A memory of war and sola.., p.16
A Memory of War and Solace, page 16
“In time,” I replied. “We must speak to the general first.”
I saw their lips compress into a tight line, but they dismounted and followed me into the tent.
Hines had sent his aides away for the meeting. Sem and I stood facing General Hines and Feren across the map table under the shaded canopy. For a time, no one spoke. Hines and Sem eyed each other warily, each taking the other’s measure.
Feren was the first to break the silence. “Thank you, for helping us. We owe you a great deal.”
Sem said nothing, their face utterly blank.
“Ai me guentéde!” I threw up my hands, swearing.
Sem turned to me in surprise, their lips quirking into a tight smile. Hines wore a look of shock and… humor? It was good to know that he understood some Somiri.
I shook my head and sighed. “Will you stand there staring each other down until Savat’s reserves come marching through the camp? Does it really matter who is the more stoic or the more stubborn? We just fought a battle together! Can we move on to the talking now?”
Hines grinned at me, then turned back to Sem. “Was it you who taught this one? They have an astonishing strategic mind for one so young.”
Sem shrugged. “I found them at thirteen. I taught them what I could. What they have made of themself since is more their own doing than any of mine,” they said grudgingly.
I looked over to Feren who was struggling to suppress a smile. I rolled my eyes. First they stared each other down, then they discussed me like a child.
“They’re both right though.” Hines nodded first to one of us, then the other. “We do owe you a great deal,” he said to Sem and I, “and time is short. The prisoner has said nothing to my men. If he—they speak to you, will you share what they say?”
Sem hesitated, and I could sense their stubbornness asserting itself. “Yes,” I said. “I will share whatever military intelligence we learn.”
The general’s eyes darted to me and his lips twitched into a small, knowing smile at my words. “Well enough. Feren, take them to see the prisoner.”
We left the tent and Feren led us through the camp. The Torfallin were still coming in from the wider battlefield, cohorts separated by the chaos of battle reforming, tending their wounded and dead, setting up tents. Here and there, I was comforted to see a face I recognized. A squad of archers who had ridden with us from Third Sister, a cohort of pikes from Quarry East that I remembered by their captain’s colors. Further on, we passed Joff assembling a mixed cohort that included some of my men who gave us small salutes.
Just beyond the assembly ground, we reached an open tent with a guard facing out from each corner, and two at the sides facing in at the prisoner, who sat placidly in the center. I recognized one of the guards from the squad that had fought with me to capture the nyssa.
Feren addressed the guard lieutenant. “We’re to interrogate the prisoner. Please give us some space and privacy.”
The lieutenant saluted, and gave orders for the other guards to untie canvas sides that were rolled up into the canopy of the tent. These dropped down one by one, turning the open canopy into a dark, closed space. The front panel was split down the middle to form a door, and one guard held this open for us to enter.
Through all of this, the nyssa remained seated, eyes staring blandly into nothingness. They didn’t react to the guards’ activity and departure, or to our entry. Feren stood quietly in the corner as Sem and I sat down on the ground an arm’s length away from the nyssa. For a time, we simply sat in silence.
“What is your name?” Sem asked.
“Penarth,” they answered simply. There was no emotion in it; just a statement of fact.
“To whom do you owe allegiance, Penarth?”
“The Duke of Fall, Tamar Savat.” Again, the voice was flat, as if they read the words written by another hand.
“What is your goal in this war?” I asked.
Penarth turned to me and answered mildly, “To win.”
Sem closed their eyes in frustration. Perhaps you should see what you can find? they sent me.
I replied through the link in the affirmative, pulling on my well of pain—freshly churned by my experience in the Circle—to delve into Penarth’s mind.
“You’re doing a poor job, then,” Sem answered mildly. “Was capture part of your plan?”
“No.”
Seeking memory in another’s mind is far more difficult than finding it in one’s own. There’s a natural affinity a person holds in their own memories, an intuitive familiarity for the shape of experience that guides you through your own history. It’s something like the comfort and sense of presence that helps you move through your childhood home even in the dark.
Delving a foreign mind for memory is an alienating thing. Every turn and movement is a chance to break upon the unknown, to drive headlong into pain or to find your path interrupted by a chasm of loss or flood of acute pleasure.
It is not a thing to be attempted lightly.
Finding your way requires a map. Something like enough to that innate affinity that the individual holds in their own mind. A way to translate their self-experience to your own. The most effective is a shared memory, but finding even that can be a challenge.
Fortunately, I had left myself a trail back to it.
The tendrils of briar that I had woven around Penarth’s mind still held. I winced once more as I felt the pricks of thorn and constricting vine that held their emotion and pain strictly in check. I would release them from this the soonest I could.
But for now, the bramble was rooted deep in their mind, and those roots were anchored in the moment of memory where I had planted them, coaxing them to grow and strangle the nyssa’s self.
I could feel the loose scree shifting under my feet, the rough grip of my sword against my calloused fingers. The cold, crisp air of night caught the tip of my nose and my ears, and I felt a chill breeze ruffle my short hair.
