Peculiar Soul

Chapter 115: Perfection from Emptiness

Chapter 115: Perfection from Emptiness

Of these four, Life stood apart. Truth is eternal once stated, while Form and Light do not endure. Only Life falls between them, as befits its nature. Yet there is no mooring in the space between. Life guides itself to an end.

Some paths would see Life guide itself in the path of Form and Light, its eldest brothers. Ephemeral, as the substance of the world, Life shall appear and vanish.

Some paths would see Life guide itself in the path of the middle brother, Truth. Ascending to perfection, Life would abandon change and become eternal.

And Life may yet create a new path, that of the youngest brother. A path of change, neither ephemeral nor eternal.

The world is unwritten. There is Truth in anything that may yet be. Man belongs to Life, but may yet attain the virtues he was not born to. Man may discover new virtues where none lay before. Such is the power of the divine within us, that we may winnow the paths before us unto the perfection sought by the first soul.

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

Concussions rent the air, whip-cracks of noise accompanied by fountaining dirt and chips of rock. Bodies flew, or flew apart. And somewhere amid the fracas, the whirlwind of blood and dust, Amira Ghabbas was having an absolutely excellent day.

For his part, Michael stood watching in bemused silence as catastrophe befell the Ardans. He could hardly complain; he had asked, after all. The gruesome consequences of that request still turned his stomach. He caught a glimpse of her face, all gore and manic grin, before she blurred through a column of Swordsmen.

Ghars blood, shes a terror, Sobriquet said, shaking her head. Saleh must have worked with her for years to instill that self-restraint youve casually shattered. I hope we can stopper her back up once shes done, or well have a larger problem than this mob.

Michael felt a chill. I hadnt thought about that, he murmured. Shes crazy, but I never got the sense that she was erratic. Until now shes been a rather deliberate sort of mad. This is - this is different. He shook his head. Perhaps once she lets off steam-

Oh, please, Sobriquet scoffed. Look at her, its like someone loosed a wolf in a nursery. The only reason any of them are still alive is because shes taking the time to savor it. You need to start thinking about what were going to do when she runs out of Ardans to kill.

Even at the rate shes going through them, thats going to be a bit, Michael said, peering out at the battle lines. Amira was devastating the section nearest them, to be sure, and emboldening the men on the Safid lines with her example and protection. But the fight stretched far down from where she was, and there were sections where the Ardans were making headway.

Yeah, Michael sighed. A bit early to be worrying about what comes after the fighting. We should pick our spot and join in.

Sobriquet nodded towards a near spot on the line. Perhaps we should just follow Lars.

Michael turned to look and saw the Ardan captain red-faced, showering his former squadmates with invective and precisely-delivered strikes. Others in the Safid defense picked targets of opportunity; Lars was here to kill Swordsmen.

Zabala shook his head and gestured to the other Ardan soldiers. Ill back him up, he said. You two go shore up somewhere else on the line, nobody is breaking through close to here.

Ill find a comfortable pillbox and be a nuisance, Sobriquet said. Call out if you need me.

They each jogged away, leaving Michael alone. He set his shoulders and began to run, building up to his full speed in short order. The nearest Ardan salient to their position was a column of men advancing behind a low rise. The terrain let them establish a solid position with elevation on the Safid, and they were using it to full effect; a lucigens of some ability was up there throwing blazing spears of light down at the first Safid line.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Michael veered right and jumped. It didnt appear to be Luc, but a powerful lucigens merited investigation just in case. At the apex of his arc the Ardans spotted him and shifted their fire; a few scalptor blades found him mid-jump, but stung no more than a rap on the knuckles. The last thing Michael saw before he landed was the wide-eyed faces of the soldiers below him. He came down on top of the lucigens, hard, his knee crushing the unfortunate womans collarbone into her chest. Not Luc, after all.

In the next instant he was on his feet, throwing an arm aside into two black-clad Swordsmen. Their limp bodies arced down the ridge, tumbling in the grass; Michael noted it peripherally as his sight fell into the gold-clad world of Stanza. Half of the men on the ridgeline backpedaled frantically, trying to gain distance; a portion of those with physical souls charged in.

