Regeneration

by Stacey Berg

  Dismissing the distraction, she turned her attention back to the main hall, which currently held storage sacks of grain stacked in head-high piles, the supervisor, Kennit, and a handful of other cityens, and Gem, chalking numbers in front of each pile. She had already marked a table full of smaller sacks, the kind distributed to individuals. “You overcounted that one,” Kennit said. Then he caught sight of Echo, and his expression, already dissatisfied, turned downright sour.

  “I don’t believe so,” Gem said mildly. “But if you wish we can re-stack all the bags.” The workers groaned at the prospect.

  “The 384s will assist,” Indine said. She took a seat on the curve of what appeared to be a giant shoulder blade, leaving the juveniles to work out an acceptable plan on their own. It did not take too long. Soon three of them had scrambled to the top of the first pile and were sliding sacks almost as big as themselves over the edge, where the other girls wrestled them into a single layer across the floor. They quickly realized that working in pairs was more efficient; that left Fury, predictably, without a partner.

  Echo lifted her chin at another pile of sacks. Fury scrambled to the top and began shoving them down to Echo, who caught them without difficulty and slid them across the floor towards the 384s. Indine shook her head. Kennit stood cross-armed, glaring at Echo. Other than that, the work was not unpleasant, Echo’s muscles flexing and contracting in rhythm against Gem’s steady counting and the squeak of chalk on the stone.

  A man poked his head in the door. “Kennit, you in here?” he called, breaking the rhythm. “We need to talk. Some of the men are as planning—”

  “Not now,” Kennit said sharply. “I’m busy, Div, even you can see.”

  “Is there something we can assist you with, cityen?” Gem asked, still squatting with her chalk poised to make another mark.

  Div shook his head. Echo had seen him before, she thought as she paused to listen, but not in North. “I didn’t expect as there’d be hunters here. No need to interrupt. Kennit, I’ll see you later. No rush,” he added, retreating hastily. His left heel made a metallic tap against the stone.

  Exey’s shop. That’s where Echo had seen him. She wondered what he’d been about to say that Kennit didn’t want hunters to hear.

  A sack hit the floor and burst as Fury, inattentive, dropped it where Echo had been. Grain flew everywhere. Kennit sputtered; Indine motioned Fury down from the pile and handed her a broom. “Make sure not to let any go to waste,” she ordered.

  Gem watched the girl sullenly sweeping. “She is not a hunter.”

  “You are always too quick to judge,” Echo said, but she felt a sinking in her belly.

  “What favor is it to her to try to make her something she is not?” Echo did not answer, and Gem turned back to her counting with a shrug. Her initial tally proved to be correct, and so, when the rest of the piles were counted and stacked again, was North’s grain allotment.

  “Wouldn’t need hunters checking if the Church passed it all out as used to be. Best you count the other claves twice over,” Kennit grumbled, wiping his face. “Might be they’ve hidden part away where nor Church nor other councilors can find it, and then they say as we got more than we deserved.”

  “In any event you have enough. I shall inform the Patri that the matter is settled to your satisfaction,” Gem said, and went to assist Indine and the 384s with the last few sacks.

  “Informing him as isn’t all that’s needed,” the councilor muttered under his breath.

  “Was there something you meant to say?” Once cityens would never have dared criticize the Patri where there was the slightest chance a hunter might overhear. But Kennit looked more irritated than afraid.

  “Wardmen won’t be stopped by counting and council meetings, all I meant. They need a proper lesson.”

  “That is for the Church to decide, not you.”

  “Always was, before. Church as it should be, that’s what North as wants. Now if you’ll excuse me, esteemed hunter, I’ll help finish up here. You have as better to do than deal with me.”

  The 384s trudged along in tired silence, even Fury too subdued to instigate any mischief. It was just as well: North in general was safe, and the cityens living here were used to hunters and unlikely to be alarmed by their exercises. Nonetheless, dusk was approaching, and though the lightstrings triggered by their passage were brighter and closer together than Echo remembered, night in the city would never be without its dangers. And Echo was still troubled by Kennit’s attitude. Church as it should be, as if North were the judge of that. It was a small provocation, but those were in some ways more alarming than a single challenge that could be dealt with decisively. The rebellion had broken the city into pieces, like the stone head in the granary, and there was no pattern to show how it could be glued back together.

  Her attention jerked to a sudden brightness: lightstrings flashing on in response to motion down a side alley, at the same time voices rose in heated argument. She didn’t have to check to know that Indine and Gem also noticed; they were already detaching themselves from the file of juveniles, taking up positions between them and the disturbance. The words were hard to make out, but the tone suggested too much ferm and nowhere near enough good sense. “Nothing to do with us,” Echo said. She flexed her sore ankle, working out the stiffness just in case.

  Indine nodded towards the juveniles, whose fatigue had been replaced by eager interest. “It is an opportunity.”

  “Indeed,” Gem said, teeth flashing, but Echo’s gut tightened at the thought of Fury confronting cityens.

  “I do not think we should engage them needlessly.”

