Hours ago

“Come here. Come here my beautiful Ilionella.”

Iana sat on the bed, carefully, her palms opened and fingers lax so Feninna could grasp her hands with her own strength. The senescent fingers shook as they clenched. Iana barely felt the pressure. The sun had just set. It set quickly here in the North, be it summer or winter, never suffering from the indecisiveness of the South. While the sun slept, the moon began its reign. A single ray snuck through the curtains into the room. That silver line travelled straight down the bedroom wall, breaking upon meeting the bed, tracing the shapes of the bed’s inhabitant. Iana saw just a fraction of Feninna, her grandmother. Her geriatric cheeks rich with striations. Her shape beneath the blankets a husk, dwindled, weak. But when her head tilted further into the moonlight Iana could see her eyes and their dazzling color. Lion gold. Strong gold. Deeper than bullion and far more precious. For the honor of the Lion took years to cultivate in youth and can be found in no other people. The Lion was the proud king of the plains, fair in his rule and possessing of noble strength. But who could have known that heavenward come the well-practiced talons of the Hawk.

“How are you doing?” Feninna asked.

“As well as can be,” Iana would answer.

“Are you eating enough?”

“Yes.”

“You look so tired.”

“I am. But I am not anxious. We will not want for anything.”

“But you look so unhappy.”

“How can you see in the dark, nanna?”

“You shine in your own fashion, my sweet.”

Iana saw the edge of a warm smile in that ray of moonlight. It faded quickly. Feninna seemed distressed upon a sudden. Iana grasped her grandmother’s hand, but it was too late.

“They’re here! They’re here!” Feninna wheezed.

“Quiet, nanna, you’ll wake the others!”

“They’re coming, Ilionella.”

“No one is coming. I am here.”

“The war! The war!”

Iana withheld tears and said, as she had many times, “The war is over, nanna. It has been over for six decades.”

“…Oh.” Feninna rested back on the bed, her agitation abated. “Have we won? Did the Deer take heed of our warning? An alliance would have done it. We would have stopped the Hawk before it left its nest. Yes. That would make sense. We’re at peace, are we not?”

“We are at peace.”

“I see… oh my beautiful Ilionella. How are you doing?”

“As well as can be.”

“Are you eating enough?”

“Yes.”

“You look so tired.”

“No, nanna. You’re tired. Go to sleep.”

“Yes. Yes I am. I’m so tired. So…”

Iana pulled the covers higher over her grandmother. She sighed. On the opposite side of the bed, a book snapped shut.

“How are you really doing, Iana? Why do you come here to torture yourself like this?” Said her grandfather, Kaligo.

“Did you like the stew?” Iana asked.

“It was great. Real great. But it would fill my appetite more if it weren’t a Falerian recipe.”

“Don’t start, grandfather.”

“I am cursed, Iana, because rather than going senile I remember every hour of the past. But the Hawk has done its work, hasn’t it? No one even knows where we’re from anymore. And soon Aldren, the Deer, will have its carcass picked clean. You work for them to feed us. The sheer ignominy of it all.”

“For someone who isn’t senile, you sure like bringing up the same conversation.” Iana’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

But Kaligo laughed. “There’s my girl.”

“Quiet! You’ll wake her.”

“She won’t wake for anything less a war horn.” Kaligo breathed deeply, the years in his body evident in the sluggishness of his breath. “I don’t blame you Iana.”

“I know.”

“Just keep the promise.”

“I won’t work for her. Never.”

“Good. Now. The two flightless birds in the other room need tucking in, I’m sure.”

Iana could practically see him grin in the dark. She tended to her grandparents on her paternal side in the other room, finished her chores for the house, and locked the doors on her way out, making doubly sure the bolts were in place. She’d often come in and find food in the ice box, or money in the drawers. No doubt Ayden’s work. He was always the most enthusiastic about Kaligo’s stories as a boy. Iana could not have guessed it would manifest into downright rebellion as an adult.

“They stole our history. I steal their money,” he had said. A poor excuse for petty theft. It always had been. Most people had no concept of which flag they lived under. They just wanted to live. Now he was wrapped up in something much bigger, and it only made Iana feel worse every day.

She hurried back to Lord Lumen’s abode. Tarrying from her primary duty would be disrespectful. Once inside, she quickly entered the kitchen and changed her apron to rid the smell of medicine from her body. She lit the gas lamps in the room and thought about what to prepare for her lord’s supper. He had a bad habit of eating at strange hours or not at all. She walked around the kitchen island as she thought, nearly stepping on someone sitting on the floor.

Iana made a shrill noise of surprise.

“L-Lord Edeard? What are you doing there… sitting in the dark?”

Edeard turned his head, briefly acknowledging her.

“You can go home, Iana,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“You should get your family out of the city. I will arrange for it.”

“Sir, you’re scaring me.”

Edeard stood to his full height. He looked older, ragged. Iana had never seen anything less than confidence from him, even when he was fatigued.

“What has happened, sir?” She asked.

“I have failed. In everything. I had faith in the wrong idea. I don’t know how long this city will last.”

