Chapter 38: Dos Moi Pa Sto

Chapter 38: Dos Moi Pa Sto

Men are not alone in bearing divinity; it is in every raindrop and stone, every tree and beast. In this we are not set apart from the rest. What lifts man up from unthinking nature is that we see the divine other and know it as kin.

This is why mercy is solely the province of men. Do not beg the sea for kindness or the storm for its forbearance. The world does not weep at the sight of blood.

- The Book of Eight Verses, the Verse of Growth. (New Kheman Edition, 542 PD)

Mist clung to the sharp angles of the trenches and made dim silhouettes of the soldiers peering over their lip. It did nothing to hide those closest to Michael, however; Sofias eyes were burning clear, and Friedrichs were impassive flint. The riders she had brought kept their rifles low but ready, though one among their number was unarmed - Vincent guided his mount up to stand behind Sofia, glaring down at Michael with undisguised anger.

Dont make this any more difficult than it has to be, he said. Youre coming back with us when this is over, one way or the other. You can do it on your feet or on your back, with your friends - or without them. He flexed his hand, and light dimmed and shimmered around his fingers.

Michael met Sofias eyes first, holding her gaze for a second before turning to Vincent. Wheres Vera? he asked. Isolde?

Vincents face darkened. Theyre safe from you, he said. I dont know how you twisted Jeorgs soul to harm Vera, and I dont want to know why you would. Tell us how to fix whatever you did and things will go better for you.

There was a beat of quiet marred only by a low growl of thunder overhead. Michaels lips curved into a smile. He couldnt help himself when faced at the absurdity of it all, the mistaken conviction sitting rigid on Vincents shoulders and sparking fire from Sofias eyes.New novel chapters are published on

You dont know anything, he said. Did you ever? Was it like this, when you plucked me from Calmharbor and sent me off to Jeorg? Head brimming with what you think the world ought to be, and no notion of what it really is?

Vincent bristled, but before he could speak Friedrich stepped forward. His face showed nothing, and Michael felt nothing from underneath - only the sharp, cold edges of his soul. Im not here to waste time on your childrens games, he said, raising his hand and pointing lazily at Michael; all around him, soldiers raised their rifles level with his chest. Posturing between spoiled brats means nothing in the War. Come quietly, Lord Baumgart - or dont, and die quietly. He ignored Sofias outraged exclamation, running a finger along the lingering traces of the bruise under his eye. His lips parted to show his teeth. Choose now.

Michael stared back, forcing himself to meet the other mans lacerating gaze, to ignore the tension he felt thrumming from every soldier around them, the overwhelming blaze of grief from Sobriquet and the righteous anger from Sofia.

This was it. He stood at the foot of a path that had filled him with fear and dread, loomed in his mind for the entirety of his stay on the continent. It was not too late; he could still turn away and hide from it. All it would require is that he accept the slow stripping-away of everything he held dear.

He nearly laughed. How odd, to dread a choice for so long - only to find that it was no choice at all.

Michael held his hands up in surrender, reddened palms open, and began to walk slowly towards Friedrich. I only played one game as a child, he said. Tell me - have you ever been hunted?

He felt more than heard the simultaneous tightening of hands on rifle grips, the subtle shift as barrels moved to track him. I have. Every day, I stepped carefully to avoid drawing attention. Every night I slept knowing that I wasnt safe. Thunder rolled overhead again, the rumbling bass plucking at Michaels ribs; he felt a fresh pulse of fear from around him at the noise, a sharpening of their focus on him.

Do you know what that feels like? he asked, still walking slowly forward. That constant fear. My whole life Ive been running, running without going anywhere in particular. Running between hidden and quiet places. Hunted in my own home. Every scrap of safety stolen as soon as I feel secure in it. He clenched his fists, Clairs blood dripping from between his fingers. Have you ever felt so helpless?

Friedrich did not reply, but Michael could sense the sharp eyes of the rest, the tension thrumming through Vincent as his fingers twitched. They were intent on him, watching his every move.

At any moment of the day, it could grip you, he said, letting his voice drop low. It starts out soft, a vague unease that slowly, surely speeds the heart. He took another slow, deliberate step forward. The fear from the soldiers hummed around him, shrill and sharp. Your stomach churns, your bowels freeze. He stopped walking. His hands dropped to his sides.

Your fragile courage, he said softly, falls apart.

The chorus of terror slid into a harmony. Michael saw the twitch of muscles on Vincents face, the quickening of Sofias breath. The fear cascaded into him, built and reverberated; he stood in the center and forced it to build until the ground seemed to shake with it.

This isnt right, Sofia murmured, stepping backward. Hes doing this. Hes- She paled, her eyes widening in horrified realization. No. No, its not possible.

