by Jeffrey Cook
Noriko smiled. “I'm going to take the broadest interpretation of that and say okay.”
A young woman dropped down from the trees. Her skin was much darker than Celeste's, and her head was shaved. Strapped to her were some very curvy sheathed knives and various other things. Nils thought he saw a slingshot, even.
“And there you are. I'm Yodit. Mr. Gebramlak said we'd have Invisible Guests any day now.”
Right. They'd relied on scouts spotting them since they couldn't be scried. “Invisible is good,” Nils said. “Wish we could all keep it up.”
“Wish so too,” Yodit said. “Not so likely in a sold-out world. But that's how it goes, so let's get you going.” And she led them off.
“Not a lot of daemon activity here?” Nils asked.
“Not right here, with so many protections in place, but Xharomor's forces have been busy making their entrances, and word gets around. We've all had mourning to do,” Yodit said, sliding a hand through her lack-of-hair.
The four of them all made affirming sounds at once.
After just a little longer winding through the trees, Yodit stopped, gesturing for them to as well. She listened for a moment, and then started swaying and stepping, as if she heard drums inaudible to everyone else.
It didn't look like a complicated dance at all, and yet Nils was sure he would never learn it. In the placement of her arms forward, with the marching little swish of her hips, it was like she was line-dancing with a whole crowd of people who weren't there—or maybe just not there anymore.
As she danced, the air seemed to grow thicker and heavier, and Nils struggled a little to draw breath. The sensation was soon accompanied by a thick mist rolling in from nowhere, covering the way ahead. They didn't have to walk on a rainbow of ice here, just navigate through fog.
Hobie and Noriko went first once again. Nils exchanged a glance with Celeste, and they stepped into the fog as well.
25
Nowhere to Run
Gebramlak Makkonen Haile
His Tower of Secrets was crammed to the gills with white people.
Gebramlak knew that wasn't quite right. Alongside affiliates who'd flocked here from across the continent, there were Western children of all colors and languages, as there had been for more than a month. Then there had been the refugees from the Gisting, and Japan's evacuation seemed to have gone back and forth, giving them some reinforcements now instead of refugees. But as glad as he was to be able to help, he wasn't used to running an evacuation center. And it would soon have to be a proper fortress.
Practitioners from far and wide were indeed sheltering at the T'ila and doing what they could. A trio of svikiros had been channeling the Shona ancestors with an air of hope and a lot of vaguery. Gebramlak wondered, with that lack of detail, if those ancestors just couldn't face up to the prospect of being overcrowded, either. They'd agreed, however, with the only thing that could be gotten from the stars: Xharomor would arrive at the end of the week. Both sides, clearly, had a lot to prepare for.
And then there were the latest arrivals, all of whom he'd ordered to get some rest.
Celeste LeRoux. Nice girl, he'd gotten the impression. He'd exchanged professional correspondence for a time with her uncle. Quite the mixture of families in general. A Good Catholic—the way Gebramlak was a good Orthodox deacon. It'd be helpful to have another pair of gifted hands around what was now a sacred madhouse, provided the girl didn't collapse first. Which she would have if he hadn't made her rest, at least between her prayers.
Igarashi Noriko was a strange case. The divine forces of Japan had never been within his area of study. But for an expatriate, supposedly out of her league and out of her niche, the girl seemed solid enough to him. Sure, she could barely stand now and was doing a lot of crying in her sister's arms, but that was normal for patients who'd had to bear up too long under too much, once they finally got a reprieve.
And then there were the Bjornsson boys. Tainted. One as reactive as a stripped-raw nerve, the other with apparent ice water in his veins. Edwin Nathaniel's protégé.
Well, Ms. Williams had been insisting for weeks that they were good kids. And if she found something worth saying in her condition, that gave it a bit of extra weight. But the Academy had produced plenty of good kids, and that hadn't saved it.