“Sir, please. Explain what has happened.”

Edeard divulged, slowly, about his visitation to the Knight Captain, about Lord Jace’s confession. He had then spoken to the Knight Lieutenants, only to find them in agreement as well. Men of the state playing around with the people’s lives, protected by guardians of the state. It all seemed like a bad joke. All Edeard could do was either play along or be branded a traitor.

“I have one last use for the Guard’s resources,” Edeard explained. “I have the power to arrange for transportation. You must leave this city. Take your elderly family with you. Go to Cadeau. You will not be short of employment there. You will live.” The irony was not lost on him. Attracting competence to the new cities was the point in all this engineered chaos.

“I don’t want to leave,” Iana said.

“What? Why?! Did I not explain myself clearly?”

“There won’t be someone like you there.”

“I—uhm… what?”

“Nevermind. What will you be doing?”

“I don’t know. I cannot leave this city. I made a promise to protect it. At the very least I have to stay until all this is—” Edeard’s hand reached for his chest. He produced a booklet of passenger paper from his pocket. The cover buzzed. The ink was still fresh when Edeard found the page.

“What is it?” Iana asked.

Edeard rushed outside. Iana followed. They arrived just in time to see the fire begin.

“Where is Wicham again?” He said. He turned to see panic manifest in Iana’s face.

“Adjacent to the palatial district oh gods I have to— my grandparents!”

“I will help you—wait!” More ink was collecting on the Knight’s Guard page. Edeard made a stern face. “Valve-freeze devices?” He had such a device of his own. Bought from the greyer markets of Ralagast, left unprosecuted because they operated so gingerly on the boundary of legality. If this new information he had received was correct that may all change.

“I have work yet to do,” He said. He pulled out a wad of banknotes and placed it flat against Iana’s hand. “Get a carriage. Please get your family out of Wicham safely.”

“U-understood. Thank you, sir,” Iana said quickly. She ran off on her own path. And Edeard took to his own. He had frequented Jetrois’s shop whenever he needed something the Knight’s Guard did not approve of. He had thought her a harmless miscreant. But if the fires were in any way related to her marketplace, he didn’t know what he would do.

--

The insurgent pointed the weapon forward. It trembled in his grip, too large to be wielded with grace. He wasn’t ready. He had been told the weapon could kill anyone in one shot, even tear them to pieces. But the man he just shot did not die. He and the other weapon wielder scoped the house where the man had barreled through. They moved cautiously. Each step creaked something fierce. Cracks ran up the foundations of the house. The very walls looked ready to collapse. They rounded to corner with the barrel pre-aimed. In the open room where the man had landed was a large cavity, but no man.

“He’s still ali—!”

The hallway’s wall shattered as a mobile mass broke through them. A large hand reached out, swatting the weapon away from his grip. It impacted against the floor, spitting sparks, useless. The other insurgent was less lucky. The mountainous man had a hand gripped around his head. Screams turned to gurgles, then a loud series of cracks. A limp form fell onto the floor.

Jorge inhaled the coppery air deep. He turned his head.

“Look what you made me do,” he said, his voice low, voluminous. “You need more gumption if you want to revolt, friend.” He stepped forward. The floor depressed as he moved.

“Please!” The insurgent cried out, stepping back as Jorge moved forward. “We were paid to do this! They said they wanted to burn a few houses! That’s it!”

“What?”

“We didn’t know this was what they wanted! Please let me live—”

“I’m not even from here. I’ve no stakes in this city or whatever lies you’ve been fed.” Jorge pointed. “You shot me.” He smashed his fist into the insurgent’s chest. He felt rigid bones crumble like crackers against his knuckles. The young man before him fell silently onto the floor.

Jorge stood there, breathing heavily for a few moments. Gradually, he stopped seeing red. His grimace turned to slack-jawed horror.

“You wouldn’t have wanted me to do that,” he whispered. “Why did I do that? They were nothing without their guns.”

He felt his chest. His bones were already setting. His blackened skin had begun to peel off, revealing fresh skin underneath. The pain was subsiding. Jorge stepped out of the constricting walls of the house back onto the street. Seeing him come out but not the other two, the insurgents looked to each other and scattered. No longer attended, the firemen slowly left their prostrated positions and rushed to get their equipment ready.

Meanwhile Jorge collapsed against a wall, sliding onto the ground. He looked at his hands. Bits of hard and soft matter still stuck to his palms and adhered to his fingers.

“I’m sorry dad. I said I’d be better. I promised I’d control my anger. I’m sorry…”

He didn’t how long he stayed there. The firemen got to work while he wallowed. By the time he deigned to look up, the fires near the station had been extinguished, and the men had already begun to set out for the rest of the unattended neighborhoods. As if to mock him, morning had come, revealing a dense overcast. It was a maelstrom of cloud. Within moments, cold sleet sloughed down onto the road.

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Jorge picked himself up. His chest was still numb. But he knew he couldn’t stay there forever. There were still people in danger. And the rain smelled strange. His eyes fell upon the palace, and he realized something was terribly wrong.