Michael could not have contrived a terror more profound than what he saw in Sofias face; she looked at him and saw Spark staring back. He used it, gave it to the rest until they were locked immobile, wild-eyed and trembling.

The fear built to a crescendo; fingers began to twitch against their triggers. Michael straightened up and pulled fully on Spark, letting it fill his voice, wrap his body, shine in its slow pulse from his eyes. It came easily, smooth and responsive to his whim. Drop your weapons, he barked, tugging on the skein of fear he had woven and hearing the clatter of wood and steel in response. Command vibrated from each word, inexorable and irresistible.

Turn and flee. He locked eyes with Sofia. Today the hunters run from me.

She stared back, transfixed, until Vincent grabbed her horses reins and pulled her mount to the side; they charged off together. The soldiers followed in a barely-controlled rush, throwing their weapons down and half-trampling each other in their haste to make distance between themselves and Michael.

Only Friedrich remained, unmoving, a half-smile playing about his lips.

Fear, he said. Fear is an old friend to those who call the War their home. It has nothing left to say to me. No more hold on my heart. You may be able to drive these others off with your tricks, boy, but not me. He let one foot slide back, raising his hand to point unwaveringly at Michael. In truth, I had hoped it would come to this. An honest contest of strength against strength. No distractions left. No clever ploys, no surprise and concealment. Stand and fight, Baumgart. Show me how you die.

Michael reached out to Stanza, watching Friedrichs soul come alive in glimmers of sharp-edged brilliance. He stepped cautiously to the side, feeling the tickle of his own fear clawing up his throat. The shock from Clairs death was diffusing, the mad scale of what he had just done beginning to sink in.

He grit his teeth as he saw the edge form - horizontal, at his midsection. It would be too fast to duck under. Friedrich was picking up where they had left off before, not wasting an instant probing his defenses. His mind raced with the feeling of laceration on his skin, the countless cuts and scars pulsing with remembered pain.

But as he watched Severs soul contort, the edge deepened past what he remembered of his fathers torments. It was not anything so simple as a knife or sword, not a simple parting of matter. The shining line made a universe in two halves. A sundering, an eternal division.

Friedrich flicked his fingers toward Michael and the line shot forward. Time slowed. The divide it created loomed against his vision, larger than the forests or the sky above. It was inexorable. He saw once more the disorienting vastness that had flitted past his sight in the mountaintop storm, the mismatch of his tiny scale against the uncaring levers of nature.

It was mastery, perfection. Years of working to grow closer to the fundamental truth enshrined in Severs soul - yet Michael had a span of moments to grasp the same. He felt small, insignificant. Awed and foolish, that he had been struggling at such a base level when something like this was possible.

A determination lit within his chest, a small candle-flame pulsing away. Perhaps he had been blind, his gaze too low to see the potential in his own soul, but - with death bearing down on him and fire spreading in his breast, he would try at least once with his eyes open.

He focused again on the sundering that Friedrich had unleashed, straining at Stanza - not to halt the approaching edge, but to find a different arrangement of the world. One where the ground stood a little lower in that spot, where Friedrichs attack chose a path a bit higher.

They had barely made it to the front lines when the first bullets began to fly by, forcing them to dive into the deserted forward trench. Michael ducked down as mud spattered from the impacts overhead, wooden boards splintering and sandbags spilling from the barrage.

I thought you had us veiled? Charles yelled. How in Ghars moldy-

Sobriquet cut him off with a snarl. Sibyl again, she snapped. Shes out there pointing the way for the riflemen. Her eyes found Michael, and she jerked her head back at the soldiers. Think you can do something about that?

Michael blanched. He could not think of Sofia with the same fondness as he had weeks ago, but neither was he enthused at the prospect of trying to kill her. A bullet spanged off an iron fitting overhead, making him flinch; whatever his thoughts on attacking Sofia, she had evidently overcome any reluctance concerning the reverse.

He steeled himself and sent his sight upward to the point where he could see the small group of riflemen firing from the rear trench. They hummed with an odd silence as he watched them; the obruor blanketing them with his soul had stripped away their fear and much else besides. Amid the grim-faced mass of men it did not take long to locate Sofia, with Vincent crouched ready behind her. His sight wheeled upward to the storm overhead. The flame in his chest flared, he grit his teeth-

And nearly collapsed at the effort, the storms imbalance not yet ready for another connection between cloud and ground. No path marred the air, no thunderbolt sketched down to strike the riflemen.

He sagged against the trench wall, panting, and shook his head. Sorry, he said. Its not working.

Sobriquets eyes narrowed, and Michael realized that he had lied to her. It had not worked, and he had tried - but he had felt relief when he failed. He was not sorry in the least.

