Peculiar Soul

Chapter 100: 694 PD

Chapter 100: 694 PD

Gharic culture has a curious obsession with time. To them time is a coin that must be measured, weighed, and spent with care. They live as misers, shaving precious scraps from the sides and hating every moment that slips through their fingers.

Yet all they manage with their clipping and paring is to debase that precious currency, for time is not something to be spent. It is meat to be savored, wine to take in great draughts, and honey to coat the tongue in ecstasy. No man has ever experienced more joy in marking a year than in the moments when ones mind forgets time entirely, existing only in the endless, perfect now.

- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687

Michael sat on the balcony, sipping at a mug of tea. It was a strong, dark tea, brewed in the Safid style; several decades of occupation had left their mark on Daressa in more ways than one, manifesting in tea shops and the smell of heady southern spices wafting from alleys. He took another scalding mouthful of the beverage and leaned back, watching light slowly creep across the city of Imes.

It was a handsome city. After the crowded brickwork of Calmharbor and the clean glass facades of Goitxea, Michael held a new appreciation for the blocky, whitewashed architecture that characterized the Gharic coast. It felt old, lived-in - comfortable.

Not that Goitxea hadnt been wonderful. The city had been a whirlwind of activity, of batzarkideak and various hangers-on courting Michaels favor with gifts and dinners, party invitations, policy proposals - all juxtaposed somewhat awkwardly with the reality that there was no formal place for him there, not without Stellars soul.

He poured the last of his tea from the pot, refilling his mug, and smiled as the first rays of sunlight began to paint the town. People began to make their way through the streets below - streets that were clean of debris and rubble, patched and paved. The Transitional Committee had done a remarkable job in the short time theyd had, though Michael suspected that the situation in Imes was somewhat rosier than in the rest of the country. The woes of the highlands werent likely to have improved much since he visited last. Vast swathes of the countryside had been depopulated, and those communities that still clung to life tended to be poor and insular, struggling to find a direction in the aftermath of Safs rule.

But Imes was doing well, for the moment, as was Leik. Agnec, Rouns and the other regional capitals were variously disorganized and reeling from the sudden change in administration, but things were stable. Enough to take a moment and enjoy some tea on the balcony, at least.

He pulled in some of the burgeoning sunlight and warmed the last swallow of tea before rising to go back inside. The flat was one of hundreds that had been left vacant in the last weeks of the War; it was notionally possible that someone might show up claiming to own it and its eclectic assortment of furniture. Until then, however-

The faucet groaned as Michael drew another pot of water; he laid his hand on it and turned to face the morning sun once more. The room darkened, then lightened. He smiled and grabbed a fresh satchet of tea.

Morning, he said, padding into the bedroom. He set the tea down on the rooms battered end table; beside it the mound of twisted blankets on the bed shifted. A hand emerged, then an arm. It clawed at the pile of bedding to expose Sobriquets bleary face.

She blinked at him, then let her head fall back against the pillows. Some of us still need to sleep, she muttered.

I waited until the sun was up, Michael retorted. And I made you tea.

Neither of those things are sleep, she said. A moment later her eyes slid back open. Breakfast?

Michael nodded. Weve still got some of those sausages- He cocked his head as Sobriquet made a garbled noise of negation. Potatoes, then.

Eggs, she grunted.

We dont have any eggs, Michael protested. Its winter. This city was a warzone last month. You can pick between potatoes, sausage, or potatoes and sausage.

She closed her eyes again. ...both, then.

Michael nodded and turned back to the kitchen, rummaging through the supplies that were left there. A few aged rinds of cheese jostled for space with remnants of butter; Michael was rationing those, since both were scarce at the market. He took a scant scrape of butter and used more of the morning sun to heat a battered iron pan.

By the time Sobriquet walked in, cloaked in the heaviest of their blankets, Michael had fried up a passable breakfast for the two of them. She sat and squinted at it, then snaked her arm out from the blankets to eat a bite. Youre no Helene, she said. Youre not even Richter. But this is good.

I helped her out in the kitchen a few times when I was a boy, he said. Before my father put a stop to it. He sighed. It was nice to have her cooking again, if only for a bit.

They would have come to Imes, Sobriquet said, talking around a mouthful.

Michael made a face. I know. But they deserved a rest as much as anyone. He took a bite of his own food, chewing slowly as he looked out the window. And I wanted - this.

She smirked at him. A mediocre breakfast? she asked innocently.

Ill freeze your tea, Michael warned, though his smile robbed the threat of its teeth. No, just - quiet mornings and you.

Her cheeks colored, and she looked down at her plate. Thats been good, she agreed. Though Im not sure how long theyll let us keep it. We are who we are. Whether its Ardalt or Saf that breaks the peace, well be dragged into what follows.

