Peculiar Soul

Chapter 31: Process and Possibility

Chapter 31: Process and Possibility

I am often accused of fomenting hatred. I will not deny that such a hatred exists; the long and painful subjugation of Saf by Ghar has left wounds upon my people that do not easily heal. But these are people within the whole, carrying their individual burdens.

We already know from our long experience under Ghars boot that a mans individual good, evil or indifference is of little import when he serves hateful masters. However kind a slavemonger may be, a constable, a taxman - his own acts of tolerance and charity mean little when committed within a framework of oppression.

Is it so strange, then, to see acts of individual hatred within the good as well? The Book teaches that we are all of one soul, split and split until we have forgotten the face of our brother; our laws punish injustice as a crime against kin. Yet there is no law that enjoins a man to act with charity, kindness and compassion.

The lack of such qualities is a crime against the self, which we do not forbid lest all men find themselves wanting. I cannot demand that a man be perfect. My recourse is to strive that the inevitable hatred be confined to the coals of our forge, and does not stain the work we hand down to posterity.

- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687

Friedrich walked slowly into the room. His soul hung tight and focused around him, a gentle promise of oblivion. He turned his head to take in Vera and Isolde, the trace fractal patterns marring the stone floor and the bloodspots from Isoldes arm. Vera was still breathing hard, eyes wide with animal panic.

Whats your name, boy? Friedrich asked. You scored a blow on me, even if it was an underhanded one. That merits more than a nameless death.

Michael didnt respond, looking past Friedrich to the doorway. The daylight silhouetted a crowd of figures outside, men in Ardan uniforms. The dim rumble of anticipation, fear and excitement from the soldiers surrounded Michael entirely; a counterpoint to the shrill fear still rolling from Isolde and Vera in waves.

Friedrich, however, was a beacon of calm amid the tumult. He stood quietly while Michael sent his sight above the buildings low roof, confirming what he suspected: the soldiers had the building completely encircled. It was good that Sobriquet had hurried the others out rather than waiting. Michael returned his sight to its natural vantage, meeting Friedrichs eyes.

Michael, he said. Lord Baumgart.

Baumgart, Friedrich murmured, lifting an eyebrow. Karls son? I do see a bit of him in your face. Tell me, Michael - do you think your fathers name will stay my hand?

His eyes were inhumanly still, focused on Michael. It was not a predators intent gaze, nor the eager anticipation of a killer. The eyes belonged to a bookkeeper, one determined to identify the source of an error before he corrected it and returned the ledger to balance once more. As soon as there were no more questions to ask, Michael would die.

There was more than just Vera and Isoldes fear humming in Michaels soul. He licked his lips and resisted the urge to look away. There was nothing to look at, only the bare stone of the room and its meager furniture. Nothing for Stanza to work with. Spark sat in his mind, tempting him, but Michael hesitated; he had never consciously tried to direct that part of his soul in such a manner, and Friedrich would not give him a second chance if he failed.

Michael sensed the stirrings of impatience from Friedrich and pulled his thoughts back to reality. No, he said, still watching for an opening. I dont believe anyone here accords much merit to his opinion.

Friedrich gave an amused grunt. Good, he said. Dignity is rare. There was a beat of silence. Severs soul rippled once. Michael saw the edge form in the bright traces of mirror-light before it parted the air between them, a vertical division in the world. He let Stanza guide his feet, his thoughts of an attack falling away in a burst of blind panic; Michael stepped to the side and felt a chill against his arm.

A ribbon of cloth drifted down from his sleeve, shorn neatly free. Dust trailed from a paper-thin score in the wall behind him; outside, a soldier began to wail in pain. He heard the tromp of boots as the men surrounding them backed hurriedly away from their building.

Friedrichs eyes flicked to the cloth as it fell, his eyes narrowing - and another ethereal blade ripped the air behind him to intercept Sobriquets form as it materialized, hand outstretched. There was a scream, shrill and buzzing; Sobriquet vanished.

Michael felt a sudden spike of adrenaline, his heart pounding faster still. He stared disbelieving at the empty air where Sobriquet had disappeared. The room loomed frozen around him, his thoughts coming scattered, fragmented.

Friedrich snorted. Surprise is a tactic that spoils quickly, he said. Unimaginative. His eyes remained on Michael, unblinking, his soul flexing once more.

The traces of mirror-light highlighted the path of his attack in the instant before it hit; once again, Michael spun barely out of the way. Pain lanced through his shoulder. Cloth fell to the ground once more, a sliver of bloody skin coming with it. He made a strangled noise and gripped the sliced flesh.

A look of disappointment came over Friedrichs face, and Michael saw his soul gather for a killing strike, the path horizontal across his stomach. The cat had tired of its mouse. Desperate, Michael tried to still his turbulent thoughts and call to Stanza, Spark, any scrap of his soul that could forestall the blade. The pain struck at his focus with electric frenzy. Michael felt himself a child once more, cowering before his father and cradling his wounds.