The nearest potens was a middling soul, and crumpled like any man when Michael delivered a solid blow through his sternum. The next was more gifted, however, and his fellows crowded Michael to begin raining blows on him. He pulled on the light around him, plunging the ridge into darkness. The men stumbled into each other. He spun away from the disoriented mob and plunged his stolen heat into the nearest man.

Potens or no, that man died with a gurgling cry. As the body fell steaming to the ground Michael repeated the process with the next man, then reeled away as yet another potens delivered a hammerblow to the side of his head. The mans soul was strong, nearly equal to Galens. Michael stood despite the ringing in his ears and grabbed a discarded rifle from the ground, swinging it at his opponents face.

The Ardan didnt bother to dodge the blow, moving in to counterpunch, but jerked back in surprise as Michael turned the metal fluid and sent it streaming into his airway. The potens fell to the ground clutching at his throat; Michael came away with a handful of spare gunmetal and a temporary reprieve. He took stock of the Ardans around him. Most had wisely gained distance, though not enough to stop Michael from moving against them. He hesitated, though; against ensouled, and a larger quantity of men, he had to pace himself. He settled for picking out a few men of rank, mostly Swordsmen, and grounding the last of his heat in them.

The darkness fell away as those men died, but Michael was already arcing through the air towards the next Ardan redoubt, one arm sheathed in borrowed metal. He landed and tore another swathe through their position, then repeated the process again. If one man alone could turn the battle, Amira would have sent the Ardans running already. He needed to disrupt the Ardans instead, to expose them to Safid fire and kill the most dangerous ensouled in their ranks. The rest would fall to the Safid, who were keeping up their defense with rare enthusiasm now that two of the Eight were visibly sowing havoc in the enemy lines.

Indeed, the Ardans were pulling back their advances and consolidating into more cautious positions, which preserved them from Safid attention - but did absolutely nothing against Amira, Michael, and the other advance groups which had streamed forward from the lines to harass them. Michael saw a group of Safid potentes barreling forward, one Ember in their midst; a pocket of darkness bloomed where they made contact. The Safid were practiced at fighting in the dark.

Others were less showy, though no less effective. Scalptors plied their trade up and down the line. Michael saw Lars and Zabala with their men, holding an advanced position while scores of Ardans dropped around them with coin-slot marks on their heads or necks. The Safid lucigentes were still holding out strongly, their braziers and kilns providing them with deep reserves that the Ardans lacked.

Midway through rushing a forward command tent, Michael felt a tremor in the air. The hairs on his neck stood up, the deep flood of battlefield emotion hitching in sudden fear and tension. He jumped straight up, leaving the wreckage of the tent behind and casting his sight around.

To the west, where Amira fought, the ground was dark with spilled blood. Yet men still charged forward, too many of them for her to intercept. Advance groups of Safid met them midway, emboldened by Amiras example, but as Michael watched one of those groups faltered in their charge - and fell, sliced cleanly across the midsection. Gore stained the ground; they died without even a chance to scream.

Michael fell back to the ground and propelled himself westward, feeling a chill in his spine. He knew that blade. Two jumps later, Michael landed bloody and dust-covered, his torn clothing flapping in his wake.

He straightened up and turned to face Friedrich. Severs bearer looked ragged, tired, with dark circles under his eyes and an unhealthy pallor to his skin. His beard was wild, his hair greyer and patchy. Yet his expression was rapt, focused, a hungry void behind his eyes.

Baumgart, he murmured, taking a step forward.

Friedrich, Michael replied. You look terrible.

The other man laughed, a raspy, humorless noise. Ive never been better, he replied. My soul sings, Baumgart. I hear it more clearly each day, as the worlds grasp on me slips. He took another step towards him, spreading arms that were thinner than Michael remembered, discolored with angry purple bruises. Would you like to hear?

If I said no, would it matter? Michael muttered, tensing his legs and letting Stanza breathe light into his vision. Come on, then.