  “She has to learn,” Indine said. In a moment she had given the girls their instructions, and they were striding down the alley in well-rehearsed formation. Indine, Gem, and Echo followed, keeping to the shadows. Echo told herself she should not be so anxious. The juveniles would have practiced such a scenario many times in their training, and there was virtually no altercation among cityens, short of rebellion, that three mature hunters could not control.

  A half dozen men stood in the pool of light, four of them faced off against the other two. By the state of their clothing there had been some pushing and shoving, but no real harm had been done; everyone was still upright, and though as expected they stank of ferm, Echo did not smell blood. They were still cursing and spouting nonsense when the 384 leading the exercise stepped into the light. “Is there a problem, cityens?”

  The men spun in comic startlement that was amplified by their expressions when they saw how small their challenger was. “Who’s that as wants to know?” one of the four slurred, shambling forward.

  The girl hooked her thumbs in her belt. “Flo Hunter 384,” she said with calm authority.

  “Well, esteemed Flo Hunter, it’s like as this. Those Wardmen there as wanted to pass, and we were just explaining how they aren’t welcome in our clave. Soon as they go back, there’s the end of any problems.”

  “Problem is they stole our chits!” one of the Wardmen exclaimed, outraged.

  “Fee for safe passage,” the first man said. “Shouldn’t’ve come this way.”

  “The streets are free to all,” Flo said. “Give them back their chits, cityen.” Her high voice betrayed only the slightest uncertainty, but it was enough for the men to start to smile.

  “I’m thinking you’re too small to make me,” the Norther said, and lurched towards her. It was no contest at all. His wildly swinging punch sailed over Flo’s head as she dropped to scythe her extended leg into his ankle, and then she had him facedown, a knee in the small of his back. Fury leapt from hiding to assist her, small hands pressing the cityen’s cheek into the dirt with only a little more force than necessary. And before his fellows could come to his aid, the other 384s emerged from the shadows, a pair for each of the remaining men. It was more than enough for them to reconsider their plans.

  Still hidden, Indine rose from her crouch beside Echo and Gem with a barely audible exhala
tion. Flo had never been in real danger, though neither she nor the men knew that. The 384 yanked a pouch off her prisoner’s belt and tossed it at the others’ feet. “Sort out your chits and go home,” Flo ordered, releasing her hold on the man. At her nod, Fury let him go as well. Echo let out her own sigh of relief.

  The man’s friends, grumbling, pulled him upright. One of the Wardmen, seizing the chance, snatched up the pouch, then he and his friend were pounding down the alleyway. “Hey, that’s as mine!” the purseless man shouted, as his companions took off in pursuit. He took a few limping steps and stopped, cursing. “You gave them all my chits!”

  “Leave them to it,” Indine, still hidden in the shadows, ordered the 384s in disgust. “They are too foolish to deserve further assistance from us tonight.”

  And then Echo heard the familiar metallic click.

  “Drop!” she shouted, but it was already too late. The man had Flo by the arm, the projectile weapon to her head. Thank the Saints, the girl had the sense not to struggle as the man drew her back, away from the hunters.

  “Let her go, cityen,” Echo ordered. Indine appeared to her right, only a few steps away. If they had to charge, he would not be able to hit them both. But Flo would have no chance.

  “You two stay away,” he snarled, then, to the 384s, “That’s as all of you, too.” The girls stopped dead still in a loose half circle with him and Flo at the center.

  “You have had too much ferm, cityen,” Indine said in a conversational tone. On Echo’s other side, a shadow moved within the deeper shadows. Indine continued, “We know that these things happen, do we not, Echo Hunter 367?”

  “We have seen it before,” Echo agreed. It did not matter what they said, as long as it kept the man’s eyes on them. “If you set the weapon down, cityen, nothing else will come of it, other than an aching head in the morning. Tell us, where did you find that?”

  “Scum part with anything for a few chits,” he mumbled, voice beginning to shake.

  “Which scum?” Echo asked in her most encouraging voice. Be ready, she told Flo with her eyes. The girl swallowed hard.

  “Think I’m stupid? That’s as not—” Some instinct must have warned the man. As Gem emerged from the shadows behind him, he turned, presenting a perfect target.

  But not for Gem.

  Fury darted forward, the eye-blink strike of a desert predator. A thin whine, not even a scream, and Flo tore herself free. The projectile weapon fell harmlessly as the cityen crumpled. The butt of the pointed stick impaling the cityen’s eye socket stared balefully at nothing. His body twitched once, twice, then stilled.

  “Dead,” Fury pronounced with satisfaction. The other hunters, adults and juveniles alike, stood speechless.

  “You warned him his head would ache in the morning,” Gem said into the stunned silence.

  “It is not amusing,” Indine said, glaring at Fury. “We needed to know where he acquired the weapon.”

  Gem stepped over the body to retrieve the device. “We know who he would have called scum.”

  Chapter 15

  “It’s not right, what it’s not.” Teller didn’t quite dare raise his voice, but Echo could almost taste the anger burning in his belly. His hard tone was more than enough to draw Nyree’s ire. “You speak to the Patri, cityen. Do not forget your place.”

