Chapter 119: Its Hour Come Round at Last

Chapter 119: Its Hour Come Round at Last

You wield the price like a goad, but I have lost my fear of injury. The country is the body of the emperor, and mine already bears most grievous wounds; what more fear shall you inspire? You do not believe me, Star of Avarice? Hold out your hand, that I may place this bloody coin in it:

I, Marcus Argyros, shall be the last emperor of Ghar. As I kneel before this tree, its roots bear the weight of ages. The face of Ghar turns upwards towards Mendian and says: I have killed your children. I have made war on your lands. These things were unjust and unwarranted; in our power and might we did them. Yet power and might did not return from these acts, and we are left impoverished.

I abase myself before the tree, and its people. I call my own people murderers and warmongers. I name myself a leader of such men, and chief among their sorry company. And I enjoin you, O Wrathful Star, to remember your word set down in these chambers, for there is no salve for the blood of Ghar should Mendian forget its honor. I throw our children upon your mercy. May you watch them grow under your aegis, the children of murderers and warmongers, and remember what we were.Follow current novels at novelhall.com)

Is that enough? Shall I kiss the bark? Or if I am done, hand me your knife, Jealous Star, and watch blood feed this greedy soil. In distant days, when nothing else remains, the seed we plant today shall grow. There shall be a prince on the throne once more, and the world will tremble to see him. Now, the knife, before you lose your nerve. Is it sharp? Ah, it is.

- The last words of Marcus Argyros, Goitxea, 442.

The river was tepid and glassy, infested with the silence that gripped Gharon. Michael paced alongside it until he came to the first of the citys bridges. There had been guardsmen when he had crossed before, to ward against Mendiko crossings. Now it was empty. The wind sighed through the span as he passed, but none stepped out to challenge him. He did not pause to think on it, continuing towards the encampment he remembered by the broad market square.

That square was still intact, when he reached it, with cloth draped in a varied canopy high over the empty streets. No crowds pressed through its narrow entrances, and none darkened its many doorways. There were people here - many of them, per Sobriquet, but they remained hidden in alcoves and darkened corners while Michael trespassed. It was less than ideal, because Michael had come with the aim of speaking to them.

He sighed, picking a door more or less at random; when his sight confirmed that the house beyond was occupied, he laid his hand upon it. The lock was not metal, but there were few doors that could hold against him now. Sever whispered through the air and picked apart a rope that held the door fast, sawed through a board that stopped it from opening. The halves of that board clattered to the ground with a shocking noise, echoing through the room. Michael saw the people in the back jump and cringe away at the sound, but they did not move to escape. There was a sad, resigned note to their fear; they had but one path to walk, even as they denied every moment of it.

Michael ducked through the doorway, closing the door behind him, and took stock of it. It was a modest house, decorated with incongruous cheer. There were colorful swatches of cloth tied overhead in a mockery of the market outside, and the tile in the kitchen had been meticulously painted with blue flowers on a white field. None of this mattered to the three in back, though.

There was an old woman, stooped and gap-toothed, breathing quick gasps of the chill winter air. A younger man lay beside her, listless, and a woman around the same age lay to his other side. Of the three, only her eyes tracked Michael as he walked forward. He took it as a good sign, kneeling down in front of her.

Hello, he said, keeping his voice quiet. She flinched at the noise nevertheless, her breath coming rapidly. Michael frowned, noting the glassy panic in her eyes; she wasnt listening to his words, only panicking at the sound. He tried a different tactic, reaching out with Spark. The fear slammed into him as he drew upon the soul, but he bore it - grappled with it, as it assaulted him, and gently turned it aside.

He felt his own breathing slow, gaining a soothing rhythm. Calm, he murmured. Be calm. I wont hurt you. The words sank into the woman, driven there by the urging of his soul, and her breathing began to mirror his own. Between shuddering breaths her eyes focused on him. The fear tried to return, then, as she grappled with the notion of a stranger in her house, but it was a reasonable and normal sort of fear to have - not the animal panic from before.