Friedrich bared his teeth, spreading his arms; a section of the air parted at chest-height. Michael was elsewhere, already settling back into the comfortable safety of Stanza. The next attack came slowly, almost lazily. The grass between them turned to dust. Where there was rocky soil, now only damp powder remained. Michaels footing wavered as he adjusted.

Everything ends, Baumgart, Friedrich called out. How long will you-

Michael didnt wait for him to finish; the light vanished from around them as he threw heat towards his opponent. Friedrich jerked back, his eyebrows going up as he moved to sever the flow of energy, but Michael was already advancing. As Friedrichs feet stepped back onto the intact soil, the brush there twined itself around his legs.

Friedrich scowled and banished the offending plants to dust; Michael threw another blast of heat towards him, then dispelled the darkness with a burst of light from his hand. Friedrich staggered back, dazzled, and Michael drove a spike of gunmetal at his face.

The metal gouged into Friedrichs cheek before flaking away into powder; the other man retaliated with a wave of annihilation that forced Michael to retreat backwards into Stanzas safety. Friedrich touched his fingers to the blood flowing freely from his cheek, inspecting it in the morning sunlight.

And did you? the medic retorted. I cant touch her, the resistance of her soul is too much for all but the most talented. She needs these two wounds cleaned and sealed - here, and here. He reached behind, grabbing a small bottle of water and roughly dashing it across her two major cuts, leaving the arm alone. When they were clean to his satisfaction, he gestured impatiently to Michael. Close those two cuts, as simply as you need to do it.

The rush of energy from his mad run was wearing off, and Michael felt fatigue nibbling at him; nevertheless, he called to Stanza and pushed his soul into Amiras flesh. It was dense, impenetrable, like scooping granite with a spoon - but slowly, he was able to assert his grip over the wounds. The bleeding slowed as the gash drew together.

After what felt like a year of concentration, Michael pulled his hand away. The scar on her side would be ugly; the expression on the medics face was dark with disapproval. Ive seen better work done on pigs, he muttered. Now her cheek. Try to make the edges meet evenly, at least.

Michael bit back his reply and sealed the smaller cut while the medic began wrapping Amiras arm in bandages, tying them tightly. He finished, then looked up at Michael. Fine, shell keep until we can find someone competent enough to fix what you did. Now you, sit.

Im fine, Michael protested, holding his hands up; the statement was somewhat undercut by the tremor in his right arm. Ill seal it up on my own-

You tried once already, by the look of it, the other man snorted. See how that worked. He pushed Michael back onto an empty cot, then leaned in to inspect the wound to his shoulder. Severed tendon, nerve damage. Still a lot of bleeding.

He flushed the cut twice with his water bottle, then clapped his hand over it. The medic frowned. This feels like working on a potens. he muttered.

Its complicated. Michael grimaced. If you walk me through it-

The medic snorted. Watch, and dont interfere. If you can, follow my lead.

Michael sat quietly as the man put his hand on Michaels shoulder. The anatomens soul pushed its way into him; it felt pale and sluggish compared to Michaels own, but it moved with a deft skill towards the injured portion of his shoulder. Fascinated, he watched the medic push the paths of his being back into alignment.

It was agonizingly slow work. Michael stared at the shifting skein around his wound, trying to make sense of it - eventually, he was able to pick out the direction of the medics efforts. He pushed his soul tentatively along in the same direction-

The medic spat a low oath and jumped back, glaring at Michael. You have all the grace of a drunken sailor, he muttered, placing his hand back where it had been. But that did the trick. Next time push half as hard.

You dont happen to have a cousin in Stahm, do you? Michael muttered. The scathing look the man gave was answer enough; Michael sighed and let him continue his work. The slapshod work of his earlier healing was slowly wound backwards. It was painful, but not so much that it damaged Michaels focus.

That changed when he began to work on the nerves in his arm, electric jolts of pain running through him with every minute touch of the mans soul. Michael withheld his efforts and did not help, during that process, for fear of what he might do in a moment of startled agony.

Finally, exhausted, Michael slumped back onto the cot. The medic was also red-faced and breathing hard, though he looked mildly satisfied with his own work.

