bookpub Chapter 57: Conviction
Chapter 57: Conviction
Chapter 57: Conviction
Here is a truth: that no man acts without believing himself correct. Even in doing something he knows is wrong, there is a circumstance invoked within his mind to excuse that trespass. Every evil upon this earth is inflicted with the same conviction as the acts of greatest good.
Here, too, is a truth: good and evil remain distinct. The good man performs his works knowing that he is on the path of the divine, and that no action taken in service of that truth may be evil. The wicked man acts in the knowledge that he is lost, however, and feels in his heart the futility of each footstep. Hedonism, greed and excess are not evil, for even the divine leads men to such ends in the turning of their paths - but like the needle of a compass, the man who has strayed finds his steps bent towards animal instincts.
To find the divine requires mindful thought; do not fear the base impulses of your form, nor neglect them, but ensure that at all times the path is beneath your feet.
- The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Truth. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)
Michael had always viewed declarations of war as dramatic events, perhaps marked by a rousing speech or a angry enumeration of grievances. The tension had been high during the initial foray into Safid territory; the Mendiko had been eager and nervous in turns, untested men and materiel breaking centuries of precedent in an afternoon.
The morning that their war of liberation turned to Ardan-occupied Daressa, by contrast, passed almost without comment. The airship lifted, its engines straining, then made a lumbering turn to the south. A few minutes later they were past the notional line dividing Daressa - and Michael had gone to war with his fatherland.
He began to wonder if something was wrong within him, twisted and bent by his months of hardship. A man should feel something when he commits treason. Yet - his attachment to Ardalt had been left behind months ago, in the wreckage of his fathers carriage. He had lived in a nation of two, that summer, and after Jeorgs death had no land to call home.
Now he stood astride the fate of two nations. Michael grinned at the absurdity of it all and turned from the window. Back to Leik, he said. Except this time were in the airship.
Sobriquet arched her eyebrow. Dont get any funny ideas, she said. Were meant to liberate the city, not blot it from the map. This isnt going to be like her little punitive expedition against the Safid. She looked back out the window, her breath going out in a long, slow sigh. Small, hidden eddies of disquiet chimed from her before settling back to uneasy silence. This whole thing started because of dead Daressans in Leik, and Im afraid thats where well find ourselves once more. The Ardans could make this painful for us.
Leire cant help within the city itself, Michael agreed. But shes a powerful presence. With the ship in the sky overhead, shell mean more surrenders than deaths from the Ardans. These arent Safid troops, they dont have Saleh spooning talk of struggle and victory into their heads. Theyre here for money, or to earn their proof of a tour. None of them came here to die, and the Mendiko are known to be fair with prisoners. He gave a small, dark laugh. Most of the time, anyway.
He looked over when Sobriquet didnt respond; she was watching him closely. What? he asked.
Im not sure whether it would be more concerning if you were distraught, Sobriquet said. It was wrong of Antolin to force that on you.
Michael raked his fingers through his hair, looking out over the mountains below. Antolin did what he thought was necessary, he said. We talked about it after, and we reached an understanding. And - I reached an understanding of my own. I may have been slightly nave, before.
Sobriquet gave him a flat look. Slightly.
Shush. Not everyone can be a hard-boiled resistance leader. He shook his head. Seeing that mans conviction made me realize that this conflict will cost lives. Not because its right, or just, but because those lives have been twisted until they cant coexist with others. Theyve dedicated themselves to a path that will stifle the futures of millions - yours and mine among them. Saleh wont simply shrug his shoulders and turn to peace if we stymie his ambitions here - he and those who follow him will find a way to continue their struggle.
Youre not wrong, Sobriquet said, stepping forward to put her arm around him. Ghars bones, I never thought Id hate hearing you agree with me this much. She squeezed tight, then stepped back to look at him. I wish you didnt have to make that choice. I wanted- She looked to the side, the troubled echoes Michael had felt before returning. I hoped that you could help me find my way back, when this is all over. Now Im afraid that well both be lost, before the end.
