Chương 63: What Was Lost

The white wolf passed through the forest, making no noise as it traveled. It approached the boar, who was surprised at its silent approach. The boar jumped up and ran squealing through the forest. The wolf watched it go into a bramble patch, then continued on. Next it came upon the black hound, who went quickly towards the town where he lived with men. The wolf watched it go past the town's edge, then continued on. Afterwards the white wolf came across the tortoise.

Though it was surprised and frightened to see the wolf, it was too slow to run from it. It watched as the wolf considered it for a long while, then continued on its way. Later, when the tortoise, the hound and the boar met, they talked of the wolf. The boar and the hound spoke of their flight away from the wolf, and asked the tortoise if it, too, ran. The tortoise said that the wolf had only looked at it before continuing on.

The hound and the boar praised the tortoise for its courage, and though it had felt no courage in the moment it raised its head high in pride. It talked of its bravery, and of the cowardice of the wolf for fearing to confront it. It talked loudly, its voice carrying far through the forest, and when it left to go about its business the tortoise walked with pride. A short while later the wolf crossed its path again. The tortoise faced it, unafraid - until the wolf attacked it.

It cried out and tried to retreat into its shell, but the wolf's teeth began to crack through its shield. It pleaded with the wolf to stop, and to walk away as it did the day before. The wolf said that it could not. It had not deigned to pursue the boar through the bramble, nor the hound into the domain of men, nor had it troubled itself with the tortoise's hard shell. The wolf had no need to suffer such hardship in pursuit of prey. But the tortoise had stopped acting as prey.

- Pre-Gharic Ardan manuscript, vellum, c. 500 PE The second day after the Mendiko capture of Leik saw yet more people on the street, and of those many were workmen. Impromptu crews of carpenters, masons and artifices walked up and down the streets, clearing long-neglected debris and touching up the facades of buildings. Michael would have thought it a coordinated effort if Sobriquet hadn't disclaimed any responsibility; she was far too busy to be dedicating time to public works.

"A man lives in a town, he wants it to look proper," Charles said approvingly, watching an artifex reshape the stone of an old Gharic pillar to remove chips from gunfire.

"You don't need to tell people to take care of where they live." He stepped beside Michael and tossed an arm around his shoulders, grinning widely.

"Just remind them that it's theirs."

"And it is, now," Emil said, walking past the pair to observe the construction crew.

"Daressa. The first time it's been truly free in years." His voice was steady, but there was a resonant joy radiating from Emil as he watched the men work. The three men stood without speaking while the workmen packed their things and moved down the street to the next building, an august old rowhouse with its topmost storey caved in by an errant shell. Emil rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Going to be a damn good market for lumber." Charles snorted.

"There we go, I was worried you had caught something. It isn't like you to get sentimental."

"I'm a patriot like anyone," Emil protested.

"I see no reason why I can't be a rich patriot while I'm at it. Nothing wrong with making a living helping my countrymen rebuild." He smiled, showing his teeth.

"I'm half-surprised you're not out there with them. They'd find good use for you in the industrial districts."

"Straightening girders?" Charles scoffed.

"I'm not that kind of artifex. You need to have joy to do it proper." He raised his free hand, one of his bracelets flowing down to encase it in a silvery sheen.

"I talked to some of the Mendiko artifices in charge of holding that man we bagged. They're engineers." He made a face, as if the word imparted a foul taste.

"They're wrapping a force of nature in those beautiful Mendiko alloys and all they want to talk about is tensile strength and shear forces. Numbers and diagrams."

"Well, yes," Michael said.

"They're trying to make sure he doesn't break free and kill everyone."

"Bah." Charles pushed Michael away, bidding the metal back into its normal place around his wrist.

"There's no artistry in either of you. You wouldn't catch Gerard making bricks-" He trailed off, looking back at the work crew. Michael said nothing. He felt the deep melancholy that had gripped the other man, tolling like a great bell from within. Eventually, Charles shook his head.