I also felt the warmth of my beard; the echo of nerves in my hand from the impact that had shattered my sword. I felt the comfort of the soft leather-wrapped hilt of my dagger and saw the jeweled glint of my enemy’s blood along its cold steel.
The certainty of my belief warmed me against the chill of the early hours. What we did here was right. Whether this young nyssa killed me or I them, I would win, for the Vision would be achieved.
…the Vision…
I sat at a campfire in the cold night, all too aware of the milling mass of black-coated soldiers around me. They were crass, offensive, ugly men. Laughing and joking, disrespectful and lewd. Some were drunk.
A pair of them lurched through the camp, arm in arm raising their tin mugs in toasts at the prospect of the coming battle and the chance to kill Torfallin. Nonetheless, they skirted carefully around my fire, keeping their distance. That they thought I fought for them was the perfect joke. It proved why what we did was necessary.
They’re incapable of justice, immune to reason, I thought. All they did was breathe and eat and shit and fuck and make noise. They were unworthy of such joy, unworthy of their rule, unworthy of life. What gave them the right to rule over us who were beyond such boorish pursuits?
I stared into my fire, imagining the coming battle, thinking happily of all the grays I could kill. The sooner they died, the sooner we could be rid of the Blackcoats as well; the sooner we’d be done with this… messiness. I thought of the night they had revealed the plan to me… their grand Vision. That night had changed everything for me.
…that night…
I shifted nervously in the cold chill of the southern air. The common room bustled with drink and dice and camaraderie, but I stood apart. Always there was a palpable air of distance between me and others. I had never quite understood it, how people—even other nyssén—could smile and be close and share feelings and seem utterly sincere with each other. It had to be an act, but I could never fathom why they bothered.
Deeper into the room, the warmth of the fire took the edge off the damp sea air and I could see that the people here seemed relaxed and were enjoying themselves. My shoulders tensed further and I held myself more tightly at guard.
A hand touched my arm, and I turned to see a tall, slender form—Torfallin by their coloring—with a tight, muscular body, a sharp angular face, and long hair, nearly white. Their lips quirked into a knowing half-smile.
…I recoiled in shock and nearly lost my connection…
—I couldn’t understand why they were so far away. The room swayed as I leaned to reach them—
…lost…lost in memory…
—a fine single thread of clarity in the fog like a ray of sun cutting through heavy storm clouds—Eelie grasped both sides of my face, leaning close, their eyes fixed on mine and desperate. Their face held concentration and anger and fear—
…no… that night… back to that night…
“Why do you think they hold power in this world?” Eelie asked me.
The answer seemed simple to me, as all things seemed simple. “Because they took it. There are more of them,” I said, shrugging. “What can’t they do, with their endless armies?”
The slender, pale nyssa with the feral, fox-like features shook their head. “No, Penarth. Try again. I didn’t ask you to meet me to hear you whine about why they’re crawling over the land like ants. I am gathering those who can see the truth; who can understand what needs to be done, and what we can make of this world when the power over justice and reason is in our hands.”
They leaned close, wrapping their arm around my shoulder. “Look at them,” they said, waving their free hand before us at the drunken mass in the common room. “Can any of them best you? Could any of them take from you what you don’t allow them to take?”
“No,” I said, realizing it in full now. I could always take what I wanted. Who of these could stand against me? “But…”
“But what?” Eelie asked.
“But… they do hold power.”
Eelie nodded.
“And… there’s no reason we couldn’t take it from them…”
Eelie smiled.
It dawned on me, finally. “They hold power over us because we allow it.” As I said it, I realized it was true.
“And what,” they asked quietly, “would happen when we stopped allowing it?”
It was my turn to smile.
• • •
Having seen all that I thought could be of use, I withdrew, lurching to my feet more suddenly than I meant to.
Sem looked at me mildly and then caught the look in my eyes. I sent them the experiences I had just drawn from the captive and watched as their face turned grim. They stood also, and we gestured Feren to follow as we left the tent.
Far from oblivious, Feren must have seen our expressions. “You’ve learned something,” he said. “From your faces, it isn’t good.”
I shook my head, still trying to put into words what I had remembered. I felt Sem press a thought to me and felt a sense of aversion at telling Feren the truth.
Do you really expect him to take well the news that his nation is at war with witches and not with Fall? they asked.
They deserve to know. And honesty will serve better than silence here. I replied. I hoped I was right.
“I don’t know what pretense was given to the Fallians for this war,” I said slowly, “but the nyssén they’re fielding are fighting their own war, and both Torfall and Fall are their pawns.”
Feren stopped short and turned to me sharply. “Say that again.”
“This one,” I said slowly, gesturing to the tent, “has a memory of being recruited by another nyssa, one I know. They are rotten to the core.” I paused to let my mind put pieces together. “They are in service to Savat… have been for years, since long before he rose to Duke. I… I don’t know what their relationship is, but I know this: Their goal is to tear down the systems of power in both nations, and wrest that power for themselves. I don’t know how many—that one didn’t—but I suspect that every nyssa in black is biding their time before they turn on their own armies.”