Michael smiled down at her. I think youre better off than you believe, he said. The partisans youve organized will form the core of Daressa when it rises back up from the rubble. He slid his hands up to her shoulders, giving her a light squeeze. It would have been easy for the partisans to lash out in acts of destruction and cruelty, but youve kept them focused on their future, not revenge.
She pursed her lips, her unease whispering louder. Youre wrong, she murmured. It was never me that kept them focused. Clair made the resistance what it is today. She kept their attention on the things that mattered, told all of us to help Daressa first and hurt the occupiers second. Im - not her. She shook her head angrily, turning to stare out the window. The whispers were a vengeful chorus now, strident and dire. I want the Ardans to fight us. I want them to raise their arms at the Mendiko and die screaming. I want-
Sobriquet grimaced, shuddering with palpable waves of revulsion. I want you to kill them, she whispered. Even knowing that it will hurt you. I dont want the men who killed my sister to go home to their families and live happy lives.
The strength of the emotion pouring from her took Michael aback. Sera-
I asked the resistance for reports from Leik last night, while I was helping Antolin plan, she said dully. They told me the city is gripped by terror. Sibyl is there. Without me to shield them, nobody can speak against the Ardans, nobody can hide arms or supplies. Her fingers trembled; she balled her hand into a fist. Apparently it wasnt so bad at first, but the Ardans held a demonstration in the old town. They spoke against the resistance, called us criminals - then showed the people what they did to criminals. They brought out Clairs - body.
Michael blanched, his eyes widening. Their mad flight from Emils carriage flared brightly in his mind, the smell of blood and the screaming of the horses thundering into his mind. Ghars blood, he swore. Theyve all gone mad.
Its nothing new, Sobriquet said bitterly. This isnt the first sister or brother that theyve made an example of. The others just werent mine. Her face twisted, and she looked back out the window. Enough people in the crowd knew who Clair was, knew the work she had done. There was a riot, they stole her body back. The man I talked to said they burned her, with honors - there was no place they could bury her where Sibyl wouldnt find her again. Instead, Sibyl found everyone else. The rioters, the partisans, shes swept the city clear of anyone that so much as breathed against the Ardans.
Waves of anger and shock seethed through Michael, his nerves thrilling in borrowed rage from Sobriquet. He breathed in, then out; it did not diminish. This is my fault, he muttered. Vera would have stopped this. Isolde would have, but with Vincent gone-
Sobriquets hand gripped his arm, painfully-tight. This is Sibyls fault, she growled. Do not excuse that murderous bitch from her own actions.
Michael nodded absently. He half expected his pulse to hammer in his ears, his breath to come fast and shallow - but an odd calm gripped him instead, his heart steady and level. Okay, he said. Okay. Youre right. I just - I had my own hopes. I know she has the capacity to be reasonable, even kind - as she had been to me. Some part of me always thought that Sofia would come around in the end, that there was some reconciliation where we wouldnt be at odds.
And now? Sobriquet asked.
Michael looked at her, his face grim. Now shes beyond hope.Read latest chapters at novelhall.com Only
Contact reported, a lieutenant called out, his hand pressed against a pair of bulky headphones. Left flank again. Another Ardan company, theyre surrendering without resistance.
Antolin snorted. Probably more of the 81st Infantry. At this rate well have more of them than the Ardans. He made a weary gesture to one of his senior officers. Well bring this batch with us, were going to have to set up a new holding camp at Leik anyway.
The officer nodded, and the grand marshal turned his attention to Michael. You werent wrong, he said. Not much fight in the Ardans today.
Michael shrugged. Every group weve come across has said the same thing - either they got lost during the withdrawal, or nobody bothered to tell them they were supposed to retreat. Point them towards food and shelter and most wont argue.
Our estimates of their officer corps were apparently quite generous, Antolin remarked, shaking his head. My junior staff could have orchestrated a better pullback. I find myself in disbelief that such a force could have held out against Saf for so many years.
