Shield and Crocus

by Michael R. Underwood

  Sarii waved off his frown, dismissive. “There was a storm right after we destroyed the engine. It’ll take months to know if we really did any good.”

  “Please, stay positive,” Wonlar said. “What’s done is done.”

  Sarii twirled a stone bracelet around her finger, shaping it to slide up her hand and wrap around her wrist in soft coils. “Getting all five of them in the same room could be the catalyst to get tempers to boil over and start the war we’re looking for.”

  Wonlar’s response was curt. “Just that thing happened twenty years ago, Sarii. If you recall, it didn’t end well.” Selweh saw his father glance his way, just for an instant.

  I’m the legacy of that rebellion. But how different would my life have been if she lived? I’d just have one Shield parent instead of another.

  Selweh had only the vaguest of memories of his mother, the rest came from the stories Wonlar told him and the pictures his father treasured above all else.

  He let the memories fall back in his mind. “What I’d like to see is two or three of the tyrants ganging up on one other of them. It’d be localized, on a smaller scale. Controllable.”

  [I don’t think we can count on having that much finesse. We’re trying to start a brushfire, but it could easily become an inferno.] Bira was always the vote of realism.

  “Wenlizerachi, give us the word from the veins,” Selweh asked. Time to get this conversation headed somewhere.

  The Pronai stood and started to walk quick circles around the table, counter-clockwise to Wonlar. He stopped at the head of the table.

  “Folks are confused. They are blaming the flood of souls on the Spark-storm, not the gem. They have noticed there are more storms of late, but they talk about it about the same way as when we had that drought two summers ago. Nothing to be done about it, just keep your head down and endure.” as he spoke, he blurred around the circle, settling into a solid stance to make specific points. “People say they want to be free, to be rid of the tyrants, but it’s said with a wishful far-off look, like saying ‘i wish a bag of money fell out of the sky into my lap.’ ”

  Wonlar faced Wenlizerachi and moved his attention between the Pronai and the seated Shields as Wenlizerachi talked. “We need to make liberation into a real possibility before they’ll make a move.”

  It has to be within their grasp, or else things will have to get so bad that the only way for them to survive is to revolt. while Yema had control of the City Mother, she kept the populace afraid, burgundy and yellow threads hanging over everything and strangling resistance.

  “We have to do something radical; it’ll overcome the City Mother’s power. And that means massive damage,” Sarii said. Her cynicism is at times a breath of fresh air, other times little better than a toxic wind. We need her to keep us in check, but I can’t let her drag us down, Selweh thought.

  Wonlar shook his head, “The casualties required for that, though.”

  Sarii rolled her eyes as she looks up at Wonlar. “When the war comes, the veins will become rivers of blood. This will just speed the process along.”

  “Surely there’s a difference between people dying in the revolution and deliberately worsening conditions in the city to incite a revolt,” Selweh said.

  [What would you want to do to make the apathy give way?] Bira asked.

  Sarii held her palm open, and the stone in her hands shifted through different shapes as she spoke. “Food shortages, property damage, get the taxes raised even further. Highlight everything wrong about their reign and remove the few necessary comforts they have—then we’ll see a different side of this city.”

  “We should shut down the execution amphitheatre,” Selweh volunteered. He’d been there, head on the block, seen normal people’s threads of every color stained red with bloodlust, and his father had arrived not a minute too early. “It’s a distraction, it builds hatred of those trying to change things, and lets the tyrants make the populous think they have the city’s best interests at heart.”

  He caught Wonlar’s attention, saw the flash of pain and the emerald thread between them fluttered as the memory surfaced. “I agree that it needs to be shut down, but that’s not remotely low-profile.”

  Sarii held up her shifting stone, making it into a bouncing ball. “And if we target the entertainments and the distractions, the immediate effect on our public opinion will only be negative. If you remove a child’s toys, the first thing they will do is scream and throw a fit.” The ball broke into pieces and fell with hard thuds to the table below, shaking the plates and glasses.

