The sundering hours, p.51
The Sundering Hours, page 51
As the coach crossed into the Lockhorns, it soon became apparent that Spindler’s words held no idle threat. Rain was a constant occurrence, as were slippery trails and unexpected obstacles. Many a time they found the way blocked by a rockfall, or a section of the path which had gone missing entirely. If they were not doubling back to find another route, they were digging the wheels out of mud or using what enchantments the Entrians could devise to keep the coach moving. Had they taken the direct road to Jaston, they might have reached the city in as little as three days from the last law office in Lidden. Two and a half weeks later, they hadn’t yet crossed the midpoint of the range.
And still, Yuna wouldn’t yield. Apparently, even the mountains’ worst miseries were nothing compared to a Colonist ambush.
The soldiers did their level best to bear the hardships without much complaint, but with every passing day Spindler saw evidence of fraying nerves and dwindling patience. It didn’t help to hear wolves howling near their camp every night, or to see how quickly their food stores were diminishing. Soon, they would have to start devoting time to hunting and foraging, prolonging their journey and further draining their already-low energy reserves.
It was around this time Spindler began to notice the change of attitude towards the priestess, particularly from the young First Soldiers. There was no outright rebellion, only a narrow glance here and a sharp ‘yes, ma’am’ there. But it was enough to realize Mavie had been right all along. Their best chance of survival was to stay on the soldiers’ good side. And with every miserable and unforgiving hour that passed, the balance shifted ever more in their favor, if only because it was shifting out of Yuna’s.
One afternoon, the downpour reduced to a drizzle, and they had the good fortune to find a relatively level route through a narrow valley which took them several miles south. After a morning of expending her power on kinetic enchantments, Yuna fell asleep as the coach rumbled along, her head propped against the window. In the opposite corner, Mavie also dozed, or at least rested her eyes. It was often hard to tell the difference. Spindler himself attempted to sleep but couldn’t find a suitably comfortable position, and so settled for staring out the window.
It was gorgeous in the valley, wonderfully green, and everything in mid or full bloom. It felt like they had stumbled on a secret paradise. He wondered how long it had been since anyone else had ventured into these parts to see it.
“Is it this green on the far side of the Lockhorns?”
Spindler looked around in surprise—not only because someone had finally broken the mandatory silence, but because it was Lieutenant Orlyn who had done so. He glanced at the still-sleeping Yuna before answering.
“Have you never been outside Entrian Country?”
“I never had the opportunity before now.”
“Oh. Well, the leeward side of the mountains doesn’t get nearly as much rain, but it’s still beautiful in its own sort of way. You see different plants and flowers and such, most growing low to the ground, like in the Uplands in the High Country. But as for the rest of the country, it’s as varied and diverse as you could imagine.”
She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I’ve always been curious to see it. When I finished secondary school, I very nearly bought a ticket for an airship heading to Altan.”
“Very nearly? What stopped you?”
She looked at him as though the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
“They hate us.”
Spindler raised an eyebrow. “Is that really what they teach you? That every last one of us despises every last one of you?”
“Maybe not everyone, but certainly the majority.”
“That’s rubbish!” He shot a worried glance at Yuna, then lowered his voice before continuing. “That’s utter nonsense. I grant there may be a certain wariness on our part, but as for hostility, that only applies to a very small and pathetic minority.”
“That’s not the standing wisdom at the training facilities.”
“Oh, I’m sure it isn’t. They wouldn’t have tricked you into those uniforms otherwise.”
Orlyn dropped her gaze, making Spindler instantly regret his words.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I’m sorry.” He tried to smile. “After holding my tongue for so long, it was ready to dash straight off at the first opportunity.”
The young lieutenant turned her gaze to the window. Spindler’s heart sank. Their first chance for a private conversation in two and a half weeks, and he’d already miffed it.
With a quiet sigh, he glanced out his own window again. A small herd of deer were grazing in a patch of clover a few dozen yards away. They scattered soon after, startled by the approaching coach.
“Is it true . . . you have lanterns powered by gas?”
This time, a genuine smile lifted the corner of Spindler’s mouth. “Yes. Yes, lit by coal gas, and delivered by pipes that run under the ground.”
“That’s . . . ingenious.”
“Oh, it’s incredible. All the major Cassrian cities are having them installed. In another ten years, they may even be found in every household! It’s the greatest invention since the printing press. And indoor plumbing. And air travel, of course.”
“Even so,” Orlyn replied, “I imagine there is always a degree of resistance. People who would rather hold fast to the old methods than consider anything new.”
“Yes, but you can’t let them stop things. I shudder to think of living in a world where there’s no adventurous spirit. Every scientist, teacher, artist . . . anyone at all who has the courage to present something new for the good of society should be commended for that courage alone. Even if the effort fails.”
A wry smile crossed the young woman’s lips. “I wish more people in Entrian society thought as you do.”
