War of Men

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “I don’t know,” Whitney said. “All my stupid deeds only affected stupid me.”

  “I know a Panpingese girl who’d say different,” Tum Tum said. He offered the bottle to Lucindur, who politely declined.

  At the mention of Sora, Talwyn lowered her eyes to the fire. “I don’t understand why we’re trusting those creatures,” she said. “We should all be helping you.”

  “We aren’t trusting them,” Lucindur responded before Whitney could. “We are trusting Whitney.”

  “I guess.” Talwyn rubbed her arms and edged closer to Whitney even though they were already touching at the elbows. “It’s cold.”

  “Aren’t ye from up here?” Tum Tum asked.

  It was true, Glinthaven was just on the east side of the Covenstan Depths, but Myen Elnoir was set in a valley that received warmer winds thanks to a current coming up from the Boiling Waters, leaving it brisk, but never freezing.

  “I still think Gentry should join the rest of you in Glinthaven,” Whitney said, bringing the conversation back to the boy.

  “You think anything you could’ve said would’ve stopped him from following you onto that lake?” Lucindur said. “He may not be your son, but he doesn’t have parents. He’d have swum behind the ship. He even left Aquira with us. For you.”

  “Then he really is a fool,” Tum Tum said. He slapped Whitney again, and they all laughed, though, there was very little mirth in it.

  After that, they all remained quiet while they ate something Talwyn had thrown together. It wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t good either. Though, he imagined beautiful Talwyn hadn’t spent much of her life needing to cook. Besides, she was kind enough to give Francesca a much-needed night off.

  Dishes and silverware clanked, signally the completion of supper, and Whitney leaned back against a thick pole, hands behind his head. One of the troupe members carried a pot up to the deck for the rest.

  “This is dangerous,” Whitney said after a long exhale. “For all of us going. We are literally walking into a den of bloodsucking killers to fight a goddess. I wouldn’t blame anyone if they decided to stay on the ship when we get there, and I don’t blame those who leave now.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I planned to stay on the ship,” Lucindur said. “The troupe will flourish under Benon and Talwyn’s lead. I kept her from the knowledge of this instrument for a reason.”

  Whitney could feel Talwyn staring at him, as if begging him to make her stay. He made sure not to look back. She needed to go. More than anything, so that Lucindur would be able to concentrate on Nesilia. It was the same reason he wanted Gentry to stay in Glinthaven.

  “Good. There’s no reason to let any more people risk death than those we need,” Whitney said.

  “He’s right,” Talywn said, terse. “I don’t want to stay with Benon, but I don’t want to go die either. I wouldn’t stand a chance against even a man with a sword, much less an upyr or a goddess.”

  Before Lucindur could respond, Whitney said, “Maybe we could convince Gentry to go with you.”

  “He’s a free person,” Lucindur said. “We all are. That’s what a troupe is all about.”

  “Tell that to the Pompares,” Whitney said. “Oh, you can’t.”

  “That’s not—” Talwyn protested. Lucindur interrupted her with a tug on the arm.

  “He’s just frustrated.”

  “Aye, we all are,” Tum Tum added. He pushed out from the table and backed away slowly, beard lifted from a nervous grin. “Better go check topside. Should be at the port soon.”

  Whitney said nothing, just merely pushed off as well and headed toward Gentry’s room. He thought a full belly might help, but it only felt like a pit in his stomach. He stopped before Gentry’s door and stood there awhile. Finally, he raised his fist to knock when the door opened.

  “Oh, hey,” Whitney said, awkwardly lowering his hand.

  “What do you want?” Gentry said as he turned back into his room. “I have heard you standing there, breathing, for the last ten minutes.”

  “We’re just about to dock.”

  “Great.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Can’t stop you,” Gentry said, taking a seat.

  Aquira curled up next to him at the foot of the straw bed. Little swirls of steam rose from her nostrils as the heat mingled with the cold air. Clearing a path through ice had to be exhausting for a dragon, much less a wyvern her size.