  [But we want them to throw a fit,] Ghost Hands said in their minds.

  Wenlizerachi blurred over and resumed his seat. “This all depends on what the tyrants are going to do to distract people during the summit. With the right show, something their newspapers and heralds can trot out and draw attention to, the ambient distrust of the summit will get glossed over by the spectacle.”

  Selweh sighed. The tyrants had the city locked up, controlling information, food supplies, jobs, nearly everything. And with the City Mother’s influence, it was nearly impossible to rouse the people in groups. A person here or there might be strong enough to fight against the tide, but they needed a wave of their own.

  Sapphire said, “More likely, they’ll disrupt any protestors and distract the rest with games and executions, perhaps arrange a high-profile murder or kidnapping to be plastered on every news post and paper. One eyecatching lithograph of a pretty little girl and suddenly people can’t think straight.”

  “How’s Fahra doing?” Sarii asked. Not helping.

  Rova narrowed her eyes, leaning forward across table with her broad arms. “Not the same. And she’s doing fine.”

  “Good.”

  How does Wonlar keep them from killing one another? This team needs a summit of our own before doing anything.

  “Let’s focus here,” Selweh said with his Aegis voice. Rova leaned back off the table, Wenlizerachi leaned forward, and Wonlar dropped his shoulders. When his father worried, his shoulders drifted up and in, until he looked like he had no neck.

  Wonlar nodded to his son. “Thank you. What is our immediate move?”

  “We spring Nevri’s trap,” Selweh said.

  Wenlizerachi sputtered. “There’s no way the money’s worth that risk.”

  Wonlar cracked his knuckles. “Not the money. Another chance to take her out in person, do what I should have done last time. Start this revolution and let the tyrants know we’re serious. You’re right, Sarii. We’ve been wasting time. We have to force the endgame.”

  Selweh shot his father a look. You could have told me about this, Dad. Wonlar ignored him.

  Sarii’s stone shifted to mimic Nevri on the table, stone blood spilling from her neck. Then Dlella’s form grew out of the pool, standing tall, waving a hand to command imaginary servants. “Even if we kill Nevri, someone will take her place. And then we’ll have a blood hunt.”

  Selweh jumped in. “Unless we succeed in letting all of the tyrants know that Nevri was the mastermind behind the Rebirth engine’s destruction.”

  The stone in Sarii’s hands shifted into a set wolf trap, jagged claws waiting for prey. It started to close, and then creaked to a stop. “I still don’t see how we can turn a meeting into an assassination. She has to know we’ll be out for blood.”

  Wonlar leaned forward, conspiratorial where Rova was threatening. “That’s the beauty of it. We show up, but not in the way she expects. She has patterns, and we can turn those patterns against her, we’ll use the propriety of the Senator-turned-executor to pin her up against the wall. She’ll greet us in businesswoman mode, won’t spring the trap until she’s had time to gloat.”

  “You’re as mad as the Smiling King if you think we can take her out when she knows we’re coming.” Sarii leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

  “It can work,” Rova said, anger in her eyes. “We always play it cool with Nevri. If we go for the throat, we might
surprise her.”

  Thank you for believing, Rova. Selweh smiled at her and watched her jade thread twitch with excitement. Selweh instantly chided himself and dropped the smile. I shouldn’t have done that.

  Wonlar punched the table, shaking mugs and glasses. “It has to work.” Please let it work.

  Selweh cast his gaze around the table, looking to the others. Worry was thick in the air.

  Wonlar knelt at the table, looking around with that fire in his eyes, the flame which burned devotion, compassion, and vengeance in equal portions. The same flame Wonlar had taught Selweh to tend in his own heart.

  Wonlar made a fist with one hand. “I had a chance to kill her in the subway car. I didn’t take it. I’m not going to pass up another opportunity. I can’t let her terrorize the city any longer.”

  He continued. “None of her lieutenants will be able to hold the domain together as well. The other tyrants will pick away at the successor until there are four where there were once five. And then we’re one tyrant closer to freedom.”