"A shame he couldn't see it."

"Many good men will never get the chance," Emil agreed.

"But many good men will, and that'll have to be enough."

"For lack of options, if nothing else." Charles ran a hand through his hair, then looked down the street.

"We should find a tavern. Raise a drink to Gerard and Clair, and all the others." He looked over at Zabala, who had been standing at a short remove.

"What about it, Mendiko? Have a drink with us?" Zabala shook his head.

"On duty."

"Since when has that stopped a soldier from drinking?" Charles muttered.

"Fine then, it'll be just the three of us." He set off down the street at a rapid clip. Michael and Emil exchanged a glance; they shrugged and began to follow.

"He's in a rare mood," Michael said quietly, shooting an apologetic glance back at Zabala.

"I suppose the aftermath of a battle strikes everyone differently." Emil nodded.

"It does at that. I'd wager he wants to get right back at it." He shook his head.

"I fear taking back the country is only the first step. If we manage this, we'll have a generation of men that know nothing but the fight. Once they lose it, they're going to keep looking until they find it." He frowned.

"And they will find it, one way or another." Michael pursed his lips.

"I suppose you're right," he said.

"But I think we've got enough problems today without borrowing some from tomorrow. We have to free the country first, and I imagine the Safid will make more of a contest of it than the Ardans have been."

"Oh, it'll be years," Emil sighed.

"But you're right. Tomorrow for tomorrow. We're going to have enough on our hands getting Charles his drink without it descending into a fistfight." Out of the corner of his vision, Michael noticed Zabala straighten up.

"You think that's likely?" Michael asked. Emil shrugged.

"Man likes to fight."

"If fighting breaks out," Zabala said tonelessly, "I'd like to request that you leave immediately."

"It won't come to that," Michael reassured him.

"Charles likes to fight, it's true, but he's not going to start anything with other Daressans."

"So then of course he finds the one bar where a bunch of Esroun sailors are drinking," Michael said, exasperated. Sobriquet smirked, nudging him with her hip as they walked along the market street; Michael scowled back at her.

"Nothing you could have done," she said.

"If Charles wants a fight he gets one. I could never keep him in line, why do you think you should do better?"

"It's only because I was there-" Michael frowned, shifting his sight backward. Behind them, Zabala was following at a short distance.

"You have us veiled, right?"

"From your friend?" Sobriquet asked.

"Yes. Bad enough that I can't get a moment alone with you, I'm not going to let him listen in." Michael forced a smile.

"He probably prefers it that way, to be honest. I imagine he's none too happy with me either; he told me not to get involved and I did." He sighed, shaking his head.

"When Charles started yelling about the Esroun armistice I tried to step in between them. One of the sailors punched me." Sobriquet blinked.

"I imagine he regretted that decision shortly thereafter."

"Immediately. With Zabala there, he broke his hand on my cheek." Michael rubbed at his cheekbone.

"I was too shocked to even try and dodge. It at least got Charles out of the fight, he was laughing so hard he could barely stand upright. It got less funny when Zabala drew his sidearm."

"He's a soldier," Sobriquet said.

"A soldier specifically assigned to protect you. He's not going to stand by and watch someone attack you without dissuading them." Michael looked off down the street, feeling suddenly very tired.

"Dissuading," he muttered.

"Sera, when he pulled that gun I felt it." He tapped himself lightly below the sternum, meeting her eyes.

"He had decided to kill that man. I'm not sure if it was me or the barkeep that got the sailors to back off, but I was moments from seeing someone die today." She hummed, frowning, then squeezed Michael's hand.

"What do you think the Mendiko would do if someone attacked Leire?" she asked. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"Leire?" Michael asked, nonplussed.

"Probably sweep up the ash that was left when she finished, I'd imagine."

"Don't be clever." She looked up at him, her face completely serious.

