Chương 47: Waiting

The divine light shines through us all, but it does not pass through unchanged. The facets of our being shape it just as our flaws distort it. We are, each of us, prisms for divinity. Learn to see the light you spread by observing the way your life brings good to others. Learn to know the shape of your being by watching the patterns you cast. You may be the hazy glass that obscures the divine, or the lens that amplifies and focuses its light. Others will know you by the image your heart shows them.

- The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Light. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD) Michael stared up at Leire, disbelieving.

"You can't be serious," he said.

"On the contrary," she retorted.

"I seldom have the opportunity to be otherwise. Does it strike you as so unrealistic? After all, you've intuited the gist of my proposal before I've had the chance to make it. It would seem that either it is more reasonable than you're prepared to admit, or our heads are both cracked in the same places." She rose from her chair to walk to the side of the room; one of the attendants placed a covered plate into a small alcove in the barrier and slid a door closed.

Leire opened a door on her side of the barrier and withdrew it, nodding her head to the attendant. The rest of them, Michael included, were barely paying attention to the food despite their earlier hunger.

"So this is the price of Mendian's assistance?" Sobriquet asked. Leire did not reply save to smile, setting her plate down and returning to her seat. She spent a few moments settling herself once more, then removed the cover from her lunch with an appreciative glance. Only then did she look back up at Sobriquet.

"Not a price," she said.

"A prerequisite. Or do you think it wise of Mendian to commit to major military action when the fate of her greatest military and scientific asset is uncertain? Resolving the disposition of my soul must come first; all else follows."

"You don't know me," Michael protested.

"We first met today." Leire nodded.

"True," she said.

"Let us get all of the objections out of the way promptly, shall we? I don't know you, you're an Ardan, the situation with your soul introduces complications, you have your own agenda on the continent to pursue. I'm aware of these facts; I consider them to be irrelevant." She leaned forward.

"You are a known quantity. Your capability in acquiring souls has been demonstrated, and you appear to benefit from affinity much more reliably than others."

"And what of my opinion in the matter?" Michael asked.

"I don't want your soul, or any other. That was notably absent from your list."

"An intentional omission," Leire chuckled.

"I consider it to be a mark in your favor. If you displayed any enthusiasm for the prospect, my assessment of you would degrade sharply." She smiled at him, then turned her attention to her food. Michael looked at his own plate; it was some sort of baked fish. Reluctantly, he listened to the strident reminders from his stomach that he was half-starved. The process of eating was at least a reprieve from his conversation with Leire, a way to occupy his hands and mouth while he thought.

On the third bite he was forced to acknowledge that the food was delicious, more so for the horrid rations he had been subsisting on under Amira's care. It was gone all too soon. He was on his last few bites when he heard the noise of Sobriquet's silver on her plate. He turned his sight to her and saw that she had finished; she sat upright in her seat and turned to Leire.

"I note that you've refrained from promising any material aid to Daressa," she said.

"You said the Star could not act on behalf of Mendian, earlier, and that your neutrality was paramount. I fail to see how saddling Michael with your soul would solve any of these problems. I expect that a new Star would have minimal ability to influence the course of Mendiko affairs, and that aid would be years in coming - if it came at all. My countrymen are dying today; as we sit here and eat the Ardans are shelling the outskirts of our capital into so much rubble.

You present your proposal as a means to help Daressa, but thus far only Mendian seems to benefit." Leire waggled her fork in Sobriquet's general direction, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Valid points all," she said.

"You're right to say that the power of my office is limited. The role that I enjoy in the Mendiko government is purely an executive one." She took one more bite, then pushed her plate away.

"That does not mean I am without influence or options, however. I have rather more power than I should as a result of my long tenure. I have thus far wielded it with restraint, in my own humble opinion; I think I may be forgiven a few moments of - excess, shall we say, in the twilight moments of my life." Her eyes glinted, the light around her flaring bright.

"To make it plain - I believe we are long past the point where our neutrality has served us well. If Mendian is to be forced to fight for its future, I would see us strike the first blow. In the event that Michael agrees to serve as custodian of my soul, I will arrange for the documents you've brought me to be introduced in the next session of the Batzar.

