City of Blades

by Robert Jackson Bennett

  “Me neither,” says Mulaghesh. “So how do I get out of this place?”

  “I can push you back,” says Thinadeshi. “That will not sap my strength much, or so I hope.” She shuts her eyes. “I see an entryway—a doorway in the water. My face looks down on it. No, no…It’s Voortya’s face, of course. There is a young woman there, waiting.” She opens her eyes. “Is that safe? Should she be there?”

  “Was she blond and kind of unbearable-looking?”

  “She was blond, yes. And she did have a…a combative look to her….”

  “Then that’s fine.” She gathers up her gear. “Can you just…do it now?”

  “I can,” says Thinadeshi. She reaches out to Mulaghesh, then hesitates. “I suppose this would be my last chance to ask how the world has gotten along without me, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Is there anything you want me to say or do?” says Mulaghesh. “Anything you want me to tell your family?”

  Since Mulaghesh first saw Thinadeshi she’s always had a hard look in her eye, as if her soul is an anvil and she expects the whole of the world to be shaped on it; but at this question the barest crack begins to show, and she trembles a little. “I think…I think it would be best to think that I did die all those years ago. I did leave the land of the living, after all. Is that not death? But I think I chose this before then. When I chose to travel to the Continent and take my children with me…When I chose accomplishment over my responsibilities…I look back on all I did, all I got done, and they fill me with nothing at all. Not pride, not joy, not contentment. All I have now is this insatiable hunger.”

  “Hunger for what?”

  She smiles faintly. “To tell my children that, despite everything, I loved them. And I wished I could have loved them more, showed them that more.”

  “I’ll tell them, if I can find them,” says Mulaghesh.

  Thinadeshi’s face hardens. “Then go,” she says. “And get it done.” She taps Mulaghesh on the forehead, just barely pushing her off balance, and Mulaghesh falls backward, sure to strike the floor….

  …But she doesn’t. The floor isn’t there. Instead there are the still, cool, dark waters, and she’s plummeting down through them again, sinking faster and faster. The white citadel of the City of Blades shrinks above her, dwindling down until it’s a slice of light above her, and then it’s gone.

  She knows what’s going to happen this time, but it doesn’t make it any easier: again, the pressure builds and builds until it feels like her head is about to crack like an egg. She swears she can feel her ribs popping and creaking. She doesn’t struggle this time, but curls up into a ball. Then she feels gravity swirling around her, like the world can’t decide what’s up and what’s down, and when she opens her eyes she sees a dark black hole opening above her.

  She punches through, flailing wildly. Her arms strike the rim of the stone basin. She’s still blinking water out of her eyes, but she can see the canvas roof of the yard of statues above her.

  “Careful! Careful!” says Signe’s voice. Signe grabs her by her arms and hauls her out. She bounces roughly off of a stone edge below before both she and Signe topple over into the mud.

  “Good heavens,” says Signe. “What happened to you? Did you…Did you actually go there? And why are you…well…red?”

  Mulaghesh coughs up what feels like a liter of seawater again. “I know who it is,” she gasps. “I know who it is!”

  “Who…what is?”

  Mulaghesh rolls over and pulls herself up onto all fours. The bone-white faces of the statues stare at her expectantly.

  “It’s Rada Smolisk,” she says quietly. “Rada Smolisk is who’s waking up the dead.”

  He sang to them, “Mother Voortya dances always!

  She dances upon the hills, Her blade flickering to and fro!

  She dances upon the hearts of men

  For battle is our rightful state!

  If you were to open up the human heart

  And look within,

  You would find two figures

  Screaming, clutching, wrestling in the mud!”

  —EXCERPT FROM “OF THE GREAT MOTHER VOORTYA ATOP THE TEETH OF THE WORLD,” CA. 556

  It won’t be easy getting up there,” says Signe. “Biswal’s forces are returning, and I’ve had reports they’re flooding the harbor works. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Mulaghesh grimaces as she performs a gear check. She’s still stained red from head to toe, though it does seem to be sloughing off, a little. She hasn’t bothered to tell Signe everything—there isn’t enough time to describe how Thinadeshi became the stand-in for the goddess of warfare—but she’s given her the details on how the City of Blades is waking up again. “And unfortunately Rada’s house is between the Galleries and the fortress,” says Mulaghesh. “There’ll be lots of exposure between here and there.”

  “It’s in a little copse of trees, though,” says Signe. “Perhaps that can give us some cover.”

  “If we can get to the trees, that is. If Biswal’s troops are entering the harbor works, that means the roads away from this place are going to be watched.”