"If someone went after Leire, even if they didn't have a chance, and a Mendiko soldier was in between - what would that soldier do?"

"Stop them," Michael said. Sobriquet pulled Michael to a stop, turning to face him.

"You're the one that doesn't like euphemisms. What would the soldier do?" Exasperation seized Michael.

"They'd stop them by any means necessary, up to and including death."

"Correct," she said. Her emotions twisted subtly; Michael could not pick out any single strand aside from a strong vein of sorrow that trilled out from amid the tangle.

"Do you think it's so strange that they'd protect you with the same ferocity?" Michael shook his head.

"I'm not Leire. I'm not Stellar. I'm just-""Just?" Sobriquet hissed, cutting him off.

"Just who? Leire's presumptive heir, for one, and that should be enough by itself. Let's not forget that you're Stanza, and Spark, and your own soul besides. Any one of those is sufficient to make you worth killing for - or dying for." She jabbed a finger at his chest.

"You are quite possibly the most important person in the world." A smile came to Michael's lips along with half of a wry response; both faded when he saw the look in her eyes.

"You think I'm not being serious," she said.

"Or that I'm exaggerating. In a handful of years you will have more personal power than anyone I've ever heard of, and the backing of the most powerful military and economic force in the world besides." She held his gaze for a long moment, then let her eyes soften.

"If I didn't know you, you would terrify me." She gave his hand another squeeze.

"But because I do, I know you don't believe a word of what I said, not really. You can't see yourself as anything but Michael." Michael swallowed against a sour taste in his mouth.

"That's what I am," he said.

"It's all I've ever been." She managed a small, quiet smile.

"I know," she said.

"I've only ever been Serafina." A convoluted twist of feeling shuddered through her, and she looked away.

"And in some ways I've always felt like a girl wearing shoes a few sizes too big for her. But as someone who lives her life wrapped in the secrets of others, I can confidently say that we're all playing that game. Every single one of us, children walking around terrified that someone will realize our shoes don't fit." After a moment, Michael looked back out at the street.

"Not everybody," he said.

"There are some people who manage. Leire. Saleh." He gave a soft, coughing laugh.

"Charles."

"All fine examples of well-adjusted humanity," Sobriquet retorted.

"Is that what you aspire to be? You're better than us because you haven't forgotten yourself under the trappings of who the world demands you to be. If we ever get out of this war, it will be people like you that keep us from finding a new one." Michael laid a hand on her shoulder, looking down with no small amount of concern.

"You know I don't like it when you talk as though you're beyond hope," he said.

"Since coming to the continent, I've met people who have abandoned their humanity; you're not one of them."

"Nice of you to say." She reached up and laid her hand over his.

"But simply because I'm not starting barfights with sailors doesn't mean that there's a place for me in polite society after all this is over. I'm a child of the resistance. I want to build Daressa back to something peaceful, a place where people can live lives untouched by violence." She let her hand drop down.

"That may mean that I can't be part of it."

"If you get to tell me who I am, then I should be permitted to return the favor." Michael gave her his best stern look, though from her expression it wasn't coming off quite as such.

"And I say you can and should be the core of new Daressa, because anything they build comes from the dream you carried for them." She flushed.

"Bold words."

"You have to listen to me," Michael said, stepping in close and smiling.

"I'm quite possibly the most important person in the world." Sobriquet stared at him, then shook her head and looked away, a smile fighting its way onto her lips.

"I should never have said that."

"It's too late," Michael said.

"I believe you. My ego cannot be stuffed back into the-" He broke off as Sobriquet jabbed him in the ribs.

"Ow, careful. Zabala is going to shoot you." Sobriquet made a face.

"He wouldn't dare. I'd make him dream about swallowing his own teeth." She glanced back at where Zabala stood, stoically watching them amid the crowd.

"Don't judge him for what he did. Or Antolin, or Leire for that matter. Sometimes she can be a hateful old bat, but for her your safety is a matter of life and death." She frowned.

