"This grain was stolen by a fake king with fake taxes," Glora returned. "And you're just his witch. We're taking it. It's ours. We won't let you ruin it while people are starving."
Lyseira grimaced and closed her eyes. Put two fingers to her temple. "We can't let you do that."
Angbar's heart pounded as he spun up the mantras in his head, prepared to feel the entire world around surrender to the Pulse. He glanced at Syntal and felt her, too, getting ready to chant. Suddenly he was grateful she was here. Two Slumber spells could take out a third of them, he thought, which will make the rest of them think twice.
"I believe this seed will feed the whole city," Lys went on. "And it's ours by deed of the King. You're right—lives depend on it.
"You called me a witch. You know what I can do, and I'm not alone." She threw an arm behind her. "Most of us are Kesprey, here. Many of us can Bind. Some of us can even chant. You can't stand against us. Please don't do this."
A few of the dissidents balked, glancing at each other uncertainly, but Glora stood firm. "You'll have to kill us," she repeated.
"No, we won't. We can just go around you. Akir means you no harm, and neither do we. But if you walk now . . ." She raised her voice, looked beyond the woman to the entire gathered crowd. "Any of you that walk now, will be fed. That I can promise. You will be fed. But stand against us, here, and we will watch you starve even after Akir's gift comes."
A young man in the back, little more than a boy, shook his head and jumped off the wagon. An older girl followed.
But Glora yanked a knife from beneath her coat, and hurled it at Lyseira's head.
Seth's hand snapped out, knocking it away as Angbar completed his Ascension. The universe laid itself bare before him, whispering an infinity of secret truths, but he ignored them and said only the words he knew best, invoking the weakness inherent in every mortal form.
Glora sagged, the fire in her eyes abruptly dying, and slumped unconscious. A couple more dissidents did the same. As Angbar Descended, he heard the prayers of Lyseira and several of her disciples: miracles of Binding, gripping several of the agitators with paralysis.
The remaining dissidents threw up their hands, crying for mercy. The entire exchange was over in seconds.
Then a blast of lightning ripped through the air just above them, unleashing a roll of thunder like the drums of God.
The horses spooked and reared, screaming, and tossed several dissidents to the road. The wagon bearing the grain lurched sideways, then spilled into the ditch as the horse that had been hauling it spooked into a mad gallop. One of its back axles snapped. The barrels of grain slid to the wagon's rear then punched through the bonnet, thudding into the snow; one of them bounced into the field, where it cracked against the frozen earth and sprayed its precious cargo into the elements.
"Whoa!" Angbar cried, trying to get his own horse under control. "Whoa, there! Whoa!" Another spooked animal launched into a wild run, dragging a Kesprey wagon with it; to his horror, it trampled the first young man who had surrendered before its driver got it back under control. When the horses finally calmed and the wagons finally halted, the boy's head was nothing but a spray of gore against the filthy snow.
"Angbar!" Seth roared, whipping around to face him.
"It wasn't me!" Angbar yelled back. "You think I'd do that?"
"I was just trying to scare them," Syntal said. "Let them know what we could do."
"You did that?" Lyseira demanded. "The lightning—that was you?"
Angbar could feel every eye watching the argument—from both the dissidents, and Lyseira's acolytes.
"They weren't standing down."
"We had half of them Bound!" Lyseira cried, incredulous. She threw out a hand, livid. "Look at this! Look what you―!" Her eyes snagged on the boy's corpse and she covered her mouth, aghast.
Shaviid jumped from his wagon and ran up to help the wounded. Lyseira followed him, heading straight for the dead boy, and wheezed out a prayer despite its futility.
"Another one here," one of the other Kesprey called, kneeling over a second corpse. "One of the Blackboots they captured."
Seth's eyes could have bored through Syntal's skull. "They were the ones who captured them!" Syn protested. "I only came to help!"
"Get out of here," Seth growled. "We've had enough of your help."
ii. Lyseira
Once the dissidents had fled and Syntal had turned back for the city, Lyseira asked Seth to load the bodies onto a wagon.
