Soul of the World

by David Mealing

  “ … falls before the summer moon,” came a voice just beside her, beneath the arch of the bridge. D’Agarre’s voice. As ever, the disorientation brought on by a projected Mind binding took a moment to fade. When it did, she saw him standing before a reinforced iron grate on the sloping dirt walkway that ran alongside the shore of the river. Another man stood on the opposite side of the grate. The sewers?

  “Good to see you’ve made it, sir,” the other man replied as he moved to unlock a section of the grate she hadn’t noticed before that was cut into a makeshift door.

  “I wouldn’t miss it, my friend,” d’Agarre said, clapping the man on the shoulder as he entered, then disappeared into the tunnel behind.

  She let the binding fade. The Nameless brand her for a fool. All this time, she’d been watching the d’Agarre estate, hoping for some sign of a gathering, some notion of who might be conspiring with him. And instead he’d been delving into the city sewers, like as not from an entrance on the grounds of his bloody manse. Kiss the tip of the Exarch’s longblade for all the sense she had.

  She pressed on, gritting her teeth. She had half the password, assuming that was what she’d heard Reyne give, and it wasn’t like to do her much good. Overpowering the gate guard would reveal her presence in time, though that was an option. Faith might work, provided more conspirators came to give the man cause to open the gate, though a brief check of the leyline stores nearby cast doubt on how long she’d be able to remain hidden once she was inside.

  Use those men, Zi thought to her.

  No sooner had he finished the thought than a group of what looked like sailors rounded the corner up ahead from the Riverways. Heading toward her on otherwise empty streets.

  “How?” she whispered to Zi. Already they’d noticed her.

  They are nervous. Be what they expect.

  How that was supposed to help she hadn’t the faintest idea. But Zi had gotten her out of worse situations before. She put on a brave face, as if she belonged nowhere else in the world but at the foot of the Crown Bridge, above the entrance to a secret meeting in the sewers.

  The sailors eyed her with uncertainty, as if their roles had been reversed, and she were the burly group of sailors, while they were the lone girl out for a walk at night. Gods but Zi was right; they were nervous.

  No sooner had they come within earshot of her than one of them blurted out, “The springtime rain falls—”

  “—falls before the summer moon,” she completed in a rush. “Yes, I know. I’m here for it, too.”

  The relief across the sailors’ faces was palpable. Bless you, Zi.

  “After you, gentlemen,” she said, motioning down the incline toward the waterfront.

  They took her cue, shambling together like a pack of foreigners at the market. She took the lead at the grate, giving the password with confidence on behalf of the group. The man standing guard swung the makeshift door open without fanfare, welcoming them inside with a beckoning gesture and an easy smile.

  “It’s my first meeting,” she said, lingering behind the sailors as they pressed on into the sewer tunnels. “Any words of advice?”

  “Plenty of fresh faces tonight. Wouldn’t worry about it. Which district are you from?”

  “The Maw.”

  She could as easily have claimed the Market, or the Harbor, or even Southgate if she’d had a mind to. But in the moment, she felt compelled to give an honest answer. The Maw was home, and if he pressed her for details to verify her answer, she’d rather not have to think. The slums were a part of her, as sure as Zi or any other of her gifts. She could wear them with pride.

  He whistled, looking her up and down appreciatively. “Never known the Maw gangs to pick a woman to speak for ’em. You must be something.”

  She made an exaggerated curtsy, eliciting a laugh from the man. “I can hold my own,” she said.

  “You’ll do all right. Just head on down.” He pointed down the sewer shaft, where she could see flickering torchlight around a sharp bend up ahead. “The sub-bosses’ll sort you by district and give orders for you to relay to your boys back in the Maw. You might even catch a glimpse of the man himself tonight. He came down not a moment before you did, swear by the Oracle herself.”

  “Now that would be something,” she said, letting the amusement show through in her expression. With luck he’d take it for a rogue’s swagger, the kind she’d seen so many times before among the toughs of the Maw. “Thank you for your help.”

