Child of Sorrows

by Michaelbrent Collings

  And one was headed right for them.

  He thought of his wife. Surprising. He rarely saw her – like his father, he was an officer, first and foremost. Like his mother, his wife's primary responsibility was to oversee the family household and finances. It was a partnership as much as a marriage.

  But he thought of her now. Not his ship, not the men with whom he spent almost every day of every Turn. In this instant before the shell struck, he thought of Aimi, and her eyes.

  The shell hit the ship.

  Not a shell. Just… light. How could that be? How could light hit us?

  It was a smaller explosion than he expected. But enough to ignite the gas in the bag above the cabin. He saw the helmsman incinerated by a gout of flame that burst through the roof, saw Rin rush forward valiantly, trying to save the ship as it yawed dangerously. Saw the next explosion take him as well.

  Then a sound so massive it became Yoro's world. He felt something hot across his face and right arm, then cool across his whole body and realized the Excel had exploded – Rin gone, Foka gone, Surly gone, everyone gone – and he had been thrown clear somehow and was now falling through the nothing of the night, falling to Fear.

  He saw the Notches. Saw now that there were four –

  (and a part of him whispered, this is what was wrong, not that it was in the wrong place, but that there were too many)

  – and that one of them was far too large, then it solidified into a man-shape. Only the man-shape was on fire – flame wreathing its back, the soles of its feet. An armored giant who reached out and caught Yoro in mid-air and the embrace was agony because he was burning, burning, Gods' charity he was burning.

  The armored form seemed to be floating under the power of the flames that lit its back and feet, and under that same power it brought them to the ground. It lay Yoro down on the hard, rocky earth of Fear.

  "You are dying," said someone from inside the armor. The voice was strange, mechanical and grating. The symbol of a Bishop of Faith was etched into the suit's helm, and it glowed dimly in the night.

  Yoro tried to say something, to curse the man – the thing – that had destroyed his ship and killed his men. All that came out was a whimper.

  "Tell me where the Emperor is, and we will let you die quickly," said the voice.

  We?

  Yoro became aware of movement nearby. With effort, he saw a little girl to the left of the armored giant, holding a woolly in cupped palms, whispering and cooing to it. To the right, there was a dark-complexioned young man almost as big as the massive suit of armor, who stared up at the night sky with the empty expression of a simpleton.

  Something whirred inside the armored helm. It slid back to reveal a surprisingly small old man. "Just tell us," he said. "We know the Emperor travels often, and we've no wish to harm innocents if we don't have to. Tell us, and we'll see you die with no further pain."

  Yoro managed one final bit of strength. He laughed, and shook his head.

  "I am… an officer," he managed.

  The helm clicked back into place. The symbol glowed more brightly.

  "Very well," said the old man.

  Yoro knew pain.

  And, surprisingly, found it bearable as long as he continued to think of his wife.

  11

  "It's not possible, girl!" Brother Scieran stamped his cane on the floor with every syllable, as though emphasizing them this way would add power to them and keep Sword's news from becoming a reality.

  She nodded, and rubbed at her weary eyes. "I know. And yet it happened."

  Brother Scieran looked at the others. They had gathered in the same room as they had been in yesterday, which still held thousands – tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands – of neatly-written pages to go through.

  But the answers aren't in there. They're in the book.

  She looked at it. It hadn't left her hands since Phoenix came to her chambers. Father Akiro saw her gaze drop, and held out a hand. "May I, child?"

  She held the book out and he took it with steady hands that belied both his age and the shocking news she had brought.

  Phoenix. The man who had sought to take over the Empire, the one who had taken over the real Malal's mind and used his power to create an eruption that buried half the Imperial Army in molten rock. The man who had shown himself cunning, merciless, and powerful beyond anyone the Cursed Ones – for so the revolutionaries had then been known – had faced.

  The man that Sword had killed.

  Arrow was shaking his head. Cloud and Wind looked dazed – or as close to dazed as either of them ever got.

