Peculiar Soul

Chapter 111: The Caller

Chapter 111: The Caller

I have never killed a man, the merchant protested. You should not accuse me of such.

The Speaker laughed and spoke to the crowd. Of course you have killed, she said. We all have. Each moment we kill uncounted thousands of men who might have been, men who wear our faces and act in ways contrary to our decisions. We kill them with each choice not made, and each step not taken.

The merchant scowled, and denounced the accusation as sophistry, to which the Speaker laughed again.

I would not speak against you had you killed evil men alone, she said. For you have killed all manner of evil men that would have stepped forth from your path. You should be lauded for this. But likewise have you killed all manner of great men, fearful of where such ambition might lead. You have consigned yourself to mediocrity, pitiful creature.

The Speaker stepped forward, then, and raised her hand against the merchant. The man cowered and begged for mercy, but received only scorn in return.

The need for mercy is your crime, she said. There was a man who deserved it, and another who would not need it, but you murdered them most thoroughly in every day of your wretched life. Do not look to them now for salvation.

- The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Blood. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)

Back at the boulder, they took stock of their loot. The rations were all they really needed; the cheese and meat were a bonus, as were the winter apples. Michael ate one of them, slowly, with his eye on the town.

The old man had apparently reported the theft. The guard at the edge of town had doubled, and its streets seethed like a kicked anthill. There was little increase in activity outside the town, though, and Sobriquet reported no serious attempts to detect their hideout.

Chasing a Fade into the field is not an intelligent use of resources, she had explained smugly. Something they already knew before they met me, although I did my best to reinforce the lesson in Daressa. Most souls dont have the range or discernment to usefully pick out blind spots, and the Fade can move much more nimbly than your search teams. Theyll reinforce the perimeter, keep an extra watch for a few days - or until the Ardans attack, whichever comes first.

Michael took another bite of the apple and watched as the Safid did precisely that. The patrols had increased to four men apiece, usually accompanied by one man who went about unveiled - an ensouled escort, Michael figured, though he could not tell what sort of soul they had. They circled around tirelessly as he crunched through the apple, then as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

He had expected the introduction of ensouled to result in a farce of bows and scurrying, given the reaction the people had to mere soldiers before, but the villagers proved more adaptable than he expected: they kept to the inside of town, only approaching the patrolled outskirts when their destination lay close by. When the odd patrol chanced to go through the town, people were elsewhere. The genuflection dwindled to almost nothing, because the two groups crossed paths only when there was no other option.

It seemed almost elegant in a way, like a dance, but Michael knew that it was anything but carefree. The echo of the old mans fear resonated in him still. He was well aware of how a fear could be all you thought about, dominating so much of your mind that you scarcely had room for anything else. The minutiae of daily life squeezed themselves into the remaining space, though, and you gradually forgot about it - got used to a small, cramped existence, huddled into the center of town for fear of what some streets held.

The stars came out, and the village slept. So did Michaels men, but Michael had no need to sleep. He found himself another apple and ate it in the dark, watching the quiet cluster of buildings in the distance.

There had been no commotion from the mountain pass that he could see. Light still burned from the troops encamped there, with none of the disorganization or chaos he would expect if the Ardans made their attack. Quiet held through the morning, when the others roused themselves.

Morning, Sobriquet yawned, stretching. I assume we didnt miss anything interesting.

Michael nodded, giving her a wry smile. The guards have gone around their loop 61 times since night fell, he said. Two shift changes. I expect this current patrol is due to come off duty soon, now that its light out.

We need to find you better hobbies, Sobriquet muttered, grabbing one of the dry sausages and biting a chunk off, not bothering with a knife. Mmph. And we could use some more water. Salty.

That can be todays project. Michael turned away from the village; after so long studying it he felt momentarily disoriented turning back to the boulders. I think I saw a stream slightly north of here. We can fill the canteens we lifted from the temple. At the mention of the temple, he found his eyes drawn back to the squat white building. He wondered if the old man was still in there, sweeping the floor, or if their intrusion had driven him away.

Sobriquet noticed his disquiet. You know, she said, I figured you were watching the town out of boredom at first, since the boulders are thin on recreation. She walked around until she was between him and the town. But its not just that, is it? Youre troubled about something.

Michael looked down at her. I wouldnt say troubled, he muttered. Or perhaps that is right. It was one thing seeing soldiers bowing to us - not comfortable, but youre used to soldiers saluting and marching around, all sorts of odd military things. That man, though - he felt fear.

Of course he did, Sobriquet snorted. He was being robbed by invisible brigands, its a fearful situation.

