Child of Sorrows

by Michaelbrent Collings

  The first ones she saw looked away quickly when she turned her gaze upon them, as though ashamed of their stares. Or perhaps afraid.

  Still so much fear. Still so many we haven't helped.

  And yet still, the alternative is worse.

  She had read fairy tales. Stories of magics stranger than any Gift – people who flew without enchantment, who traveled to places so far they were beyond the sky. In some, evil had to be overthrown, just as it had in the Empire. But in all the stories, no one ever spoke of what happened after the overthrow; of the strife and the terror that would inevitably follow a crushed and weakened government.

  Slow. Slow and quiet the changes had to be made. Or else the suffering under the previous Emperor –

  (and the Chancellor)

  – would be as nothing.

  She saw another person in the crowd, staring at the auto-car as she passed.

  No. At me.

  And she knew it was true, for this person – a small man who held a huge slab of raw metal easily under his arm, a Smith for certain – did not shrink away when she looked at him. Instead, he gazed back at her almost defiantly for a moment. Then he did look away, but not in the manner of someone shrinking or shamed.

  He bowed his head, and saluted her. His fist went to his forehead, knuckles tight against his skin, and he held the pose as she passed.

  Sword didn't understand that. She was a fighter, but she held no position in the Army, or even the Imperial Guard. Nor was she officially a member of the government, or a noblewoman that others might notice as one of their "betters."

  The Smith melted into the crowd as she passed. But it was as though when he saluted her, a dam had broken. Now the people who stared at her bowed as she passed. Saluted. Men and women, old and young. Crones put arthritic knuckles against cracked and wrinkled foreheads, children barely old enough to be at the bazaar bowed and saluted.

  What's going on?

  No one stepped forward. No one offered explanation. Just silent bows, near-obeisance. One time she thought she saw one of them mouth a word. It could have been "judge," but as with the Smith, the woman who said whatever it had been melted into the crowd and was gone as Sword passed.

  The bazaar finally ended. Sword considered getting out of the auto-car to ask what was going on, but then she thought of Malal, of the Ears, of the old man in the armor.

  She pressed on.

  The roads grew bumpy and rutted again, then turned at times to barely more than paths of sun-hardened dirt with scrub and foliage encroaching on either side.

  Sword didn't have a map. She didn't need one. She just had to keep going west, and eventually she would get to Center's Edge. She would leave the auto-car behind, and purchase a seat on one of the air-cars that ferried the rich and powerful into and out of Fear, since that was the one State of Ansborn not connected to its neighbors by a skybridge.

  As soon as she reached the other side of the chasm separating Center and Fear, she would proceed on foot – though only for a time. She had no doubt that she could beg, borrow, or steal a ride of some kind, and she didn't want the attention that would come with an expensive auto-car being ferried via air-car into Fear. She would fare better as a simple passenger, then a thief.

  Once a Dog, always a Dog. Willing to do whatever it takes to see a fight to the finish.

  She felt a pang. A memory thrust itself into the fore of her mind: a fight when she had been a new Dog, introduced to the kennels only a few weeks before. She had found herself attacked by a boy much older and much bigger. He didn't hesitate, knocking her to the ground, pinning her, then leaning in close to tear out her throat with teeth that had been filed to points – either by his master or simply by the boy chewing on the metal of his cage.

  Sword didn't hesitate, either. She buried her head in her chest, so that instead of her throat the bigger boy only tore loose a chunk of her scalp. He was surprised, and reached up to pull out the hair and skin that caught between his teeth.

  Again, she acted without thought. Just reached up with the hand that he had let go of, sought his face, then drove her finger deep enough into the boy's eye that she bruised it on the bone that protected the brain behind it.

  The boy screamed, of course. Then went into a seizure of pain, curled up in shock.

  She bit out his throat. And never felt a single thing beyond the elation that she had won, that she still lived.

  She would not hesitate now. She would do what must be done to save Malal. To save the Empire – not the Empire as it had been, or even as it currently was. She aimed to save it as it could – and should – be.

  Though she had to admit that her plans were on the vague side. After landing in Fear… she had no real plan, beyond simply finding out. Knowing her enemy's directness, his lack of subtlety, she suspected that finding him would be easy enough.

  And what then?

  That was a good question. He hadn't just beaten her at their last confrontation, he had practically toyed with her. What chance did she have if she faced him again?

  None.

  So she wouldn't face him. To a Dog there was no such thing as fair play. She would find him and stab him in the back in the night if need be. After she found out how to cure Malal.

  And why he is doing this in the first place.

  Though that last was obvious: the old man had a grudge against the Empire. What it was, exactly, wasn't particularly important. It was enough that it had angered him enough to fight.

  Again she felt a twinge of guilt. He was doing what she had done. How could she blame him for wanting change – and for not knowing that change was already afoot?

  She couldn't. But that didn't mean she had to let him go forward with a plan that would bring utter chaos to a people who could not flee from such a thing.

  She passed through more towns. A few of them had fairly busy plazas, but there was not a repeat of what she had seen at the bazaar. Not until the third town she passed – a small place called Bria. It was nearly empty – everyone out working the fields that surrounded the area – save a single woman.

