Lisŗa bound her tenth insurgent in chains. She was running out of restraints. The sound of struggling was all around her. And nonsensical pleading. She had turned an ear to it. It was difficult enough pinning these rebellious citizens down, not for a lack of strength. The wounds given to her from the highwaymen had left a phantom feeling in her body, and their faces stayed in her memory. They had survived their assault and brought the citizens what they needed. Now she was told she had to do… this.

The insurgent tried to get up for the second time. This time she brought her fist into his cheek. A splatter of red streaked across the pavestones and he fell unconscious. She hadn’t even hit him very hard.

New orders had arrived in the middle of their work freeing the firemen from Lord Jace himself. Restrain them, if possible. Whatever the reason was, lowly Scoutrunners were clearly not in the pay grade to hear. All Lisŗa knew was that Yavi’s orders had been to destroy them. She was pulling her dagger out of a young, weapon-wielding woman’s chest when the new command soaked into her passenger paper. The woman had been her age. Lisŗa saw herself lying on the ground, bleeding out, fighting for something important. If only they deigned to tell her what.

“I was right to follow you,” Yeoman said, approaching from her back. “You’re more ruthless than native Falerians.”

Lisŗa didn’t know how to explain that she didn’t mean to punch the insurgent so hard, that ever since she had a close encounter with death—twice—her body had felt lighter and stronger than ever. It wasn’t arcanery, right? She didn’t have the Mind for it.

“I wish they’d make up their mind,” she said. “Are we killing them or not?”

“Does it make a difference to you?”

“I don’t enjoy this, Yeoman.” She crossed her arms. “And who am I to you? You were very eager to follow me.”

“I heard about you from the training camp. I know what Yavi did to you. It made you strong. And I want to survive in this business.”

“Knew it wasn’t for my good looks.”

“That too.”

“Don’t.”

Lisŗa retrieved her passenger paper, hoping for any new orders. Nothing. But their work was done. The firemen were already getting their water trolleys and hoses ready. Brightly uniformed men rushed past the runners. They were not thanked for freeing them. It was expected, after all.

“Do you hate him for what he did?” Yeoman asked.

“Over the past year I’ve had a lot of conceptions broken. I think I’m just numb. To lying commanders or overly curious teammates.”

“Thanks for accepting me as a teammate!”

Lisŗa scowled. She returned to the roofs of the palatial district, scaling storeys in seconds. The fires were not to be underestimated, but their ferocity had died down. They were not supposed to think. She thought anyway. What was all this damage supposed to do? She imagined the city before this destruction. Those neat rings of houses besetting a lordly palace. Streets filled with life. At its most vulnerable, Lisŗa admitted the city looked beautiful. She wondered what June was doing. Whether she was safe. Whether she is feeling okay from all the violence and noise all around her. They must know of June’s condition. Maybe that was why Yavi had June discreetly sent to the palace; to be given extra care. The priestess was far more terrifying than a few flames under the right stimulus.

Yeoman finally made it on the same roof, grunting as he pulled himself up.

“I used to dream of living in a big city like this,” he said as he patted the ash particles off his clothes. “My family always thought the first generation to be established so deep in Faleria would bring us to prosperity.”

“Right… you’re from Normalad to the Southeast. Used to be Haldroga.”

“You know your geography. Some of the newer maps don’t bother including the original name anymore. They were quite lenient on us in every other respect, to be fair.”

“Because Haldroga never fought back.”

“And almost none of my countrymen died. Our lifestyle was mostly unaffected. We just sign the tithe recipient differently.” He laughed mockingly. “Now look at this place. How close even the big fish are to sinking.”

“Sure.” Lisŗa didn’t want to wax philosophic about ironies or whatnot. For better or for worse, her truth had been made simpler. Just follow orders, achieve, and maybe she could get out of the field onto a desk in ten—fifteen years. She was already thinking about the apology. In a decade or so of adherence and devotion, she’d return home and hope her mother forgives her. She couldn’t now, not while she had nothing to show for it. Apologizing for leaving was bearable. Apologizing for being wrong about her decision as well was far too much.