  Sarii sighed. “And when the next one falls, two more pretenders will split up the territory, and it’ll keep going until we do something to build up a new government to take the place of the old. We need to recruit, arm the people for when it’s time to turn an insurrection into a full-out revolution.”

  Nods. “No arguing there,” Selweh said.

  Wonlar said, “But we need to start toppling the big players before we can be ready to make the final push. I won’t make the same mistakes as last time. Let’s focus on Nevri.”

  “She’ll have her best muscle and most likely an army at her back.”

  Wonlar reached out an arm, and then squeezed the fist closed. “And I will have the Shields of Audec-Hal at mine. All I have to do is get within arm’s reach.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sapphire

  It’s a bad idea.

  It can work.

  It’s a bad idea.

  It has to work.

  She has to pay.

  Sapphire’s heart and mind toggled between the extremes as she waited in her position at the Heartstown station. Traffic was lighter this time, in the hundreds instead of thousands. The flows of people were directed rivers instead of the solid sea of the pre- or post-work rushes.

  Cracking varnish rippled up and down the walls. The story of the building’s disrepair was told on the walls and the floors, it showed itself in the swirling eddies of trash that collect along the edges of the room, kicked up by rushing businesswomen trying to sneak around the crowd.

  Sapphire watched the scene from a high landing as the river of people scaled the stairs to the Twisted Toes line, smallest in the room. The Twisted Toes line didn’t get much traffic after six at night—the commute was long and few people bothered to work three-quarters of the city away from home.

  The few who did always looked out of place, uncertain of themselves, as if someone would stop them and interrogate them why it was so important to work clear on the other side of the city. For some, a four-hour commute to a terrible job was their best option.

  It had been easy enough to get word to Nevri to arrange the meeting, given the size of her spy network.

  A nervous Ikanollo man passed by, his gaze stuck on his feet, muttering beneath his breath as he walked apart from the single-file progression of his fellow commuters.

  Sapphire heard Ghost Hands’ voice in her mind, calm but firm—relaying First Sentinel’s orders. [Move to position three.]

  [Moving,] she thought, and started down the stairs, three steps in a stride. These were steps built for Ikanollo or fragile Qava, so they were not quite long enough to accommodate her feet. She kept her weight back, landed on her heels as she descended with care, the toes of her corded sandals peeking over the edge each time.

  Ghost Hands floated through the crowd down on the main level, and below that Sapphire could see a duo of Ikanollo descending the stairs like they were going to war. They could only be Aegis and First Sentinel. You could put the two of them side by side, wearing the exact same clothes and standing exactly the same way, and in two moments she could still tell the father from the son.

  It wasn’t the blood link, the feelings she felt viscerally where they experienced visually. It was a difference of carriage, the tone of voice, and the way Aegis met her gaze full-on as an equal. Most of all, the slivers of connection he saw break through the hero façade he put up.

  Selweh knew how she felt, had to know the longing that overwhelmed her whenever he was in the room. But he kept her at arm’s length, always hesitating, his heart swinging between interest and restraint.

  When would it be right? Could she wait for the tyrants’ fall? She’d heard enough stories from First Sentinel about aria to stay her words these past years, but every day it hurt more and her patience wore thin. It could be different with her and Selweh. It will be.

  But first, they had to settle the score with Nevri. She reached the main platform and cut through the river of commuters. People made way for her without thinking. Most of the time, it was far better to take a few more steps or stop for a moment rather than face the Freithin’s wrath. The legendary temper of her people was all propaganda, mostly from Medai Omez. Her people were neither vengeful nor gentle by nature, no more than Ikanollo, Jalvai, or any of the other races. Most Freithin’s anger at being enslaved was matched by their capacity to feel compassion deeply through the blood-bond.

  Still, the reputation had its uses at times.