The image lanced into his mind with sudden clarity. He had watched his fathers soul for as long as he could remember, watched it for the eddies and currents that heralded whisper-quiet blades lashing out to rake over his skin. He knew it, he understood the destructive force that had ruled over his childhood.

The mirror-light tracing the path of Friedrichs oncoming attack glimmered, flexed-

Everything went dark. The air turned hot and stifling, a furnace-blast that washed over Michaels face. Stop! Vincents voice called from outside. Kolbe, stand down!

Luminous edges faded away as the attack failed to materialize; when light returned to the room Sofia and Vincent were there. Vincent glared up at Friedrich; he looked back disinterestedly.

I do not take orders from you, he said mildly. But I will consider a request, out of courtesy. Tell me why I should not kill the man who attacked me.

We have questions for him, Vincent said, turning his eyes at last to look at Michael. His face was harder than it had been when they had last met, with none of its easygoing humor. Questions it would be difficult to ask a dead man.

Friedrich nodded towards Isolde and Vera, still sitting on the bloody floor. Sibyl seems to have encountered difficulties even so, he noted. And his soul-

A misunderstanding, Vera said, shakily rising to her feet. Sofia moved to support her, taking her arm gently. Vera smiled at her, an expression that did not survive as her face turned toward Friedrich. One that weve resolved. He is not our enemy - isnt that right, Michael?

Michael shook his head, taking Veras cue - though when he spoke, he spoke directly to Sofia. Im not, he said.

Sofia stared back at him inscrutably, her eyes for once boring directly into his own. For all that verifices were inconvenient when he was attempting subterfuge, Sofias ability to see his sincerity was a massive boon; she squeezed Veras hand.

You see? Vera said. Theres no need for violence.

Friedrichs face remained still. And if I disagree?

Then were going to have a disagreement, Vincent said. This is Sibyls camp, not Severs. You can do as you please under your own roof. This man is under ours.

Friedrich stared down at Vincent for a long moment, and Michael watched the minute shifts in his soul with dread; if he decided to ignore Vincent there would be little anyone in the room could do to stop him.

Michael quashed his hesitation and drew up Sparks soul within him, trying to duplicate what he had felt when it had lashed out of its own accord. If he could break Friedrichs concentration, at least-

Then I will leave, Friedrich said. He kept his gaze on Vincent a moment, then slowly turned his head to look at Michael. His eyes were cold, impassive. Until we meet again.

He turned and left. The light in the room dimmed as he filled the doorway - and brightened as he left. Vincent was the first to move, turning to walk to Isolde. She grabbed his hand and rose to her feet, embracing him - and then he pulled away, tracing his fingers over the blood smeared on her arm.

Vincents eyes narrowed, and he turned to glower at Michael. You did this? he asked, his voice dangerously flat.

Michael clenched his jaw, reflexively opposed to the idea. The Institute-

The Institute isnt what it was, Isolde said. We know Spark is dead. They still havent admitted it publicly, but we took a boat close to look for you some days after Sofia felt Jeorg die. Based on what Sofia saw we had assumed that his pet anatomens killed him and then was carved up by the prisoners - but knowing that youre Stanza

Michael bit his lip, then nodded. I killed him, he said. He didnt leave me much of a choice.

There was another flash of emotion from the group, sharp and vengeful; Michael closed his eyes until it passed. When he opened his eyes again more than a few of theirs bore tears.

Did he hurt? Vincent rasped. Tell me he hurt, at the end.

It wasnt - clean, Michael said, trying not to let his thoughts dwell on that cramped room, Sparks smiling face masked with blood. I used Stanza. Ive never trained as an anatomens, so-

Isolde shuddered, and Michael stopped talking.

What matters is that hes gone, Sofia said. The Institute might rally given time, but we can deny them that.

If you come back and declare as Stanza theyll crumble, Vincent said. Nobodys forgotten what happened to Jeorg, even if they dont talk about it in company. If a new Stanza speaks against the Institute they would have to answer, but without Spark they have no means to do so.

Michael said nothing for a moment, his thoughts swirling. It would be wrong to say hed given up hope of ever returning to Ardalt; his distance from his homeland had not weighed on him much. Ardalt was his fathers domain, where he had power and authority. To come back and stand against him as an equal, though - it had an appeal. He had come this far on defiance of his fathers aims, and that line appeared ready to naturally curve back to Ardalt.

He found that he did not particularly care about the power struggle in Ardalt, however. Last year he would have found the concept of sparring with the Institute for control of the Assembly implausibly thrilling; after his time in Daressa the notion was merely abstract, too removed from the reality of the War to merit attention.

What did he want? There was nobody left to ask it of him. Whatever he chose, there was only one place his next steps could lead him. Clair and the others would be unable to find Sobriquets true location without its guidance. Given its propensity for stealth, he doubted anyone but Sibyl could.