  “You’re getting off here and going with Talwyn and the others,” Whitney said. “You can’t go further with us.”

  “Shogging Exile, I can’t,” Gentry snapped.

  “Hey! Watch your mouth.”

  “You are one to talk.” Gentry stood. Aquira slowly rose with him.

  Whitney could see the confusion in her eyes. None of this was fair to the wyvern. She was Sora’s, then Whitney’s, now Gentry’s, but in truth, Whitney wasn’t sure she was one to be owned by anyone. She chose who to stay with. And one of Whitney’s fears in dismissing Gentry was that she’d follow him, and they’d lose her power in the fight.

  “I’m going with you,” Gentry continued, “and you can’t stop me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “What are you going to do—sic your upyr on me?”

  “If I have to!” Whitney took a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s start over.”

  Gentry didn’t respond verbally, but he sat back down, which gave Whitney the sense that the boy might actually be willing to listen to reason.

  “Gentry, what you did, following us, was reckless and dangerous,” Whitney said. “You could have been killed.”

  “Yeah, you already made that clear back in Panping. Is there anything else?”

  Whitney rubbed his eyes with his palms. “I made a promise.”

  “And you have probably broken a million in your lifetime based on your stories, so what? What is so different about this one?”

  “To a woman on her deathbed. I told her… Modera Pompare, I’d keep you safe.”

  “Do you even remember her?” Gentry asked. “Do you know how many times Fadra backhanded me? Beat me with a belt? It might have been his hand, but it was her will. If she cared about me so much, why didn’t she show it while she was alive?”

  A tear dripped down Gentry’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. Aquira nuzzled her snout against his neck. Gentry stroked her head, and she plopped down, chin resting on his thigh.

  “I don’t know,” Whitney admitted. “But that wasn’t me. All I know is, in my life, I’ve cared about exactly two people. One of them is in this room with me, and the other is being possessed by a goddess. In order to save one, I have to make sure the other doesn’t get killed. I can’t be worried about you in there. I can’t risk losing focus.”

  “You mean you can’t risk losing Sora…”

  “Or you!” Whitney whisper-shouted. “If either of you gets hurt in there, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  Gentry scoffed.

  “What are you ‘pffing’ at?”

  “You. Your ego is huge.”

  “My—my ego?” Whitney asked, incredulous.

  “Not everything is your responsibility, you know,” Gentry said. “Not everyone’s life is yours to save. Sometimes, people have to make their own choices. My whole life… growing up under a bridge, living with a family that was mine but not mine… I didn’t make any of those choices. Those choices were made for me—by my parents, by the swinlars when they decided I was better off traveling with a performance troupe than growing up in their precious kingdom.”

  “So, what—you want to exercise your right to choose now—when choosing to go with us most likely means choosing death?”

  Gentry sighed. “Do you know what it’s like to have no purpose?”

  Whitney opened his mouth to answer, but Gentry interrupted.

  “I don’t think you do. You’ve always had a plan. ‘Whitney Fierstown, World’s Greatest Thief, slayer of gods and goddesses, the filc
her fantastic himself.’ I’ve heard your speech so many times, I could recite it myself. If I had a speech, you know what it would say? ‘Gentry…’”

  He went quiet, and Whitney didn’t dare speak up.

  “That’s it! That’s all it would say. ‘Gentry…’ I don’t know my parents. I don’t know my family name. I’ve never done a thing worth doing. Then I… I killed that man…”

  Whitney winced.

  “No, you don’t get it,” Gentry said. “I’m not upset. That was the only great thing I’ve ever done.”

  “There’s nothing great about killing.”

  “Do you know that man was heading toward Talwyn when I struck him down? I saved her. Me.”

  “You did.” Whitney moved forward, Gentry backed away. “But what’s on its way to the Citadel isn’t just some crazed group of cultists. When I was in Elsewhere, I saw things I could never unsee. I can’t describe the horrors.”

  “That doesn’t sound scary.”