I know, Michael sighed. He stood to collect their plates, bending down to kiss Sobriquet on the forehead. But Ill take what I can get. He cleaned up quickly before sitting to finish the rest of the tea with Sobriquet; as he sat she stretched the blanket out so it wrapped around him as well.

Mm, he said, having seen rather more and less than hed expected as the blanket shifted. Arent you cold?

Thats why Ive got you, she murmured. She drew close, and for a timeless moment there was little else on Michaels mind. She drew back from the kiss, a wicked grin on her face. I have something to tell you, she said, letting the blanket slip from her shoulder.

Michael raised an eyebrow. Oh? he asked.

She drew close, whispering into his ear. There is, she purred, a courier at the door.

You do this on purpose, he said, pulling back with a betrayed look. And every time-

A knock at the door interrupted him, he turned to glare at the offending noise. After a moment, he sighed and extricated himself from the blanket. You knew he was on his way well before we had finished breakfast, didnt you? he muttered, shooting her a glare.

Before we started, she laughed. Hes one of Emils. I expect were being summoned again.

Your sight is better these days, Michael noted. Did you hear what for?

She grimaced. Its not so good that I can eavesdrop at the government offices. I can only see the barest hints through the chaos. But I dont need to eavesdrop to know where hes from; Emil makes all the government officials dress in those stodgy suits. She shook her head. He bought them hats.

They love those hats. Its practically the symbol of the Transitional Committee at this point; Id say Emil knows what hes about. Michael shrugged, then padded over to the door. He glanced back before he opened it; Sobriquet had disappeared from the couch.

Someone did invoke our name on the Assembly floor after some highly-public mayhem, Lekubarri noted dryly. But were not the prime target of their propaganda. We are at least cloaking ourselves in the veil of propriety, while Saf continues to be a horde of baby-eating savages who- He glanced down at his papers, rifling through a few pages. -drink Gharic blood, kidnap virgins for export to Khem, all sorts of entertaining exploits.

He set the papers down, tapping the thick stack of reports. It goes on in that vein. The picture it builds is fairly clear. Having enjoyed their brief respite from the War, our assessment is that Ardalt has found peace to be socially and politically untenable. Their economy is stagnant. The strife from the Institutes rebellion is still present; the idea that force of arms is a valid means of political expression is not one that fades quickly, once demonstrated.

I did think it strange that my father would focus on the economic ramifications of the rebellion first, Michael said; he quickly shook his head. Not strange. Shortsighted, perhaps. But it makes sense; the Assembly exists first and foremost to maintain its own order. If it cant do that, then its members will entertain alternatives.

And so they have. Lekubarri flipped to the bottom of the stack, withdrawing a hastily-clipped scrap of newsprint. His eyes scanned through it for a moment; he began to read. the Assembly on Stonesday voted to deny the proposed Klingenfraktion budget for the new year, with many members of the chamber stating that it was not adequate to address the economic harms done to business in Ardalt. This was despite Rabensfraktion coalition support-

Lekubarri dropped the scrap to the table with a resigned gesture. Et cetera. The two majority factions are no longer the majority, at least not reliably so. That honor now belongs to a burgeoning group predominantly drawn from the relatively-poorer, younger families in the Assembly, the ones hardest-hit by the chaos of peace. He looked up at Michael, his eyes grim. Theyve taken to calling themselves the Sonnenfraktion.

Michael felt a slow chill spread through him. Lucs not even a formal member, he protested.

That may be part of his appeal. They are, as you said, entertaining alternatives to the established order. Lekubarri glanced down at the reports. And I dont have to tell you that political power in Ardalt derives first and foremost from the strength of a soul.

They have to know that they cant attack Saf, Michael protested. Saleh was toying with them before, and that was with an army at something close to full strength.

Lekubarri waggled his hand. Yes and no. The War never really touched Ardalt proper. There was no deprivation, no rationing. With conditions deteriorating as they are, we expect that Ardalt will conscript rapidly and indiscriminately, using Institute obruors to maintain force cohesion.

Antolin gave a disapproving grunt. That would destroy them as a country, he said. Even in victory. Weve seen the toll that mode of control takes on an army, and its too steep to be useful. Youre talking about the crippling or death of a countrys youth, its future.

Thats the idea, Michael said. Heads turned to face him; he swallowed against a dry mouth. No good men shall die. He means to lead Ardalt against Saf, to the destruction of both.

There was silence in the room. Sobriquet leaned back in her chair. Ill be the one to say it, she murmured. Its a catastrophe perpetrated by a madman, yes, but Im strangely okay with the concept of those two parties removing each other from the balance. The only problem is-

Luc, Michael said. The war hes proposing to inflict on the world would involve five of the Eight, and literal armies of souls beyond that. If he retains even a fraction of that, we would be trading Ardalt and Saf for an insane, unkillable force of nature, empowered to a degree that I couldnt - would not match. He shook his head. I dont think its an exaggeration to say that the shape of human existence upon the world would have to change, and not for the better.

