Peculiar Soul

Chapter 73: Kill Them All

Chapter 73: Kill Them All

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 calmed 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 men share a fate, he said, in that they die for a cause. Some to provide shelter and security, others for comfort and sustenance. Others still for no obvious meaning, 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)

Michael opened his eyes to darkness. It was not the inky totality of the void, nor was it the suffocating blanket of an Embers soul. It was a comfortable, close darkness, broken only by the quiet flickering of a candle. In the dim light his eyes saw wood stained by pipe smoke and the slow attention of years.

It was Jeorgs cabin, though there had never been a room such as this within its walls. Michael was not sure that he was in a room at all, for the details of his surroundings seemed to blur and twist in the half-light. It was too big by half, insubstantial and fluid.

The only fixed point was the candle, which burned with a chill radiance that Michael knew all too well. He stared at it for uncounted moments, watching the subtle twists of the flame lash out against the shadows.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

You seem surprised, Jeorg said.

Michael pulled his gaze away from the candle; the old man sat in a chair against the wall, his face visible in the flaring light from his pipe as he drew a breath.

I suppose I am. Michael sat up in bed, facing Jeorg. For - a few reasons. He began to say more, but stopped as his mind began to retrace the horrid details of the day. He saw Lucs tear-streaked face, his hand reaching down to touch Leire on her cheek, heard the quiet gasp of her death. Ghars ashes. It doesnt seem real.

Easy to confuse real with normal, Jeorg grunted. But reality seldom cares about that. Only the unreal bends to your preference. He nodded to the fluid walls of the cabin - then chuckled, shaking his head. At least for now.

The scene of Leires death hung before Michaels eyes still, so clear that it seemed she was in the room with them, lying on the dark floor - a conspicuous absence looming over her where her murderer had stood. I just dont understand, Michael said.

Thats not new, Jeorg snorted. Plenty you dont understand. This, you dont want to understand.

Michael frowned. I dont think thats true, he said. I do want to, I just- He paused, then shook his head. I thought I knew Luc. I thought he was my friend, even if we had our differences. Now I find that I didnt know him at all.

Jeorg raised an eyebrow, taking a long draw on his pipe. Differences, he said. An understatement. He feared you would break the world, and him along with it.

Hes always feared souls, Michael protested. I thought he was coming to terms with his fear. Using his soul for good.

There was a pause; Jeorg began to laugh. The force of it bent him forward in his chair, and when he rose back upright his eyes were twinkling with tears. And hes come to see it your way, he chuckled. Pushing past his fear and doing what he thought was right.

Youre saying this was my fault? Michael scowled - first in irritation, then in troubled contemplation. Am I saying this is my fault?

Every man acts on their own, Jeorg said, still chuckling. And no man acts in isolation. Its hubris to take all the responsibility, but folly to deny that you influenced his path. Youve felt it more keenly each day; your actions ripple outwards, touching lives in ways you cannot predict - or control.

Michael nodded slowly, swinging his legs to the side of the bed to sit fully upright. He did not speak for a long moment. When he raised his head, Jeorgs smile had faded.

He could have told me about Gerards soul, Michael muttered. Of everyone in the world, I would have understood.

Jeorg drew on his pipe. And yet here you sit, complaining that you do not understand.

I sincerely hope that Im not this effective at irritating others, Michael sighed. I know why he kept it secret; I tried to do the same. But to kill Leire- His eyes strayed to the lone candle, still broadcasting its chill light. Its her, isnt it?

Though shadowed, Jeorgs eyes glittered with reflected light. It is, he said.

How? Michael asked. Her soul passed to Luc.

He got what he took, Jeorg grunted. Did you ever tell him there was something more?

Michael blinked, thinking back on their conversations. I dont know that I ever did, he admitted. But it still strikes me as odd, to think that the two pieces could split - or that she would find me at all. Based on our last conversation I thought- He looked at the candle again. I thought Id have to destroy her.

A smile crossed Jeorgs lips; he rose and walked to stand beside the candle. So did she, he said. Age makes us inflexible. Closes off options. But each of us can change. He nodded to Michael. You convinced Jeorg to step outside his narrow world, before the end. Let him find something he had thought lost.

I could never convince Leire of anything, Michael muttered.