“Ah, so you’ve had some experience there?”
She folded her hands on her lap, looking pensive. For a moment, Spindler wondered if it was too personal a question, and if she was regretting having talked to him at all.
“I was studying medicine when I got the notice to report for training,” she said. “In both fields, I detected an ongoing battle between fear and inventiveness.”
“I can imagine. Medicine, eh? So does that mean you’ve got a gift for healing?”
“I’m not particularly adept at any enchantment, really. It never made much sense to me. Whereas chemistry and biology did.”
Spindler lifted his bandaged hand with a quiet sigh. “Don’t suppose you could whip up a concoction to fix this, could you?”
“I’m afraid not. But I could take a look at it, if you wanted.”
Spindler frowned. He’d been trying to avoid even thinking about his injury, much less looking at it. But he knew he’d kept the bandage well past the required recovery time, and it would be nice to use the hand freely again—as much as he was able.
“Well,” he finally answered. “I suppose it is time to make peace with it.”
He held out his hand and squeezed his eyes shut. After another minute, she had unwrapped the bandage and removed it. He felt her fingers gently grip his hand, moving it this way and that.
“Whoever treated it did well. It’s healed cleanly.”
“How bad is the damage?”
“Didn’t they tell you?”
“They tried, but I didn’t want to hear it.”
“Honestly, it’s not too severe. The tips of your fourth and fifth finger are gone, to the first knuckle. But it should make very little difference to your life. You could still play the piano if you wanted.”
He took a deep breath, steeled himself, then opened one eye and squinted through it.
“Oh, that’s . . . strange. But then . . . I suppose it could have been much worse.”
Orlyn settled back against her seat. “Can I ask how it happened?”
Spindler opened both eyes and flicked his gaze once more towards the priestess. “You can ask. And I’m perfectly willing to tell you. But your leader wouldn’t like it.”
The lieutenant followed his gaze. “She wouldn’t like that we’ve even talked.”
He rested his hand on his knee and studied her closely. “So why have we?”
“I suppose I wanted a chance to determine your character for myself.”
“And what have you determined?”
Another long silence followed. He could tell she was hesitant to answer. She had already said more than perhaps she’d meant to—particularly her confession about her lack of skill with enchantments. But to his surprise, she did answer.
“I’m not sure a single conversation is enough to draw a solid conclusion. But it helps paint a better picture if I take into account your pattern of behavior over the past few weeks. Not once have I seen you attempt to deceive anyone. You have not shown hostility or desperation, nor have you tried to escape. So either you are biding your time . . . or you are not what Yuna thinks you are.” She looked at Mavie in the seat opposite her. “And I am certain she is not.”
The librarian didn’t stir, her heavy breaths now indicating that she was, in fact, asleep.
“Thank you,” Spindler said. “For convincing Yuna to give the tonic back.”
Mavie had only been without it for a single evening, but the effects of the nightmares she’d had were enough to unsettle her for weeks afterwards—and by extension, Spindler and the soldiers. Orlyn shot another glance at Yuna, this time with a troubled frown.
“In all honesty, I was surprised at her taking it in the first place. It seemed . . . vindictive. Especially for a priestess.”
Spindler nodded, then settled back against his seat and looked out the window again.
“She’s not what she seems, either.”
The next day, the rain returned with a vengeance. They also came to the end of the valley and into a place of narrow ridges and perilous cliffs. Everyone was forced out of the carriage to walk behind it while the two First Soldiers led the horses from the front. Spindler and Orlyn often had to push the coach this way and that while Yuna tried to keep it above the mud and loose rocks with enchantments. At one point, Mavie even switched places with Teff, taking one pair of reins so he could apply his strength to maneuvering the vehicle from either side.
By sundown, everyone was exhausted. They made camp on a tree-filled ledge which offered at least some protection from the wind and rain, and which was all the more appreciated since none of the Entrians had the energy for a shield enchantment. The ground there was also damp rather than soggy. After a quick dinner of tinned beans and hardtack, Orlyn passed blankets around and Teff volunteered to take the first watch of the night. Kamrik went to remove the feedbags from the horses, who were already beginning to doze.
As the young soldier trudged back to the meager campfire, he shot Orlyn a grim look, who had settled on a nearby rock and unfolded her map across her lap.
“How much longer?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “At this rate? Another two weeks at least.”
Kamrik cursed under his breath, then turned his glare on Yuna. The others couldn’t help but do the same. The priestess responded by putting her back to them, tugging her blanket around her, and lying down to sleep. The collective resentment was almost palpable.
Spindler sat next to Mavie and spoke in a low voice. “Is our friend still about?”
She raised her eyes to a nearby aspen tree. “Ever faithful.”
He followed her gaze. There was Varn, settled on a sturdy branch and peering down with a bright eye. If not for the yellow markings on his head, he would have been almost invisible in the dark. Spindler adjusted the blanket around his shoulders.
