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Part 19 - A Fragment of Light
🕑 Added 2020-03-11 16:00:00 +0000 UTC
What to say of the Aesvain? I could say they’ve suffered, as if it weren’t obvious to anyone with eyes. I could say that they’re stubborn to a fault, as anyone with ears could learn simply by walking close. I do not wish to bore, however, so I will say that when the last king of Tinem Aesvai learned that Mosatel had been overrun he grabbed his sword and stood to defend the evacuating ships. When the final ship embarked they looked back to see the mortally wounded king set the docks aflame and die laughing as his enemies burned with him. What else is there left to say of the Aesvain, after that?
- Tasjadre Ra Novo, Jesa Sagoja: Zhetam Asade
---
The grasses of the Vidim Vai whispered against the side of the truck as they pressed forward, rising high enough that Mark had climbed into the turret to watch for hazards that might be lurking ahead. Aside from the marks of their passage, the land’s only features were gently-sloping hills with an occasional stand of stunted trees sheltering on their leeward side.
“Seems like it gets real windy here,” Mark shouted down. “See how those trees all bend the same way?”
“Did you think they called it the ‘Land of Wind’ for some other reason?” Jackie asked archly.
“Look, there’s a difference between ‘go fly a kite’ and ‘trees grow sideways’ wind!” he retorted. “Seems like they get the second sort around here.”
Arjun turned from the window to take in their bickering. “At least today is relatively calm,” he said diplomatically. “The terrain around here has very few landmarks to speak of, I imagine it could get somewhat difficult to navigate during a storm.”
“Why is there even a city out here?” Jackie asked, turning to Tasja. “We’re far past the wall.”
Tasja settled back in his seat, looking contemplative. “The city was empty for a long time, or nearly empty,” he replied. “Sjatel is one of the broken cities, abandoned long ago, but as it is relatively close to Tinem Sjocel there have always been those who went to Sjatel to find remnants of the old world. Rare saon draim, gems, precious metals, that sort of thing.”
“Treasure hunters?” Mark said, dropping down from the turret with a grin. “Sounds exciting.”
“Exciting and dangerous,” Tasja said. “The saon draim they find are often incredibly valuable, but others may be like the ones in the vault at the archives. I have heard stories of darkened rooms that burst into fire when exposed to light, trinkets that kill with a touch or seem to do nothing until days later when they kindle a rapid, fatal sickness. The smart hunters only take the gamble once, get their wealth and never return.”
The others exchanged a look. “So it’s a deathtrap,” Mark said. “Back to the original question, why does anyone live there?”
“When Goresje made his expedition through the Vidim Vai he set up a forward base at Sjatel,” Tasja explained. “The presence of the army made the hunters more confident, so they came up in droves. It didn’t take long before others followed to sell food and equipment, and by the time Goresje left there were enough people there for it to take hold. These days the settled area of the city is mostly safe unless you go looking for danger - or, at least, that’s what I’ve read.”
“Was mostly safe,” Arjun said grimly. “If it was settled as you described I doubt anyone took the time to make it defensible. That’s likely why they left so easily, they knew it couldn’t be held if the Emperor attacked.”
“Fucking Vumo,” Mark muttered. “For someone who was so proud of his sources he sure left a lot out of our briefing. I swear to God, if he knew about this refugee shit I’m going to toss him off the top of his own damn tower.” He looked at Tasja, annoyed. “Has the old bastard responded yet?”
Tasja shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied, glancing at the portable twinplate Vumo had given him. He had used it to report back on Sjatel’s status directly after they left the gate at Idran Saal, but as of yet there had been no response from the scriptsmiths.
Mark made an irritated noise and moved to climb back into the turret. “What’s the point of sending it with us if they don’t pick up?” he muttered, disappearing through the hatch.
Jackie got up and sat next to Gusje, who did not divert her gaze from the hypnotic blur of grass rushing past the truck. “You okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” Gusje said curtly.
“That doesn’t sound fine,” Jackie retorted, nudging her. “Come on, we have a long drive. You going to look out the window the whole time?”