  Malal just sat, staring at a ring he wore on a chain around his neck. He spun it idly a few times, then spoke. "So we have an unknown enemy destroying the Ears all around the Empire, and the night after that happens, Phoenix appears in Sword's quarters. Anyone believe that's a coincidence?" No one moved, though Arrow snorted loudly. Malal nodded. "That's about how I feel about it."

  "But we don't know if they're connected or not," said Sword.

  Malal grinned, that devilish grin that was so much Smoke and so little Malal. "I think we just established that they probably are."

  Sword blushed. She was a fighter, yes, but often rediscovered to her chagrin that she wasn't much of a talker. "I mean, are they related, or are they the same? Is Phoenix behind both of them? Or is someone else behind what happened to the Ears, and that caused Phoenix's appearance?"

  Father Akiro grunted suddenly. "Scieran," he said.

  "Scieran." He never called his student that. "Stupid," "dense" or even "idiot child of idiot offspring." But never simply "Scieran."

  Everyone looked at one another, and Brother Scieran moved as quickly as he could to his old teacher. Sword realized this was the first time the old priest was actually looking inside the book – he had only managed to glance at its cover before they had been pulled away for Malal's announcement and then the attack on the Ears.

  Now Brother Scieran looked. His gaze shifted to Father Akiro, who nodded.

  "We should send this to Father Inmil," said Brother Scieran.

  For some reason, Sword felt a thrill of fear at the idea. As though to let the book out of her possession would be to weaken her in some critical way. She actually took a half-step forward, raising her hand slightly as though to snatch the book back from the priests.

  Brother Scieran saw the motion. He nodded as though he understood her anxiety. "Father Inmil is a reader of languages," he said.

  Sword furrowed her brow, and heard Arrow shift as well. "Languages?" asked Arrow. "Other than the language of Sign, there is but one tongue in Ansborn. The idea of many languages is the stuff of legends, of stories from before Eka's Ascension."

  "Not just stories," said Brother Scieran. He looked at Father Akiro, who gave a small nod. He looked at the rest of those in the room, his face solemn. "What I am about to tell you is something virtually unknown outside the priesthood – and even within our Faith, few are privy to this knowledge." He waited until everyone had nodded, understanding the unspoken plea not to reveal what he was about to say. "The Grand Cathedral houses books from before."

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. For the group to understand.

  Malal was the first to speak. "Before?" He blinked. "You mean, before the Ascension."

  "No, I mean since before breakfast, you fool," snarled Brother Scieran. Then he caught Sword's disapproving eye and brought himself under control. "Yes. Before the Ascension. At least, we think so."

  "What my very stupid student is trying to say," said Father Akiro (and Malal smirked at this), "is that we have books that are very old. And that no one understands, though there are some – like Inmil – who have devoted their lives to understanding them." He gestured to the book in their midst. "We should send this to him, and to those like him, to see if they can divine what it holds."

  Wind Signed something. Malal said, "Yes, that's true." He turned to the priests. "The Grand Cathedral was destroyed in
the Chancellor's attack," he said. "How can there be books of any kind within a fallen structure."

  Again, Brother Scieran and Father Akiro shared a look. This time it was Brother Scieran who spoke. "You remember," he said to Sword, "you escaped that attack by fleeing into a cave system?"

  She nodded, then put the pieces together. "That wasn't a cave just in case of attack. It was part of –"

  "A catacomb." Brother Scieran nodded. "There is nearly as much of the Grand Cathedral below the ground as there was above." He looked around, grinning slightly at the surprised looks. "What, you think just because we serve the Gods we can't keep a secret? The catacombs protect not just escape routes, but untold numbers of books and papers from times before the Ascension." Then he returned his gaze to the book. "We can't read any of it, though," he murmured.

  Another stunned silence. Again, Malal was the one to break it. "So how do you know the books are from before the Ascension, if no one can read them? They could just be gibberish, or a madman's recipes for drawing pretty pictures."

