Peculiar Soul

Chapter 80: Comings and Goings

Chapter 80: Comings and Goings

There is an odd contradiction in our mythology of leadership - that our best leaders should be praised as human, while our best leadership is praised as impartial. It is an odd juxtaposition, and counterexamples of inhuman or biased leaders receive more attention than those who manage to straddle that divide.

Why should our best leaders be made better by setting themselves aside? If they are, as we claim, noble and decent human beings, then surely their decisions would all be best-guided by that same nobility and decency. Yet it is not so; frequently these men are asked to set aside those traits we laud them for and make harsh decisions for which they are praised all the more.

I believe the answer lies in sacrifice. No man sets himself aside entirely, and where his wants and desires coincide with the demands of leadership he may exert himself fully to the good of whatever cause he has chosen. But when the needs of the man diverge from the needs of his station, one must be sacrificed.

We see, therefore, our best leaders turning aside from their own ambition where temperance must serve, relinquishing love when decisions must be impartial. Greed dies to generosity, and these men are praised for what is ultimately a suppression of their natural, human drives.

Better leaders result, but perhaps not better humans. The silent prison of state removes one from the reality of life, and must be abandoned on occasion so that men may walk on grass, exult under the sky and remember why they are alive to begin with.

- Leire Gabarain, Annals of the Sixteenth Star, 685.

A few men turned back towards the cluster of houses they were bunking in, but still more stood watching Thomas sob incoherently into the innkeeps shirt. Michael felt their turmoil, too chaotic for him to resolve any one clear emotion from the cacophony.

Sobriquet sat quietly, her eyes not straying from Thomas.

Zabalas eyes narrowed, then swiveled to Michael. They must be made to understand that authority flows from you. Michael gave a small nod and cleared his throat.

So you do have something to say. He let his eyes drift along the row of soldiers; it took a dozen men before one of them met his gaze. Michael turned to face him and gestured for the man to step forward. Go ahead.

The soldier shifted, clearly uncomfortable now that the groups focus was on him. It was too late to shrink away, though; Michael looked on expectantly until the man found resolve enough to speak.

What you did to him looked like obruor work, he said.

A murmur shuddered through the soldiers, backed by a wave of silent fear. Michael was momentarily taken aback by it; he had not considered what the men would think - had not considered much about his use of Spark on Thomas at all, actually.

Faced with their fear, the enormity of what he had done crashed in. He had used Spark to strip away what he disliked from a man, leaving him a shuddering wreck. Lucs voice echoed wryly in his head: It made a wide, easy path to the goal he wanted, and he took it-

Michael clamped down on the thought before it could spiral into distress. Some reflection was merited, but not in front of a half-mob of skittish soldiers and townspeople that needed him to be something more. He took another moment to ensure his voice would be calm as he replied.

Similar, though Im not an obruor, he said. The words came out cool and measured, though he felt his heart speed as he realized what he must say next. An unpleasant truth, but if Michael danced around it hed only be lying to himself.

I am Spark, he said. Among other things. Is that a problem?

The collective flinch backwards would have been comical had the situation been less-serious; two of the townspeople actually turned and ran from the gathering. A fair portion of the remainder looked like they wanted to, but were afraid to draw Michaels attention by moving.

Michael let the spike of actinic fear wash over him, taking a breath while he performed the increasingly-familiar exercise of separating himself from the tide of emotion. None of the soldiers dared look at him now, pale-faced and staring anywhere else.

I know youre afraid, he sighed. I can feel it from every one of you. Another flinch; Michael pressed on before their nerve could degrade further. The obruors that controlled you before, the men you killed - they sought to rob you of your fear. What you feel now is proof that Im not like them.

The soldier who had spoken before shifted, his eyes flicking up to Michael for the briefest moment. You used your soul on him, he said.

Michael followed the soldiers gaze to Thomas, still curled on the ground. I did, he said. Because that man is a murderer.

The headman whimpered on the ground; the innkeep looked up with fresh anger. The Safid killed-

Michaels mind stuck on the fragment of memory he had been too slow to avoid, a babys cry cut suddenly short. Fire surged within him; the world quieting as it bent under the slow advance of his soul. The dust at his feet spiraled away in dizzying fractals, the grass flowing in time with his thundering heart.