There really was no choice at all.

Ill go, Michael said. But Sobriquet isnt to be treated as an enemy. He let his gaze linger on Isolde until she flushed again and looked away. Vincent stepped between them, scowling.

What, then, if not an enemy? he asked. I appreciate your idealism, Michael, I really do - but were in the War. The partisans have been a thorn in our side for years now, and if Sobriquet has been a friend to you then youre quite the exception from their standard.

Sobriquet is a friend with which you have significant disagreements, Michael said firmly. Its the same category Im in, if youre looking for a precedent. Thats my condition if you want my help here or in Ardalt.

Vera smiled and squeezed Sofias hand. Michael blinked; Sofia used Vera to help read tone and expression in others. He wondered what she saw of him, filtered through Veras newly-changed eyes, her perspective of Michael not merely as a wayward acquaintance who had stumbled into terrible power, but as the man who she believed had remade her to spare her life. It occurred to him in a terrible flash of insight that the impact of Sparks soul might stretch far beyond what he had intended.

Dont worry, Sofia said. Well keep you both safe.

He nodded slowly, her words not as comforting as he had expected them to be. Michael hesitated once more, then pushed his disquiet to the side. Then lets go find our friend, he said.

They set out on horses, which revealed Michael as a competent but somewhat rusty rider; he had been tutored in it years ago and spent the subsequent time traveling exclusively by carriage. It was yet another skill that was expected of an Assemblymans son, and so Michael had learned.

He found it a more enjoyable experience than he remembered, not least because he found that he could sense the dim emotions of the horse beneath him. It was unlike what he felt from humans, but the animals displeasure at being mounted was unmistakable.

Dont worry, he murmured. Im a friend, albeit one with whom you have significant disagreements. It seems to be my lot in life.

The horse whickered and kept trotting forward, its attitude unchanged.

Vincent spurred his horse forward to ride beside Michael, a happy grin on his face now that they were out of the camps confines. So what did you do to poor old Kolbe? he asked. Unusual for him to sight in on someone like he did with you.

I hit him with a stack of lumber, more or less, Michael said, drawing a surprised bark of laughter from Vincent. It only worked because I caught him by surprise.

Oh, you poor man, Vincent chuckled. Keep an eye out for that one. Hes infamous for his grudges, and probably only let you go willingly because he thinks youll be better sport when he comes back to kill you later. It wasnt my request that stayed his hand, Ill tell you that much.

Michael smiled back at him. You did keep him from chopping me in two, so thanks for that. He sighed and leaned forward to scratch his horse behind the ears. I hope for my own sake that Im better sport in the future. If he was actually trying to kill me I wouldnt have stood a chance.

I believe youll surprise him, Vera said, riding up on Michaels other side with a sunny smile. He looked at her in mild surprise; her demeanor towards him had not been what he had expected in the wake of their confrontation. It wasnt as though Vera had been anything but lovely to him before, save for that one unfortunate moment in the camp - but there was a knowing aspect to her smile now, an extra intensity to her eyes. He would have ascribed it to hatred were it so obviously not - he would feel it, in her position.

He could intuit why it was a bad idea to disclose Spark to the others, but not why she had warned him of it. Not why she still came to his defense when Vincent and Isolde grew quarrelsome. Not why she was almost certainly skewing Sofias perception of Michael when they spoke - and he could not ask her about any of it without Sofia hearing. She and Isolde rode far ahead, talking in low voices, but this distance was no barrier to her sight.

Vera could feel his disquiet, though. He met her eyes. Why? he asked, burying a dozen questions in the word.

She smiled. Hes never met you, she said. Not really.

Michael blinked; there were no answers to be had in Veras response. Ive met me, he grumbled. Id be surprised if I won.

Have you really? Vera asked, spurring her horse forward. I wonder. Dont focus too much on whats in front of you.

Michael stared after her, feeling much less confident in his mastery of Spark than he had seconds before. Was this his doing? He managed to avoid startling too much as Vincent leaned in from the side with a knowing grin.

Vera, eh? he murmured. Word of warning, she snores.

I dont - um, Michael said. I dont think its like that. I nearly killed her today.

How do you think I met Isolde? Vincent asked. Took me a week to recover from what she did to me, and only some of that was the blood loss. He laughed and punched Michael in the shoulder. Im glad youre back around. Keeps things interesting.

Michael nodded absently, rubbing at his shoulder. He felt tired, as if it had been weeks since he awoke that morning. All of it was too distant - Friedrich, Ardalt, his father, they were all unreal, specters hovering in the middle distance of his mind. Even Sofia and her friends were an oddity, meshing poorly with his remembrance from that dinner so long ago.

He sighed and leaned back in his saddle, every jarring step of the horse bringing them one step closer to Sobriquet.