And in the night I will come to help you

And in the night I will come to teach you

And in the day I will bring the cooling rains

And spread a tent over that lovely sky –

That lovely, peaceful sky

-From “Claim the Sun”, a Karzakh Gaurl song

Weeks later – in Kivv

Aleks was still barely responsive, holed up in his room and shying away from any company. When Hilda came to visit him, however, he opened the door for her, gestured for her to come in, and sat beside her under the window. He never said a word except to answer her questions – how was he doing, had he been eating, did he want to know the latest news. Well enough, yes, and no. Each day Hilda would come to check in on her brother, and each day he would gesture at what little he’d been able to do. Ever since he had begun training, so many years prior, Aleks had always prided himself on his work and on his focus. Now, he puttered about the Sower Monastery avoiding the eyes of others, tinkering with the machines and repairing a little bit each day. The efficiency he’d prided himself on was forgotten as he would spend hours struggling with a single, simple repair, complaining of headaches.

When she happened to come by at the right time to see him pondering the repairs – or, more often, staring into the opposite wall while leaning against the work-table he’d set up in his room, or the small computer desk he’d pushed into a corner – Hilda would look over Aleks’ shoulder. Normally, Hilda would have been dazzled by the speed at which Aleks worked on his machines – a strange talent he’d cultivated over the years, and an impressive one. Now, as she watched, she could only note how sluggish he seemed. Watching over his shoulder, Hilda realized that the text on the screen was running together – strange. That was new. And she could hardly hear Aleks’ words when he mumbled under his breath, even though she could hear-feel the rattling of the chains

Once, Hilda came by to visit Aleks and the three young vagabonds from the camp were there. Avishag leaned over the table opposite Aleks, doing something with the bits of machinery and metal and wiring that lay strewn over the surface. She was working faster than him, but he was quicker and sharper than he’d been on the other days. Badem leaned against the countertop nearby, and Melik sat in a corner, watching the three of them. When Hilda entered, Melik’s eyes shot up to her, but the others barely even noted her arrival. It brought a smile to her lips.

Hilda didn’t understand exactly what they were talking about, but her ears perked up with Aleks mentioned Linguistic Magic. He said, from what Hilda could gather, that there was probably a way to integrate that power with the Artifex-inspired weapons and scanning equipment that the saboteurs used, similar equipment to what the Sowers had set up in the city but more advanced, more portable.

The next day, the vagabonds were elsewhere when Hilda visited, and Aleks was the same again. Quiet, sluggish, barely responsive.

During the same time, Oscar slowly recovered from his wound. The blind seer had gotten lucky – even though Zoe shot him, the bullet hadn’t caused any major organ damage. Still, the doctors didn’t want Oscar leaving the house they’d put him up in until he was fully healed, and it would be another few weeks until that was finished. Hilda came to check on Oscar and he whispered weakly in response to her questions. His lungs weren’t injured, but they at least felt weaker since the incident, and it was painful for him to speak aloud. Sometimes Hilda had trouble understanding what he said. But the other times – he talked about how, in his dreams, he walked in the feet of another person, and he could see normally. The person whose footsteps he traced in dreams walked from the Court of Graoungers to the north, to tell the other Battle-Clans what Oscar had seen.

At least in his dreams, his prophecy was being heard. And when he reached for the staff leaning against the frame of his bed, when he wrapped his hands around it and asked quietly if the words he heard were true, he received a confirmation and a comfort. He smiled, and Hilda couldn’t help smiling as well.

Lucian was already walking the walls again, and even spent time working with the crew re-sealing the wall where it had broken. The collapsed towers still stood as they were – rubble surrounded by a field of grass nobody dared tread on.

When Hilda walked the streets of Kivv now, although they were far from deserted, there was a feeling of isolation, as though she were walking alone, so thoroughly alone that there was no one else in the entire world. She muttered quietly to herself words that she couldn’t even understand.

Many times a day, Hilda found herself drawn to the same spot on the wall where she’d sat watching the north so often before. She climbed up to the top and wished that Lucian was sitting there with her, like the day Oscar had come from the north, like many other times in the past seasons. She sat and clenched her jaw and looked down at the world beyond the edge of the wall. If only. There were too many “if only”s and the thought of them nagged at the back of her mind every time she tried to think. Sitting there, she’d force her mind to another topic – think of anything else, think of something worthwhile, something you can change – but Hilda’s brain did not obey. If only Lucian were here. If only Aleks weren’t so withdrawn, so damaged. If only Kamila hadn’t gone off the deep end, so full of hate. If only mom hadn’t died.