"I knew they'd make it here," Melody Williams said, sitting in her wheelchair next to him. They'd spent a lot of time talking, ever since she'd dragged herself to the T'ila. He'd learned a good deal of what had happened from her, and had been continuing the conversations where he could.
"And here they are, almost as badly off as you are." All the healers, himself included, had been doing what they could, but it wasn't long before the T'ila's resources were being overtaxed.
"Almost as bad as I was, maybe. I'm not taking up a bed full-time anymore," she said, smiling. "I'll be ready when the fight comes."
"You're sure you don't want to go to Japan? It will be safer there." He already knew the answer, from the last time he'd asked, but he had to ask even so.
"For how long? If we don't find a way here, there won't be anywhere safe for long."
"But your legs..."
"May never support me again," she said, idly tracing one of her inscriptions made on the arm of her chair. "But once I finish enchanting my new wheels, you, or anyone else here, would be hard pressed to keep up with me. I can help."
"You've got nothing to prove. No one would blame you for taking further sanctuary. You've pulled your weight—across an ocean on a wild daemon-drawing chase. You distracted them enough to save lives, brought important information."
Her slight smile never faded. "I did. And now I am done running."
He nodded, and let the subject drop. "We've been studying the things they brought. The fleece is definitely useful for reinforcing protections against mystic eavesdroppers. So it's good to know that our woefully incomplete plans are safe. We haven't figured anything out in terms of using the sword."
"A lot of magical artifacts are fussy about who can use them that way."
"This one more so than most. Dangerously so. They risked a lot to get it."
"They have a habit of doing that, yes. And I'm sure we'll find a way."
"We're doing everything we can to prepare for this fight, based on the information you brought, and our seers. With or without the sword. We have some good people here."
"And you're one of them," she said.
"Kind of you. I'm still afraid it's not going to be enough. After the Hikari, the Gisting, the Horizonte Academy...your Astral-blooded boy..." He let the worlds trail off.
"It will be."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because it has to be."
Yodit chose this time to step over again. "The little American debtera is awake," she said. “She'd like to talk to you, sir."
“I'll be there shortly, thank you,” he said.
“And just to let you know,” Ms. Williams said, smiling. “She'd be more comfortable with the word traiteuse.”
“Of course,” Gebramlak said as the young woman nodded and left. “So many masks the saints wear. But I won't try to talk about diaspora, colonialism, and syncretism to an Instructor in Conventional and Meta-Magical Geography.”
“Are you sure? Maybe the kids will need a good lecture to put them back to sleep.”
As it happened, when he arrived at the appropriate section of the infirmary, the LeRoux girl wanted to talk a little about such things as well, clutching her rosary as she walked carefully away from her bed.
“Thank you for everything so far, Mr. Gebramlak. I can't imagine what it takes to be handling everything and still doing some healing work.”
“All part of the job. I'm used to multi-tasking a bit. A debtera's vocation, while we certainly like to keep our less liturgical workings in the 'natural magic' range, is still not so specialized as yours.”
“Yeah.” There was a long pause. “Does it get... weird? Having such different specialists to coordin
ate and still, y'know...?”
The girl had been through a lot—and in all likelihood, would be through more, as they all would. She was also one of the most gifted practitioners of the age, in her own way, and he would try to be patient, within reason. “I've worked with people from hundreds of different backgrounds in Africa alone, much less further visitors like yourself. I know what I do and rely on them to know what they do. I try to trust both the aiding forces to which I relate and those to which I don't. Weird is just a part of life.” He gave the kid a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “What's bringing the issue to mind? Just the culture-shock in so much travel?”
“Well...” the girl looked pensive, then seemed to shake it off and smile up at him. “I really don't want to sound ungrateful, but there's a lot of basil in your treatments.”
He chuckled softly. Good. She wasn't going to let whatever it was drag her down. Kids could be so resilient. “Don't knock it just because you can't grow the right stuff back home, young lady. There's a few other plants I'd want to get into some intense medical discussion about, but they're needed in the auxiliary buildings, for the craftsmen.”
