bookpub Chapter 113: Taking Shape
Chapter 113: Taking Shape
Chapter 113: Taking Shape
Who shall walk with me through fire?
Who shall send me on?
Who shall guide to my desire
Through darkness unto dawn?
Though Sword may clear the path ahead,
And Shield ward me from harm,
None but I knows where I tread,
And none shall guide my arm.
Though Flame may light my path at night,
And Sunlight in the day,
None but I direct my sight,
And none else knows the way.
Though Seeker knows where perils hide,
And Seer knows the end,
None but I shall be my guide,
And none to me will tend.
Though Speaker hears my hearts own song,
And Caller knows my name,
None but I may forge along,
And none shall set my aim.
Who else but I could know my worth?
Who else shall heed my call?
Though not alone, I must stand first
Or none shall stand at all.
- Safid Hymn
Whatever else the Safid might be, they were efficient. By now Michael had glimpsed the workings of more than a few military camps - Ardan, Daressan and Mendiko. There was a particular feel to each, a combination of noise and emotion that defined them. Ardan camps had been tensely chaotic, like a pen full of cattle sensing the herders approach. Mendiko camps were a coiled spring in clockwork, intricate parts meshing together under immense pressure. Daressa sat somewhere in the middle, an attempt by the Mendiko to layer their methods over Gharic culture.
By comparison the Safid camp seemed calm and quiet, despite the impending attack. Nobody barked orders. No formations of men stomped their way across the camp in double-time. Yet Michael felt their nearly-pathological awareness of their surroundings with each step he took, a hundred veiled eyes darting his way to shape their own steps around the Great Holy One.
Men flowed in rivulets that broke away from anyone with an uncovered face. Officers shaped the soldiers with their presence rather than their voice, sheepdogs stalking around the edges of their flock - and their eyes were forever darting towards their commanders, and so on up the chain. In the spaces between, men hauled crates of supplies and ammunition from carts, or labored to shore up their trenches.
Yet it was quiet apart from the necessary noise of their work; the men were possessed of a curious focus. Or perhaps not so curious. Michael knew it for what it was. Their orders had been phrased in the context of their paths, whether by invoking the defense of their homeland or of their own person. In war, the Safid were like nothing so much as an anthill, seething in silent, productivity for the benefit of their queen.
That queen gave no obvious direction, though; in fact, Michael was fairly certain he had spotted Amira tearing away from the camp at a blistering pace, her footsteps chewing great divots in the land. Scouting, perhaps, or attacking advance elements.
Whoever she was targeting, Michael spared them a moment of gratitude and pity.
His course took him back to the one knot of stillness in the camp, a tent filled with sullen, quiet bodies that waited awkwardly amid the hubbub, wishing that they were anywhere else. His tent. He ducked inside and found the men much as he had left them - Lars and the other Ardans trying their utmost to sleep on narrow Safid cots while Zabala stared as if trying to burn a hole in the tent wall. Sobriquet was already looking at the tents entrance when Michael approached.
How was the walk? she asked.
Michael waggled his hand. Not as calming as I had hoped, he sighed. But I have a better idea of the camps disposition. Theyve got artillery, ensouled, and enough men to take the edge off Ardalts numerical advantage. Id say theyre in decent shape to hold out against pretty much anything aside from Luc and Friedrich.
And against those two, theyre looking to you, Zabala said. Fighting for the defense of Saf.
Its certainly a development I wasnt expecting. Luc is a problem that transcends borders, though, and hes already made an enemy of the Safid. Michael grimaced, looking towards the tent flap. Im not saying we should plan on sticking around after we resolve this, because I doubt our alliance will outlive our shared interests by long - or at all, depending on how things turn out. I dont trust Amira, and Saleh is somehow even worse. He looked at Zabala. But were all striving in the same direction, and it cant have escaped your notice that Saleh and Amira have the two souls most suited to standing against Luc and Friedrich, respectively. We need them.