"More than that, actually. I do believe she would die for you, if she thought it was warranted." Michael shuddered, feeling the truth in her words.

"Let's not test that anytime soon," he muttered, shifting with sudden nervous energy. He rocked back on his heels, then winced and swore as the motion pulled at his stiff hip. Sobriquet moved back to arm's length to peer at him.

"Is that still bothering you?" she asked.

"I thought you went to Luc to have him clean it up."

"I tried, he was occupied," Michael said.

"He's been working at the clinic, there's a lot of people in the city that need treatment-""Well, he's not there now," Sobriquet said, her eyes defocusing as the jitter of her soul crawled momentarily over her skin; Michael hastily slipped his hand back to keep from brushing against it.

"He's at the barracks for medical staff a few blocks south of here. Let's pay him a visit." She shot Zabala a dirty look.

"It's not like we'll be able to enjoy ourselves properly with him around."

"Didn't you just say not to judge him?" Michael shot back, nevertheless letting her pull him down the street. It was beginning to grow truly crowded in the denser parts of the city, with carts jostling for space with market stalls and a surging tide of pedestrians. Many of the latter were overflowing with the same excited energy that had been building within the town ever since its liberation. Michael didn't doubt that this night or the next would see a city-wide party to beggar all festivals.

Their conversations surged around him, melding with the thrum of adrenal optimism that seemed to vibrate the very air.

"…one of those Mendiko armored vehicles, ran right through the fence-""…killed that bastard before he could retreat, I swore he'd get his for what he did-""…walking around town after he took out that Ardan Bulk commanding them-" Michael stopped in his tracks, his ears sharpening on two women talking a short distance away. A smile crept over his face.

"I think the two of them are talking about Charles," he murmured.

"Word gets around." He let his sight drift over to better-see the talking pair; they were two women in their middle years, each holding a bundle of assorted goods. One was gesturing emphatically with her free hand as she narrated her tale.

"…came up as part of the resistance, milady Mockingbird's personal cell as I hear it. One of her right-hand men." The woman nodded emphatically.

"Was them that picked up the truth of how they destroyed the Low City, and carried it up to Mendian so they'd come back here and see justice done. Of course he'd have the spine to stand against that Ardan." Her companion shook her head.

"It's all very admirable, but I still can't believe anyone'd stand against a Bulk that weren't one themselves. You remember what that one did, the Ardan with the lazy eye? And he weren't even that strong compared to some!" The first woman leaned back, a smug look on her face even before her friend had finished talking.

"They're strong, aye, but not the strongest. This man, he's got a soul like no other. They say he can fight with the souls of all those who support him, great and small." Michael froze; his heart seemed to take a great, lurching beat in his chest even as the other woman scoffed at the assertion. He pulled his sight back so quickly it made him stagger, turning away from his eavesdropping. Sobriquet shot a glare at Zabala, who had come rushing closer, then looked at Michael with a pained expression.

"I told you," she said.

"You mean more to everyone than you know." They walked the rest of the way to the medical barracks in silence. With Sobriquet, finding Luc was a simple matter; she led Michael down the long rows of identical tents and abruptly swerved into one, tossing the flap aside to reveal Luc's startled face.

"You could knock," Michael admonished her.

"Or say something."

"I could already see inside," she said.

"I knew he was dressed." She pulled Michael inside before he could object further; Zabala, mercifully, did not try to crowd in.

"Michael's hip is bothering him." The surprise on Luc's face smoothed into understanding, and he stood from his cot.

"Sit down," he said.

"Let me see what's happening. There's been a lot of improperly-healed wounds coming through." He sighed and shook his head, managing a smile.

"Easy enough to fix, yes?" Michael sat tentatively on the cot; it creaked under his weight. As he sat he took in the tent for the first time. It was only a tent, to be sure, but it was well-populated with Luc's belongings despite his short tenure there. He saw the small row of Gerard's stone figurines neatly lined up on Luc's trunk; he picked one up with a smile.