I will argue that the deaths at Leik were caused jointly by Safid and Ardan malice, and that the ongoing siege of Imes represents a developing humanitarian crisis."

"This entire damn War has been such a crisis," Sobriquet retorted.

"Will saying it plainly have such an impact?" Leire smiled toothily.

"There are things that men know, and things that men say. As the Star I may address the Batzar on matters I find relevant to the welfare of Mendian; I have not done so in nearly fifteen years." She steepled her fingers, raising an eyebrow at Sobriquet.

"I daresay they will find it momentous enough to spur some action. There will be challenges, of course, but we shall have the benefit of foreknowledge and should be able to maneuver around them."

"You're proposing to change the course of your country to align with our aims?" Michael said.

"Even for what you're asking, that's too much. What else aren't you telling us?"

"So suspicious," Leire said, her eyes narrowing.

"This might actually work." She snorted out a laugh, then shook her head.

"Mendian is stagnant, despite appearances. Fixed, ossified, unable to adapt to circumstances. We need to abandon our stifling isolationism and engage with the broader world, or risk being crushed by it. I have been searching for an opportunity to force such a change for years now. That it comes along with an answer to the problem of my succession is doubly fortunate." She got up and put her plate back in the alcove, then turned to face the table.

"I won't demand a decision of you today, of course. The next session of the Batzar is on Izar-eguna - Rimesday, as you say. Four days hence. If you require anything, Unai will make himself available. I will likewise be present, should you have questions for me - or an answer." Leire stood for a moment, her eyes glinting over the table before finally settling on Michael's own. He forced himself not to squint or turn away.

Her soul blazed around her, dancing over snow-white hair and wrinkled skin - then dimmed as she turned and walked back into her chambers, leaving them alone in the opulent room. Before a minute had passed, Unai came in to shepherd them back downstairs. Michael followed him in a daze, his mind not processing the short trip in the elevator or the longer passages through endless hallways. He was back in their quarters before he realized it.

It wasn't until he sat on one of the sofas and let his head thud back against the wall that his mind began to clear. The others were looking at him, their minds a whirling blend of trepidation, excitement and dread. It was hard to separate one thread from the other amid the tumult. He let his breath out, slowly, then took it back in.

"Well," he sighed.

"I wasn't expecting that." Charles snorted out a laugh, which set the others to smiling. Even Luc's perpetually-worried face eased into something less-troubled. Sobriquet shook her head.

"Fair to say that wasn't my guess either," she agreed.

"But here we are." She paused, her eyes straying from him before returning.

"What do you think of her proposal?" she asked. Michael nearly winced at the tone of her voice. She knew his thoughts on gaining more souls better than any of them. That she asked him to consider his answer anyway spoke to the magnitude of what Leire was offering. He met her eyes and saw the apology there.

"It's not a small one," he said, trying for levity.

"I suppose it would solve the question of my eventual employment." He smiled, then shook his head.

"I don't know that I could trust any answer I reached today. If you all have any thoughts, though, I'd love to hear them." He cast his gaze around at the others, but looked to Sobriquet most; she sighed and raised her hand in surrender.

"Obviously, the prospect of Mendian intervening on behalf of Daressa is everything we had hoped for," she said.

"More, since it sounds like Leire means to break precedent for us. If I were in your position, I would accept the offer." Her mouth twisted.

"But freedom for Daressa is my goal, and my cause. You should talk with Leire, ask her plainly what the downsides to her offer are. From what I've seen of her, she'll answer you in full." Charles leaned forward, giving Sobriquet an incredulous look.

"You make it sound like you don't want him to take it," he said.

"Do you think it's a trap of some sort?"

"No," Sobriquet said.

"Not a hidden one, anyway. Accepting means that he'll be bound to Mendian forever, serving their agenda. The rest of his life is in the balance."

"And the lives of every Daressan," Charles shot back.

"He gets to decide whether the continent falls to Saf or stands free. How is that-" Sobriquet did not speak, but the crackle of her soul manifesting around her cut Charles off mid-sentence. She looked at him with hard eyes.

"We all know what's at stake," she said.