  He knuckled his brow, turning back to keep watch through the grate as she strode forward into the tunnel. It was well lit, with torches placed in sconces along the stone walls every twenty paces. She could hear the ribald joking of the sailors up ahead—a sign they’d recovered their nerve, at least in part—but she opted to hang back, taking in the twists and turns of the sewers for herself. More than once she crossed an intersection or a chamber that led off in another direction, pitch-black without the benefit of torches to light the way, and a good thing, too. With only a single lit passageway, one could hardly get lost. The network of passages and drainage chambers seemed to extend in every direction, like a honeycomb of tightly packed routes beneath the streets. How had she never thought of the sewers? It seemed so obvious in hindsight, a hidden place to distribute information, weapons, and loyal revolutionaries throughout the city. Even the smell was not half so bad as she imagined it would be; every child raised in the Maw was accustomed to stale piss and excrement.

  It made a damn near perfect refuge for conspiracy. The guard had even said she might get a glimpse of d’Agarre himself, as if there would be too many of them here to guarantee it. How many attendees were expected at this meeting?

  The noise drifting through the tunnels as they pressed on offered half an answer. A dull roar, the kind she heard on a slow day at the market, when the stalls two streets over had somehow attracted a bustle of traffic despite the relative quiet around her. And the gate guard had said she would be given orders here to relay back to her men in the Maw. Every man or woman she saw down here tonight represented a cell of would-be revolutionaries back in their home districts. By the Gods, just how deep did these sentiments run? She feared she had an inkling. And she’d have wished them well, if not for what she had seen that evening beneath the d’Agarre manse. Whatever his intentions, Reyne d’Agarre was mad. Evil. She shivered, remembering.

  “Hold there, missy,” a man said from the doorway ahead. A portly graybeard, wearing a red sash draped across his left shoulder and clutching a sheaf of papers. Not an invite list, surely? She’d already given the password once …

  “The springtime rain falls before the summer moon,” she said. No harm giving it again.

  The man arched a bushel of an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure it does,” he said. “Now which district are you from?”

  “The Maw.”

  He glanced down at the papers in his hand, thumbing through them until he produced whatever it was he’d sought.

  “Name?”

  “Arianne,” she lied. She steeled herself, preparing to be found wanting. She had no desire to harm this old man, but Gods be damned if she was about to give up now, this close to seeing the inner workings of d’Agarre’s revolution. And there were plenty of dark tunnels nearby, plenty of places to hide an unconscious doorman if it came to that.

  “All right, Arianne of the Maw,” he said in a perfunctory tone, glancing down at the sheaf of paper in his hand. “You’re going to want to take four rights, then a left. Sub-Boss Guyard has your instructions tonight. That’s four rights, then a left. Repeat it back to me if you please.”

  “Four rights, then a left.”

  “Just so. Off with you then.”

  She suppressed the desire to exhale in relief. Pushing past the old man, she emerged into a cavernous chamber that must have served as the main sluiceway for the Riverways district above. Half a dozen passageways led off in as many directions, this time each one lit by torches along the walls. Four rights, he h
ad said. Did that mean she was to take the rightmost passage, or—?

  “Yes, you’ll want the rightmost passage,” the old man’s voice called to her over his shoulder. A common question, apparently.

  The sound of activity came from all around, down each of the six passageways. Once more she crossed dark tunnels leading away, supposing she was to ignore the unlit routes. She came to a torchlit passage leading right, and she took it, then again. A large chamber revealed her first gathering of people, a dozen or so rough-looking men, including the sailors with whom she had entered at the grate. They were arranged in a half circle with one man at the center, who spoke with passion, draped in a red sash like the one the graybeard had worn. Her arrival was noted by a few turned heads, but she kept her head down and pressed on to take her third right turn, then her fourth. No small temptation to tether Faith and have a look around, but there would be time enough for that later. For now, she’d maintain the ruse of being here as one of them, and see where it led.