She sighed and shook her head, looking northward. Damn, she spat. I was hoping to avoid this, but it seems like were out of options. Michael, watch them. If they charge- She paused, then shook her head. Im sure youll think of something. I shouldnt need long.

Before Michael could protest, her eyes fluttered shut; she was projecting her avatar once more. He swept his sight around but did not see her near Sofias men. What he did see was another group of soldiers running between trenches to join them, scrabbling across the shell-pocked soil to take up a firing position.

Charles and Emil fired at them, though it was mostly a symbolic effort given that they only bore sidearms. Nevertheless it spurred the Ardans to move carefully, slowly. Luc and Vernon huddled unarmed at the bottom of the trench, a grimace contorting the auditors face. Lucs face was blank, his eyes resolutely turned away from Michael.

Vernon raised his head. Theyre preparing to charge, he said. Theyre bracing - yes, here they come.

Sure enough, Michael saw the Ardan troops spill over the rim of the trench, eerily silent under their obruors aegis. There were no battle cries, no calls to courage and glory - they ran expressionlessly forward, clutching their weapons tightly.

Charles and Emil redoubled their efforts - until their ammunition ran dry. Charles glared at the pistol and wordlessly reshaped it into a sinuous blade of metal, its wooden grips clattering to the ground. Emil swallowed hard and pulled a knife from his belt.

Sweat beaded on Michaels brow as he watched the soldiers charge closer. Their bayonets gleamed dully in the light filtering through the clouds. He tested the air once more and found the storm intractable, resistant to another strike so soon after the last.

He abandoned the thought, sliding back to more familiar ground. Clairs flame burned within him as rust bloomed from the soldiers weapons, barrels flaking and mechanisms freezing tight with orange florets. They looked down in confusion; Michael only grimaced and turned to the next group of men.

A bare moment after he focused on them, explosions ripped through the charging soldiers. Dirt flew, blood spilled; Michael glimpsed the chaos for only a moment before the world went dark.

He blinked, looking around and seeing only blackness. A rush of warmth swept over them, the air turbid and suddenly stifling. Shells continued to burst unseen in the space between the trenches, filling the air with thunder and the screams of men dying in the dark.

Get ready to run! Sobriquet shouted. Charles, Michael, in front! Theres wire a few paces ahead of the trench, well need a path through.

Michael held Stanza close, drawing on the soul until mirror-light shone bright around him. Luminous outlines hung around the others, dimmer light clinging to the contours of the trench. He saw Charles look incredulously in the direction of Sobriquets voice.

How am I supposed- Charles began, cutting off as Vernon stood and walked over to grab his arm.

Keep hold of me, the auditor said, his voice almost lost against the roar of the barrage. Ill lead you to the wire.

Sobriquet stood and tapped Emil on the shoulder. Youre with me, she said. Michael, can you guide Luc?

I can, he replied, walking over to where Luc was shivering at the trenchs bottom. He saw the other mans head lift at the vibration of the boards, saw him shrink back from an imagined touch. Michael bent down and spoke as quietly as he could amid the shelling.

You need to take my hand, he said, holding it out. Luc couldnt see it, but it seemed right to extend it regardless. Please, Luc. Im not going to hurt you.

Luc stared blankly in Michaels direction for a long moment, long enough that Michael nearly spoke again - but then one hand tentatively extended outward, trembling.

Michael took it and pulled Luc upright, leading him over to where Sobriquet stood by Emil, her foot braced on a step up out of the trench.

I assume this is your doing? Michael said.

The outline of Sobriquets face turned toward him, he caught the edges of a pained look on her face. I was hoping to avoid entanglements on the Safid side of the lines, she sighed. I had - hoped a lot of things. She shook her head. Would have been easier if we could have walked through unnoticed.

Michael nodded. And now?

Now were expected. Her hand gripped the wooden boards, her feet braced against the step. Get ready. The shelling will end soon. Clear the far wire, let Charles take the nearest fence.

His sight soared upward, finding the thin tracery of light that glowed from the wires. He did not wait; he narrowed his focus on it and willed it to corrode. The lack of sight made it surprisingly difficult, and if he had not spent a good portion of the last hour rusting various things he doubted that he would have found any success here.

One last explosion sounded in the distance, shaking the hot, dark air and sending bits of rusted wire tumbling to the ground. A beat of silence followed.

Now! Sobriquet cried, scrambling upward.

Michael grit his teeth and followed, reaching back to help Luc up over the wooden edge. A hot wind blew above the trench, carrying with it the smell of burnt powder and cooked flesh. He took Lucs hand, squeezed it through the sweat-drenched wrappings - and began to run north.