Have any of the captured men been ensouled? Michael asked.
Michael hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to touch the mans hand once more, pushing Stanza forth - and then twisting sharply. The mans breathing stopped, the muscles on his face relaxing as the air slowly filtered out of his lungs. Michael reached up to slide his eyes closed, then stood.
And walked to the next man. He let his fingers trace over another ravaged and desolate land, then quieted it. There were more amid the dead, clinging to life with blind tenacity; Michael sent them to the release of the void, one by one. There was a peace to it, soothing a part of him that had chafed with the memories of Peter and Beni, of all the men who had died long before the last beat of their heart.
The peace shattered when he peered into a barren wasteland and saw a tree. Not a large tree, nor a particularly healthy one, but a hardy shrub that had borne up despite the splintering blows raining down upon it. It was bent, twisted and bare, but on a few branches green leaves were unfurling from buds to quaver their defiance.
This man could be whole once more. Michael stood up and looked at him; the soldier was a man around Michaels age, with short blond hair and a thick sweep of stubble across his chin. His eyes had been closed when Michael touched him, but now they slid open to watch his face. Not with the unseeing frenzy of the others, but the calm patience of the hopeless. The man lay in the mud, bleeding from a gash along his ribs and a ragged cut to his calf - he lay and waited, watching Michael.
Michael bent down to touch the mans hand again, letting Stanza slide back along the paths of his life. He was from Calmharbor, like Michael, although he had been born in a part near the freightyards that Michael had never visited. His life had been simple and direct; his mother had told him since the day he could stand that his task was to grow strong, join the army and send back coin for his sisters.
He had done so, and now he was here. Michael let the threads stretch back into the pattern of the mans life, then for good measure reached out into the mans body and gingerly stemmed the bleeding; he had proved to be a poor talent for anatomens work in his sessions with Unai, unlike Luc, but he had been determined to at least learn enough to avoid a repeat of Clairs death.
He straightened up to look at the man who might now live - and then walked to the next, who was beyond help. Two more men died before he turned to look back at the north gate, and the townsfolk silently watching him. Their expressions were unreadable, but Michael felt the fear pulsing from them in waves, the hatred for the men lying dead on the road and still rampaging wild in the distant fields.
This one will live, Michael called out, pointing to the man he had healed. The townsfolk did not move, save that their hatred redoubled. Michael frowned and took a step toward them, managing not to wince as their fear did the same.
Take the soldier to the Mendiko, he said, pointing to two younger men. You and you. Hes a prisoner. They will want to ask him questions and see what he knows. He tilted his head, trying to winnow the emotions of the two men apart from the rest; there was still enough hate behind their eyes that it gave him pause.
He sighed and let Stanza fill him, with a touch of Vincents soul rippling the air around him for good measure. He will reach the Mendiko alive, Michael said quietly, confident that all could hear.
The hate vanished from the men, replaced by white-hot fear; they leapt to extract the man from the pile of corpses before carefully threading their way through the crowd at the gate. Michael watched them go, then turned back to the field. He began walking away from the gate.
Sera, he said. You can let them go.
A blur of motion flickered in the edge of his vision. About time, she said, her exhaustion evident even through the buzzing voice of her avatar. Its a larger crowd than the Batzar. I have enough left in me to take a few down, if you need.
Michael shook his head. Im going to see how many I can save, he said. Leire is watching; none of them will reach the gate alive. He looked toward the airship and saw a diminutive figure barely-visible on one of its outside decks. For once I dont mind that theyre testing me. These men cant be allowed to exist like this. They need to be made better, or they need to be released from their torment.
A ripple of surprise percolated through the avatar. Ive never heard you so adamant about something before, Sobriquet observed. Are you sure? This will be hundreds of men, you can leave them for Leire. You dont have to be the one to do this.
To kill them, Michael said. And yes, I have to do this. If you could see what I see, when I touch their minds - these arent men anymore. Ive had to make some hard choices since reaching Mendian, and Im not sure Ive chosen well every time. But this- He turned to look at Sobriquet. This is no choice at all.