“Speaking of the craftsmen, and what they have,” a voice spoke up from one of the beds they were passing. Nils Bjornsson. “Can I see it?” the boy asked.
“Not right now, you can't.” He'd done a lot, asked a lot, on this young man's word, some of it second-hand, rattled off by a distracted mother clutching her baby. “The kind of work you indicated has to be done in complete isolation. You can thank the smiths' spouses for their understanding at not being able to spend time with them at—” At the end of their lives. “At a time like this.”
“It's going to pay off,” the boy said.
How, with no use of the sword? After a thousand tiny cuts by less-charged, less-prophesied magic weapons? The denizens of the T'ila were good. But they weren't—well, actually there were plenty of miracle workers, but even they could only do so much, especially on the battlefield. "They're one of our most vital resources," was what he went with instead.
To his surprise, Nils's eyes brightened a bit, suggesting he was smiling. "My brother has been using my home-made shield, and, occasionally, really sharp sticks for the purposes of killing whatever evil thing is in front of him for weeks. I have a keen appreciation for what good craftsmen can do."
"And instead of more weapons, or better defenses, you still think this project is the best use of their time?" He'd gone with it for lack of a better idea, but he still had his doubts.
"I'm very sure of it," Nils said. "We'll make sure it's worth their time and all the time they're missing out on."
Gebramlak figured that would have to be enough—for now. "Sharp sticks and a home-made shield?"
"Admittedly, I enchanted them," Nils said.
"I'd hope so. Same way I'd hope he left the daemons in worse shape than he is in."
Nils nodded. "He'll heal in time for the fight,” he said. "He's had worse."
"I've been personally assisting in the treatment. There's not much worse to get."
"Bear-sarks have a remarkable ability to find creative new ways of worse, sir," Nils said without hesitation.
Gebramlak laughed. "That much I am entirely willing to believe."
"You've been helping with the healing on Noriko, too?"
"I have been, yes. And she'll be just fine. She's lucky; most people get clawed like that, it may never really heal. Daemons."
"We're all lucky that we have a good healer with us," Nils said.
"Awww, thanks," Celeste said, sounding as if she hadn't been expecting the compliment.
"Indeed you are. You'd all be dead without her," Gebramlak said.
"About a thousand times over," Nils said.
"Are you sure you're not concussed or something?" Celeste said, though she was smiling.
"Pretty sure," he said. He looked back to Gebramlak. “Has anyone been able to take up the sword yet?”
“I certainly would have told you if anyone had,” he said. “We have people from plenty of unique lines, but the extermination of the Astral-blooded was reasonably thorough. We're trying to see what can be done with the Fleece, which unfortunately can't be reshaped, or other mystic coverings.”
"We appreciate your trying. I'm guessing Kaida gave it a try?”
“In every possible combination. I had to warn her off before poultices would have been necessary for her hands.”
“Figures. Good luck to everyone when Hobie gets a crack at it. With Tainted blood, Hobie'll be even more at risk for bandaging.”
"Adult supervision will be provided as much as possible. You're sure that the sword could actually harm Xharomor?"
"Not all the stories about Fragarach turned out to be true, but some are. It is the Answerer. The sword returns any blow given to its wielder threefold. And it's well charged."
Gebramlak noted Celeste looking down at her feet at that last bit. He knew precisely who that was, and what kind of blow it was. "His own power, turned back on him."
"Threefold," Nils said. "Aside from just the potential of that, he's going to be watching out for whoever has it. I don't know if it's actually at all sentient, but it's about as close to hating someone as an object can get."
"It still holds the enchantment, months later?"
"I think it's safe to say that Fragarach can hold an enchantment... and a grudge, yes."
"Then we'll keep trying to find something. And we'll keep preparing our other defenses. Meanwhile, I've heard a few verses, which are nice if one likes that sort of thing, but you're very sure that Matvei is dead?”
"Very sure. And so is the Huntsman. So two of his most powerful. But he'll still have Rhalissa—and Dr. Nathaniel."