Gusje turned to stare at her expressionlessly, her face a weary mask. “What do you want me to say?” she asked softly. “What right do I have to complain about anything?”
Jackie frowned. “Is this still about the asolan?” she asked. “You don’t have to-”
“No,” Gusje interjected. “Yes.” She shook her head tiredly. “It’s all the same thing. The cerein, my family, the asolan. Ademen Tacen was all I ever knew, and as much as I loved it there I dreamed about seeing the rest of the world someday, like my father did. Now that I’ve had the chance…”
Jackie nodded sympathetically. “Not like you thought?” she said.
Gusje gave her an anguished look, tears welling in her eyes. “Jackie, I had a perfect life and I never knew,” she whispered. “Even where it isn’t being torn apart Tinem Sjocel is wretched. Filth and hunger, people crowded together in little wooden shacks living their flicker of life and never knowing any better. What were my problems, in comparison?” She shook her head furiously, rubbing at her eyes.
“And now that I finally know what I had it’s gone,” she spat. “I can’t go back to the cerein, and even if I could my family has put themselves at the mercy of the Sjocelym.” Her voice took on a bitter tone. “All that I have left of that life is the asolan, so that I can live and live while the world dies around me.”
The compartment had fallen silent during her tirade, with Tasja and Arjun looking at Gusje with stricken expressions. Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said. “So that’s it.”
Gusje looked up at her dully just in time for Jackie’s fingers to flick her in the center of her forehead. She recoiled to glare at Jackie angrily. “What was that for?” she shouted.
“You’re being stupid,” Jackie said simply, crossing her arms over her chest. “Feeling bad for yourself, not everyone else. The cerein will stay where it is, even if you cannot visit, and your family is safer than you are right now.” Gusje opened her mouth to retort, but Jackie held up a finger before she could speak. The look on Jackie’s face was enough to still the other woman into a discomfited silence.
“I am not finished,” she said firmly. “You just learned that life is not fair, but that you are one of the few that get more than everyone else. What are you going to do with that knowledge? You could feel happy about it, feel sad about it, you could think about how to use your gifts to fix problems - that’s your choice. What you cannot do,” she said, locking eyes with Gusje, “is pity yourself. Pretend that in all of this it’s you who is hurting the most. If you only care about others’ problems for what they make you feel, then you’re making the same mistake as the Sjocelym.”
Gusje stared at her for a few seconds with a profoundly hurt expression before stomping into the rear compartment and slamming the hatch shut. Jackie grimaced but remained where she was, turning to look at nothing in particular out the window.
“That was a bit harsh,” Arjun said chidingly. “For all of her age she’s still fairly sheltered. Ademen Tacen was a poor guide for what she’s facing now, she’s right about that much.”
Jackie looked at him and shook her head. “If she’s focused on her own problems that’s all she’s going to solve,” she said. “Given her position as Tesvaji’s daughter she may not have the luxury of running away or indulging in self-pity. Before this is over she may be in a position where those less fortunate than her will depend on her help - and they’ll need her to fight for them until their problems are fixed, not just hers.”
Arjun frowned. “You’re not giving her much credit,” he said. “She’s a good person.”
“Good, yeah, but mindful?” Jackie sighed. “I’ve just seen too many people taking photos with kids that are all ribs and bloated bellies before proceeding to fuck off back to the States so they can brag about making a difference. Buy a whole plane ticket out to deliver a tenth of its cost in supplies, but sure - they feel better. The pictures from those little trips last a hell of a lot longer than the kids.”
“It’s hardly the same thing,” Arjun protested. “Jackie, I’ve seen my share of misery and hypocrisy too. She’s far from the worst of them.”
“It’s absolutely not the same thing,” she retorted. “If anything it’s more important for her to get it right. You and me, we’re nobody special. But if we manage to make it through this she could be alive for centuries after we kick the bucket, probably as a leader of her people. The sort of person folks count on to do something that matters when the shit hits the fan. If she waits until later to learn that what makes you feel better isn’t always effective, it’ll cost lives.”