She did not reply, but Michael felt her focus shift outward, to the field; there was a low murmur from the townsfolk as they saw what she had spotted. Manic, shambling men ran forward out of the field, their eyes wide enough that Michael could see the whites of them even from a distance. More and more emerged, a mass that clung and flocked like demented starlings before lurching towards the gate.
Michael took a step forward, looking at the approaching mob. They were like the others, empty bells ringing forth as they rapidly closed the distance between them. The Ember was clearly visible, his uncontrolled soul wreathing him in darkness and setting light to the clothing of those running too near. The burning men ran on, unfeeling, until the fire claimed what was left of them.
The senseless violence of it, and the scale of that violence - it struck Michael, and for a moment he felt dwarfed by the atrocity rushing down the field. He clenched his fists and pulled at the twinned fires within him. Clair leapt to raging fury, burning bright to protect the Daressans behind him; Vincent roared equally high at the insult done to the Ardans in front.
Glad were all in agreement, Michael muttered, stretching out his hands and pulling on Stanza. He watched the lines of the world flex and glow, converging on the men ahead; for a moment his mind went blank. Words were needed, now, but none seemed right until he turned to look at Sobriquet.
He took a breath. Wending, winding, neverending, he said, smiling as she pulsed with surprised recognition, the words used to heal her echoing forth again. Broken paths desire mending.
His voice raced out, drawing reality tight with anticipation; the soldiers faltered in their charge, slowing.
Ever seeking, searching, finding, to their destinations binding. It found purchase, the broken husks of men freezing in place as the bare roots of their self remembered that there had once been more, once been a tapestry where now only torn shreds remained.
But here Michael paused, because he did not know these men - did not understand who they were, as he had done for all the others. A restless shiver ran through the group, feet shifting at the pause, and he raised his head. The man he had healed hadnt survived because Michael willed it so. He had survived because of his own will, his refusal to be ground down to nothing.
Spark threaded through Michaels voice, adding the color of demand to his words.
Choose to be the men you were, stitch together what was broken,
Let my words take root to spur a self once lost - and now awoken.
The last syllables tore into the crowd in a fusillade, dropping the men to their knees in limp, nerveless bundles. Michaels breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with the exertion of effort as he drew taut the lambent strings he had cast. They seized upon some of the men, snagging in the remnants of their minds - and slid free of others, finding no purchase left in the barren wastes the obruors had made.
Michael sighed and straightened up, letting the tension loose; some of the men had fallen, twitching weakly. More still struggled to their feet, however, shaking the haze loose from their eyes and staggering forward towards the gate. Alarm spiked from behind him, he heard a panicked command to ready guns for a volley.
He took another step forward, stoking the fires within him higher. His body felt radiant, ethereal, the fabric of the world warping with every footfall. Vincents soul joined the chorus, and Stanzas golden light shone ever-brighter as the world around him dimmed. Sobriquet was shouting something indistinct, but it was past his notice - the words came of their own accord, now, an echo of his will - his conviction, at how this must end.
Banish pain with fires kiss,
Guide the lost to the abyss.
The fires raged, raged within, and Michael felt it race down the gossamer lattice until it kindled within the soldiers. They staggered and fell, burned through in an instant; smoke curled from empty sockets and gaping mouths, poured forth from wounds amid boiling blood.
Then the last man fell, and the world was silent. Michael turned to Sobriquet, who hung motionless in midair, then to the townsfolk standing in front of the gate. He began to walk forward; an avenue appeared through the crowd. He stopped and looked at the front line of men, their hands shaking and white-knuckled as they clutched their rifles.
There are a few still alive there, he said wearily. See that they get to the Mendiko for healing as well. A response came, distant in his ears, he walked forward without hearing it. The crowd roared with silent emotion that passed over and through his senses.
Michael walked into the city; he was tired, and wanted to rest.