All solid points, Zabala agreed. Yet it still rankles knowing that every Safid life we save will one day turn itself against Mendian. You know that conflict is coming.
Im not nave enough to think that Saf will actually hold to a peace, yes, Michael agreed. But Im hoping that by the time they think to make their move, their strength wont matter. As Amira noted yesterday, when the dust settles there will be six of the Eight aligned with Mendian. Whatever Salehs ambition might be, that should temper it.
Zabala made a derisive noise. Youre assuming theyll wait until the dust settles, he said. The confusion of battle is the perfect time to strike. If you think Taskin will let you leave Saf unimpeded when this is over-
Its a work in progress. Michael chuckled and took another sip of water; his expression sobered as he set the glass down. But Ive come to learn that peace and quiet has a cost associated with it. The last Stanza had it for years. He lived in a paradise, and he was a good man. Michael frowned. A good man. But the price for one mans peace is solitude, and he broke it to care for me. He lost his peace. And when he gave it up, he looked to me with tears in his eyes and asked me if he was evil, for choosing not to help before then.
What did you tell him? Lars asked.
Nothing. Michael smiled again, shaking his head. I had just watched him kill three men with a scrap of poetry, my mind wasnt up for a response. But if I had the chance again, I would tell him that he wasnt evil at all. He saved a number of people; Vera and I were among them. But he could have saved more, at the cost of his solitude. To those people who could have used him, he was - absent. Their lives had a void in them, a space waiting for a change, and he wasnt there.
Michael nodded towards Lars. Vera also saved me, in a fashion, as she did you. Theres no Vera without Jeorg, and so you also owe your current allegiance in this battle to him. I imagine how different things could have been with his hand guiding the world, now that I know what this soul might do. A force for understanding and growth, something to push Ardalt in another direction. A thousand more of Vera, and ten thousand more of you. Yet we dont have them, because we didnt have him. He took another drink of water. You wonder what I want; thats it. I want to be there when Im needed. There was a child, the other day-
He broke off. He was praying, and it was the saddest damned thing Ive ever seen. There was nothing he could do in that moment but step aside to make a space for someone who didnt exist, who wasnt listening. But in the next moment - I realized that I could be that man. I could take the shape of salvation; fill the space he had made for me.
Lars mustered a sad smile. I think Ive had that realization a few times over the years, he said. That I could - step in. Usually the prelude to a very unpleasant, drunken week. Never found it in me. He shuddered and looked down. There was a woman, once, with two children. The others cornered them-
He paused for a long moment, saying nothing; Michael felt the raw drumbeat of horror pressing out from him.
Amira told me something interesting, Michael said. She said that the children who died in the attack led me to her. Not by intent, but because - we respond as we do to such things, and our path changes accordingly. Not a signpost, but a rock in the trail. He stood, clasping Lars on the shoulder. So maybe youre the man who remembers those three when he stands against all the Swordsmen, whenever they may come.
Lars didnt look up. You all said she was crazy, he muttered.
I cannot begin to tell you how correct we are. But shes also oddly insightful, at times. Michael shrugged. Or maybe the insanity is catching. Regardless, Ill be glad to have you with us.
Mm, Lars said, still looking away. Slowly, though, his eyes came up to Michaels, looking slightly brighter than they had before. I think Ill be glad to be there.
That evening came slowly for everyone. The sun dipped steadily lower in the sky as men stacked wood and oil near braziers, preparing them for a long vigil. The fortifications here had great kilns just back from the lines, and carts lined with thick layers of an oddly-stiff white cloth. Michael caught glimpses of great steel spheres within, already glowing a bright cherry red in the flames.
The rest of the defenses were likewise prepared with care. The stone pillboxes had been faced with a coat of artificed metal; with one artifex from each alignment in the emplacement, they could keep the structure intact indefinitely. Guns were behind those, with an earthen berm hiding them from direct view. More stone fortifications sprawled behind them, underground storage for what seemed to be an endless reservoir of shells.