Jeorg smiled, then stood to pick up the candle; the flame swayed with the airs gentle currents, flaring brightly against the shadow. Its light showed more of the mercurial room - a darkened window, bedposts, and a low wardrobe. Atop the wardrobe stood two tiny figurines, modeled after dancers in Mendiko dress. The candles shifting shadows caressed the dancers, lending them an aspect of sinuous motion.

We never convince anyone of anything, Jeorg said. Only offer another view. The change must come from within. From without - the change becomes violence. His smile faded. Remember that, when you see Luc again.

Michael raised his eyebrow. You seem sure that well meet.

Jeorg regained a portion of his smile, then shook his head. You heard him, he said. There is nowhere so distant that your paths wont cross. If there was, hed be there. Jeorg looked at Michael, his eyes glinting with reflected candlelight. But he wants balance, and that means two weights on the scale.

He placed the candle upon the wardrobe. The shadows behind the figurines deepened, the space between them lost in darkness; to Michaels eyes, they seemed to step forward into an embrace.

Jeorg smiled, turned-

Michaels eyes slid open. His heart was pounding, clothes drenched with sweat under a thin sheet. He recognized the cramped metal construction of the airship, the antiseptic smell of the medical bay; he let his sight drift up, not much cherishing the thought of actually moving at this early juncture.

A small chill bloomed in Michaels stomach: everyone in this room had been poised to attack him at Antolins word. It spread further still as he felt the palpable relief from the officers. It was not the happiness of men who had cleared a colleague of wrongdoing, or who had avoided a scuffle. They had all been prepared to fight him on Antolins command.

To a man, they had expected to die in the attempt.

Michael avoided examining all the ways in which that revelation made him uncomfortable, instead turning his attention back to Antolin. Any other questions? he asked. Dont ask me how its possible, because I dont know.

Do you know why? Antolin asked. There was a fracture in the mans voice, slight but unmistakable.

After a moment, Michael licked his lips. Not really, he said. I know he was angry at me for using my soul, and at Leire for pushing me onward. He told me that I would destroy the world if Stellar came to me.

Antolin grunted. So he means to keep it from you?

That, yes - but I dont think hell hide it away. He wants to prevent conflict, specifically the sort of conflict that resulted in tragedy for Imes. Michael shook his head. Whether that means going after the Safid or us, I couldnt say.

The grand marshal seemed to be aging with each passing moment, whatever fire kept him upright dimming. He turned to Sobriquet. How is your sight?

She made a face. Still cluttered, she said. It had been growing worse for days, but I didnt notice - I thought it was residual chaos from the attack on Imes. What Luc did introduced - disorder into the world. I can still see, but fine detail escapes me.

Antolin nodded wearily. Its not unprecedented. Your account matches what Ive heard elsewhere - and my own experience. Auspices are the worst-off, theyre nearly useless. Most cant see to the end of the day anymore; even our best in the capital dont claim more than a months sight, and what they see is - eromena. Madness. Chaos, as you said. He rubbed at his eyes. At least we still have spectors. Im trying to steal as many as I can from civilian intelligence, but I doubt well get more support from home anytime soon. The Batzar has lost their will to fight.

Michael blinked. What does that mean for us? he asked.

In the short term, nothing, Antolin replied. But if we should falter in our advance, if the Safid delay and bleed us as they mean to, I expect that the Batzar will declare itself content with liberating Imes and seek to end the conflict. There is a significant faction that holds our duty to find and contain the Star of Mendian as paramount over all other tasks.

That would doom Daressa, Michael protested. Surely they have to know that. The Safid would regroup and roll back over the country within a year, this time without Ardalt to oppose them.

Antolin gave a short, bitter laugh. Oh, they know, he said. But they dont care. Leires authority was the only reason we were given leave to begin this operation, and even while she still lived there were those in the opposition who sought to undo it; now that she is - gone He paused, his jaw working soundlessly for a few beats.

Now that she is gone, he continued, the Batzar will look for any opportunity to reclaim peace, and will not be swayed otherwise until the Star is safely back within Mendians grasp.

Michael exchanged a glance with Sobriquet; her face showed only glimpses of the worry and strain that Antolins words had provoked within her. How do we convince them to continue fighting? he asked.