"Have you moved off the airship entirely?" Michael asked, turning the small statuette of a mountain pine over in his fingers.

"This looks like all of your things." Luc looked up and took the figurine from Michael's fingers, setting it back in the place it had come from. Michael blinked, and Luc looked oddly-nervous.

"Sorry, yes," he said.

"It's a long walk back and forth, and I thought - well, I feel more at home here."

"I understand," Michael said, putting aside the mild discomfiture at Luc's reaction.

"The airship can be a bit much sometimes. I feel like Leire is constantly watching me - she probably does have someone watching us every moment we're there." The comment drew an awkward laugh from Luc as he bent to examine Michael's hip. Michael untucked his shirt and tugged his waistband down to reveal the angry red welt on the outside of his hip. Luc tutted and leaned closer, his lips pulling into a frown.

"Ridiculous," he murmured, lightly tracing his fingers over the scar.

"I know Mendiko anatomentes get better training than this, he's let the fascia scar up all the way down into the muscle." He looked up at Michael.

"I can fix this, but there will be some pain." Michael nodded, and Luc looked down once more. He saw the shape of Luc's soul condense around him, still amorphous and ill-defined; like most souls of its axis the manifestation looked like reflection or refraction, but Luc's moved oddly, as if reflecting from beneath a deep- A stab of pain interrupted his musings; Michael restrained a yelp as his leg was forcibly healed from within, knowing that if he made any noise Zabala would likely burst in to tackle Luc.

A second later, panting and red-faced, he stood from the cot and felt no pain whatsoever. He clapped Luc on the shoulder, then pulled him into a hug.

"Amazing," he said.

"And you've been doing this such a short time, too! You're easily as good as Isolde." Luc looked down and to the side, flushing.

"I've had good teachers," he mumbled.

"Unai has been very patient." After a moment, he raised his eyes.

"And I wouldn't have any of it without you." Michael could feel his skin heating. You mean more to everyone than you know.

"I only got you to Mendian," he said.

"The rest, your talent - that's all you." Luc looked, if anything, even more uncomfortable; his eyes went back down to the floor, to the cot, lingering on his row of figurines - then back up to Sobriquet. He pressed his lips into a line.

"No," he said quietly.

"I mean it. That I'm off the island, that I survived Sever's camp, even that I have - that a person like me has a soul." He clenched his hand, then relaxed it, fingers trembling.

"The only reason-" He paused as a low, distant wail began to sound from somewhere far away. It was mechanical, rising and falling with a siren cadence. Zabala materialized within the tent, sticking close to Michael with alert, narrowed eyes.

"Alarm from the perimeter camp," he said.

"Not sure what it could be." Sobriquet's eyes glazed over.

"Not an Ardan attack, I'll say that much. I'd be able to see that quickly enough. No furore at the camp, but there is-" She broke off, frowning.

"There's a blind spot."

"A blind spot?" Michael repeated.

"Like you did for Sibyl?"

"Yes, although it'd have to be a different mechanism," she muttered distractedly.

"Significance as a screen, or maybe a small platoon of dediscators - whoever it is, the absolute fucking gall of them! Doing this while I'm right here?" Her face showed irritation, then concern.

"They're no lightweight or I'd be able to push past it."

"How quickly can we be back there?" Michael asked.

"Whatever it is, we should-" He paused, stumbling. In his chest, a pain had flared, strong and pounding against his ribs as though trying to bash them from the inside out. Peripherally, he was aware of hands guiding him towards Luc's cot, of Luc and Sobriquet talking insistently to him while the world swam in and out of focus. The pressure continued to build around him, though, pulling him far from their words.

The last thing he saw before the pain surged to a crescendo was Sobriquet's face next to his, her eyes wide with panic. He tried to say her name, but did not know if any sound escaped his lips. In the next moment, there was only light.