"We have a chance to save the country, but our actions in the next few days will determine the course of our future. I will not speak of lives owed or debts incurred save to say that we are hardly in a position to demand more of Michael. Instead, let me pose a question." She leaned in closer to Charles.

"If we supply Michael with pressure, and not sound advice, and in so doing force him to a decision he later comes to regret - do you think that will serve Daressa? To have the Star of Mendian unhappy in his office, with the knowledge that we steered him on an incorrect path for our own gain?" Charles held her gaze for a few long moments, then shook his head.

"I still think it's a good deal," he said, though his defiant glare did not touch Michael.

"I've said my piece." Emil shook his head when Michael looked in his direction.

"I don't know enough to weigh in, although obviously I'd enjoy it if Mendian came down on our side," he said.

"I agree that you should ask Leire about the downsides. Would be good to see if we can ask others outside of her compound, too - just in case she's not as forthright as you all seem to believe."

"I haven't heard anything suspicious," Vernon said.

"But that doesn't mean much. I suspect that this facility is built with auditors in mind. I'll let you know if there's anything in the next few days." He shrugged, and smiled at Michael.

"But failing that, I'm not sure I have much to say. Only that Stellar's power would demand use, should you accept it. That, as much as anything, would be the price that worries me." Michael nodded slowly, feeling troubled. His mind's eye once again showed him Leire standing on high, laying waste to the Safid fleet. He had been awed, appalled. The scale of the destruction was beyond anything he had contemplated as possible before that day.

If he assumed the office of the Star in trade for Mendian's involvement in the War, he would not be able to avoid using his souls for the same end. He would kill far, far more people than Leire ever had.

"You shouldn't," Luc said quietly. The others looked at him; he quailed a bit under their stares, but kept his eyes on Michael.

"It's what he wanted," Luc murmured.

"This is what he wanted you to be, yes? What he wanted to create. If you take her soul, you'll be finishing his work for him." His voice shook as he spoke, but for the first time Michael heard real conviction in it.

"Leire wanted to kill you at first, then decided not to. People who decide-" Luc swallowed, his composure wavering. When he spoke his voice was soft once more.

"Anyone who sees your death as an option is not your friend," he said.

"Or your family. Their eventual choice doesn't matter, because they've already decided your life is theirs. She wanted to kill you because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to control you. I don't think she's changed her mind on that." Michael could only stare; he had never heard Luc offer such a forceful opinion before.

"She spared you because she wants to use you," Luc said.

"To point you towards her enemies and have you slaughter them. That's the same as what the doctor wanted - save that Mendian will benefit, rather than Ardalt." He paused, his fervor dimming; he seemed to realize that the tone of his voice had risen as he spoke. Luc's eyes dropped.

"I think you're a good person," he mumbled.

"You don't like hurting people, not like the doctor - not like Claude. Taking her soul means hurting people, killing them by the thousands. You would never say that so much death is the right path, yes? So if you hear a voice inside that tells you it is, that it's all worth it, ask yourself who would say such a thing. Ask yourself if those are your words, or his." Charles made an annoyed grunt, and Luc's face flushed, his eyes sliding down and to the side.

Michael felt a sharp flash of irritation at the artifex for ending Luc's fragile moment of confidence so harshly. He glared at Charles, the fires within him stuttering to life of their own accord - then, with a panicked twist of effort, extinguished. His heart pounded sharply in his chest, the adrenaline coming a second later as the magnitude of what had nearly happened sunk in. He wasn't sure what had showed in his eyes - nor, from his expression, was Charles.

There was fear, though, the same omnipresent fear that Michael had let fade into the background. It came surging forward to flicker behind Charles's uncertain expression. Nobody else seemed to have noticed, not even Sobriquet. Michael shook his head, taking a slow breath. When he brought his eyes up again, it was to look at Luc.

"Thank you," he said.

"All of you, truly. I'm not going to decide anything today, and probably not tomorrow either." He forced a smile.

"You'll know before I tell Leire, one way or the other." The others nodded and smiled, variously, getting up to retreat to their individual rooms or other parts of the suite. Charles practically vanished into his sleeping quarters, showing no outward tell of the unease Michael felt radiating from him. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. After a moment, Michael rose and looked around the suite.