“If Tesvaji was here,” she sighed, “he’d probably laugh and flex and have some folksy desert story about a root and a lizard that conveyed the same message without making her hide in the back of the truck.” She shrugged, glancing towards the closed hatch. “But she’s just got us right now, and I love the elderly little shit too much to watch her make that mistake without saying something.”
Arjun gave her an appraising look. “She might hate you for a little while,” he pointed out.
“She might,” Jackie conceded. “But I’ll live.”
---
Navigating through the rolling, featureless grassland was a fool’s errand, so they hedged their bets by tracking significantly north of the direct route. Near midday on their second day out from Idran Saal they crested a ridge to find that the next hill was a dune spotted by tufts of beach grass, and beyond that the slate-grey waves of the ocean.
The roar of the surf was enough to lift even Gusje out of her funk, and before long they had sighted the outermost limits of Sjatel from around the curve of the bay. Seen from across the water Sjatel was a squat hummock of land that poked out into the bay and spilled in disorganized tendrils away from the shore.
For all that it was a sprawling city, however, the buildings were mere empty shells and half-standing walls. Entire blocks were subsumed by grass-topped dunes and drifts while others still stood tall, empty and silent. Here and there a spire jutted up, although nothing close to the grandeur of the Pillars in Ce Raedhil. Jagged stone shards poked up like discarded nails littering the debris of the city, and almost all sported markers of collapse and decay.
To the south, across Sjatel’s fat peninsular outcrop, they spotted the telltale signs of inhabitation spreading out from the fringe of the city. A squarish fortification had been constructed in a clear spot south of the city using blocks quarried from the crumbled walls behind it. Encircling it was a half-moon arc of newer construction that blended local stone, timber and even some grassy wattle-and-daub huts.
This was the new center of Sjatel, and it teemed with activity. People coursed in masses between the fort and its outbuildings, patching windows over with boards and barricading the gaps between buildings with piles of loose material. Behind the fort itself there was a painstakingly exact cluster of dusky gold tents under a green-on-gold banner that snapped furiously in the wind.
On tacit agreement Jesse navigated them toward the Aesvain soldiers, and it was not long before their arrival spurred panicked motion within the camp. Before they had closed half the distance there was a cadre of troops awaiting them in a cautious phalanx, halberds held ready and helms lowered. Their armor was similar to a Sjocelym lamellar, although the warm sheen of it combined with the enveloping golden cloaks the soldiers wore lent them the impression of arrayed bronze statuary. As the brakes whined and the truck ground to a halt before the troops, one of their number stepped forward to plant the butt of his halberd firmly into the rocky soil.
“Hail, chariot,” he called out. “State your business - and quickly. Your arrival will have stirred the abominations wandering the plain.”
The doors opened and the travelers filed out, spurring hastily indrawn breaths and nervous shuffling among the soldiers when they saw their height. The man who had addressed them merely watched, unmoving. Behind their group soldiers were mobilizing, readying their weapons and moving to form a loose battle line at the periphery of the clearing.
“Uh, hi,” Mark replied. “We were sent here to support the army holding Sjatel.”
A ripple of derisive laughter went through the assembled troops, although it died immediately at a glance from their commander. “You’ve missed them,” he said. “They’ve determined that their presence here’d be redundant and have gone back to Idran Saal.”
“I guess that makes you guys the army holding Sjatel,” Mark replied. “All the same to us, either way.”
Another round of laughter went up from the troops, and this time the commander did not stop it. “You may’ve not noticed,” he said, “but we’re not Sjocelym.”
“Yeah, we figured,” Mark replied wryly. “You may not have noticed, but neither are we.”
“He is,” the commander said, pointing a mailed hand at where Tasja stood half-hidden behind Arjun toying nervously with his twinplate’s carry strap. “Sjocelym and a blood-soaked scriptsmith to boot.”
The soldiers did not laugh. Mark and Jesse exchanged a glance before Mark cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “We picked him up in Sjan Saal. Nice kid. Good with a twinplate, decent tour guide.”
“The Sjocelym left us here and barred their doors to us,” the commander said. “They consigned my people to die in the ashes of their city. We’ll take any help you want to give, if you hand him over to my men.” There was another ripple of laughter, grim and unamused. “Otherwise, you should leave.”