  Teller wasn’t too stupid to be afraid; his pupils dilated, but he managed to meet Nyree’s stare. The air in the Patri’s office was hot and still; Echo smelled Teller’s fear as much as she saw it. “I’d be saying the same to anyone. We did some things as was wrong, we know that now, but we made amends, same as the Church demanded. Shouldn’t still be paying, then. Shouldn’t have our men rousted and our shops and trades shut down on some drunken Norther’s word. And he’s the one as had the weapon!”

  “He paid for his crime,” Jozef said. Hunters had made certain that the man’s attack on a child was the focus of reporting on the incident. That the child had been a hunter, and the exact circumstances of the man’s death, were details the cityens did not require.

  “Why not North, then? The whole Ward is punished, and we’ve done nothing.” Teller’s fingers drummed a rhythm of frustration on the table. Tralene laid a hand on his arm; he subsided, scowling.

  “The man told the hunters his weapon came from the Ward,” the Patri said.

  “His exact word was ‘scum,’” Nyree added.

  “Is that what you think of us?” The lines on Tralene’s face seemed deeper today, etched by a resigned sorrow.

  “We are not saying you were directly involved,” Echo began, but Nyree cut her off.

  “Direct or not makes no difference. The Norther had a weapon that came from the Ward. It is your responsibility.”

  “Respectfully, there’s no proof of that,” Tralene said, looking past Nyree to the Patri. Her voice shook, but only a little, and underneath was some of Teller’s hardness. It called to mind the Warder, who had led the rebellion. Echo had thought him weak, a foolish old man, until the moment he drew his weapon against the Church.

  “Then prove your innocence,” Nyree said. “Find out who is making the weapons and report to us.”

  “How are we supposed to do what all your hunters can’t?” Teller made to stand; Echo pushed him back into his seat before Nyree could do it. He jerked away from her hand.

  “We would tell you, if we knew,” Tralene said. “After everything that happened—I swear by the Saint.”

  She turned to Echo. “You believe us, don’t you? You were with us. You know that’s an oath we could never go against.”

  Any answer was a trap. Echo did believe Tralene; the woman would never betray Lia, even in something as trivial as an oath. Teller was another matter. He had been in the Warder’s inner circle. Echo remembered the projectile weapon in his hand, the fervent gleam in his eye. If she said so, it would give Nyree all the excuse she needed to declare the Ward guilty. But a defense from Echo would hardly help the Ward in Nyree’s eyes. And she did not know what the Patri thought—did not even know, she realized with a lurch in her belly, how much the old Patri had revealed to him about her part in the rebellion. In bringing Lia to become the Saint.

  Everyone was watching her, waiting. You were with us. It was not only the Wardmen being judged. “Our service to the Saint in all things,” she said at last. Then, with a presumptuousness that drew a quick breath of outrage from Nyree: “Remember that when you swear by her. The Church will not act without evidence. But you must be very certain that you honor your oath.”

  “We’re thankful for all the Saint does,” Tralene said. “And the Church. Patri, I’m telling you as plain as I know how: we aren’t the ones making this trouble, whatever anyone may believe.”

  “It is not a matter of belief.” The Patri’s estimating gaze remained on Echo an uncomfortable moment longer before finally moving to the Warders. His thumbs tapped each other, then stilled. “However, you may take this as a fact: the Ward will regret it if the evidence proves you’re lying.”

  “If the Saint could hear, she wouldn’t like it,” Teller muttered as Echo escorted them out. “Church always squeezing the Ward, and her one of us.”

  Echo yanked him to a halt in the shadow of the wall. “Don’t give them any excuses, Teller.”

  Tralene pulled him away without another word, leaving Echo alone with dark memories of the Ward, and the rebellion, and the smoke-filled sanctuary where so many things had come to an end.

  She dreamed again of the cliff, and falling into a bottomless dark. When she jerked herself awake it was still dark, only a little light from the hall leaking in under the door. In the dimness Khyn’s eyes shone softly as the Preserver watched her, head pillowed on her arm, close enough that Echo could feel the small currents her breath made in the air between them. “Have I disturbed your sleep?” Echo asked.

  “No.” A ghost of her old smile touched Khyn’s lips. “There’s everything else for that. But you’re different here, somehow. Not just be
cause you’ve cut your hair either. In the Preserve when I watched you sleep—you were a stranger there, far from home, but nothing really bothered you. Even in the desert . . . But here something worries you all the time.” Khyn took a breath, two, then said, “You hoped you would find your friend Lia when we got here, didn’t you?”

  Echo studied the ceiling. She could just make out a lighter patch where the plaster had been repaired recently. Another sign of recovery, owed to the new Saint. “I told you, she is gone.”

  Khyn touched her shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Go back to sleep. You require a clear mind for your work with the priests.”

  Khyn did, after a time; but Echo stared at the irregular borders of the plaster until her eyes blurred and the spot seemed to take on shapes, a cloud, a map, a face that looked down at her and judged. It seemed a long time before dawn turned it back into nothing more than a repaired crack in an old building.

  Fury sat at the domicile door. She jumped to her feet when Echo emerged with Khyn, straightening her shoulders and staring straight ahead with red-rimmed eyes. Echo paused. “You’ve been assigned guard duty?”