There was a door against the outside wall, set against a span of windows; he opened it to reveal a balcony that faced out over a wooded valley. The midday sun lit it brightly, sparkling from the waters of the strait far downslope. There was a city against the water's edge, vast and sprawling. He sharpened his sight on it, taking in the massive blot of stone and steel. Thin, tapering spires rose from the city center, buildings that beggared any he had seen in Calmharbor.

Two of the tallest had airships moored to them, the massive ovoids little more than specks at this distance. Michael drew his sight back from the bewildering cityscape and let himself be in the valley. Leire's home was massive, but cut into the hill in such a way that the walls of glass and dark wood complemented the landscape rather than marring it. The smell of trees and resin filled the air, birdsong faintly audible over the sigh of windblown trees. After a long moment, he let himself enjoy it.

He awoke as the sun was just touching the top of the western ridge, feeling more rested than he had in weeks. Some noise from inside spurred him to wander back in, where he found Unai speaking with Sobriquet. A cart lay between them, piled with covered dishes and baskets. She flashed him a smile as she saw him enter.

"Good timing," she said.

"We've just been given our dinner, I was about to come out and get you." The smell of the food hit his nose as she spoke; his hunger this time was more earnest than it had been at lunch, absent Leire's overpowering presence. He returned the smile and moved to help unload the plates from the cart. The others were drawn from the various corners they had retreated to by the aroma, and before the sunlight had completely fled the sky they were all seated around the suite's central table.

Leire had not withheld her hospitality. There was a roast that Michael thought was lamb, along with various breads, sausages and hard, fragrant cheeses. Other dishes were stranger - a sort of stew with eggs, shellfish and bone-white asparagus gave Michael pause, but smelled delicious enough that he took a portion anyway. As the last helpings were being parceled out, Sobriquet rose with her glass in her hand. The others looked to her; Luc hurriedly traded his fork for his glass, already chewing a mouthful of food.

"To Daressa," she said.

"To Gerard and Clair. No matter the end of our journey, I'm grateful to each of you for making it with me." She held her glass high; Michael and the others rose from their seats to do the same. They drank, then sat. There was no further conversation before the food, which proved to be excellent. Plates were cleared and refilled, wine was poured; Charles assumed the duty of opening each bottle, his bracelets flowing into thin snakes of metal that adroitly levered the corks free.

Michael kept an eye on him, remembering that spike of fear - justified fear, given what might have happened. He saw no trace of it in him now. Indeed, the fear from the others had faded far past the point where he could sense it, even with an effort of will. Instead there was only warmth, an echo of the wine's dull glow in his belly.

"…and then the officer comes up to see why his men are detained," Charles said, leaning in over the ravaged, empty plates. The light from outside had faded, leaving only the golden glow of the suite's lamps.

"So I snap to attention, straight as a rail, and I say - sir. Sir!" He delivered a mocking salute.

"We were just discussing payment for what these drunkards did to my poor pig!" The table dissolved into laughter; only an effort of will kept Michael from dribbling wine out of his nose.

"So then the officer rounds on the poor drunk bastards," Charles wheezed, wiping a tear from his cheek, "and we're sneaking off while he's distracted, trying to keep all those shiny Ardan coins from clinking. We get halfway across the plaza, but then Gerard can't help it any longer - he starts laughing." Charles mimed an enthusiastic shushing motion.

"And I say 'quiet, quiet!' - because they're right behind us, you see, but then I hear the officer yelling - Gerard had stuck his boots into the cobblestones. And of course he tried to shoot at us, but he dropped his pistol. And when Gerard heard it clatter to the road, the damn fool went back and took it. And - and! As he's walking past the officer, the man's looking at him like he wants to burn a hole straight through him. Gerard stops, looks him in the eye and asks him if he's got any spare magazines for it."

"No!" Sobriquet laughed.

"Ghar's bones, when was this? Why am I just hearing about this now?"

"Before you came along," Charles said, taking another sip of wine.

"Organized everything, insisted on us running smart operations instead of just doing whatever we thought would piss off the Ardies."

"When we were all young and dumb," Emil sighed, toasting the empty air.

"As opposed to now, when we're not so young anymore."

"Speak for yourself," Sobriquet retorted, shooting him a haughty look.