The innkeeps voice failed him. He fell back into the dust beside Thomas, trembling; Michael took a step forward. The ground beat once under his foot, a giants drum sounding deep underground.

With an effort, Michael breathed out slowly. The tension in his shoulders bled away, his iron grip on his surroundings easing until the mundane wind blew once more between the quiet houses of the village. When he spoke again, his voice carried through the renewed quiet.

Im not here to debate justice with you, he said. Theres no justice to be had while the War continues, and you refuse to let it end. You think this is how we get peace? Killing every Safid you can lay your hands on?

There was a snort and a mutter from another of the soldiers. Worked well enough so far. Quiet laughter murmured through the crowd, relief blooming in waves from those who had been waiting for another like voice to speak. The meager doubt Michael had sown fell away.

Michael clenched his fists, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady, his mind clear. It was hard to remember what limited, human sight felt like after feeling the soaring eyes of a spector for so long; it was equally difficult to remember that none of the others had seen the lives he had seen. There was no human counterpoint in their concept of Safid invaders.

Understanding that made their obdurate hatred no less infuriating. A part of Michael whispered that they could be made to understand; he rejected the voice even as it spoke. It was as unthinkable as it was true. He would simply have to leave the soldiers here-

You absolute imbeciles, Lars said, an uncharacteristic acidity in his tone. Really, lads, theres thick and then theres disappointing.

The man who had joked looked up, shock on his face fading quickly into slit-eyed anger; he squared his shoulders and took a step towards Lars. The Ardan captain raised his chin and gave a contemptuous flick of his hand. Quiet, sharp ripples sped out like minnows in a pond, so fast that Michael barely registered them before they struck. The soldiers jacket sagged, sliding apart into ribbons of neatly-sliced fabric. His pants slid down around his ankles. The stubble on one cheek fell away.

Lars took a step forward and backhanded the soldier on his newly-shaven cheek. The sound of it echoed through the village as the man recoiled backwards, tripping of the rags of his clothing and falling to the ground in a heap.

The Ardan captain looked down at the fallen soldier with the air of a man who had stepped in something unpleasant. He pulled a kerchief from his pocket to wipe his hand clean, folding it precisely and tucking it back into his jacket. Only then did he raise his head to glare at the assembled troops.

Its my fault, really, he said. For assuming you had more intelligence than pond slime. Lord Baumgart has been gracious enough to treat you like men, and I nearly forgot that I knew better. You want to mock him for his mercy? Lars took a step forward; the closest men took a step back. Ingrates. That mercy spared your lives first.

Sobriquet threaded her fingers through Michaels own and squeezed once. You could seek him out, you know. When were done here. I could mask you, we could go to Ardalt-

No. Michael frowned. No, we couldnt. Ill have Stellar. Ill live in Mendian, in Goitxea, and thats where Ill have to stay. He sighed. Its for the best. Now more than ever, I realize that thered be no reason to go back. My father has nothing that I want. He forced a smile. Well, maybe you can go rescue Ricard and Helene for me, so Ill have some company in Leires old house.

Some company? She punched him in the shoulder. You ass. If you think youre getting rid of me that easily, youre mistaken.

Im the only one that has to live in that glass cage, Michael said. Even if you were there, we could never-

Sobriquets eyes flashed, her soul rippling around her. Dont underestimate me, Ardan, she said gravely. I am Sobriquet. There is no cage that could keep me in, or out.

Michaels first instinct was to protest further, but the look in her eyes brooked no debate. I suppose I shall be incorrect, he said.

Perpetually so, Sobriquet agreed, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. But youll always have me to set you right. She squeezed his hand again, then spun to walk back towards their impromptu lodging. Ill pack. You deal with your mob of idiots.

Michael nodded, watching her walk away - back towards a dead familys house in a broken mans village. The weight of it settled around him for a moment, crushingly heavy in a way no potens soul could bear. He breathed, slowly, and felt it settle into the back of his mind.