He looked at Sobriquet, at Lekubarri - then, ultimately, at Antolin, meeting his inscrutable eyes. There would be no Ardalt, no Saf - and no Mendian. No power but Luc, and whatever whim he would choose to impose upon the world.

Lekubarri cleared his throat. I happen to agree with your assessment, he said. But the ladys case has its adherents as well. Problematically, it has its adherents in the Batzar.

Antolins head came up, his eyes narrowing. How can it? he asked. The Third Exception-

-states that none may restrain the Star from returning to Mendian, Lekubarri said. Pedantic, I know, but its undeniable that the usual enticement of safety for those around him holds rather less sway than it has with past bearers. And why do we need the Star, save to do what its current bearer already seems intent on doing, all without a single drop of Mendiko blood spilled?

He raised his hands in response to Antolins incredulous look. Its not my opinion, he said. But its not an unpopular sentiment within the Batzar. Our recent military campaign was tainted with Leires death, and enjoyed little popularity with the masses. There are those who say that the Mendiko system of exceptions and guarantees is outmoded, delivering no benefit but broad international resentment of our meddling.

And when we fail to follow through on the most basic promise of our state, Antolin growled, what then? They will test the others. Traffic in the strait, the integrity of our homeland-

And now we reach the point of this meeting, Lekubarri sighed, resignedly leafing through his stack of papers. Because your fears are justified, Grand Marshal Errea. Our reluctance - or, some say, inability - to enforce the return of the Star has been noted. Our other lines will be tested, now, and we know which one will come first.

He withdrew a map from the stack, showing a squat, squarish peninsula jutting southward from the coast. In the tenure of the Tenth Star, two hundred and fifty years ago, the last emperor of Ghar came on his knees to his old enemy - Mendian. He was emperor in name only by then; their true empire had been lost for centuries, and now their last meager scraps of land were halfway down Safs gullet. He begged us to break the Safid siege of Gharon, and to protect his city from destruction. He offered gold, gems, tribute - but what the Tenth Star demanded was that the emperor kneel before the Batzar oak, proclaim that Ghar was a failed and broken land, beg our mercy for their arrogance, and slit his own throat above the trees roots.

Lekubarri looked up from the map. The emperor did these things, to the letter. Ghar ended that day, but the Tenth Star kept his piece of the bargain just as faithfully. The peninsula was choked with burning Safid corpses for months in his wake. Gharon remains a ruined shard of a once-proud empire, and a Mendiko protectorate purchased with blood.

He turned the map so that it was oriented towards Michael, tracing his finger along the coastline.

We have indications that Institute agents are already on the Gharic peninsula, he said. Saf has not seriously tested the boundaries of Ghars last territory for some time. Our garrison there is mostly symbolic. With Daressa lost to them, Ardalt will require a beachhead on the continent. He tapped the largest mark on the map. We believe theyve found it.

Michael slipped an arm around Sobriquets shoulders, looking out over the city once more. Night had long-since fallen, and the stars burned clear overhead. In years past there had been fireworks, great explosions of light and sound that marked momentous nights. The world had lost its taste for such fare, though.

Instead, candles burned from windows and balconies. There were only a few at first, and it seemed a sad reflection of the broken, depopulated city. But more came as the hour grew later, clustering in twos and threes until every window glowed with dim light, and every building was ringed with a halo of soft radiance. The city came alight in small moments, hands hidden by dark withdrawing to leave behind a mote of fire.

It remained quiet. No songs echoed through the city, no raucous parties disturbed the lambent glow. Imes was a landscape wrought from solemn fire, flaring against the black overhead until the lights overhead shrank away against those arrayed below.

A single bell, distant and atonal, rang out across the city.

Happy new year, Sobriquet said, turning to Michael.

He smiled, and bent down to kiss her. Look what we did with half of the last one, he said, nodding towards the sea of flame. Next year will be brighter still.

She smiled. Lets take it one day at a time, she said. Its already setting up to be a long one.

Michael shook his head. Im done with half-steps, he said. I want this. All of this, forever. Listening to Lekubarri talk, I thought about losing what weve built together, and - I cant. I wont. This is what I want. He looked down at her; he could see in her eyes that his expression had slipped from the normal, but her face was rapt, present in that moment with him. Ask me to make it brighter next year.

Her lips parted slightly. I want the city to shine, she breathed.

Like the sun, Michael said. And the people?

Daressans should want for nothing, she said.

Theyll be safe and happy, Michael said. Food on the shelves, glass in the windows, and the streets paved with gold. He leaned closer to her. Ask me for anything you want.

She grabbed his collar and pulled him close, her breath fast and hot against his skin - then half-dragged Michael into the flat.

Thus began the six-hundred and ninety-fourth year following the dissolution of the Gharic Empire.