"You and Charles are the old men here. The rest of us still have some life left in us." Charles snorted.

"You don't know what life is!" he scoffed.

"You work harder than anyone here, and that includes the man we rescued from the labor camp." He gestured at Luc, who flushed at the attention.

"How are you going to bring back the spirit of Daressa like that? You need to enjoy life! Drink, sing, eat more meals like this!" He smiled, his eyes darting to Michael for a moment.

"I'm sure if you asked some of the others here, they'd have a few more ideas for you." He waggled his eyebrows; Sobriquet threw a napkin at him.

"Leaving that aside," she said, a tinge of pink in her cheeks, "I believe Unai said there was some sort of dessert on ice, down on the lower shelf of the cart." Vernon, being the closest, bent down and retrieved a tray with six small ramekins upon it.

"Here," he said, walking around the table to hand them out.

"Though I'm not sure what manner of food it is." Michael lifted up the small, cold cup as Vernon gave it to him, smelling it. The sweet, caramel flavor of custard came to his nose; for a moment he was transported to another evening entirely, amid candlelit gardens and the cool evening breeze. A weight seemed to settle on him, and the smile died from his face.

"It's goxua," he said quietly.

"I've - had it before." Emil took a bite and smiled appreciatively.

"As have I," he said.

"We could take a few lessons from the Mendiko, where food is concerned."

"Traitor," Charles muttered.

"Daressa weeps to look upon you." He stuck his spoon in his own, then took a begrudging bite - and another, shortly afterward. Michael left his own dessert half-finished and excused himself, returning to the balcony. He settled down into the chair he had used before and looked up at the purple sky overhead. A few stars had emerged already; the brightest glow came from the distant city on the shore. Goitxea, he assumed. It shone against the dark, lighting the haze around it with a deep amber glow.

Some time later the door slid open, then closed once more. Sobriquet walked out and took the chair beside him, wordlessly handing him his half-finished glass of wine. He contemplated it for a moment, then took a drink.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. Michael sighed, then shook his head.

"It's silly," he said.

"It's - Sofia made me goxua, once, when I was at her house for dinner."

"The crazy bitch can cook?" Sobriquet asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I suppose it makes sense that she'd be good at it."

"She can," Michael confirmed.

"Rather well. It was just the five of us that night - her, Isolde, Vera." He took another gulp of wine.

"Vincent. Just her closest friends." He set his glass down on a side table and looked out over the valley.

"I didn't really have any friends growing up," he said.

"My father had something of a reputation, one he'd earned well. I didn't really understand-" He broke off, shaking his head once more.

"That night I learned what it meant that my father didn't love me, because I saw what I could have had in Sofia and her friends. Their warmth, their joy in each other. There was love there, and I - I've destroyed that." He looked up at Sobriquet, feeling the breeze rush over his damp cheeks.

"They'll never trust Vera again, and Vincent is dead. And here I am - here we all are. I feel that warmth with all of you, and it feels like I've stolen it away from the ones who had it first. The ones who risked their lives to help me." He managed a small, joyless laugh.

"Because that's who I am, I suppose. The man who steals what's left over after something dies." Sobriquet didn't answer right away, taking a sip of her own wine. She set her glass down beside his.

"You made a choice," she said.

"To save Clair from them, and then to save me. They chose to toy with my sister's mind, to try to kidnap me, to try to kill all of us at Siad. What happened to them wasn't your fault."

"Tell that to Sofia," he muttered.

"I'm fairly certain she's going to hunt me until one of us dies. I can't even blame her for it. If I had lost what she's lost-""For someone so unassuming, you have a knack for being arrogant," Sobriquet sighed.

"Don't take Sibyl's blame from her shoulders. She harvested what she sowed, as do we all." She looked Michael in the eye, her expression fixed and serious.

"Michael. If I know anything about you, I know that you tried your utmost to spare them from harm. I will not hear you say otherwise; I know you tried. You can't save a person from themselves." Michael sighed.

"It doesn't lessen the sting of knowing that all of this, this joy we had tonight - that it came at the cost of sorrow for those that had helped me in the past."

"Damn it, you ox," she said, exasperated.