So its our turn? the woman rasped.

Michael frowned. Your turn for what? he asked.

Her eyes flitted over his face. Youre not - arent you Ardan?

I am, Michael said. At the look on her face, he raised his hands. But Im not with the Ardans. Quite the opposite, actually. Im trying to find them and - well. Where are they?

The woman laughed, quick and bitter, then clapped a hand over her mouth; Michael renewed his push with Spark to salve her fear. The laugh bubbled back up, quieter this time. How should I know? she said. Weve been hiding - hiding inside. We welcomed them in. They were here to drive out the Mendiko. To keep us from the Safid. They put out a call for men, for ensouled, and they all gathered in the great square. A Gharic army, for the first time in-

Her lip trembled, and she shook her head. They mustered the men. The Ardans were already fighting the Safid in the north, and they were eager to help. We had a festival. Nonna made cakes- The woman wrung her hands, her eyes darting to the old woman. But then the orders changed. They werent to march out the Sea Gate, but past the Domus Gharis. West. The men marched. Her fingers twisted, knuckles white in the cold. Never reached the wall.

An attack? Michael asked.

She shook her head; Michael kept Sparks steadying pressure on her. They never reached the wall, she repeated. We thought we had missed them, or theyd gone out by another way. Someone went to the Domus, to look there. They didnt come back. Someone went to look for them. They didnt come back.

Her breathing had quickened. Michael was having to push against her harder to quiet that fear; he began to worry for her health. But that worry was a quiet voice in his mind; he was enthralled. He had to know. Go on, he urged her.

She licked her lips, nodding; her eyes were beginning to glaze. The Ardans didnt know either, she said. Some of the men that were - were left, they got angry, started accusing them, but they didnt know. They got afraid. Some of theirs went missing too. Their soldiers started to panic. The obruors came together and broke them, though; the Ardans marched together to the Domus to investigate. She shook her head, shivering. Near two thousand of them. We heard - screams, that day, for the first time. They havent stopped since.

Her pupils were wide and black, the whites of her eyes bloodshot. That night we lit fires. The ones that were left. Didnt know what else to do, but we wanted the light. She laughed again, a manic tinge to her voice. We wanted the light. And so did the thing in the Domus. We knew it had come when the fires died, and then- She looked away. And then it was our turn. I thought you were it. Come to take us with the rest.

I came to town just a bit ago, Michael said.

The woman gave a delirious giggle. More the fool you. Why? Why come here? The smile slipped from her face; she looked up at him. Why not turn back when you heard the screaming?

Michael looked at her carefully. I dont hear any screaming, he said. Its been very quiet in Gharon.

Quiet and loud, the woman moaned. You cant stop your ears up against it. You cant shut it behind a door. Ever since the Ardans died, weve been able to hear them. Its been growing louder. Louder, every day. More. We cant sleep. My nonni, he went outside to make it stop and now hes- She gestured miserably, towards the outside. Hes with the rest.

A creeping dread asserted itself in Michaels gut; he looked back at the doorway. Nothing was there save for the door swinging gently in the breeze. I dont understand, he said, only half directed at the woman. Theres nothing to hear.

The womans eyes closed, her jaw clenching. Theres nothing else, she hissed. Nowhere you can go. No way to keep them out, they get - in, they get in, they get in-

She began to rock back and forth, the tips of her fingers pressed against her head. Michael could feel the panic rising in her, but feared to exert any more force with Spark. She felt brittle, liable to snap at the slightest increase in that pressure. Gently, he withdrew the touch of his soul. The woman gasped, her breathing hitching slightly, but her hands fell away from her head. She slumped under her blanket. Her wide eyes no longer tracked Michael as he moved, but her lips continued to move in silent speech.

They get in.