At each of these places, men stood restlessly, waiting, pumping an acrid tension into the air that set Michaels teeth on edge. Everyone felt it, soul or no; the air was metallic, thick and ripe with fear.
Stenger cleared his throat. So, do you think theyll-
Fucks sake, Stenger, Richter snapped, looking up from his cookfire. If any of us knew that the bastards were going to move tonight, we wouldve answered the first six times you asked. Shut the fuck up. He shoved a small bowl of stew at him. Eat this.
Stenger took the bowl happily and began to eat. Zabala looked askance at him, then at Richter. You know, he said. At first I think they were nervous, but now theyre just doing it because you keep shutting them up with a taste of the stew. Maybe if you let them eat it properly-
Its not done yet. Richter hunched back over the fire. As Ive mentioned every time youve asked.
Ardan stews are strange. I cant think of any in Mendiko cuisine that wouldnt be done after-
Richter shot him a venomous look. Its done when I say its done, he muttered.
Zabala smirked and turned back towards Michael and Lars, who had been watching with mild amusement. I dont think hes ever going to give us any, Lars said. He just prefers cooking to waiting, so as long as were waiting, hes cooking.
Sort of defeats the purpose if nobody gets to eat any. Zabala jerked his head to the left. And theres a perfectly good mess over there, which is still open.
Yes, but Richter doesnt want to eat, Michael noted. He wants to cook. Seems reasonable to me.
Downright unreasonable to my stomach; I know that smells better than the Safid slop weve been getting. Zabala made a face. Its not proper for a soldier.
Michael blinked, surprised. I rather like their curries, he said.
Of course you do, you grew up eating Ardan food. Zabala gestured to the pot dismissively. Which is decent enough, I suppose, but nothing compared to Mendiko food.
I dont know, I had goxua once and it was okay, Michael said, as deadpan as he could manage. Not very flavorful. Not even any cream on it.
Cream? Zabala retorted. Goxua is cream! Although I wouldnt be surprised if someone tried to serve you one with cream on top in Ardalt, Ive seen what you make of gazta tarta-
There was a flash and detonation, then another; the men cursed and dropped to the ground by reflex right before a third exploded in the tent row to their left, peppering the area with shrapnel. Michael and Zabala remained upright, looking around as more shells burst within the camp. Men began to shout down the line, and soon torrents of soldiers were flooding towards the forward trenches.
Michael reached up to guide the shells almost by reflex, though within the camp there was only so much he could do to direct their fall. It was enough that they should concentrate in a few less-vital areas rather than striking the kilns or ammunition stockpiles. He saw a flicker in the corner of his eye as Sobriquet woke up from wherever she had been napping to materialize, her apparition taking in the battle.
Zabala looked back at the men with amusement. You know Im protecting you all, right? Were safe from anything but a direct hit, which I believe Michael is preventing.
Alas, chums, the damage has been done. Lars nodded towards the cookpot, which now bore a new hole in its side; stew was leaking out to raise steam from the fire. A stalwart comrade-
Oh, you shut the fuck up too, Richter groused, wiping his ladle clean and stuffing it angrily into his pack.
Zabala turned and raised an eyebrow.
-captain, Richter amended. Shut the fuck up, captain.
Better. Zabala turned towards Michael. Hold here or go up?
Michael surveyed the line; the artillery was already tapering off as the element of surprise faded; men were in trenches or behind walls. Few had died, though there were scattered moans from around the camp where shrapnel had found unlucky soldiers.
You all find somewhere safe with a good vantage, he said, bending down to touch Richters soup pot; his fingers hissed as they touched the metal, but a moment later the pot had been repaired. He licked the stew off his fingers and gave an appreciative nod to Richter. Im going to go play anatomens for a moment, while things are quiet.
I think he was asking about the less-quiet parts immediately following, Sobriquet said, hovering closer.
Michael looked out over the highland as it faded into twilight, detail fading away with the sun. A low haze of smoke clung to the terrain from the shelling and the camps braziers, lending the air an eerie look. Same plan as always, he sighed. We wait to see what comes, and go where were needed.