"And what of the joy you've secured for others? Hope, for Daressa, that we might not perish under the boots of foreign invaders? Hope for Mendian, even? Would you tell us to desist in the war because it might inconvenience Saleh and Amira, who have also aided us?"

"No," Michael replied.

"I just - wish there was another path. One that didn't involve so much suffering." Sobriquet let out a long breath, then leaned back in her chair.

"Do you know," she said, "when I was younger, I used to hear people talk about the problems the country faced. How Saf was so strong, taking our territory. And I thought to myself - it will all be fine in the end. Someone will do something about it, before things get truly bad." She raised an eyebrow.

"And so I waited. Just after my parents died I was too young to do anything else. After Clair joined the resistance, with me in tow, I had a hope - a child's hope, that she might be the one who fixed everything. Even years later, after I got my soul, as powerful as it was, I thought - surely, someone will come along and fix things now, and I can help them." Michael said nothing, listening to her speak; she paused to drain the last of the wine from her glass.

"Then one day Clair was caught out on a raid. There was gunfire, men were dying. I was there, as Sobriquet; I saw they were all going to die - and I realized that nobody was coming." She set her glass back down and looked at Michael, her eyes glinting with reflected starlight.

"I had never hurt anyone before that day. I was the baby of the resistance cell, they doted on me. I only scouted, looked, snuck about like a rat. But that day, I laid my hands on every Ardan soldier I could reach. I showed them pain, torment, agony that drove them senseless. And when it was done my sister killed them." She laid her hand across her chest.

"It was me. I had been waiting all those years, and in the end I was waiting for myself. My sister was waiting for me, the resistance was waiting. The whole country, free and occupied, waiting for me to wake up and fight. So I did." Michael snorted.

"And you call me arrogant," he murmured, smiling. It earned him a punch on the shoulder.

"You ass, I'm one of the Eight," she shot back.

"My point is that I had the power to change things for a long time before I believed that I could. Or should, for that matter. I see it in you too. You don't think you have the right to decide for others, and though I find that rather endearing - they're not making a decision. All those people out there, they're just waiting. I think you should consider that they may be waiting for you."

"You think I should accept Leire's offer," Michael said. It came out with a hint of accusation that he did not intend, but Sobriquet only shrugged.

"I think you should ask her what made her decide to fight," she said.

"Ask her if the benefit outweighs the loss. And - ask her if she felt ready to decide the fate of others, when she received her soul." Michael nodded slowly.

"And what of Luc's argument?" he asked.

"That by accepting her soul, I would complete Spark's work for him?" She laughed, then shook her head.

"Luc is afraid," she said.

"Not without reason. The power you already hold is tremendous. With Stellar's soul, there would be nobody who could stand against you should you prove to be monstrous at heart. To Luc, who has known only monstrous men, the prospect is terrifying."

"He should be scared," Michael said." I'm scared. Earlier, when Charles cowed Luc, I - I think I came within moments of killing him, almost before I realized it. I don't believe I'm a bad man, but I'm nowhere near good enough to wield this kind of power. I can't be perfect in every moment, and each soul makes those imperfect moments deadlier." He sighed, then looked over at Sobriquet. She was smiling at him beatifically, tracing her finger around the rim of her empty glass.

"I know you're afraid too," Michael said.

"You try to bury it, but I can feel it lurking."

"I told you not to judge me by my base impulses," she said.

"Feel what we may, it's what we choose to act on that defines us. You did not allow your soul to harm Charles, and I do not allow myself to listen to that fear. Fear is an animal thing, mindlessly whispering that you could harm me. I act as the person who knows that you never would." There was a flicker of something unreadable in her face, a complex twist of thought that came and went before Michael could properly glimpse it.

Sobriquet leaned forward for a moment, her eyes on his - then she sat back, sighed and rose to her feet.

"Talk to Leire," she said.

"Hear her out. And if you need to talk about it more, I'll be - waiting." She gave him an exasperated smile, then shook her head.

"Goodnight, Michael."

"Goodnight, Sera," he said, watching as she lingered for a bare moment - then walked back inside, letting the door shut softly behind her. Michael slumped back into the chair, draining the last of his wine and letting his eyes drift up to the growing host of stars.