"Yes. Ms. Williams briefed us at length on that part. Two Lieutenants." Gebramlak sighed. “As prophesied”
"We've fought Rhalissa before," Nils said. "This last time, she was a lot more powerful than we've ever encountered her. We got lucky to get out of there."
"And still retrieved the sword," Gebramlak said.
"With the help and sacrifice of very brave people," Celeste said. “I've told Dagny the names I knew. Wish I knew them all.”
"You'll have the help of plenty of very brave people this time as well," Gebramlak said. "Let's hope less sacrifice is necessary. And we'll have the advantage of your group's experience fighting her."
"Celeste's experience, yes," Nils said. "I'll be busy."
"Oh? And what are you going to be doing?"
"I'll be taking on Dr. Nathaniel."
Gebramlak nodded. "You know him best. Let us know what support you need."
"Keep the Seal guarded and as locked down as possible. Otherwise, I'd prefer as little support as possible."
"Nils! You can't beat him alone," Celeste said.
"Beat? No, probably not. But I can make him waste time and resources, letting you focus elsewhere. You'll need any advantage you can get to deal with Xharomor and Rhalissa, to say nothing of their forces. I can buy you some of that."
"I thought your brother was the one out to get himself killed," Celeste said.
"Are you sure you'll be able to get to him, with all of the armies? Xharomor's lieutenants will be well protected." Gebramlak said.
"My brother will be the one who goes looking for trouble. In this case, I just need to not make it too hard. I know I can buy you all time, because—assuming the smiths have the sarcophagus all ready for me, and I trust that—this particular trouble will come looking for me."
26
A Combat Site
Igarashi Noriko
Kaida still didn't hate her again. Somehow, that meant a lot right now.
Noriko hadn't been prepared for the enforced rest or the way it made her break down, but she had to admit it was the right call.
Kaida had been drilling and training with the warriors, working to help integrate all of the different traditions and fighting styles into something coherent. There'd been a new challenge eve
ry time new delegations arrived. She had made time for Noriko immediately when they’d arrived, though, asking for her story and passing on those of many others. This had included far too many tragic survivor tales, with warriors arriving only because somewhere else had fallen. Despite how hard these were to hear, she'd cherished the time with her sister and talking about fighting together again.
But Kaida was coordinating supplies at the moment. So was Ms. Williams. Dagny was with her little family. Hobie was fast asleep, as he should be.
Celeste was leaning over her candles with her beads, elaborately praying like she had at some point every evening for several days. Noriko was worried about her. She didn't even know if these were the kind of prayers Celeste's uncle would approve of, or if she was broadening her horizons some more. It was all Southern-European-languages-with-a-Southern-U.S.-accent to Noriko. But the rites were clearly being done fervently and frequently, with an air of preparing for something.
Well, they were all preparing for something. And some things weren't prepared. And about that, she only wanted to talk to Nils.
Well, before the talking would come the kissing. She'd been good; she could handle that faint hint of poison.
“It's all happening,” she said, after a few minutes.
“It is,” he said with that half-sharp-toothed smile. “And at the moment, there are plenty of people we know who aren't dead! Nice, huh?”
“So we're going play The Sword in the Fleece a bit? See if we find a King Arthur?”
“I know it's tricky. If anyone not Astral-blooded was going to wield it, it would be you.”
“I don't know.” She cradled her hand, remembering the sting even though it had long-since healed. “Maybe it's mad at me, for losing Marshall.”
“Don't even say that,” Celeste said suddenly. Noriko hadn't even noticed that she'd finished her rites for the moment. Instead of her prayer beads her hand was on the chain around her neck that led to the engagement ring. “You did as right by Marshall as you could, and he wouldn't let you get away with blaming yourself for a second. Our problem is that one of the tools we have for taking down the Otherlord just wasn't built for the situation. It's all charged up and … too specialized, but that doesn't mean you did something wrong or there's something wrong with you.”