And every time, there was the smug, mad whisper of Zoe Bari to say: If only you hadn’t ruined everything for all of them.

She clenched her jaw and struggled to push the voice away, but hiding could never make it go away.

They said something interesting to me, once, when I was a scientist: the true fool can change neither his mind nor the subject.

“I won’t have to listen to you forever,” Hilda muttered. “Your echo’s stronger now, like Plato’s was. But I pushed him away in time.”

I’m still here, just like her –

“Quiet.”

…

“You don’t scare me.”

I know what does scare you.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

I’m a figment of your imagination, a voice in your head, an echo of the memories of someone you killed – no, someone you erased, someone whose entire existence you consumed and absorbed, snuffed, drew into your own flawed perception of the world around you. Your fears are my fears, because I am you.

“Most of the echoes aren’t this eloquent.”

I can speak clearly because you’re just a little bit insane. Mad enough to let my voice resolve into something distinct, sane enough to understand me as something different from yourself. It makes this easier.

She glanced up to the north. Something was moving, a blur with wings, in her direction.

“Not for long. I’ll push you down into darkness until you’re nothing but a faint buzz around my head.” Hilda reached up and adjusted her cap. “Nothing but a slight weight, that’s all you are.”

You’re afraid that you’ll never feel safe anywhere, ever again.

Hilda watched the winged blur approaching her, and muttered under her breath: “It’s not a fear. I know nowhere is safe. Don’t need to be reminded. But that didn’t stop me from killing you.”

Am I dead? Does anything ever stay dead?

“What’s your point?”

I know the strange envy you have for those vagabond children from the camp. They lost their homes, yes, and fled not to become vaunted heroes of the city but forgotten travelers and refugees hiding out in a metal tent they couldn’t even claim for their own. But they had each other. You fled home with your kin, and by the time you arrived at a safe haven, you found that your kin were lost to you – breathing but dead. And I know the strange envy you have for the Adma – murderous heretics that they are, at least they have a home, a creed, the open road before them and the fresh, crisp air in their lungs. I know the strange envy you have for me and for my soldiers.

“Your soldiers are dead. Maksym, Catia, Wiktor, they’re all dead. Aleks killed them. Dropped a tower on their head. I don’t envy you.”

You envy me because you understand me – oh, poor Zoe, pushed into war and violence and hatred, forced to become something she wasn’t – oh, if only things had been different! The voice in Hilda’s head mocked her, the thoughts becoming words acquiring tone and cadence, sardonic, punctuated by grim chuckles. You envy me, Hilda! You know why? It is because you understand me! You understand everyone because you belong to no one, isn’t that so?

“That’s right, Zoe. You understand me. Now be quiet, and join the meaningless buzzing noise. Die a second time.”

The winged blur approached as Hilda sat, one hand on the ramparts by her side, jaw clenched as she stared forward and over the edge of the wall. She saw as it approached that it was a falcon, eyes wide open and spotted underbelly of features bright in the sun. With a couple flaps of its wings, the falcon drew closer – so close that Hilda almost flinched, seeing it was headed toward her. She reached out to push it away with the force of the Veil itself – and then she realized, clutching the immaterial fabric of the Reaper’s Gift, that she was in no danger although the falcon was diving for her.

She allowed it to land on her shoulder, still clenching her jaw, still staring over the edge of the wall, unable to move her head.

It leaned in its head to her ear, and it drew in a breath – Hilda tensed.

And the falcon whispered to her:

“If you’re going to die of shame, do it faster.”

Hilda blinked. “What?”

“You are no good to anyone like this, girl. Least of all yourself. Now raise your chin and listen. Listen close.”

She raised her chin and listened, listened close, hearing nothing.

“Do you hear them? The drums in the distance?”

“I don’t,” Hilda said. “I think it’s my injuries… what drums do you hear?”

“The drums of Nie-Wypsa. They are coming to help you in your trials. Graoungers will not come to your aid, but some of the others may. Be careful, though. The Battle-Clans always exact a price for their aid.”

“You mean to say we’ll have help against the Invictans?” Hilda asked, whispering.

“Yes,” said the falcon. “Look – do you see the marchers?”

She looked. She did not see them.

“They are very distant,” said the falcon. “I will be your eyes and ears henceforward, if you wish.”

Hilda nodded, and the falcon took wing, wheeling low over Hilda’s head. “But how can you speak our language?” Hilda asked, staring up in wonder at the falcon.

“I can’t!” the falcon declared. “But a sensitive mind knows a sensitive mind when it comes near, and I had to pass the message on to someone in this damn silent city!”