Where, underneath it all, Michael saw the slight form of a man sitting in a large stone chair, under an archway that had half-crumbled. A piece of that arch had been placed before the dais in a position of honor. On it were inscribed the words-

Dum imperator est, permanebimus, Luc said, his voice echoing in the hall. I had read books on Ghar, and Gharon. Claude had several. Histories of the world when it was ruled from this seat. He traced his fingers over the stone armrest of the throne for a moment, then gripped it and stood. Subjugated. A people that craved rule, and sought to spread their addiction to the ends of the world. They didnt carve that arch until Ghar was a shadow of its past self, yet still they bent their efforts towards declaring their love for the man with his boot on their neck.

He took a step forward, sinking his foot deliberately into the stone; it parted around his foot like hot butter, the ancient carvings deforming and stretching until only a ruined mass lay on the dais. Luc shook his head, then looked up at Michael. His face was sallow, drawn. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of long, sleepless nights. Their eyes met; the cacophony of voices from the sightless mass of his soul increased tenfold.

But people cannot help but admire their tyrants, yes? Luc murmured. Hello, Michael.

An avalanche of thoughts jostled for room in Michaels head. He was acutely aware of how close Luc was standing, of the vast dimensions of the Domus suddenly looking small and cramped when he contemplated fighting within them. He licked his lips. Luc, he said. So this is your study of tyranny?

Luc laughed, his voice echoing from the high ceiling; the myriad gaping mouths around him gave voice to their own wailing cry. Michael struggled to keep his focus trained on Luc amid the cacophony. The horror and fear reverberated around him, echoing from countless frozen lips.

I know what it is to be ruled, he said. To know that someone greater than you holds your life in their hands. Its all Ive ever known. And I did love my tyrant, before you killed him. I only saw later how one-sided it was, even as I turned that adoration to a new master - because how could I do anything else? How could I exist without devoting myself to someone greater? I had no direction, but there were pillars around me. You knew where to go. You changed things. Everything made so much sense in your footsteps. Even when I began to see the destruction that came along with it, I contorted myself into believing that it was all for some mythical greater good.

He stepped forward off the dais, his bare feet treading on dead, frozen flesh. But youre no different from any of those men, he said softly. Youre not special, only gripped in a righteous delusion.

I make no pretense at righteousness, Michael retorted. And my pile of dead is far smaller than yours. Can you even see yourself anymore? Those people you used to agonize over, you are their fear. You are their pain, their torment, their death. Youve turned yourself into a fucking monster, Luc.

Says the man no less monstrous, Luc murmured. I see your soul, you know. The horrid uniformity of it, the subjugation of everything to your will. The uniqueness crushed away until there is only what you approve. You can say what you like, but your actions are written on that featureless orb.

Michael could not help but laugh, his own voice echoing mockingly around the hall. Is that what you think of me? he spat. This is consensus. You prefer a horrid, wailing mass that drives all men around to madness?

Yours is a very Mendiko consensus, driven as it is by the threat of annihilation, Luc said. I know what you take from people.

Michael felt a chill. Oh?

I felt the change at - some point. Perhaps in Ardalt. Luc held up his scarred hand, turning it over idly. There is a voice that persists after death. Whispers and wants. Nothing that I could hear clearly. I tried to ignore them at first. He let his hand drop. But I could not help but hear their - anger. They raged against the world - against me, but there is nothing within me. There is no purchase for them there.

He gave a lopsided smile, shrugging helplessly; for a moment Michael saw the amicable young man that he had known from Sparks island. The smile dropped, though, and the gaunt murderer stood in his place.

And they are right to be angry, because subjugation was the only option they were given. So I kept the embers of their anger safe within me, even as I burned from the heat. His eyes narrowed. It wasnt until we met for the final time in Ardalt that I truly understood why they were angry. There is nobody who wields power in their name. Nobody who truly cares for them. Men like you will always choose themselves, in the end.

Michael met his gaze, his heart still pounding from the revelation. His low souls had been his primary advantage against Luc, or so he thought. If Luc had found his way to the same end...

