Chapter 64: Involution

Name:Peculiar Soul Author:
Chapter 64: Involution

War is a construct of sacrifice. Whether it is men, materiel, land or resources, loss and gain define the motions of war. Economics is a helpful guide, here; at its most primitive it is easy to understand that one should secure a positive return on investment in order to progress in war.

It is so apt as to hardly be a metaphor at all, but many struggle with the notion of evaluating the worth of human life in such cold terms. How many lives is land worth? How many of each hundred should die to secure comfort and security for the remainder?

The answer, as with many things, is found in the truth of ones own self. Ask what would entice you to trade your own life, sacrifice your dignity, send you crawling through mud and rust until you are left as a bloody ruin.

The men who never find their answer inevitably die upon the swords of those who do.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687

The scent of smoke woke Michael abruptly; he was lying on his back, face up to the gently-waving boughs of the orchard. A dark plume rose from a handful of trees wreathed in flame on the other side of the grove. He levered himself groggily into a sitting position to take it in, looking around.

Youve got a problem, Jeorg said from behind him.

Michael turned to look at the old man. He was staring at the fire, his face set in a grim frown. I think youre right, Michael grunted, forcing himself to his feet. Im not sure what- He paused, his sluggish mind flashing with memory. He had been in Lucs tent about his wounded hip when he had felt

Ghars bones, he murmured. It was another soul. He pressed his hands to his face, leaning heavily against the nearest tree and wishing fervently to be anywhere else; the orchard remained stubbornly around him even so. Oh, Ghars bloody ashes. Who was it? A pang of alarm made him drop his hands, his heart speeding as he looked wide-eyed at Jeorg. Leire? Is Stellar causing this?

Jeorg shook his head. Souls wouldnt harm you, he said. Harm others, yes, but never you. This is the other thing you took. Low souls, she called them. He shook his head. Not an ideal term. They arent lesser, only different. More human. They hold things that were never meant to endure past death. Memory, desire, love. He looked back at the fire. Animosity.

Michael frowned, his eyes narrowing. I thought you only knew what I know, he said. But Im pretty sure I didnt know any of that.

Didnt you? Jeorg asked, his lips curving into a low smile. Perhaps you dont know what you know.

Dont know what I- Michael turned away in exasperation. This is not an ideal time for cryptic reparte, Jeorg. Something is on fire, and I think its me.

Thats the problem, Jeorg said. Its not quite you yet. Oil and water. He held up a hand to forestall Michaels indignant reply. The low soul you took cant be reconciled. It feels, it remembers - it hates. Jeorg nodded significantly towards Michael. And it hates you. It has made itself anathema to all that you are, and will not be yours.

Michael frowned, turning towards the fire. Hatred did not sound like Leires soul. Sofia, perhaps, but his mind rejected the idea as soon as it entered his head. This flame did not feel like Sofia; for all that he was gaining a better sense of it it felt foreign, unfamiliar, a near-stranger. All he could pick out was the sense of loss and injured pride, wounded but still standing upright, adamant, never flagging-

Realization washed over Michael, bending the world towards the white-hot inferno at the far end of the orchard. He turned to stare at the fire and saw it for what it was. Galen, Michael breathed. But how? He was a captive.

Jeorg shrugged. I know what you know.

Do I know what to do about this? Michael shot back, irritation coloring his voice. Damn it, Jeorg - are you here to help me or not?

I am helping, Jeorg grunted. Cant decide for you. He looked up as the fire spread to another tree. You already know what you need to fix. The conflict is harming you.

Michaels brow furrowed. That much seems obvious, he muttered. But Im still not sure how to go about resolving it. If I could make Galen stop hating me, I would have done it rather than fighting him.

Lie. Jeorg turned and raised an eyebrow. You always had the option to take away his hate.

Ice threaded into Michaels gut. Thats no option at all, he said. If I crossed that line with my soul, it would make me no better than Spark.

Never just one line, Jeorg said. You wont meddle with the minds of others; very well. He pointed at the fire. Youve claimed that for yourself already. It is you, or would be. Youve used your soul to heal your own mind before.