  One last left turn, and she’d reached her destination. Ten toughs eyed each other with a hostility fit to pale even the most seasoned tavernkeep. She’d seen her share of conflicts between the toughs and street gangs, and had the good sense to run for the nearest shadows when two rival groups came into proximity of each other. To bring ten at once into a single chamber in the sewers was asking for fireworks. And, as yet, no man-in-a-red-sash to keep the peace. Either their sub-boss had not yet arrived or these toughs had polished him off as an appetizer and tossed his body down one of the darker passages to rot.

  Her arrival drew the immediate attention of every man in the room.

  “What’s this then?” a tall, thickly muscled man with a long mustache demanded. “They sent us a snack to pass the time?”

  “Looks right delicious,” another man added, this one bare-chested despite the cold outside, sporting a makeshift patch over his left eye.

  She edged back toward the entrance. Faith was looking more attractive by the minute.

  Do you want to fight them? Zi thought.

  “No,” she hissed under her breath.

  “What’s that, girly?” the first man asked with a leer.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Look,” she said. “We’re all here of a purpose. Let’s wait and see what this sub-boss has to say.”

  The men looked back and forth at each other, then erupted into laughter.

  At that moment, Zi chose to appear on the floor of the chamber. She couldn’t say how, but she knew he had chosen to be visible to these men, the same way d’Agarre’s kaas had shown himself to her back in the Maw. Zi’s scales flared gold, a glinting sheen like the midday sun, bright enough to fill the chamber with radiant warmth.

  As one, the men cowered away from Zi, pressing their backs to the walls.

  “What I mean to say is,” she said in a quiet voice, “we were chosen for this meeting because we each have our strengths. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

  Zi vanished, but the effect of his display was no less pronounced for his absence. As one, the men dully nodded their heads, mumbling incoherent protestations and wards against the influence of the Nameless.

  “What under the Veil’s skirts is going on here?”

  A man in a red sash had emerged from one of the unlit passageways at the back of the chamber. So, d’Agarre’s lieutenants knew the sewers even without the benefit of the torches. Good to know.

  “Just straightening out a misunderstanding,” she said lightly, with a glance around the room. Had the bare-chested man’s pants been wet before Zi’s display? She didn’t think so.

  The newcomer’s eyes narrowed. “I thought it had been made clear to the lot of you that our cause transcends your petty squabbles.”

  More murmured sounds from around the room, evidently penitent enough to satisfy.

  “Very well,” he began again. “I am Sub-Boss Guyard, and you lot speak for the denizens of the Maw. We’re going to need your sort, in the days to come, when the moment arrives.”

  “And when is that?” she asked. May as well cut straight to the heart of it.

  “You’re here to learn what to do after you get the signal. You should know already it will come when it comes. Your task is to be ready when it does.”

  She affected a bored look that clashed with the terror she saw behind the eyes of every other man in the room. They struggled to hide it, but knowing its source she could see behind their respective façades. What Sub-Boss Guyard thought of it was anyone’s guess.

  “Right,” Guyard continued. “When the time comes, we’ll have weapons prepared for you and your men, stored here in the sewers beneath the Riverways, and the Harbor.”

  “Why not the sewers beneath the Maw?” she said.

  Was that the wrong question? Right away she saw the men around the room cringe, redoubling whatever signs of fear they’d given off a moment before.

  “Are you daft, woman? Is your gang so fresh-faced that you haven’t tried the sewers on the north side of the river?”

  “And what if we haven’t?”

  More murmurs from around the room. A few derisive snorts.

  “It seems your fellows know better than to go down there. One of you care to enlighten our companion?”

  The mustached fellow piped up in a hushed voice. “The beast.”