It wasnt that sort of fear. Michael rubbed at his jaw, trying to sort through words. Ive felt a lot of fear, since I let myself listen to Spark. Everyone has it. Theres fear of death, fear of the unknown, fear of self, fear for others. Theres the fear people feel when they meet me, and the greater fear after they learn who I am. What I am. He looked at Sobriquet. Theres your fear of me.

She gave him an indignant look. Im not afraid of you, she said.

You choose not to listen to it; that doesnt mean the fear goes away. He raised his hands placatingly. Ive learned not to dwell on it. Everyone carries some fear. I prefer to focus on your other feelings, as do you. He flushed, then looked back towards the town. But that mans fear wasnt like that. It was like mine.

Sobriquet narrowed her eyes, but did not speak.

Do you know, when I went to Sofias house for dinner, when they told me that they wanted to take me from my father - I shouted at them. I was angry that theyd presume to criticize my father, to pass judgment on his treatment of me. He laughed darkly. This despite Sofias perspective, and Isoldes glimpse of exactly what he had done to me. Ghars blood, he had killed me that very week and only spoke of it to say he was sorry he hadnt done it sooner. Yet I defended him - I was angry. I was ready to storm out of there and never speak to them again.

Because you were afraid of him? Sobriquet asked.

Michael shook his head. Thats the trick. I should have been afraid of him, and on some level I was - still am. But in that moment, when I had a path clear of him, I was afraid of everything else. When its all you know- He paused. That man didnt fear that wed harm him. He feared his own ability to act. For one moment in his life, he glimpsed something strange, something outside of the cage he knows, and all that occupied his mind was the fear that he might misstep and come to deserve punishment.

Thats twisted, Sobriquet observed, making a sour face. She stared out over the town, following his gaze, then looked back to Michael. But you did leave, in the end.

Because Sofia gave me a new perspective. Michael shrugged. She showed me that it was never about me. I never earned my misery, because my father never cared about anyone but himself. Its why Im still grateful to her, despite everything. Without that, I would have crawled back and been abducted by Spark without ever meeting Jeorg. Id have been his creature entirely. He nodded towards the village. In a way, theyre worse off than I ever was. The cage that holds them is stronger and better-crafted than the one my father made for me. He frowned. Its even arguable that theyre better-off inside it, save that its still a cage. Its comfortable, and the world outside is decidedly not.

She nodded towards the distant pass. The cage wont save them when Luc leads his men through, she said. Theyre missing the same truth that you needed to see: that nobody cares if they live or die.

Well see, Michael said. Despite everything, the Safid can be pragmatic when the situation calls for it - and their soldiers are still men. He followed her gaze. Not like the ones that are coming.

Michael shook his head and looked back at the front. The Ardans had pressed forward another handful of paces, and the Safid lines were already showing gaps. This isnt going to last long, he said.

Agreed. We should make our way back towards the real fortifications in the fourth line, Sobriquet said. I dont particularly want to stay and watch whats about to happen.

Michael pressed his lips together. The Ardans had advanced most of the way across the field, now a macabre trenchwork of bodies and blood. It was likely a thousand men had died to take this village, but he had seen tens of thousands at the beachhead; these were the men who were injured and diseased already, made to stagger forward even so. The soldiers who used their bodies as cover were healthier, stronger. They moved with speed, and sighted accurately.

Even if they tried to retreat now, Michael doubted that most of the Safid would be able to. The weakening gunfire was the only thing keeping the Ardans from crashing over the village like a wave. The scalptor nearest him dropped, blood dribbling from a head wound. A boy no older than fifteen stepped into his place, clutching an overlarge rifle; he was shot in the chest before he had fired twice.

And still the children at the temple sang to the Flame and the Shield. There were some on the periphery who were caught in confusion, picking up on the nervous energy from the adults, the noise of screaming and gunfire from a few streets away. They strayed from the song, running into the temple or grasping the robe of an elder in mute incomprehension.

One young boy wandered towards a banner on the far side of the circle and tilted his face up to look at the faded tree painted there. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

The sight was like a knife in Michaels gut.

Sera, he rasped. Lead the men back towards the fourth line.

There was a pause before she responded. Michael, she said warningly, the way you phrased that makes it sound like youre not coming with us.

Im going to stall the Ardan advance, he said.

You are not going to stall the Ardan advance! Sobriquet shot back. Were supposed to be avoiding notice, remember? What youre proposing sounds pretty fucking noticeable.

