, milord.
Please, its just Michael. Sounds perfect for the weather. Michael held out his bowl, waiting while the man ladled a generous portion. Thank you.
Of course, milord. The man ducked his head again, then raised it fractionally. I dont an to overstep, but so of us - the n, milord, we was talking
Ghars ashes, man, Im no lord - just ask your question! Yes? Michael said, raising an eyebrow.
We was wondering where were headed, the man said, sounding mortified even as the words left his mouth. And, ah, what the pay would be.
Michael looked back down at the man for a long and lingering mont, until the cook flushed and turned aside muttering words that he could not make out. It was a cold and emotionless glare; Michael only realized this after he had delivered it for quite so ti, having been distracted by his utter lack of prepared answers to those questions.
He forced his eyes up and over the n, who were all turned to him in anticipation. Michael forced his breath in, then slowly out.
I probably should explain what were about, shouldnt I? he said. Its quite simple. A man has taken Stellar, the Star of ndian. Im going to find him and reclaim the soul for my own, and I need a company of good n to assist in the search.
Blank stares answered him; one mans mouth hung comically open.
We may be going as far as Saf, Michael said. And the search may take so ti, although I hope to finish it before the years end. As far as pay- He looked over at Sobriquet, who had almost managed to suppress her laughter. I understand that many of you wish to remain in Daressa now that hostilities have concluded. Service buys you residency, as well as enough money to establish yourself comfortably.
Sobriquet made a sour face at that; the n murmured appreciatively.
How much money? one called out from the back.
I have no idea, Im not even sure what the exchange rate is- One thousand livres. Sobriquets eyes flew wide; Michael winced internally. Half paid upon return, half paid after a years uneventful residency. There were so grumbles at that, but Sobriquet nodded grudgingly.
Think it over, Michael said. Any man who doesnt wish to take the job is free to travel with us to the next town and depart freely, with a full pack and no obligations.
More grumblings. One man in the back stepped forward - Michael recognized him as the one who had tried to strike Zabala. You expect us to fight Stellar? he asked.
Michael held eye contact for another long mont, although this answer bore very little thought. Obviously they werent ant to fight Luc, that was Michaels task alone. But they knew Stellar, had seen that souls power, and the fear that whispered through them now was far stronger than it had been before.
The protesting voice within him fell silent. Michaels misgivings, his doubt - it all remained, but it was irrelevant in this mont. It wasnt what these n needed. Michael shifted his sight to look at himself from their view; he saw a man with a serious, calm face, its eyes half-cloaked in shadow. But - just a man.
That will be my fight, he said. And mine alone.
The soldier scoffed, tilting his head back skeptically. You can fight Stellar? he said. By yourself?
Michael lifted his face into the light, looking at the one who had spoken.
But youre more than just a man. You have a soul, which looks to your mind to understand certain truths. Free your mind
Michael let his soul expand out gently, calmly, floating on the evenings light wind. The air stilled, the grass ceased its whispering. Michael watched with a soldiers eyes as the man by the cookpot beca sothing more, sothing with eyes of mirrorlight and a voice of command.
But the voice did not speak; it had done enough of that. Michael closed his eyes, listening instead, letting his sight drift back inwards. His soul followed a mont later, lingering to caress the grass, the stunned soldiers, the quiet apple trees, each with their own secret collection of paths branching out and infinitely forward.
He opened his eyes and grinned at the soldier who had spoken. Well, he said, I suppose well see. Michael nodded at the soldier serving stew, then took a bite from a small, perfectly-ripe apple in his other hand.
It was delicious, as he knew it would be.
Reviews
All reviews (0)