We win, Antolin replied. Cowards they might be, but the batzarkideak at least recognize the utility of beating back the Safid; if we give them no reason to doubt our efficacy they will likely raise no objection to our continued operations within Daressa. He scratched at his chin. In the long term, though, we must obtain the Star of Mendian. The people expect this duty from the Batzar above all others, and opinion will turn against them if they do not pursue it.

It seems as though the two tasks are aligned, Michael pointed out. We cant very well seek to capture Luc without a presence on the continent.

Antolin turned to him, mild incredulity on his face warring with a dark, bitter spite. Capture? the grand marshal asked. We will not capture him. All Mendiko forces will be instructed to kill him at any cost. The soul will pass to you, as it was meant to.

There was nothing Michael could say to those words; his inclination was to protest that Luc should be captured, but there was no reason for it aside from sentiment. Whatever he had been, Luc was now a murderer, a demonstrably unstable one with one of the most powerful souls extant.

Luc was beyond saving.

Michael examined the thought as it intruded unbidden into his mind. After another moment, he reluctantly acknowledged its truth. He did not want it to be so; he knew Luc acted from fear, that he bore Michael no particular malice. He was reasonably certain that Luc still considered himself Michaels ally, in fact.

But good intentions did not excuse the direction Lucs path had taken. He had killed, and the nature of the soul he had stolen ensured that he would kill again. The responsibility lies with the will who could have prevented the harm.

Youre right, Michael said. Of course. Im sorry, I just- He shook his head, looking out towards the window. Yesterday he was my friend.

Yesterday, Leire was mine, Antolin replied, looking stonily up at Michael. I understand that you held compassion for the boy. It was admirable. Now it is something else. Think what you will, but I would not voice such thoughts aloud. There are already those who whisper that you had a hand in Leires death. Those whispers will echo all the louder if you voice sympathy for her murderer.

There was a chilling certainty to his words; Michael felt giddy nausea as the alternate perspective he offered finally clicked in his head. Leire was dead shortly after her very public falling-out with Michael, who was alone with his friend in her room when she was killed.

It was not mere caution that had led Antolins entire staff to the brink of violence with him; by any reasonable estimation Michael looked incredibly guilty. He paled, looking out the window - then turned back to Antolin.

Id welcome your advice, Michael said.

The grand marshal met his eyes. I value restraint, he said. I feel that the mark of a civilized nation lies in its ability to solve problems within the laws bounds, using violence only when there is no other option. He pressed his lips together. And I see no path forward other than the application of violence. We must quickly and efficiently deal with the threats before us, or we will find ourselves at their mercy. Saleh Taskin and Amira Ghabbas must die. Luc must die.

He held Michaels gaze for a moment longer, then turned to look forward from the airship. So my advice, Michael, is to kill them all.

The ripple of leashed pain and anger that emanated from Antolin nearly staggered Michael with its ferocity; he blinked and shook his head to clear it. After a moment he turned to Sobriquet. She was already looking at him, her face grim; she nodded.

Michael licked his lips. I told Luc once that not all conflict was evil, he murmured. That sometimes it was necessary. It seems I was right. He looked at Antolin, then extended his hand.

The grand marshal looked at it for a long moment, then clasped it with his own. Michael shook it once - then tightened his grasp, letting Leires flame rise to cold prominence within his chest.

Antolins eyes widened - then closed, moisture beading at their corners. Michael released his hand and took a step back. The bridge quieted; more than one officer paused to look at the grand marshal as he swayed on his feet, sucking in a long, shuddering breath. The moment passed as quickly as it had arrived, his eyes reopening with a sharp clarity.

I had not hoped for - reconciliation, Antolin rasped. Nor, I think, had she.

Nor had I, Michael sighed. But here we are. You should rest, Antolin.

So I should. He gestured to one of his officers, who gave him a sharp salute; the mans eyes turned to Michael next with no small amount of gratitude, and a small nod of acknowledgment. Michael watched as Antolin turned without further comment and walked off the bridge, his officers parting to salute as he passed.

A sudden wave of exhaustion crept over Michael as he watched the grand marshal leave. I should rest, he muttered.

We all should, before Agnec, Sobriquet said, threading her fingers through Michaels own and squeezing. Well need it.

Michael had no reply. He turned towards the window, watching the Daressan countryside slide past in its inexorable, inevitable march.