Mark frowned. “That’s a little unfair of you,” he pointed out, looking back at the shivering clerk. “Tasja is just a kid, he never hurt anyone.”
“Scriptsmiths’ red!” the commander roared.
“Is Aesvain blood!” came the cry from his troops.
The commander shrugged, turning to Mark. “We’ve said how it is,” he rumbled. “If you’d see him live, I’d suggest you leave soon. My men-”
“Etajhin utii!” a man’s voice cried from the fort. “Utiiva! Jha gor-et!”
The men behind the commander immediately broke ranks and charged around the truck to join the line facing the grassland to the south, and as they watched more men streamed from the fort to complete the picket. The commander strode past their group and gave Mark a glare from under his bronzed visor. “E gajh’ad. Don’t disrupt the line,” he said curtly. “You can leave when we’ve dealt with what you awoke.”
He left to join the others before Mark could retort, and soon the clatter of armor faded to silence as the soldiers stood waiting, arrayed in a loosely spaced battle line between the fort and the grass.
“Why are they outside the fort?” Jackie asked, feeling a strange compulsion to whisper. “Isn’t this when a fort comes in handy?”
“The refugees,” Arjun replied, pointing to the encircling line of houses. “They can’t all fit inside, look.” Where he pointed, groups of panicked Aesvain were frantically boarding up windows and doors, sending their children running to the fort while they hunkered down in the patchwork of restored buildings.
“Well - they’re kinda fucked, aren’t they?” Mark observed. “Guys, you might want to hop back in. I can’t see how their little line is going to keep out a zombie swarm, so we may have to bust our way out of this.”
“And just leave them to die?” Jackie asked indignantly.
Mark looked at her with a resigned expression. “What else are we going to do, Jack?” he asked. “Leaving when shit went south was always the plan.”
She looked back at the frantic refugees with a pained expression, then went pale as she turned back towards the grass. Withered brown figures were staggering out of the grassline in twos and threes, advancing with a halting, jerking gait. Every second that passed saw another handful of the silent ones move forward into the clearing until a loose mob of them was shambling towards the waiting soldiers.
“Why are they just walking like that?” Mark wondered aloud. The advance of the decrepit army was steady, but slow - even at a walking pace any of their group could outdistance them easily.
“They’ve gone full Romero,” Jackie muttered. “It’s like they’re not even the same ones that attacked us. Why aren’t they running, coming up out of the ground?”
Gusje stepped forward and pointed towards the edge of the built-up area. “There,” she said, indicating a tall stone pillar that rose from beside one of the buildings. “Vumo said the draam je qaraivat in Tinem Aesvai were still intact before the fall. Until they shattered, the lines held.” She looked at them all gravely. “The stones protect,” she quoted.
“Oh, hell,” Mark breathed. “That’s why he said mopping them up was so easy. That’s why they haven’t viewed them as much of a threat before.”
Jesse nodded. “Their doctrine assumes they’re fighting near intact stones. If they shattered right now and that group started behaving like the ones we fought, that line would be overwhelmed in seconds.” He watched as the front edge of the swarm met the Aesvain line and the halberds flashed bright in the sun, lopping off heads and limbs to leave a twitching pile of dried corpses in the dust.
The mass of incoming attackers continued to pour from the grassline, but they were dying the instant they got within reach of an Aesvain halberdier. One of the soldiers near the middle started belting out a song in a clear tenor, laying down a cadence for their strikes. The soldiers fell into a steady rhythm as the blades flickered out and back, out and back. It was nearly hypnotic, and Jesse found himself staring transfixed at the bodies that flowed like water towards their inevitable demise.
Except one.
A point of stillness in the flow emerged as a single withered man stopped and raised his head to look directly at Jesse. He met the silent one’s gaze for a long second, blinking his eyes against a sudden gust of wind that seemed to buzz within his head like static. The man cocked his head to the side, bared his teeth and started running directly toward them.