Well figure it out. The Safid can be reasoned with, Michael said, rising to his feet.

Not easily! Sobriquets voice came from his other side; Michael looked over to see her standing there, breathing hard. There is no fucking reason to go down there and intervene on behalf of people who clearly dont care if they live or die.

Michael managed a bitter smile. Only an informed choice is a choice. I didnt want to die, and neither do they. They just cant see another path forward. Theyre calling back to the people who put them here and asking to be saved; its not their fault that Saleh and Amira arent listening.

Sobriquet gave him an exasperated look. Theyre not asking you.

That one is. He pointed to the lone child staring up at the tree banner. Asking for the Caller. The one who always tries, who always stands first. He turned back to Sobriquet. I am listening. And Im going to give them what they need.

She looked at him for a long moment. None of this means a thing if we lose our chance at Luc, she said.

It wasnt like our first plan was that incredible, Michael said, bending down to kiss her. While their lips touched he was awash in her feeling, the frustration and fear twisting around brighter things in a coruscating mess. He pulled back with a grin. I love you too. Keep the rest out of trouble.

He turned and ran down the gentle slope towards the town, moving as fast as his legs would take him. At the start of the fortifications he leapt in a great arc, sailing up into the darkness and landing closer to the center of the villages battle line. The shock of his impact sent up a cloud of dust that glimmered in the wan light cast by a remaining lucigens.

Some eyes turned towards him on both sides, and gunfire found him. He straightened up amid a few ineffectual shots, looking down the line. The far end was crumbling, the few surviving soldiers running back towards the dubious safety of the village.

Those still on the Safid line watched him with growing alarm, calling for the remaining ensouled to focus their attention on him. Michael frowned; he had not intended to launch himself into the fray to fight both sides. It had been some time since he read the Book of Eight Verses, but he dredged through those memories, searching for the words to address both of his problems at once.

He cleared his throat.

Ardan soldiers! he shouted, calling Stanza to his voice until it reverberated across the line; half the Safid soldiers ducked behind their barricades in reflex, the rest simply stared. Michael did his best to ignore them, instead reaching beneath him to grasp the heat bound within the rocky soil. Puppets, stay your strings. Let my light be all that draws your eye.

He had never put his lucigens soul through its paces, before, but now he drew upon it in earnest - on whatever amalgam of soul he had made of it. Light burst from his skin, casting sharp shadows in the field. The Ardans stared, their eyes fixed on him. The noise of guns stopped, save for a few opportunistic Safid farther down that continued to lay into the transfixed mob.

Michael grit his teeth and reached for Spark, grabbing the line of attention he had drawn and fixing it, reinforcing it until they could look nowhere else. Blinded, openmouthed, they began to stream towards him. He forced himself to take an even breath, and shaped it to words that would resonate in Safid ears and Ardan bodies.

I am He Who Speaks The Names Of Things.

It is my will that you shall burn and die.

He ignored the shocked outcry from behind him, letting his low souls flare bright. His world was aglow with Stanza, with Spark, with the flow of warmth that coursed inward, leaving the grass sheathed in ice and sending misty streamers cascading down through the air-

The light went out. Shuddering heat rippled out along the lines his mind had drawn, the air glowing briefly red-white in raw, broken fractals before bursting with hot wind. There was a horrid squeal of steam as several hundred men boiled from the inside. A vile, turbulent fog cloaked the field.

Then there was a soft, low chorus of bodies collapsing to the grass, of rifles clattering and worn leather creaking in protest.

Then quiet.

Michael let his hands drop to his sides, breathing hard despite the offensive taste of the air, and turned to face the Safid. They stared at him, caught in indecision; whatever preparations they had laid held no contingency for something like this. Their emotions wavered between fear and awe, violence and joy. He waited for one of the Safid to protest, to cry that this was the Heart-Eater, or that it was some Ardan ploy - but only for a moment. There was another eye watching from behind him, after all.

You have a short window before they bring their artillery to bear, Michael said, stepping into the space he had made. Evacuate the village. Take everyone back to the next line. Any ensouled, form a rear guard on me. His eyes found one man with a badge of rank, and no veil on his cap.

Michael locked eyes with him. You - with me. I need to talk with whoever is in charge back there.

The officer swallowed hard, his mind clearly racing at dangerous speeds; in the end, habit won out. He lifted a trembling hand to his lips, then his brow, lowering his eyes; the men around him quickly followed suit, clutching at veils or raising a hand to obscure their faces - then jumping to carry out his orders.

As you command, Great Caller, the officer rasped. I will take you to the Shield.