  The woman worked at the well in the center of the town. Rainwater from Ansborn's frequent storms gathered in craters upon each mountain, then seeped into underground channels that Sword presumed took the water down the mountain, below the clouds. Wells could be dug to tap the waters, and towns like this frequently sprung up around such things.

  The woman at the well was beautiful. Young: five or six Turns older that Sword, with auburn hair that drifted to her shoulders in thick waves. Sword had the windows of the auto-car open, so she could hear the beautiful woman humming to herself as she dipped a bucket into the well and then pulled it out full of clear water.

  The woman turned to look Sword full in the face, and Sword started. She had seen the woman only in profile, but now she saw the whole of her countenance.

  The woman had suffered some grievous injury. Her left eye was a blind, sightless orb encirled by scar tissue that stretched tendril threads across her cheek and up into her hairline.

  The woman saw Sword. Smiled a genuine, open smile.

  Then something changed in the woman's one good eye. She ducked her head and, just as had those in the bazaar, put her knuckles to her brow. A moment later, she raised her head and Sword could see the woman was crying. Tears streamed from her good eye, though the sightless one remained dry, unable even to weep after whatever had happened to the woman.

  Like the woman in the bazaar, the woman at the well mouthed something. Again, Sword thought it might be "judge," though this woman also added something else that Sword couldn't make out.

  Enough of this.

  She stopped the auto-car, braking so hard that momentum cast her painfully into the steering wheel. Then she left the auto-car, running around toward the well, to find….

  … the woman gone.

  Sword spun around, trying to spot her. The streets were empty, lined by enough buildings – houses and a few shops – that she knew t
here was no possible way to find her. Not quickly, anyway. And Sword didn't have time for anything other than "quickly."

  She got back into the auto-car. Pulled some smoked meat out of the pack on the seat beside her and chewed it for a moment, looking around in the vain hope that the woman might return.

  Sword didn't go among the people that often – at least, not during the day. Most of her work in the cities and towns took place at night.

  So how long had this been going on?

  Forget "how long," what is going on?

  She shook her head, then twisted the lever beside the wheel that would set the auto-car moving forward again, and continued out of Bria. She saw no one else, and was glad of that fact.

  The moment did not repeat itself in any of the other cities or towns she passed through. She drove through them with ease, the few people she found at local plazas or bazaars simply moving out of the way of the auto-car. A few of them did look at her, but the looks were always of apprehension or outright fright. That made more sense – they clearly thought that if she was in an auto-car she must be a rich woman or even a noble. And they had lifetimes of experience being harmed by the nobility.

  When this happened Sword again wanted to get out of the auto-car, this time to reassure the people. To tell them that things were changing, and were getting better.

  Slow. Slow to change things, slow to get to Fear.

  Everything is slow.

  At least the auto-car moved forward, pushing ahead at a steady pace. She drew closer to Fear and, as night fell, she saw the air-dock ahead.

  The air-dock was a massive construct. Built not to handle two or three or even four air-cars at once, as were most of the air-docks in Ansborn. This one was a huge structure, with buttresses built into Center's Edge, plummeting a hundred feet down the cliffside. It could hold a hundred air-cars at once – two hundred if they crowded.

  Air-docks usually swarmed with people, moving from one State to another. Merchants moving goods back and forth, people traveling on pilgrimages to Faith, the few who had saved to travel for its own sake.

  The great air-dock that provided travel between Center and Faith was no exception: busy, though the flow of traffic was much more one-sided. Many entered Fear: criminals, rejects, those with nowhere else to go. Few were able to leave, however, either because they were imprisoned or because they simply had not the means to flee the fiery mountain.

  As Sword drew nearer to the air-dock, though, she noted few people atop it. Far fewer than there should be. Torches and glo-globes lit the expanse, which nearly disappeared in the distance in both directions, and all along the length of the stone and metal she could see men and women – not the surging throngs of travelers, but paired groupings standing at intervals that were far too regular to be accidental.

  She pulled off the road, driving deep into a nearby copse of trees and then abandoning the auto-car. It probably wouldn't be here when –

  (if)

  – she got back. That was fine. She hoped whoever stole it needed it, and, again, she had no doubt she could find her own way back.

  She watched the air-dock for a long time, trying to determine what was going on there. A change like this could only be related to what was happening in Fear. To what was happening everywhere.

  At last, she began walking. She thought about waiting for a Fear-bound caravan, trying somehow to sneak across with them. But none came, and none came, and she didn't have the time to wait for a possibility that might never come to fruition.

  The air-dock lay far enough away that night had fully fallen by the time she was within hailing distance of the structure. Several men stood at the foot of the entry – a long, wide, slowly-rising ramp that brought visitors up to the main berths. The ramp was attached to Center's Edge, but the air-dock itself hung over only nothing and cloud – a visitor who went ten feet onto the ramp could look over the low wall on either side and stare straight down at the forbidden place below.