The Aesvain line called out an alarm as they spotted the runner, and the nearest halberdier flipped his blade sideways to stroke through its chest as it attempted to dart past. It flopped to the ground nervelessly, spine severed, and the line continued their defense.
“What the fuck was that?” Mark asked, looking at the others with consternation. “I thought the stones were doing… whatever it is they do. Was it looking at us?”
“It was looking at me,” Jesse replied shakily. He tore his eyes from the body and saw another face in the crowd looking directly at him, then a second. “Oh, shit,” he swore, watching the two snarl and begin to push their way through the mass. “Mark, I think this is an asaarim thing. There might be other factors in play.”
“You’re kidding,” Mark groaned, raising his rifle then dropping it when he realized that there was a whole line of maybe-friendlies standing downrange. The cordon fully enclosed the opening left by the makeshift wall of buildings around the fort, and any possible exit was hopelessly choked with bodies. “All right, new plan,” he said. “Everyone in the truck now. Time to kick the tires on those new toys of ours, hero.”
Jesse nodded and grabbed his sword, turning to face the lines just as the two new runners were cut down. The singer stopped, and surprised shouts were beginning to go up from the gold cloaks as more of the swarm turned to dash towards Jesse. Dodging around the fallen bodies of its comrades and the sweeping blow from a halberdier, one of the silent ones ducked past the whirling blades and sprinted full-speed across the clearing.
It closed with them in seconds, seeming to appear before them as a surprised Mark was still readying his hammer. Jesse swept his falchion out in a clumsy sideways strike that nevertheless hewed through one arm and part of its chest. It gave a rattling gasp and clawed for him before he planted one boot against it, withdrew his sword and struck the runner’s head.
He looked up just in time to see Mark intercept a second attacker with a downward blow that reduced it to little more than a heap of rags and splintered bone. Then another was upon him, and another before he was able to dispatch the first. He risked a look at the Aesvain line and saw that they were leaking like a sieve, individual halberdiers holding their positions well but too hard-pressed to stop the runners from darting through in their numbers. The only thing preventing their deaths was the enemy’s singular focus on Jesse.
Mark crushed two aside with a single swing, then swept the hammer up and around to drive a third down into the grass. Jesse repositioned in time to intercept another attacker with a hasty slash. The rest of the world dropped away and he was fighting for his life in a whirlwind of dust, his heartbeat and the rasp of dried flesh against iron in his ears. He lost track of Mark’s position in the fracas as the runners continued their assault. Their press forced him back a step, then two - and his heel snagged on a corpse. He stumbled, and in an instant they were on him. He grabbed one snarling attacker with his free hand and pushed it away, but another darted in to seize his right arm-
The sea wind gusted slightly through the open window, bringing with it the warm scent of flowers and sunlight. Golden beams of noonday sun lanced through the opening to play across the floor, and as Jesse’s eyes adjusted he could see the metropolis of Ce Raedhil spread before him. Neat rows of buildings clustered around the harbor, and several tidy blocks from there a forest of gleaming spires rose to incredible heights under a clear blue sky. The sounds of conversation and laughter rose up from the street, briefly drowned out by the hum of a passing aircraft.
Jesse stared, dumbfounded, his head still spinning with adrenaline from the fight. His breaths came in gasps and his heart pounded despite his efforts to slow it.
“This shouldn’t be happening,” a voice mumbled. Jesse turned to look behind him, wild-eyed, and saw the bright-eyed woman sulking in the shadowed corner of the room, her white dress wrinkled and dirty. A pang of unwelcome guilt stabbed through him as he saw her miserable state. “I didn’t do this, I was being good. I was leaving you alone,” she whispered, looking up at him with a pleading expression. “I was being good.”
“What’s happening?” Jesse demanded. “Why am I here?”
She shook her head, balling up her fists. “I don’t know!” she said frustratedly. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t call you here, didn’t change this place. What I made was the dark and quiet, the sea and stars, the lesson from the blade. This sunlight isn’t… right, isn’t what is meant to be. I can see a new fragment and it’s not mine.” She blinked and shifted her gaze, seeming to stare at something he couldn’t see. “It’s... Light,” she muttered, her voice resonating oddly. “The Light that Blinds, the Light that Ends. What was wrought for us and upon us.”