He forced himself to focus on the man standing before him. Youre wrong about me.

Perhaps. Luc spread his hands. I see more than I can pretend to understand. Glimpses of futures that shall never be, or of inevitability - but which is which? Im sure Sibyl would see more clearly. He shook his head. But she was too clever by half, never let me get too close to her. Never let me mark her. She saw the ending paths

A brief flare of hope kindled in Michaels chest; Luc had not managed to gain Sibyl after all. She left without stopping here? For where?

Luc gave him a disapproving look. Look at your face light up. Are you so happy to hear that you might yet claim the soul? Shes far away from either of us, hiding in spaces only she can see. She sent her obruors here, though- He craned his neck, then pointed to a less-frozen mound of bodies some distance from them. There. A parting gift, and some appropriate irony. They didnt much like when they were the ones being controlled. They railed against her even as I stole away their will. But she led them to me before she fled, because while she doesnt trust me - you, she hates.

Im surprised you two werent fast friends, with that in common, Michael muttered.

Real surprise colored Lucs face for a moment, replaced a moment later by a weary resignation. I dont hate you, Michael, Luc said. Its the power that I hate. The control. No one man should hold so much sway over his fellows. We dont deserve it. He began to pace to the side, circling Michael. Theres nobody who does.

I cant disagree, but the power exists, Michael said, echoing Lucs movements to keep his distance. There was Its here, with us - and since Id rather not die, there are only so many options left to me.

I dont want you to die either, Luc said. Im not sure what would happen to our peculiar arrangement if you did. Its the sort of event that obliterates future paths, one of the moments that killed Carolus Altenbach when he stared too long. I can look without dying, now, but its- He shivered, shaking his head. Its not meant for me. Its never me. Im no more worthy of this power than you are; the only difference is that I admit it. I accept it. And Ive been working to find a better path.

He smiled, and the chorus of mewling voices behind him rose, chanting their horrid litany. The ones who know the face of power best are its victims, he murmured. None of them would fare any better than us, not alone, but they - they arent. All of the parts of them that yearned to survive are together now, striving towards a whole. Something new, something greater, that might be able to contest with the power they inherit from me. If I can gather enough of them, perhaps. And if they cant - then their wrath will still be a sort of justice, yes?

Michael stopped pacing, turning to face Luc. I wont be dragged into your madness, he said. I came here to end this.

I know, Luc said. Ive seen it happen. I shouldnt have let Sever slip from my grasp, but I was too fixated on the man. To fight and die as fodder - it was such symmetry. Such a fitting end for the man who did the same to my friends. But now the balance is off. My hatred of him is another proof of my unworth. You come with word and whisper and blade, and you are glorious. He closed his eyes, his face bending into a blissful smile. The voices fell silent around him; Michael was momentarily disoriented by the change. There is no other word for it. In the moment of my death there is a light that I cannot bear to look upon, and then - then theres nothing more. Another path that isnt meant for me. He opened his eyes and shook his head. I choose not to walk it.

For the barest instant he still stood there, smiling knowingly at Michael. In the next heartbeat his feet blurred, sending shattered icy flesh scattering across the mound. A great crack erupted as Luc shot through the stone wall of the Domus, blasting the plaza with gravel and stone even as he leapt up to dance across the rooftops. He was fast, almost too fast for Michael to follow with his sight. The air surged in his wake, collapsing walls and roofs in a line across the city - outwards, towards the north.

Michael cursed and began to run as fast as he could in Lucs wake, feeling sluggish even as the city blurred past him. His blood felt like ice; he could see Lucs trajectory, and where it was going. Who it pursued. Sera! he shouted. Hold your veil strong and get the men ready! Luc is coming north!

How the fuck are we supposed to- she began, then cut off. Okay, I see him. Well do what we can.

Im right behind him, Michael said, trying to believe it. Then he wasted no more breath on speech, and ran north with every mote of speed he could summon.