  The men on the ramp stared at her as she approached. She didn't see any weapons on them, but they had hard faces and harder eyes. She tensed as she drew near, her body readying for whatever might come.

  The closest man was tall and lanky, and looked undernourished. They all did, she realized, like people who have not yet reached starvation but can feel it closing in.

  "Ho," said the man. A word of greeting, but stated in a flat, unemotional tone.

  "Ho," she said back. Her voice matched his, and he frowned as though surprised to hear such boldness from a lone traveler on the road.

  They stood silent, motionless.

  "What business have you here?" the man finally asked.

  "My own."

  "I'm afraid I'll need more than that."

  She squinted. "Is it law now that a woman must tell her reasons for travel?"

  The gaunt man's companion – just as thin, though not nearly so tall – stood forward. His face, even under the dim light of the torches and glo-globes, reddened visibly. "Don't play with us, girl."

  The short man's clothing was ragged, torn. It looked like it hadn't been washed in some time. But the dagger he drew from beneath his shirt glinted bright enough. He pointed it at her. "Answer his question, or we'll ask you again after you're dead."

  Sword almost laughed at that. "That seems unproductive."

  The shorter man looked at his companion, who shrugged. Unlike the short man, the tall one appeared to have some self control and a modicum of hope that this might end well. "You'd best turn around, girl," he finally said. "Things are changing, and you'll want no part of them."

  If these men were working for the old man and his two companions, they were likely working to overthrow a government they saw as corrupt. If they weren't, then she had no idea who they could be but knew they weren't acting like thieves or brigands. Either way, there was an excellent chance these were decent men who deserved to live out their lives. She had no wish to force a confrontation.

  Yet at the same time, she could feel every passing minute, sharp as a blade, slashing away at the string of Malal's life. And the wellbeing of the Empire – and all its people – might well hang from that same string.

  "I ask you to let me pass, and let me find passage," she finally said, gesturing at the air-cars that hung at berths beyond and above her. She realized for the first time how few there were – and how empty they seemed. Then she turned back to the gaunt man and added, "I can't tell you why, only that it's important."

  The short man started forward, dagger darting ahead as though hungry to bite her flesh. The tall man put a hand across his chest, stopping him. "Girl, you need to go. This is your last chance." He, too, reached under his dirty shirt and withdrew a knife. His was bright and expensive-looking, slightly curved. A tantō, cousin to her own preferred blades, the katana and wakizashi. It looked expensive, and on the side she saw a red and black decoration.

  The blade had belonged to an Imperial officer of some kind. And it was doubtful the soldier had simply handed it over as a gift to this man.

  Sword's senses began to shift. She could uddenly hear and see and smell more than she had a moment ago. The tang of the cool air wafting up from the clouds below the skybridge. The sound of the breaths the tall man took, the vein throbbing on the side of the short man's temple.

  She took a step forward. "Please," she said. "I've no wish to fight you."

  The tall man looked genuinely sad. "Then turn away. You're unarmed, and the skybridge is covered with people who will not let you pass. Fear is no longer part of the Empire, and no longer to be burdened by its minions." He paused, then took a step forward and added, "This is your last chance."

  She shook her head. "No. It's yours."

  4

  Wind watched the sun sink, and disappear. She felt hope die with the light.

  When will they return?

  A nonsense question, of course. The others had just left this very day. It would take time to travel to the other lands to find answers. And yet,
the question was the only thing she heard, pounding through her mind with the relentless force of a blacksmith's hammer.

  When will they return?

  When will they return?

  When will they RETURN?

  Even the question itself was nonsense, because she knew the only one she really cared about was Father Akiro. He was the one on his way to Knowledge, the one looking for a cure for whatever had happened to Malal.

  To Smoke.

  To my love.

  The priests were praying, the Patches that surrounded his bedside swaying with the effort of trying to stay ahead of whatever poison the man in the armor had given him. It all played out in silence for her – just as everything did. The only time she had heard anything was in the moment when Malal told her he wanted to marry her. Wind was born deaf, so she had no real concept of "sound," but the feeling she had in her heart when he Signed his intentions, and asked the question… it was what she imagined birds sounded like. What she knew she would hear if her ears started working in the instant that a baby laughed its first laugh. Not just sound, but a sound that made reality worth living in.

  Then this.

  Malal had been shot in the neck with three darts, and the Academics posted at the palace were examining them. There were even three High Academics currently at the palace, which seemed to make many of the people around Malal hopeful.

  Wind, however, knew that the three High Academics' specialty were weather patterns, animal husbandry, and the cultivation of wheat. Hoping for them to find answers would be like hoping for her to describe a birthday song to another deaf person.

  Still, they looked. Searching for any kind of clue that might lead them to save the Emperor. So far all that they had discovered was that the darts were hollow; that they contained some kind of poison. Which everyone already knew, so what good were they?

  Cloud was the one who told her that. Told her what the Academics had "found." He Signed the words to her, though Wind barely saw them.

  Cloud was patient. The fact that his sister barely cared to pay attention made it doubly hard for him to get her to understand, but he kept trying to tell her. What was known, and what was not.