“Hey, Liz, your passenger paper working?”

“Don’t call me that. And why wouldn’t it?” Lisŗa opened her booklet. No new orders had come through in ink.

“Look up.”

Lisŗa stepped back in surprise. She had been so lost in thought she failed to see the clouds twisting into form. Frothing tides of moisture spiraling as though something had pulled a drain in the heavens. A single cold speck hit just under her eye, melted, and slid down to her cheek. Then another. Then a thousand.

“Know anything about weather, mouth-runner?” Lisŗa asked.

“Don’t look natural to me,” Yeoman replied. He held out a hand, caught a few drops, and licked it. He spat moments later. “It reeks. Ugh. Not like a- a smell. It’s like—”

“Like arcanery,” Lisŗa said. “Heavy enough for even the not Mentally inclined like us to detect.”

“Still no orders.”

“Let’s verify that, shall we?”

“What? Wait, where are you going?”

Lisŗa stopped to turn her head. “Palace. Look at the clouds. It’s centered above it. We ought to investigate. The captain might be in trouble.”

“I’ll follow you,” Yeoman said casually.

Lisŗa exhaled, bemused. She wrote the suggestion to the other runners in her paper and pocketed it before the sleet damaged it further. Then they set off. She held back her pace just a little so the enthused young man could keep up.

--

They had prepared a room for her. Quiet, walled away from the city. Apparently it was at the request of the Archbishop. June had never been more grateful to him in her life. She had always been okay at handling the noise of the big cities. Ralagast was a special case. Old, jaded, and now in recession. The toxic atmosphere was too much. She didn’t know how fast her heart had been beating until the palace attendant escorted her to the room and she felt instantly better.

She prepared a steelfeather quill and wrote to the Archbishop.

“Thank you.”

He was a busy man. She did not expect a reply soon. In the meantime, she slept. A good rest was hard to get while swaying and bumping on the road, and even harder while in this city. She slept dreamlessly, waking when her paper buzzed.

“I hope you’re doing well, my pupil.”

Nervously, she picked up her quill.

“I’m doing well now. I thought I was ready for this city.”

“The room was just in case. Don’t feel shame for needing it.”

“Thank you.”

Why did she write that again? June wanted to slap herself. Before she could write something less mind numbing, the Archbishop wrote, “That will be there for you any time you need it.”

June frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Escort work is probationary, remember? From what I’ve been hearing about Ralagast, it looks like they need a full-fledged member of the Order there more than ever. I’d like to have you stationed there.”

“I…” June said out loud. Her quill tip descended close to the page, but she withdrew before a mark was made. Her thoughts raced. Her heart was beating quickly again. A few drops of ink fell onto the paper.

“I have to go,” the Archbishop wrote, “The paperwork isn’t done yet. Think about it for now.”

June burst open the door to her room grasping her hair with crooked fingers. She mustn’t stay in Ralagast. Anything but that. But she wanted to make the Archbishop happy. At what cost to herself? But a member of the Order mustn’t be selfish. Selfishness was what led to the decadent ways of the old Order. But this had to be too much.

She owed the Archbishop. He saved her. June steadied her breathing. Perhaps she would get used to it. In time. Perhaps the inner wails in all men and women’s souls would be reduced to a whisper. All she needed was time.

In and out. There was serenity in breathing slow, and there was technique for inducing calm with air.

Even inside the palace the noise was audible. She walked to scatter her thoughts away from the unsavory matter at hand into more pragmatic paths. She would be closer than ever before to the darkness in a man’s heart working as a Mother. Listening to their sins, finding the right words to convince them they could change and find salvation. Then they’d leave feeling absolved for a day, and return the next week with something similar. It was the unspoken truth she never dared to discuss with any of the other acolytes back when she trained in the basilica. Too often she saw the same people return for confession. It was a dangerous notion for a member of the Order to have. To think that people were not interested in changing, they just wanted to not feel guilty for following their nature. The cheating man wants forgiveness for being unfaithful. The deceitful woman wants justification for what she believed she was owed. More often than not, they would do it again. Paupers who think the world owes them reparations for every little misfortune. Thieves who want to believe their victims wouldn’t have missed what they took. Wealthy men who want to believe paupers didn’t deserve success. And here in Ralagast she would have to listen to such people and pretend to empathize with their own flaws.