And now we go once more, he muttered.

Mercifully, the departing soldiers left without serious incident. They piled into the two trucks Zabala had set aside for them and trundled away, though from the quality of their driving Michael guessed that they would arrive at their eventual destination on foot.

The one truck they intended to take was fueled and loaded in short order, though a bit more care was necessary to fit all of their gear while still leaving space for the men. Michael moved to jump into the cab with Zabala, only to have Sobriquet step in front of him.

Im navigating, she said. You go sit in the back.

Michael frowned. But you can navigate from anywhere, he said. You dont need to be in front for that.

Youd make me ride in a truck full of strange men? she asked. You go sit with them, Ill keep Zabala awake.

After a bemused moment, Michael shrugged and turned back towards the rear. The men were mostly loaded in, save for Lars and a few stragglers; Michael found himself sitting near the rear of the right bench. The low murmur of conversation had died away when he entered the truck.

There was an unavoidable sense of focus pressing down on him. Save for Unai, every man in the truck had their eye on Michael. Even Charles and Lars watched him, though the former seemed mostly amused at Michaels discomfort.

A bit less room back here, lordling, Charles said. And less padding on the seats. Maybe we can find you a pillow at the next town.

Michael gave him a look. Always touching to see one ass concerned for another, he said. I think Ill survive even so.

Charles grinned back at him, leaning against the trucks sideboard. Oh, youll be fine, he said. Im a bit less sure about these Ardans, though. The way they clenched up when you boarded, Im not sure theyre going to make it through a full day of driving.

The trucks engine rumbled to life, gear and men shifting as Zabala guided the heavy vehicle back onto the road. Lars leaned forward, raising his voice. Id wager well make it through in good order, he said. Dont worry about these men, by this point weve been dragged through the worst the War had to offer. Were scarcely going to fall out now that its over.

Unai raised an eyebrow. Peace is often more trying than war, he noted. At least in war things are clearly-defined. Problems tend to fall into two classifications - those you can resolve by shooting someone, and those which you can put off until after the war.

You just have to be quieter in peacetime. Stab them, dont shoot them. He crossed his arms, turning to look at Lars. Or slice them up from a distance. That was a neat trick you pulled, most Swordsmen strive for raw power over detail work.

Lars shrugged. Yes, well - when one is denied access to raw power, one makes do. My soul was never the most potent of the scalptors, but I like to think that I make up for it in finesse. He leaned forward to peer down the row of men who were studiously avoiding involvement in the conversation. Im not sure I could put a scratch on Leo, much less Lord Baumgart here.

Michael followed Larss gaze; a man with recruiting-poster looks shifted uncomfortably. Hes a potens? he asked.

Lars waved his hand. Mild potens, he said. But still better than some. Weve got Leo here, then Stenger is a durens. Ulf is - wait, no, Ulf left. He was a conterens anyway, not much use. Lars frowned. I feel like Im missing someone.

Richters a Dex! one of the men said. He can make cow shit taste good in the cookpot!

Am not, thats all skill, another man, presumably Richter, shot back. Voss is our other soul.

Voss, my good man, Lars said. You never mentioned!

A bleary-looking man raised his head. Just a Freezer, he mumbled. Not much use, especially not going into winter.

Freezers are good in combat, Charles noted. The light can dazzle someone, and frozen balls will take most men out of the fight. He grinned. Ever made a set of snowballs, Ardan?

Never even fired my rifle, Voss retorted. They stuck all of us with the kitchens, making ice. Ive been on tour two years. If I never see another icebox my whole life, Ill be happy.

A chorus of groans answered the complaint. Shut up, Voss, one man replied. At least nobodys shooting at you in the kitchen.

And no mud! called another.

Clearly you had a different mess, mud was all they served in ours.

Michael felt their focus slide away from him amid the bickering, settling into something more comfortable. There was still a sense of wariness, of course; the men were always conscious of outsiders in their midst. But for the time being they were not fearful of Michael, and that was enough.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sideboard, letting his sight drift up, up, until all he could see was the far curve of hills pressing against the sky.