  “The Glintish are known for art, right? I promise you, the greatest painter in Glinthaven couldn’t begin to capture the likeness of those things. And that’s what Nesilia has under her command. Even if she didn’t, the Buried Goddess herself is going to be there. She’s real. She’s powerful. And from what I’ve seen, she cares about nothing but revenge and making Iam’s children—apparently, that's you and me, regardless of whether or not we give a shog about Him—she wants to make us suffer for ‘forgetting about her.’”

  Outside, the ship broke through another layer of ice and slowed down. Loud as all the racket was, the silence that passed between them felt louder.

  “Can I ask you something?” Gentry asked when the clamor ended.

  “I can’t stop you,” Whitney said, smiling.

  “What’s worse… living, always with the potential to do something great, but never doing it, or achieving that potential and dying while doing it? Is life worth living if you don’t feel alive?”

  “Iam’s shog,” Whitney swore. “If you didn’t already know my answer, I don’t think you’d have asked it.”

  “I survived Drad Mak and the Drav Cra,” Gentry said. “I survived the riots in Yarrington at the Dawning. And then, those pirates, Gold Grin and his men. I know those are nothing compared to Nesilia, but if she beats you, if she wins, I die anyway, right? We all do.”

  Whitney eyed the boy with a gentleness he didn’t think himself capable of. He was no leader. Again, he wished Torsten were there. He’d know what to say. He’d have led this ragtag group into the finest battle ever witnessed, and he’d know how to get Gentry to make the smart move.

  But the kid had a point. It was win or die. No matter where Gentry was, if Nesilia came out victorious, Elsewhere would break loose, and those left alive would be wishing for death.

  “Please, Whitney?” Gentry implored.

  That might have been the first time Gentry had ever called him that. Not Mr. Fierstown. Not Mr. Whitney. Just Whitney.

  “I helped in Yaolin,” Gentry went on. “I can help again. Lucindur’s always talking about fate, what if I’m supposed to be here? Plus, Aquira will keep me safe. And then we’ll keep you safe.”

  Whitney scratched at the back of his neck. Is this how my parents felt around me every gods-damned day?

  He remembered how he reacted every time they tried to keep him from an adventure with Sora or scolded him for getting into trouble. He’d learned in Elsewhere that they cared, but it only drove him away.

  “Please,” Gentry said again.

  “Fine,” Whitney groaned. “You can come.”

  Gentry was midway through another reasoning, then sputtered over the rest of his words. His countenance changed abruptly. “Wait… what?”

  “But! Don’t get excited yet,” Whitney said, sticking out a finger. “I’ve got conditions.”

  “Okay….” He wrapped his arm around Aquira and pulled her tight.

  “For starters, that’s enough pouting. Enough anger. What happened back in Yaolin happened. No changing that, and it brought us this ship. We don’t bring it up again, deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “When we get to the Citadel, you do as I say, even if you don’t agree.”

  “Absolutely,” Gentry agreed.

  “And finally.” Whitney took a second to compose himself. He couldn’t believe the words about to come out of his mouth. “If it comes down to you living or me living… it’s you. It’s always you. Got that?”

  The kid hesitated but nodded.

  “All right, then.” Whitney then turned to Aquira. “And you girl, we need you most of all.” Her ears perked up. Whitney crouched to stare straight into her big yellow eyes. “This is Sora we’re talking about. I know under those scales you care about her more than anything. Anything it takes, right?”

  She lifted her snout and released a low grunt. A puff of smoke swirled up from her nostrils.

  “She’ll never give up,” Gentry attested.

  “No, she won’t, will she?” Whitney reached out timidly, then scratched the billowy skin underneath her neck which inflated whenever she blew fire. She was always odd around him, but she let him do it. “She’s the most important member of our group.”

  “That’s right,” Gentry said, beaming.

  He squeezed her close, and Whitney regarded the two before turning to leave. “We’re close. Get some rest, and then start saying your goodbyes to Talwyn and the others. Aquira, we could use your help, girl.”

  Gentry agreed, and Whitney closed the door behind him, Aquira on his shoulder. He drew a long, exasperated breath. He had some goodbyes of his own to handle.