  Brother Scieran looked ready to start snarling again, but Father Akiro put a hand on his old student's arm. "We know because that is what has been passed on since before memory. We hope one day to understand the writings, but until then…." He shrugged. "Unless any of you can think of a better course?"

  No one answered. A moment later, he took up the book and hobbled out the door with it, then returned without it after a few seconds. "It is on its way," he said. "I hope you don't mind," he said with a bow to Malal, "but I invoked your authority to have a fast ship carry it." He sighed. "Things seem to be changing, and I think we had best prepare as well as we can."

  For once, Malal seemed subdued. "Of course." He looked around, taking in the papers that still waited for their review. "I rather wish I could be the one taking the book to Father Inmil."

  He sighed, and moved toward the nearest papers, but before he took one up a knock sounded at the door. Everyone looked to the sound expectantly, knowing what the sound heralded. With the Ears gone, Malal had sent Eyes to the various listening posts – as many as he could, given that there were only so many that the castle Eyes had been to. All the Eyes reported the same things: death. Horrible death.

  On Brother Scieran's suggestion, Malal had dispatched air-cars to the Fear, Faith, Knowledge, and Strength to take stock of the different States' conditions: Eyes could See, but they could not hear what was happening, or speak to others who needed to pass along information. The air-cars would be more helpful in the crisis, and this knock could only be a report of how one – or perhaps all – of them had fared.

  "Come," said Malal.

  One of the Imperial Guard ushered in three men in captain's uniforms. All seemed harried, unsure. Most people were either terrified or worshipful when brought to Malal, Sword had noted. As though the title "Emperor" brought with it a piece of the Gods' own power.

  No wonder so many of them go mad and become tyrants.

  The captains looked at one another, none of them wanting to speak first. Finally, one who looked slightly older than the others and whose shoulders bore one star more than the other captains' stepped forward. He bowed slightly. "Emperor, we," he said, indicating the others, "have been to Faith, Strength, and Knowledge."

  One of the other captains seemed to decide he didn't want his superior to be the only one getting the honor of speaking to the Emperor. He, too, stepped forward, and bowed even lower. "It was as we were given to understand. The Ears were all dead."

  "But no signs of physical attack, other than the state of the Ears' bodies themselves?" said Arrow.

  The captains looked a bit irritated that a beardless young man should speak to them so bluntly – but at Malal's nod they just as quickly decided he must be very important and their manner switched from irritated to nearly cringing. "No, young master," said the higher-ranking captain. "There were the Ears' bodies, torn asunder." He gulped, and so did the other two captains.

  "What about the scribes?" asked Brother Scieran.

  "They were safe." The younger captain's nose wrinkled. "A bit… messy. And rather upset, as you can imagine. But physically unharmed."

  Wind had been translating the conversation for Cloud. Now Cloud Signed a new question. Malal noted it, and repeated it aloud: "Was there any physical damage? Not just at the listening posts, but anywhere else that you noted?"

  The two younger captains looked at each other and shrugged, then shook their heads. "No, Lord," said one.

  The older captain was looking at Malal strangely. "I did not know you spoke the silent tongue, Emperor," he said.

  "I've been teaching him," said Brother Scieran, moving forward quickly. "The Emperor feels that lifelong improvement is a way to honor the Gods." He smiled beatifically. "I quite agree."

  The captain nodded, that strange look still on his face. Then he looked at Malal again. "Would you like us to provide complete reports, Lord?"

  Malal looked at Brother Scieran, then at Wind. Brother Scieran shook his head, and Wind Signed something to him. "Yes," said Malal, "but not here." He clapped, and a guard appeared. "This man will take you to chambers with paper and ink. Please prepare written reports for us to review."

  The captains all bowed and left.

  "The oldest one suspects something," said Sword.