"Can you stay?" she asked Angbar as Seth worked. "I need to go back and . . ." Nausea threatened to wrench the words from her throat. ". . . explain . . . what happened."
Angbar gave her a somber nod. "M'sai. Be careful."
She took his hand. "Thank you. I don't know how I'd even get along in all this without your help."
Angbar winced at the words. "No. I shouldn't have let her come along. I don't know what she was thinking, I―"
"It's not your fault," Lyseira insisted. "You had better sense."
He didn't look convinced, but he dropped the argument. "We'll go ahead with the planting. Just like Akir said."
She gave his hand another squeeze. She really was lucky to have him. It had been a kind of cosmic accident, the way he had come to see Akir's hand in the motions of the world, but in these surreal last few months, in her times of faltering faith, Angbar had shouldered the burdens she couldn't. I should figure out a way to thank him, she thought as she turned away before he could see the tears threatening her eyes. Then she saw Seth standing by the wagon, a heavy blanket thrown over the two shapeless humps, and the line of thought collapsed.
Seth drove the wagon. As they left the field behind, Lyseira heard Angbar starting to organize the group; then they started organizing themselves within the teams he'd assigned them. They were a good group. Smart people, and earnest. They deserved better than she could give them.
"She's dangerous," Seth finally said when they were out of earshot. He kept his eyes forward.
Lyseira replayed the crucial few instants in her mind: the crack of the thunder, the spooking horses. "She made a mistake," she said, but a heavy dread had settled into her chest. She knew there was more to it than that.
"She didn't think," Seth said. "She can make bolts of lightning from thin air, summon tornadoes—God knows what else that she hasn't even told us. And she doesn't think before she acts. That's dangerous."
"She's learning," Lyseira returned. "God knows we all are." And yet Lyseira had never even considered calling Godsflame, or urging Seth toward murder.
"Well, she needs to learn faster. While she fumbles around trying to figure it out, people are getting killed."
They made the rest of the trip in silence.
Melakai dropped the corner of the blanket, eyes grim. "Well, ain't that a fine bag of sehk."
He had come alone out of the palace gates to meet them. Lyseira had told the story in the most neutral terms she could manage.
"They're going to want Syn's head," Seth said flatly. "If she hadn't chanted when she did, no one would have died."
Kai shrugged. "Sure. And if those Blackboots hadn't surrendered the King's grain so fast, maybe the mob would've backed down—and if the mob hadn't been there to start with, we'd all still be talking about how stupid this idea was instead of how many people it's gotten killed."
That pricked her. "We are trying to save people. I know you don't like it, but Isaic already agreed. You can keep your whining to yourself."
Kai ignored her admonition. "This woman you said was leading them—do you know her name?"
"Glora Terling," Seth said. When he saw Lyseira's look of surprise, he clarified: "The other Blackboot knew her."
"Glora," Kai muttered. "What a surprise." He tisked and sighed. "Should've left more than three men there. Sehking stupid. I just thought too many would draw suspicion—how in Hel did she know what was going on?"
Lyseira shrugged. "She didn't say."
"I'll have
them round her up. The other Blackboot—Eli—he didn't come back with you?"
Lyseira shook her head.
"Probably back at the barracks, maybe gone home. We'll find him. King's gonna want a word with Syntal, too, if I know him. He won't be happy about this—but Glora's gonna take the brunt of it."
"He should be careful of her," Seth said.
"Glora? Mouth the size of Moshun Dar, maybe, but no real bite. I've dealt with her before."
"No. Syntal."
Kai narrowed his eyes. "How do you mean?"
"I mean we had the situation under control. No blood spilled. It would've been handled, if not for her, and this isn't the first time she's chanted before thinking. I've tried to talk to her over the years. She doesn't listen. Maybe a royal reprimand would finally get her attention."
"You think she's a danger to the King?"
Seth hesitated—an instant of silence that blared condemnation.
"Not as such," Lyseira said. "She saved his life. She respects him—we all do."