But all around her were the palace walls. Richly framed paintings and busts of previous lord mayors. Marble stairs, pearl chandeliers. Red carpets from the Southeast. Granite from the far North. Beautiful wood with flowing whorls and laminar fibers from the West. Her own room was made with arcane, noise cancelling materials, expensive and particular in nature. Could one subsist on the accomplishments of selfish men and hate them for their nature? June wondered if perhaps she was no better. And before her there must have been generations of Fathers and Mothers helping wayward souls to no chagrin. Perhaps she was the cynic.

Footsteps interrupted her internal conflict. Panicked, fast, and recognizable by the sound of the soles. She met the man halfway.

“Captain Yavi?” She said. “Shouldn’t you have returned to the trade routes?”

The captain took a minute to catch his breath.

“You’re safe. Good,” he said. “We need to leave.”

“Has something happened?”

“No time to explain. Come.” He grabbed her hand.

“Wait I left my staff back in my—” She stopped. Her brow creased in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Yavi asked.

“People are dying inside the palace. What is going on, Yavi?”

“This way.”

Yavi led them back up the stairs to the staterooms. June could barely keep up. Around corridors and higher up the stairs. Between thunderous heartbeats that belonged to the both of them, June heard clashing steel in the halls of the palace. Palace guards warred with a growing number of intruders. One side was clearly losing. The guards were falling two at a time to one of the intruders.

Seeing her rasping breath, Yavi led them to a stairwell to rest.

“Please… what is going on?” June asked.

“Tell me, did you ever hear anything strange beneath your feet?”

“No I haven’t the room since I was sent here.”

Yavi peeked the corners, not saying anything else. June frowned.

“These attackers…?” She began.

“They’ve been staging a coup of some sort for months in the undercity, recruiting the dissidents of this city.”

“From Ralagastii? I didn’t know they had such a sentiment.”

Yavi met her eyes fully.

“They don’t,” he said. “They’ve crippled this city at every strategic weak point. This wasn’t a rebellion. This was military thinking.”

“I don’t understand!”

“Me neither. We have to get you out.”

He began guiding her again. On the seventh floor of the palace there was a wide terrace with a bridge leading to an annex. They burst open onto the stone floor of the place. Flowers and vines hung from ornate racks on the terrace. Garden tenders looked up from their work.

“Everybody get out! Get across the bridge!” Yavi shouted. “We’re under attack!”

Their movements were languid. Reluctantly, clippers and watering cans were dropped. They started towards the bridge.

Then June lost her sight and her hearing. Confused. Dazed. There were spots in her eyes. Ringing in her ears. What had happened? She was trying to remember. Something warm was dripping from her nose. Something red. She was seeing fours. Then threes. Then twos. Yavi was shouting like a mime in her face, trying to get her to her feet. That’s right, there was a bridge she had to cross. People were coming. Enemies. She had to move. But Yavi was pulling her in the other direction. Why weren’t they crossing the bridge? She looked over her shoulder.

Shattered stone and burnt matter was strewn across the floor. A section of the bridge was completely missing. Smoke billowed from where the connexion used to be.

“Come on, girl!” Yavi shouted.

“They’re hurt,” she muttered. “I can mend them.”

There were gardeners who were much closer to the blast. She saw one stumble away in the mute silence that still hung over her ears, missing hands. Their mouth wrinkled in one ceaseless wail.

“Let’s go!” Yavi urged.