  At the front of the landing down to the Headtown line, Sapphire spotted the immaculate shine of the shoes of one of Nevri’s bodyguards. Was First Sentinel really going to follow through? They’d had to kill in the name of freedom, but this was different. This time they meant to kill, no holding back.

  The hate rolled off of First Sentinel from twenty paces away.

  Sapphire waited at the west edge of the platform, a smaller bubble around her as the citizens flowed around Nevri’s Freithin roadblocks. Aegis and First Sentinel stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the edge of the guard’s dead-zone.

  [I don’t like the feel of this,] she thought, hoping Ghost Hands would pick it up and relay the message. Aegis’ wariness was like a boiling fire in her stomach, the mirror of the First Sentinel’s coiled anticipation. She didn’t doubt First Sentinel’s resolve anymore. He’d do it if he got the chance. She’d do it herself if need be.

  Sapphire thought back to the screams of the dead, the souls dragged into the cacophony of the Soulburner.

  Nevri was a monster, and the city would be better off without her.

  The sprawling red beast of a train rolled in, covered in ancient patterns that had confounded every scholar in Audec-Hal. The trains ran, and didn’t break down. COBALT-3 had created some small private lines in her domain, but nothing could compare to the old trains.

  Sapphire thought it fitting that the Shields would make their move in a structure that pre-dated the tyrants and would outlast all of them.

  Nevri gestured to the open door. Two of her guards entered first, keeping any others from entering. Nevri went next, looking over her shoulder at the two Ikanollo. They shared a quick glance, and then Aegis looked back to Sapphire. Stepping onto the train, he flashed a reassuring smile that was laced with fear.

  Sapphire took long strides across the platform and boarded the next train-car, seeing that Blurred Fists was already standing inside, one hand in an overhead loop. They shared a nod, then she took the two seats at the end of the train-car, just beside the door between her car and Aegis’.

  And now, the waiting.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  First Sentinel

  Twenty-Four Years ago

  With the completion of my Intercession Engine, we were finally ready to move against Medai Omez. It had been six years since Aria’s death, and we had been joined by her successor, the fourth Aegis, Aernah, a teacher.

  Aegis, Forked Lightning, Red Vixen, Ghost Hands, and I met atop the warehouse on 11th a
nd Gray at the edge of the right leg, just a few blocks from the Freithin pens. It wasn’t even six yet, but night had already fallen to give us the cover we needed. I could hear the sounds of the factory beside the pens, the pounding of machinery. I could see and smell the acrid smoke spewed forth by the soot-black stacks ahead.

  Red Vixen’s breath misted out of her snout as her teeth chattered. The Millrej fox-kin’s fur was collecting ice crystals, her whiskers twitching in the cold as she rubbed her gloves together, red raiment looking luminescent orange in the fading lantern-light.

  “Always glad to have gloves on nights like this, though I can’t tell you how many pairs I go through, claws and all. How often do you have to replace yours, Lightning?”

  Forked Lightning had only been with us for a few months, less than a year since the Spark-storm gave him the gift to throw electricity with his hands. But in return, the Spark had taken his sense of smell, along with his hair.

  He ran a hand over his hooded mask, tracing the arcs of yellow back across his scalp. “Haven’t had to, not since First Sentinel made me these.” The rubber gloves let him control the lightning strikes; his ability wouldn’t activate unless he removed them. “Why don’t you just make fingerless gloves?” he asked.

  She rubbed her paws together, looking at the edge of the alley as I waited for my watch to signal six o’clock. “Defeats the point, freeze the tips of my claws off. Numb claws are no good in a fight, eh?”

  “It’s time,” I said.

  I turned to Aegis, who nodded. She’d been Aegis for two years and she still deferred to me half the time. She’ll find her confidence soon enough. The others did.

  “Let’s move out. Everyone, remember your tasks,” Aegis said with her teacher’s voice and the confidence expected of her mantle.

  I pulled out my grappling gun and aimed for the corner of the building across the street. Aegis did the same, hitting the opposite corner. As we swung down, Ghost Hands floated the other two behind us.