  “That’s right,” Guyard said. “The beast. Any true Maw gang can speak to it firsthand. This summer past, anyone with a presence in the tunnels beneath the north side had it cleaned out, right quick.”

  She shrugged, putting on airs of the bravado any street tough would try to show in the face of such a charge. Inwardly she wondered. What did d’Agarre have going on in the sewers north of the river?

  “As I was saying, we will have muskets, balls, and powder stored for your people here, in these tunnels. When you get the signal, you come down here and retrieve them, first thing. And don’t even think of looking for them early; we’ll know if you do, and I think the lot of you have an understanding by now of just how deep our organization goes.”

  More murmurs, this time with a hint of defiance from around the room. A sign the impact of Zi’s little display was wearing off. Perhaps her cue to start thinking about making an exit.

  “Don’t think about starting a brawl down here, either,” Guyard warned, pointing a finger around the room. “Or settling old scores. You’ll only be wasting better opportunities for riches aboveground. You see, I’ve secured something of a plum assignment for the gangs of the Maw. If you’re quick, you boys will be among the first to sack the Gardens.”

  That got appreciative noises, even a whistle or two. She felt her stomach sink. In a salon, disguised by rhetoric and philosophy, revolution for the sake of égalité sounded lofty, even noble. Here in the sewers she could see it for what it was, or at least the bloody shadow behind the thing. This was the true beast d’Agarre would unleash on her city: the fury kindling behind the eyes of these brutes, and the men for whom they stood.

  “Now,” Guyard went on, “if you can wait here without killing each other, I’ll fetch the big boss himself. I know he’ll want to say a thing or two to the best and brightest of the Maw.”

  With that, the sub-boss turned back toward the dark tunnel from which he’d entered, leaving the ring of toughs behind, already licking their chops over the promised spoils. Time for her to go.

  Tethering Faith, she faded from view, enjoying the exclamations of shock she drew once more from the men who had been eyeing her and plotting some simple form of revenge. She knew they’d talk. Guyard at least would mention the strange girl if the gang toughs didn’t. If Reyne d’Agarre himself was coming to speak to this lot, he’d leave knowing she had been here.

  Let him. Let him know she knew his secrets. She’d bring all this crashing down around him soon enough.

  39

  ARAK’JUR

  Ruins of the Jintani Village

  Jintani Land

  Fire.

&n
bsp; It had raged here, the sort of cleansing blaze that transformed the thickest forest into charred, twisted ruin. A gift his people had used since before they received the spirits’ magic, purifying flame to clear the forest so it could be born again. In the wake of fire’s terrible path, a man could not help but feel submission, awe, reverence for the power of the wild.

  But one did not expect to see it strike a village.

  The Jintani tents had been reduced to tattered scraps where they stood at all, blackened pillars slumping toward the ground, broken and charred, trailing smoke that promised heat still waiting in the embers. He bore the sight as stoically as could be managed, leading both their horses on rope lines as they walked around the edge of the ruin.

  Corenna rose from where she’d doubled over beside him, wiping bile from her mouth. He offered a steadying hand, which she accepted without shame.

  “How?” she managed, her voice as weak as her skin was pale.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps some ill fate befell the Jintani shaman. Perhaps they had no forewarning.”

  Corenna tried a calming breath that caught in her throat. She turned again, retching. Taking a step forward, he saw the likely cause: blackened bones lying across the ground where one of the tents had stood, just ahead. Child-sized bones. He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath. Where sickness took Corenna, he felt instead a shuddering rage.

  This did not happen to their people. The shamans had a sacred trust, to see the coming of threats in time for the guardians to protect them. Great beasts, yes, but also the disasters of the wild. Famines, droughts, quakes, fires. When a tribe faced the coming of such, they were granted visions in time to find safety. And yet here that trust had failed. An entire village caught without warning, reduced to ash. Unthinkable. A sign of the worst disfavor, the direst curse, as though the Jintani had somehow provoked the spirits and lost the guidance of their shaman.