  Brother Scieran nodded to her. "You were right, Sword, I have to be more careful." He looked at the group. "We all do."

  Malal sighed and reached for Wind's hand. He squeezed it. "We might have to wait on the wedding, my dear." She smiled, then Signed something that made Malal laugh, and for that moment it seemed to Sword that all would somehow be made right – that through all this, they could find a way to make the world make sense.

  And then sound and fury came, and the laughter was gone.

  It sounded like thunder, but Sword did not know of any thunder that could hit something as strong and solid as the Imperial Palace and shake it to its foundation. Stone shifted throughout the building, and dust sifted from the ceiling. The door opened and guards streamed in, covering Malal with their bodies even as the second explosion sounded. It reminded Sword of when the Grand Cathedral was destroyed by the Imperial Army, tanks pummeling the beautiful symbol of faith and hope out of existence.

  A third explosion. A few pieces of stonework actually dislodged from the wall, tumbling to the floor and exploding in a starburst pattern of sand. The guards started moving Malal toward the door, and Sword knew that from there they would take him to his quarters – the closest room in the palace that had special defenses in case of attack.

  Then, the voice came.

  "MALAL!"

  Everyone froze. Even the highly-trained guards were shocked to immobility by the sound. It was human, but not – grating, ugly. It sounded like the workings of one of the great excavators that brought up minerals from the mines, melded to the voice of a man.

  And loud.

  "MA…LAAAAAL!"

  The voice somehow grew louder, so loud that it scorched through Sword's ears, got into her very mind. She clapped hands over her ears, knew she was screaming, but couldn't hear it over the machine-man screech of whatever monster had come for them.

  And then it stopped.

  The end of the sound was almost as painful as the sound itself had been. Sword could feel herself breathing, the thundering river of her pulse pounding through her body, but there was only deafening silence, for a painful eternity.

  Then, when she did hear sounds, it was screams.

  12

  It sounded like the entire world was screaming. Men, women, children.

  Sword leaped to her feet. Arrow had fallen beside her, driven to the floor by the same onslaught of sound that had pounded her down, and now she hauled him up. She looked around and saw that – surprisingly – Father Akiro was already on his feet, balancing his canes on one arm while helping Brother Scieran up in a jerky series of movements that in any other circumstance would have seemed comedic.


  He caughter her eye. Squinted in irritation. "Well," he snapped. "Don't stare at old men trying to stand. Go find out what's happening and stop it!"

  Sword nodded. She looked to Malal. He was being helped to his feet by Wind, who was herself being aided by her brother. Sword caught Cloud's eye, nodded. He touched his sister's shoulder.

  "Let's go," said Sword.

  Wind shook her head.

  Sword was shocked. Wind had always been the most ready of them for a fight, first to rush in. She had lost her family to the Empire's excesses, and never wasted a chance to share her pain with those she deemed worthy of it.

  But now….

  And then Sword understood. She wouldn't leave Malal. She nodded to Wind, then shifted her gaze to Cloud. "Can you get us to the walls so we can see what's going on?"

  "Oh, no," moaned Arrow. "He's terrible at –"

  But Wind was already Signing to her brother, and before Arrow finished speaking, the air changed. The pressure in the room dropped so hard and fast that Sword's ears popped. Thunder – real thunder, not whatever strange explosion had rocked the palace just moments before – sounded nearby, and a moment later a lightning strike split the air just outside the window.

  "He's not a flier, I'm telling you," said Arrow. "We did this before, and it was awfooo –"

  Sword didn't hear the rest of the word – if Arrow managed anything else – because in that instant she was sucked out the window.

  She found herself spinning, barely able to see anything in the twister that Cloud had called into being with his Gift. And she saw at once why Arrow had been reluctant to go like this, as her entire body started immediately aching as it whipped back an forth in tight circles. She thought she saw Arrow a few times, pinwheeling madly, his hands and feet splayed out in all directions and screaming – though his screams were swallowed whole in the maelstrom.