The three of us stood there, taking this in.
Sem wore such a look of distaste that I was genuinely surprised when they spoke. “There is still something in this that doesn’t smell right.”
Feren looked to them, a question in their eyes.
“How many nyssén can there be involved in this? A few dozens? All of Reft is less than two thousand and many of those are families and children. Suppose they win and achieve everything they wish. Suppose they uproot the Lords of Torfall and the Dukes of Fall and between them they hold all Seven Keys and the Three Diadems and the Scales? What then?”
I realized what they were saying. “Rule is held with the hearts of the people, or the will of the armies, or both. No one can stand long without either,” I said, paraphrasing the philosopher Brene.
Sem nodded.
Feren was nodding also. “They can’t hope to win over either, in either nation. They operate now in secret, but if they topple the leadership, they will have to show their hand at some point, even if only to make their own lives happier.”
“Forcing their way into power will only turn the common sentiments harder against us,” I said.
“And the hatreds of the people already turn to the murder of nyssa children now and then,” Feren said, grimly. “This will be worse. It will be open massacre.”
“It will be worse than that,” Sem said grudgingly to Feren. “Reft will not stand for the wholesale slaughter of nyssén. You can not fathom the destruction we could unleash if provoked to that degree.”
Feren eyed them warily.
“The world will burn,” I said softly. “None of us will escape the catastrophe.”
“This Eelie is not so mad by all accounts,” Sem said thoughtfully. “Are they strong enough in Mind Magic to think they could control a nation?”
I shook my head. “I am stronger by some measure and I know I could not. They are arrogant, and willful, and… ruthless, but mad? No. I fear that we still don’t have the whole of the picture. There must be something more at play.”
“There’s one place we can find out,” Feren said. “This—Eelie?—has long been close in Duke Savat’s counsel, yes? Then whether he is conspirator or dupe, there may be something to be learned with him.”
I turned to face south. “And the Duke is at Sind, last we knew. So. Whether through the defeat of his armies, or… whatever else is happening, it seems we will meet him there. I suppose it was inevitable.”
• • •
“How will you go?”
I looked over the cohorts forming up behind us. “Southeast along the mountains. The mules can handle any terrain, and I trust Artem’s footing well enough. We should be able to avoid any troops that way, though it will lengthen our journey.”
“Even so, we’ll be slower than you two can manage alone,” Feren admitted. “But I’d feel better with you riding with us.”
I nodded. “I don’t relish our facing Savat’s armies alone, believe me. But we cannot afford the time. If this war is to end, it will take more than armies battering each other to end it.”
Feren looked to the side and his jaw worked as if sorting through some memory, trying to find particular words. Finally, he turned to me and said simply, “For my part, I’m sorry for things I’ve said about your kind in the past. I hope… I hope you can think of me now as an ally.”
It was my turn to turn away. I struggled to suppress a laugh—I can’t say where it came from. It was not humor; perhaps it was pathos.
“Feren… we've been allies since the woods south of Balifere. Since the morning I raced Artem through the hills to warn your company of the ambush, we were allies. We’ve marched and stood and fought as allies throughout this war.”
I reached out and grasped his shoulder. “‘Ally’ isn’t enough anymore. What we’ve done here—you, me, Mims, Bergin and Joff, our men; all the soldiers we brought out from Third Sister—We can be something else. Something more than just foreigners who either recoil in hate and fear or vie for advantage or make tenuous, doubtful truce with each other.”
I looked north to the horizon, shimmering and indistinct in the morning haze.
“Remember Balifere. Remember the fear and hate that drove people to murder a child from their own village! As much as Savat began this war with you, your people allowed him to turn the power of the nyssén against you, and it’s only by Sem’s power and mine that his forces are on the run now. I am not of Torfall. Neither is Sem.”
I turned to look him in the eyes. “How many nyssén are chased out of Torfall to take refuge in Reft every year? How many of those you face now were taken in and given succor by Savat? Do you wonder why they fight in his army? How many Torfallin nyssén have been killed by their neighbors over the years, who might have fought for you?”
I shook him by the shoulder. “Your allegiance is not enough! You cannot call me ally while you stand by and allow such injustice to thrive across your own lands. You have come to know me and what I stand for. What I fight for. Now, you have an opportunity to become something more than an ally. You have a chance to change the way people like me are treated in your world.” I released his shoulder then and softened my voice. “I hope that you take it.”
PART TWO
SOMETIMES, LIFE CAN LEAD YOU in circles. You set out believing that with each step you take—first one then the next—you’re moving towards something meaningful. Or moving away from something painful.
There are times, though, when you can find the briefest glimmer of truth: That meaning is found in revisiting the past, not in discovering the future. That the pain that drives us to escape our own history is the very thing that shapes our lives. That it’s those moments that break us that can lead us to feel the most whole.
When I lost my family to violence and horror on the trail to Anbress, I wished that I had been killed along with them. I was numbed at least as much by that pain as by the drugs that Cal’s men used to keep me subdued.