The chill intensified; Michael felt ill. Youre saying Spark can change the low soul.

Two halves of a whole, Jeorg said, waggling his hand. Stanza and Spark. Each asserts your mind outside of its boundaries. They share many paired aspects, but the most important is this: Stanza guides the paths of the material; Spark guides the mental. He made a face. Conscious. Conceptual. He shook his head annoyedly. Words are limiting. This thing, this fire burning here, is made of precisely the material that Spark exists to change.

It feels wrong, Michael murmured. To change Galen, even in death. He was a person, he came to his hatred honestly. For all that you say this thing hes left behind is mine now, to change it feels like making a mockery of him. He raised his head, meeting Jeorgs eyes. I would rather destroy it.

Jeorg raised an eyebrow. You would choose oblivion for him?

Its what I chose for myself, Michael shrugged. When faced with the prospect of an intolerable existence. I would have striven harder still for it if the alternative was a life where I was forced to love my father. He shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. Another man Id prefer not to become. No, Galen does not want me - and I dont want him. Can it be done?

For a long moment Jeorg did not answer; the old man took his cap off to run his fingers through his hair. There was an odd verisimilitude to the gesture and the thoughtful frown he wore. It struck Michael with uncommon force, and for a moment he almost believed he was standing across from Jeorg in truth.

Jeorg sighed, and the moment passed. It is possible, he said. Oblivion is the natural fate of a low soul. Thousands die daily; none of theirs persist. He gave Michael an unreadable look. This one was denied the void because of your decision. It can probably return to it the same way.

Michael gave him a flat look. Probably?

Probably, Jeorg said. I told you before, there is no precedent for what youve done. Price for stepping in fresh snow is that you dont know its depth. He shrugged. Only one way to know.

The fire flared bright; Michael staggered with sudden lightheadedness. Fine, he said, steadying himself with the aid of a nearby tree. Fine. Not like Im spoiled for choice.

He took a deep breath, then looked at the flame. It was oddly uncomfortable, brighter in his eyes than it should have been. Slowly, Michael walked closer. He felt its heat on his face, smelled the scent of burning hair.

With it came the sense of a man he barely knew, save for a few chance interactions. Galen had been serious, dutiful, with a soldiers heart long before he enlisted. His soul had come in battle. Scattered impressions came of a tall Safid laying waste to an Ardan battalion, his punches falling with the force of meteors, his skin impervious to harm.

Then Friedrich took the field, and the man fell.

In Galens memory Friedrichs face was not much older than Michaels. He saw it contort with the exultation of battle before everything faded to light; from then on, Galen walked in Friedrichs footsteps. It was a bloody and chaotic path, seldom at rest for long.

Michael found himself interested, despite himself; here was a view of Friedrich that few men had enjoyed. It was not especially revelatory, for if any man lived his truth openly it was Friedrich Kolbe. Colored with Galens thoughts, however, a dimension of depth was added.

In his mind Friedrich was closer to a force of nature than a man, a storm that raged unceasingly as it built in strength. There was a purity to his life that drew Galen onward, mystified and intrigued him - and then at once shattered, as Friedrich came back a moaning wreck from his battle at the northern front.

Michael winced as the flame flared brighter. It seized upon the image of Friedrich lying broken, becoming a towering pillar of fire; in Galens thoughts Michael saw himself. He barely recognized his face in the shaded, sharp-angled visage, to say nothing of the cloaking dread that hung about it. Here was a man who routed armies, who called lightning from the sky.

The pain sharpened as the heat grew, and amid the fires agony he saw the shape of the bond between them. Michael thrust his hand into the fire, wrapping his fingers around the luminous tether.

He drew breath to speak, only to cough. Smoke filled his lungs. For a moment he succumbed to panic. The pain was too great, spiking through his mind in electric arcs. He gave a frustrated shout and raised his head, teeth bared.

This is my mind, he hissed. My mind. I am not burnt.