There, he said. Youll rest while I go find the man who can do work on her.

Michael shook his head. Im fine, I dont need to-

Great Caller, the medic said, pushing a finger into Michaels sternum. You may be who you are, and have all these men bowing in your wake, but Ive cut on enough holy men to know youre all full of the same blood and bullshit. He pushed harder, forcing Michael back onto the cot. Your soul could do enough good here for a hundred of me; instead youre about as useful as one half-blind orderly with a rusty needle and catgut. So youre going to do the next best thing and watch her, and make sure she doesnt wake up feeling like she wants to tear a hole through my ward. We clear?

There was a pause. Perfectly, Michael replied.

The man gave him one last glare, then departed, leaving him alone with Amiras bloody, motionless form.

Michael took the time to breathe, and let the shuddering wake of what he had done crash into him. He flexed the fingers on his right hand in relief, then again just because he could.

A shimmer marked the air to his right. You okay? Sobriquet asked. I was watching, but Sever was heading off any intrusion into his space very - violently. Had to wait until you gained some distance.

Im fine, Michael said wearily. You came in at the right time.

Good. If its any consolation, I think you two managed to turn the battle around. Friedrich retreated for healing, and the damage you both did was enough to give the Safid their edge. No sign of Luc. I think he really must be going after Salehs position, and best of luck to the bald bastard. She chuckled. The Ardans arent retreating yet, but its just a matter of time. Her voice faded away. Im going to keep trying to shorten it.

Michael nodded, giving her a wave of acknowledgment; he let himself slump back onto the cot. His eyes closed - and shot back open a moment later when he heard a creaking, wet laugh. He jerked back, then glared at Amira, who was watching him through half-opened eyes, baring bloody teeth.

You saved me, she croaked.

Most of you, Michael winced, gesturing to her stump. Not sure what theyre going to be able to do about that.

She looked down at the bandages where her hand used to be. Probably nothing, she said. Im a hard one to heal. The - cost. She coughed. Cost of souls like ours. Even for an unsouled woman, a hand would be too much. She let her head thunk back against the cot. But this is the shape of the woman I am. The one who strayed from what she knew to be right into what she wanted. The Sword was never my test. It was - pride. Desire. I wanted him for myself, and now I have a lesson to carry with me.

I wouldnt have minded letting you have him, Michael muttered. Hes more terrifying every time we meet. Im wondering if Ill survive the next lesson I get from him.

Amira gave another quiet laugh. He grows to match you, she said. You grow to match him. Its important that we have something to terrify us. For you it is a soul shaped like a blade. She cracked her eyes and gave him an evaluating look. Has been for a while, I think. So you become what the blade fears, and he replies in turn.

Michaels eyebrows went up. I doubt he fears me much.

Her smile was lopsided, stretching the scar on her cheek. Men are men, she said. None are beyond fear. He fears what many of us do - that we are not the apex we thought we were. Our paths do not lead to the greatest height. And no matter how we strive-

She closed her eyes once more, taking a rattling breath. We cannot overcome a test that is not ours. The Book shows the Sword and Shield fighting, as does history, but he isnt the Sword anymore, because hes not setting himself against the Shield. The destruction that stands against preservation is different than the one that stands against creation. Against growth. I forgot that. She waved her missing hand weakly. And now it will be harder for me to forget.

So what is he now, if not the Sword? Michael asked.

She shrugged. Yours, she replied. So the answer is likewise yours to say.

Wonderful. Michael closed his own eyes, for as much good as that did him. That makes me feel so much better.

Her laugh was quieter still; when he turned his sight to check on Amira she had slipped out of consciousness. The air shimmered once more to Michaels side.

You know, Sobriquet murmured. If you wanted to kill her, this is probably the best chance youre going to get.

Michael snorted out a laugh. Tempting, but I think Im done picking fights for today. And Im not sure Id survive when that anatomens came back.

Dont say I didnt point out the opportunity. Her voice faded away, and Michael was left alone in the quiet corner of the ward. He took another deep, steadying breath, then settled down and waited for the medic to return.