Jesse stepped towards her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered but did not pull away, slowly lifting her head to look him in the eyes. “What does it mean?” Jesse asked. “Why are we here right now?”
“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “It’s not one of my fragments, and it’s so, so much-” She shuddered and averted her gaze, wincing. “Not one of mine,” she repeated. “One of-”
Her head snapped up in sudden panic as she stared past Jesse towards the window. He spun to follow her gaze and saw a figure silhouetted there, emaciated and leathery with long stringy hair that tangled into a dusty mat behind her. Dirty robes hung in shreds from her frame, exposing flesh that was withered and cracked with the desert heat.
The bright-eyed woman gripped his arm with surprising strength. “...one of hers,” she said. “Jesse, we’re in danger.”
He turned to face her, meeting pale eyes that showed both terror and grim resolve. His mouth felt dry. “Thanks,” he said ruefully, trying to keep the quaver from his voice. “I had kinda guessed.” He saw a flicker of surprise on her face, then her lips quirked into a small, hesitant smile.
The monstrosity at the window jerked its head up to regard them with a quick, twisting motion. Suddenly the light from beyond where it stood became blindingly painful to look at, the urban landscape drawn in stark and sharp-edged shadows on clouds of steam billowing from the harbor. There was a profound and interminable hush before a roar of wind cascaded around the tower. The ragged figure before them roared with it and flung herself at the bright-eyed woman. On instinct Jesse stepped between them, his arms held up to block her but there was only the wind and rushing fire, the fire, the-
-fire cascaded just above him and roiled off to his right, leaving a smoking stump of a wrist on the runner’s hand still clamped tightly to his arm. He sat up in a panic and tore it from him, flinging it away as Gusje leapt ahead with her own arm extended. The gauntlet she wore glowed white and another torrent of flame lashed out to envelop a mob of silent ones that were charging their position. The few that escaped were quickly cut down by a trio of Aesvain halberdiers that swept in from the side.
Jesse scrambled to his feet and looked around, seeing only chaos. The battlefield line had been pressed back by the charge and the halberdiers now fought shoulder-to-shoulder in a ragged perimeter around the truck. To his left Jesse saw Mark fighting beside the Aesvain commander, the head of the Fragment glowing red-hot between the grasping bronze roots of its handle.
“Hey,” Gusje said, her voice seeming to double in his ears. “Are you okay?”
He heard it like an echo from the back of his head, reverberating through him.
are you okay?
“Yeah,” he grunted with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Out for a second, but I’m fine now.”
“Good,” Gusje replied, using the reprieve to swap out dead crystals for fresh in her gauntlet. “Jump in when you’re ready, we could use the help!” she called out, darting through the battle line to immolate another cluster of attackers that threatened its edge.
Jesse reached down to curl his fingers around the grip of Goresje’s sword, and as he straightened up Gusje’s words seemed to reverberate from the back of his mind once more, questioning.
...use the help?
Jesse’s mouth went dry again as he looked at the melee his presence had upended. The Aesvain were fighting hard but the halberdiers were tiring under the onslaught. Mark had charged forward into the front of the battle with great sweeping arcs of his hammer that raised sparks where they struck, acrid smoke curling up from each blow even as more runners pressed close around him.
The situation was not precisely dire, but men had fallen and more joined them every minute the fighting dragged on. Her offer hung before him like an outstretched hand, tentative and ethereal. Nervous anticipation gnawed at him as the moments stretched out and his indecision condensed to a single, diamond-clear choice of paths - to embrace this insidious, wounded thing that had been born in him, or find a way to kill her.
Jesse closed his eyes and saw her looking back.
“Yes,” he whispered.
He felt a lightness that vibrated through the bones of his arm, then subsided as one final tentative echo asked its question from the shadows. The voice, he noted, was no longer Gusje’s.
...good?
Jesse hesitated, then nodded his head firmly. He felt the lightness flare in his arm once more, stronger, radiating joy and a profound sense of relief. “Beats the alternative,” he muttered, and charged towards the battle.