  The wind tore across the Reba’s deck and slapped Whitney across the face like death’s icy palm. The colorless sky went on endlessly, not a bird or cloud in sight. Just gray, gray, and a bit more gray. Scant for the wind and gentle waves, it was silent until not for the first time, a chunk of ice scraped against the hull. It was harmless to the vessel, but that didn’t keep Whitney from cringing every time he heard what sounded like the hull snapping in two.

  The ship was tied to a crummy old dock at a Glintish trading post while the troupe he’d helped survive debarked. Now, they could work to rebuild their reputation as entertainers without the Pompares holding them down.

  Lucindur stood at the railing of the quarter-deck beside him, holding on so tight her knuckles went white. She watched as Talwyn and Gentry walked down the ramp, bidding each other farewell. Gentry carried her belongings for her as planned, Aquira perched atop his shoulder. Benon tried to hurry Talwyn along, out of the cold. Whitney had heard her sobbing when she and Lucy shared a private goodbye in the cabins, but it was part of the compromise Lucindur had made.

  “You’ll see her again,” Whitney assured her.

  “I’d be with her if I knew what was smart,” Lucindur replied.

  “They’ll be safe here.”

  “Not if we fail.” She turned to Whitney, her features painted by a dark brush.

  “You can still go with them. It’ll ruin the whole plan, but hey... free people, right?” He smiled a weak smile.

  Lucindur shook her head slowly. “No. I have felt Nesilia’s power, as you have. There are so few of us Lightmancers left. Perhaps, I am the only one. It is fate that I, who have carried our ancient art down through the generations, was placed before you. The only way the upyr’s plan to bind Nesilia to the bar guai will work is if I’m able to open her mind long enough that we can isolate them for you.”

  “My plan,” Whitney grumbled. “But… how do we know?” The plan felt solid back in the tower, but now, all he could think about was them having no choice but to feed Sora to a monstrous wianu. If in the moment they had to, she and Nesilia couldn’t be separated, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

  “Did you know our art came into existence after the God-Feud and the Culling—when the boundaries between our world and those of the dead shattered? Desperate, we learned how to rip open and free the possessed minds.”

 
; “Why is Kazimir so angry with Lightmancers, then? Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Even the best ideas can be twisted by the greedy,” Lucindur said. “To control minds is to wield empires. We tilted the scales, and their lords re-balanced them. A shadow war long ago that we lost.”

  Whitney slowly released a mouthful of chilly air. “Depressing. Still, that’s why I don't do books—especially history ones.” He grinned, desperate to lighten the mood. Lucindur smirked, but he could tell it was forced. “I know you don’t want to do this, Lucy. It means more than you know.”

  “You returned my people home after so much horror,” she said. “I can’t deny the evil I felt any longer. Even as the cultists murdered and looted, it was there. The upyr are right—something I never thought I’d say—the balance has shifted too far this time. I can’t sit out.”

  “What if Nesilia doesn’t let us back in?” Whitney asked.

  “An acrobat who fears he’ll fall, will fall. We can only stick to our plan. Sora’s love for you drew her out from Nesilia’s influence last time. It will again. We only need a second.”

  Whitney nodded.

  Lucy glanced up at the raised sails. “The wind favors us. We should continue north soon. Are you sure about Gentry? Every league we sail, I sense her presence strengthening. It’s like a weight on my heart.”

  “I’m not sure about anything.”

  “Goodbyes are over,” Kazimir said from the threshold of the Captain’s cabin. The door cracked open, but he dared not step outside. Though the clouds dulled the sun’s power, even this small amount of daylight remained crippling to his kind.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Lucindur spent one more moment staring at Talwyn, who looked up from the docks. She smiled her pretty, perfect smile, then she turned.

  Whitney looked at her as well, and her features tightened. Then she nodded. He glanced back at Tum Tum, who stood ready to let the mainsail drop and get them moving the moment they were unmoored.

  “Your daughter deserves a king, Lucy,” Whitney said. “She’s an amazing girl.”