There was a flexing of the world around him. The pain lessened; Michael straightened up with his hand still around the bond linking him to Galen. Stanza flooded through his body, Spark glowed in pulsing rhythm from his eyes - and something more colored the power, something rich and deep as the oblivion he sought for this fitfully-burning soul.

Bond of hatred, Michael said. Be destroyed. He clenched his fist around it, feeling its resistance - then twisted, exhaling. He cast the remnants away, watching them slowly dissipate.

Find your peace within the void. His eyes followed the last glowing scraps as they faded; he sagged to the side, feeling the cool air on his face. Jeorgs hand was on his shoulder. The old man smiled at him.

See? he said. Easy.

A chill took up residence in Michaels spine, prickling with borrowed fear. Well, he said. We already knew that more than a few people want me dead.

She did not smile at the weak levity. Yes, and this is the first time Ive felt the weight of an event so strongly. I cant think of another reason that Luc would be involved save that you stand a very real chance of dying.

I admit Im out of my depth, Zabala said, not taking his eyes off the road, but it seems like a convoluted sort of logic to say that hes more likely to die now that hes got that potens soul. He paused for a moment, seeming to replay the words he had spoken in his head; Zabala gave a small, exasperated sigh. Eromena. But you know what I mean. Hes not invincible now, but hes the next best thing.

Plenty of ways to kill a potens, Michael said, shivering as he remembered Charless intent face, the metal flowing inexorably into Galens lungs. Probably none of them quick, or pleasant. I certainly wont be trying to test the limits of this soul anytime soon. He forced a smile. At least this means youll probably be rid of me. I think Ive graduated past the necessity of being your ward.

Zabala shrugged. Only two ways a thing like this goes, he said. Either I go, or you get three more of me. He shifted his eyes to Sobriquet for a moment. You come in saying the things youve been saying, and I guarantee itll be the second option.

There is a limit past which paranoia is no longer productive, Michael grumbled. I already knew all of the Eight that arent with us want very much to kill me. Im struggling to think of what could be more threatening than that.

Dont ask questions like that, Zabala muttered, pulling the truck up to the encampments checkpoint; an unusual number of guards stood outside, alert at their approach. They tend to get answered. Hold on, Ill get us in.

The fortimens leaned out the window, shouting something in Mendiko and getting a terse response; after a few exchanges, the soldier who had come out to meet them stepped aside, waving them through. Zabala settled back into his seat, lips pressed into a line.

Well? Sobriquet asked. Any word on what happened?

Nothing you couldnt have guessed, he said. Disturbance at the special holding area, where they were keeping that potens. Camps been in lockdown ever since. He turned down a hastily-graded road towards the airship. I assume you two want to go straight to the top.

Yes, please, Sobriquet muttered. Michael, I - be careful.

It was the rush of emotion from her more than the tone in her voice that drew Michaels eyes to her; she was visibly agitated, more so than Michael had ever seen her. You know I will, he said. Whats wrong?

She looked at Zabala for a long moment. There was a telltale flex of her soul, and Michael felt her veil pull tight around them.

We are in the middle of the Mendiko camp, she said. It doesnt look to be overrun with Safid or Ardan soldiers. If your life is at risk

Michael nodded slowly, her words cementing the chill from before. If theres a risk here, he said, its from the Mendiko.

She nodded. Dont trust anyone. Even those without malice can play a part.

Michael managed a smile. Ill trust you, he said, leaning over to kiss her - gently, afraid of even his lips.

Zabala pulled the truck to a stop, killing the engine. Outside, the airship blotted out the sky overhead. Were here, he said. I dont have to tail you in, but if youd prefer

The offer drew a surprised glance from Michael. I - yes, actually. Id appreciate that. He met Zabalas eyes, then tilted his head at Sobriquet; Zabala gave him a fractional nod in response.

As they approached the airship Michael was again struck by the sheer number of soldiers milling about outside; none seemed particularly well-informed, and most buzzed with the same aimless anxiety that was nibbling at the edges of Michaels attention.