"She's just reckless," Seth finally said. "No matter who's in the room."
Melakai had his people take the wagon, and had Lyseira and Seth wait in a parlor in the palace. At highsun, Lyseira summoned manna for lunch and shared it out among the palace servants. It was late afternoon before Kai came back.
"We've got Glora over at Rebrick. She'll give us some names. Eli's given his side. Sorry to keep you here all day—I thought the King might want to speak with you, but he doesn't need to. You can head on back."
"Syntal?" Seth asked.
"I told the King everything that happened. The rest is up to him."
Seth locked his jaw—a minute sign that anyone other than Lyseira would have missed.
"She does need some kind of reprimand," Lyseira put in. "I think what happened was an accident, but still—it could happen again."
"I hear you," Kai said. In Lyseira's experience, that typically meant, This conversation's over.
"They can't just ignore her part in this," Seth said as the two of them returned to their wagon and started back toward the field. "She's going to start thinking she can do whatever she wants."
"Kai told the King," Lyseira returned. "For now I don't know that we can do much besides wait and see."
"Maybe." Seth kept his eyes locked to the road, but Lyseira saw a lot happening behind them. "But if he doesn't bring her in line, I'm going to go talk to her myself."
By the time they returned to the field, that morning's grey was mirrored in the creeping shroud of dusk. Her people still worked the rows, covering the last of the seed with clods of frozen earth.
Angbar hurried over to meet them as the cart pulled to a halt. "How did it go?" he asked.
"The woman who led the revolt will be punished," Lyseira said. "Sounds like the surviving Blackboot might be in some trouble, too—Kai wasn't impressed to hear they got overwhelmed."
Angbar nodded at this, brows furrowed. "And Syn?"
Seth shook his head.
"Nothing yet. We told Kai what happened, and he told the King. Beyond that, we don't know anything."
A complicated concern played over Angbar's features, as if he couldn't decide how he felt about this news. "Does she know?"
"That she's been reported to the King?" Lyseira glanced at Seth, who again shook his head. "Not so far as we know."
Angbar gave a heavy sigh. "Someone should let her know." He jerked a thumb back toward the field. "We're nearly done here. We scraped up most of the spilled grain and got it in the ground. Field's all sown. Should just be another few hours or so to finish laying the dirt, and then we're done."
His report should have been cause for celebration, but the morning's events and Lyseira's own quiet doubts about the wheat seed cast a shadow over her smile. "That's wonderful. Thank you so much, Angbar."
"Oh—yeah. It was no trouble. I mean, it was cold as all Hel, but . . ." He waved this off. "If it's all the same to you, I'm going to head back into the city. I'd like to talk to Syntal tonight yet."
"Of course. I hope she listens to you."
He gave a final nod, then turned away. "Gunther! Anya! I'm heading back into the city, do you want to come along? I've got to take a cart." Two shadows disentangled themselves from the deepening dusk and started toward the road. "There should still be plenty of people to finish before it gets too dark," Angbar said. "I just don't want to leave anyone stranded out here."
Lyseira jumped down. "It's all right. We can spare them." She lifted Seth's hand with her own. "We just picked up two more pairs of hands anyway."
Angbar smiled and turned to leave. Lyseira heard his cart rattling away as she knelt to pick up the work Gunther had just left.
Frozen dirt, like ice in her fingers. Lines of wheat seed gone nearly invisible in the fading daylight. Suddenly, she remembered she had never summoned manna for the city today. She should have stopped at Majesta on their way out and spent herself on manna miracles until she had just enough eyesight left to work the field. Her failure would mean twoscore or more empty bellies in the city tonight.
It's all right, she tried to tell herself. This is more important. He said we wouldn't starve if we did this. But He hadn't spoken to her since, as usual, and she had invested so much in this—her own time, the trust of the King and the public, the last of the city's grain and now even the blood of its inhabitants—that the consequences of being wrong weighed far more than the nebulous hope of success. She didn't even know what success would look like.