“Wonder if he could find me a shaving razor. I’m starting to feel like a mountain goat, which can only mean I’m near enough to looking like one.”
Mavie smirked. “You only need a pair of horns.”
After another half hour, Yuna and Kamrik were both softly snoring. Spindler likewise tried to close his eyes but for whatever reason couldn’t pass the gate into sleep. He sat up again and rubbed his face with both hands. Mavie was also still awake, staring into the fire, deep in thought. To her right, Orlyn concluded her study of the map with a frustrated sigh and moved from sitting on the rock to resting on the ground with her back against it. Teff returned from walking the small perimeter of the ledge and glanced around with his head cocked.
“No wolves tonight. We’ve heard them every night for the past few weeks.”
“They’re probably just as exhausted as we are,” Orlyn replied.
Teff nodded. “And likely found a nicer place to bed down. If we’re to go on like this, we really ought to keep our eyes open for drier camp sites. Caves and such. We can’t do with sleeping too many nights in wet clothes. We’ll all catch cold—or worse.”
“Colds don’t come of wet clothes. It’s viruses that cause them,” she answered. “The main thing is to stay warm.”
Spindler turned his head with a frown. “Do you hear that?”
Everyone glanced up and listened. There was a sound of soft humming, very distant, but unmistakable. It grew louder with every second, until the hum became a rumbling sort of buzz.
“Engines,” Teff said. “Must be airships nearby.”
Mavie was already gazing skyward. “There they are.”
Spindler could just make them out between the gaps in the canopy. There were three of them, traveling relatively close to one another and just below the cloud layer. Lanterns were visible as tiny points of light on the rafters.
“I’ve never seen airships fly in formation like that,” Teff said with a curious frown. “And they’re going south. Not crossing. That’s odd, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Mavie replied. “They’re in formation because it’s a patrol. They’re doing the same as you. Keeping watch.”
“You think those are Entrian airships?”
The old woman let out a rusty chuckle. “Well, you’re the only ones with an air fleet. It’ll be ages before the Cassrians can establish one. The Assembly seems to take special delight in arguing every point of every proposal that crosses their desks. Add to that being paralyzed by the fear of war, and you’ll be lucky to see any organized resistance from us.”
“We do not threaten war,” Orlyn said. “We are a defensive force only.”
The humming buzz faded, until the great vessels were little more than distant wasps. Mavie waited for the sound to disappear entirely before speaking again.
“So you’ve said, Lieutenant. I’ll even consider that you might actually believe it. But from what I can see, you are only two steps away from open conflict. All that remains is for your consul to close the borders—which I imagine is not far from her mind—and to send a formal declaration to the Assembly.”
“There is also a third step,” Orlyn said. “To perceive an act of aggression. Which in my view, will not come readily. That is the point of our forces. To deter any such behavior. So you may rest assured. War is not imminent.”
The old librarian’s eyes fell to the fire. Even against the light, Spindler saw her face darken and her eyes fill with haunted solemnity.
“It is always imminent,” she replied. “People always turn to war, eventually. A single misinterpreted phrase can be deemed an act of aggression. Even less if a leader feels they need no real excuse. And of course, there are cases in which human folly leaves no other viable course of action but to take up arms. But I could tell you stories of war that would make those rations come right back up again.”
“Fictional stories,” Teff said, looking hard at her.
She met his gaze. “If history cannot teach us, then fiction must.”
Spindler and Orlyn exchanged a thoughtful glance. The young First Soldier took the rifle from his shoulder and nodded at the lieutenant.
“I’m going to have a look down the other side of the mountain. Scout out the terrain. See what we’re up against tomorrow. I won’t go far.”
“All right. Be back within the hour.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As he walked off, Spindler fidgeted with the blanket around his shoulders and cast another worried glance at Mavie.
“Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Do you need more water for your tonic?”
“I mixed it in with my dinner.”
“Do you have enough? I mean, if we’re going to be out here another two weeks—”
She interrupted him with a wheezing laugh and looked at Orlyn. “Listen to him. Doting on me as though I were a helpless old woman.”
“All right, all right,” Spindler said. “That was my last dote. I’m going to sleep.”
He laid on his back and put his hat over his face. He was warm enough. Tired enough, too. But still his mind raced itself in zigzags, pinging from one thought to another. He tried to focus on the sound of the crackling fire and the smell of flowers nearby—jasmine, perhaps, or something like it. But the thoughts were louder. What would happen once they got to Jaston? Had Mavie come up with a plan to free the Plumsleys? What if Madara declared war before they could even reach Cassrian territory? Should he actually learn to play the piano?
“You are a good priestess.”
Orlyn’s words dragged him out of the whirling eddies in his mind.
“Priestess?” Mavie replied. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