They did not have to look far for Antolin and Leire. Sobriquet led them straight to the viewing gallery. Antolin turned as they entered, and though he was as difficult as ever to read, Michael was gratified to feel the briefest note of relief from the grand marshal when he saw them.

Even those without malice-

Michaels nascent smile died as Sobriquets voice echoed in his head. He nodded at Antolin, then at Leire. She was inscrutable, cloaked in the radiance of her soul; her craggy, ancient face bore no expression he could ascertain.

I assume you heard about the escape, Antolin said.

More than heard about it, Michael said, walking over to the window. Wordlessly, he grabbed the metal railing and tore it free from the wall, bending it into a rough hoop and tossing it to the decking. It clattered noisily, scratching the metal as it spun to a halt.

Tell me what happened. Michael said.

Leire and Antolin both looked at Michael with sharp intent; Antolin was the first to speak. Were not sure, he admitted. There were several souls involved, most of them tasked with obscuring the area in a variety of ways. Occultors, dediscators, calorigens - by the time we had vision on the holding area, five men were dead and Galen Wahl was missing.

He gave Michael an evaluating look. Our original assumption was that he escaped to finish what he started. We have teams out looking for you right now; Im glad to see they werent necessary. Did he attempt to fight you again?

Michael blinked, taken aback. We never saw him, he said. I gained his soul suddenly, with no warning or disturbance.

Youre sure its his? Leire asked.

Certain, Michael replied.

Something in his voice spurred Leire to sit forward in her chair, her eyes fixing on him. Are you well? she asked. You had expressed some concern about this precise scenario, when we last spoke.

Well enough, Michael said. My concerns were - justified, I suppose, although not in the way I imagined them.

Leire darted a glance at Antolin, then sighed. I suppose we must sort this out first, but I would like to document your experience if we ever again get a calm moment.

Straight to the scientific inquiry? Sobriquet observed drily.

What else would you have me do? Leire asked. Antolin is investigating the incursion into our camp, Michael is safe, and the escaped prisoner is no longer a threat. She tilted her head, looking at Sobriquets face. Ah, I see. Perhaps this will set your mind at ease: I did not kill him.

Antolin and Sobriquet both looked at Leire in surprise.

She gave a small, bitter laugh. I dont blame you for thinking so, she said. Im one of the few who could, from what we saw of that mans soul. But no, my dear - though I do confess to being glad that it has happened, for all the reasons I stated the other day.

There was a pause in which Antolin gave Sobriquet a look that was equal parts disapproving and exasperated before turning nearly the same expression on Leire. I will continue to investigate, he sighed. And keep you all apprised, of course. He turned to leave, nodding at Michael in passing.

Leire, too, stood to depart, but not before turning to look at Michael and Sobriquet. I am on your side, she said, bearing a melancholy sort of smile. Paranoia is normal - healthy, even, in wartime. It must be leavened with a bit of trust, though, or it turns to poison.

And we should trust you? Sobriquet asked.

Does it matter if I say yes? Leire asked. I think not. Trust me, or dont. For me, Mendian is all that matters. For Mendians future, I will support you in the War; nothing short of death will stop me from doing what I must. She looked at Michael. And when it does, youll know anything you wish to know of my motives.

There was a long silence while they held their gaze; Leire was the first to break it, looking wearily away. I have no wish to expedite my death, however, she said. So I will take my leave, and rest. I do want to hear about your experience today, Michael, so - at your convenience.

She turned and left without speaking further, leaving the rest of them alone in the room. Michael turned to Sobriquet; she was staring out the window, her brows knit together.

It wasnt a lie, she said quietly.

Michael turned to face her, dropping his voice low. Which part?

All of it. Sobriquet shook her head, looking troubled. With something this big, I would know. But its still so muddled, so chaotic. Something is wrong about all this, and I cant see what. She balled her fist. I feel so blind.

Youre in good company, Michael sighed. He joined her in looking out the window; below them, the camp buzzed with activity. It seemed distant through the cold barrier of the window glass, as though the world was some far-off curiosity that held no bearing on their lives.

But Michael knew better.