The doors from where they came tore off its hinges. Armed men poured through. They wore mismatched armor, some no armor at all. Arrows were nocked. Tension twitched in sinew spines as feather tips were drawn towards the cheek.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice called out. The intruders made way for one gargantuan man. He wore a black, buttoned coat with a fur shawl. A fully bearded face towered above his men.

“Why are you doing this?” June asked.

“Send the girl over here,” the leader of the intruders said. His hand reached for a lantern secured at his belt. He turned the flap open, revealing a blue flame burning on a silver wick.

“If you’d wait,” Yavi said, “We can have a negotiator sent to speak—”

An arrow struck him in the chest. He fell with nothing more than a grunt. June screamed. She knelt down, Light brimming at her fingertips to close the wound. To her relief the arrow hadn’t penetrated very deep. It had been stopped by Yavi’s book full of passenger paper.

“Get her over here,” the leader said.

June rushed her work. She stopped the bleeding before rough hands tore her away. The men led her away from the terrace. She looked back one last time to see Yavi on the floor with a hand clutched around the arrow, nodding once at her. She didn’t know how to interpret that.

“Listen,” June said. “I’m sure something can be arranged! There’s no need for all this violence!”

“It has been arranged,” the leader said. “Our work is already done. Ralagast falls.”

“Why? Who are you?”

The man looked at her briefly. June received a glimpse into the man’s soul, and saw disciplined rage. Anger steeled by raw logic.

“Insects. Chewing away inch by inch,” he said. “Until we have miles.”

June’s eyes widened.

“You people were the…”

“She remembers. Ha.”

The other men snorted. June shook her head.

“You won’t accomplish anything this way.”

They escorted her out of the palace through the front entrance. The lavish décor had been redecorated with still corpses in reddened armor. The palace guards were as still as gargoyles. Outside, more intruders fought, their opponent was one man. His sword work was strong, quick, and responded with ease to the onslaught of several men. And he was winning. To his back, the city burned. The fighting casted shadows trembling to the whims of the flames.

“Face me, coward!” Lord Jace hollered.

“I respect your prowess too much, sir,” the leader said. He nodded at his archers. A dozen pinpoint arrows flew through the air. Lord Jace deflected most of them with a single Spell. But three had made it through, striking his thigh and lower stomach. He fell to his knees.

“I am not a monster,” the leader said. “Stay there, on your knees, and you will live to rebuild this city. Our point has already been made.”

They made way out of the palace grounds. As they walked away, Jace laughed.

“With your back to me, I think I recognize you,” he said.

The leader stopped. June could feel dread sink its claws into her.

“You already have me, let’s just go,” she said.

She was unheeded. The leader unsheathed his longsword and in one swift movement separated the old Knight’s head from his neck. Blood spurted briefly from the opening. The arms slumped, but the body remained upright.

“No—!” June screamed. Enough was enough. She had been holding back a familiar feeling. The part of her she had been trying so hard not to acknowledge. The darkness within; the power Vulka had saved her from. She stopped trying to control it. But nothing happened. She drew on it. It would not come. Her opportunity was gone. The man stowed his sword again and returned. He glanced at her, then unhooked the lantern from his belt to give to one of his subordinates. June glared at it as it was taken out of her reach, realizing far too late as to its purpose.

“You did a number on us last time, girl. I wasn’t about to let you loose again. Not without direction at least.”

“You think I’d help you do anything?” June asked, grimacing.

“Not at this moment.”

“Not ever!”

“Well, we shall—” His expression changed. The men felt it too. They looked around them frantically.

“Move it!” The leader shouted.

June was picked up and slung over the man’s shoulder. The men broke into a run, leaving the bloody palace courtyard. Wind began to blow without impetus from elsewhere. Sparks came out of thin air, singing the surrounding hedges and grasses. June looked up to see the courtyard transmogrify, light bend, and reality warp. Tides of arcane power were spilling forth. Some of the men had confused looks on their faces, asking each other what was it that they were running from.

June whispered with knowing recognition, “Embarkation.”