An unbidden memory of the story of Bashod came to her. A parable from the book of Arigot, it focused on a rich man who sacrificed everything because God commanded it. He left his wife and family, surrendered his wealth, and walked the earth serving the Church. He contracted leprosy, and in his poverty, couldn't afford the donation to have it cured. In the end he died penniless and alone, a devoted servant of Akir. Bashod's story was lifted up as an example of true faith—it was the ideal to which all of God's children should aspire.
But Lyseira couldn't help noticing that if her story were Bashod's, the tale would end with everyone starving.
When they replaced the last of the dirt, working by clericlight under a rising crescent moon, she sent the others home. Shaviid congratulated her; a handful of others thanked her. But most left wordlessly, no doubt as worried as she was—maybe even because she was. I talk a lot about faith, she accused herself, and then I fail to demonstrate it.
When the others had all gone, when it was just her and Seth, she started a campfire at the edge of the road and fell asleep. She spent the night tormented by cold and hunger, by the haunted eyes of children she couldn't feed and the bloody remnants of others crushed by panicked horses. She screamed for Syntal to stop an instant too late, over and over, as the animals screamed and the victims died. She woke in her dreams a hundred times to find a frozen field, sown with folly and madness while all the city starved.
"Lyseira." Seth's voice, swimming down to her from a hundred miles above. She'd heard it before. She knew what happened next: she would open her eyes, and see the first Storm. They were children again, back in Southlight. Everything since had been a dream.
"Lyseira, wake up."
She opened her eyes and took in a grey, frozen dawn, the embers of the campfire still flickering. When she stood, she saw the endless snow interrupted by a golden wheat field: every stalk healthy and ripe, waving in the breeze as if it were a perfect autumn day.
"We're going to need a scythe," Seth said, and she sank to her knees, and wept.
"It's got to be seventy bushels," Jedsen said, scanning the field from the road as the Kesprey shocked the sheaves. She was a farmer, weathered and experienced. It was her field they were working; she had come out to the road to survey the crop. She shook her head in disbelief. "Easily. I've never even heard of a yield that big. And that's just the first acre."
Lyseira swallowed, struck mute. They had sown a bushel per acre, fifty acres all told. At seventy bushels pe
r acre . . .
"Thirty-five hundred bushels?" she breathed. "Are you . . . is that right?"
"My best guess, yeah. I think so."
"That'll feed the whole city for . . ." The math was simple, but it slipped away from her. She simply couldn't wrangle her own thoughts.
"It would only feed the whole city for a few days or so," Elthur said. Lyseira could hardly believe what she was hearing. "But we don't have to feed all 300,000—not yet. And we don't have to give everyone full rations. There's also manna. Takra's improvements to our distribution helped a lot. We're feeding 5,000 people a day now, but the numbers of starving have shot up, too. We've lost count."
"We have to tell the King," Seth said. "And return his fifty bushels of seed grain."
Elthur nodded his agreement. "He'll want to restock the city's reserves."
"All of this has to be threshed before anyone can eat it," Jedsen put in. "And threshing all this? It would take fifty people a week."
"The King will provide the people." Lyseira spoke with confidence, choosing to believe her own words. "Is it better to do it out here? Or to bring the wheat into the city?"
"Depends," Jedsen said. "Would you rather move the people here, or the wheat there? If you do it out here, it'll be cold work, but the ground should be hard enough, and you'll have a good place to dump the chaff."
"Whoa!" Angbar shouted, reining in the horses as he pulled up with another wagon of laborers from the city. "Word's spreading," he said by way of greeting, his grin like a slash of light. "It was easier to get this group. I didn't even have room for everyone—I'm heading back to pick up another load, and I must have passed fifty people on the roads, walking out to help."
"Good." Giddiness and disbelief churned like a storm in Lyseira's chest. Since Seth had woken her, she'd felt like she was in a dream. "That's good."
"And a runner came to Majesta. You've been summoned back to the palace."
Lyseira smiled. "I bet we have. You have room for two more?"
Of Dark Things Waking (The Redemption Chronicle Book 3) Page 17