  “Are you sure it’s her?”

  “It must have been. She quoted Petrenko to my face, and the Watcher over there said they’d been visited by a student of his. And Rada would know which families were isolated enough for her to test her swords on—one of the dead boys in Poshok had some kind of horrible rash, and they said in Ghevalyev that the man was always fretting over his wife’s health….She must have visited each of their homes.”

  Signe shakes her head, disgusted. “I can’t believe this.”

  “And Petrenko was the saint who invented the method of making Voortyashtani swords,” says Mulaghesh. “Rada must have gone to the Teeth of the World, found the tomb…”

  “Which must have been Petrenko’s tomb.”

  “Right. Petrenko’s sword acts as a blueprint for how to make more. And now here we are.”

  Mulaghesh checks the sword of Voortya, though currently it’s still more like a handle. She has it stuffed in the belt of her pants for easy access, though she still has no idea what she’d need it for. Once she’s confirmed it’s secure, she scans the walls. “You got any rope around here?”

  “I’m sure I can find some somewhere, bu—”

  “And you’re a pretty good climber, right?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting that that arch over there,” she says, pointing at a spectral sculpture designed to look like the bones of a whale, “rises almost to the top of the wall. Meaning we wouldn’t have to use the door. Rada’s house is just up the slope from this yard, provided we go over the wall.”

  Signe sighs as she takes in the scale of the arch. “You do have a knack for getting other people to stick their necks out for you.”

  “Recall, please, that I just plummeted into the afterlife to save the necks of this city.”

  “Good point, I suppose.” Signe fetches a few lengths of rope from a storage area in the statue yard, and the two begin to run over.

  “After you get me over the wall,” says Mulaghesh, “what next?”

  “What next? Why, I’m coming with you, of course. You’re making me climb up on a damn wall, I might as well go all the way.”

  It’s the answer Mulaghesh wanted to hear, though she didn’t want to ask the direct question: to guilt others into your dirty business is bad sport, in her opinion. “Are you sure?”

  “You’ll need the backup, won’t you?”

  “Yes. But I want to make sure that you’re sure. You could see some fighting. I can’t guarantee that it won’t be dangerous.”

  “General, this woman apparently wishes to destroy everything I’ve made so far,” says Signe. “Though frankly I’ve no idea why. I intend to stop her, at the very least, and then find out her reasoning.” Signe begins to deftly climb up the arch. “She isn’t even a true Voortyashtani. She’s from Bulikov, for the seas’ sakes!”
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  “Feel like you’d be decent with a rifling tonight?”

  Signe vaults up and straddles the edge of the wall. She sighs, bowing her head. “I do despise combat, you know.”

  “Yeah. I know how you feel.”

  She begins uncoiling the rope, lowering it down. “But I’m still willing to do it.”

  “Yeah,” says Mulaghesh, grasping the rope. “I know how you feel.”

  ***

  As they rappel down the wall Mulaghesh looks out and sees the dark cityscape littered with beams of lights, the roving torches of soldiers on a search. She does a quick count and gauges their number at fifty or so. She can tell by the way the lights are bobbing up and down that they’re running, and it looks like a lot of them are running for the statue yard.

  “Hurry up and get down!” says Signe.

  They slide down the rest of the wall and lurk in its shadows, watching the search beams.

  “Oh my,” whispers Signe. “There’s rather a lot of them, isn’t there?”

  “On my mark we run to the fence ahead, all right?” Mulaghesh points across the industrial yard to a chain-link fence about ten feet high.

  “We’re not climbing that, too, are we? There’s razor wire at the top.”

  “I have wire cutters. But it’ll take time.”

  “Why do you have wire cutters?”

  “Because every damn soldier worth their salt has wire cutters!” snaps Mulaghesh. “Anything else you want to know?”

  Signe cranes her head forward. “I don’t think anyone’s coming. On the count of three?”

  “Works for me.” She counts off with her fingers and then they bolt forward. They dart around a stack of rebar, then through piles of soil and pulped wood until finally they come to the chain-link fence.

  They squat and look behind them: bright beams of light are slashing through the night air. “Not torches,” says Mulaghesh quietly as she pulls out her wire cutters. “Spotlights. They’re really looking for us.”

  Signe takes the wire cutters and goes to work, snipping through the fence. “Will they shoot us?”

  “They might if we run. Likely they expect we’re armed. And you do have a rifling strapped to your back.”

  “And what if we succeed tonight? What if we get to Rada and stop what she’s doing? Do you think Biswal would forgive us?”

  “If we got Rada to tell him the story, maybe,” says Mulaghesh.

  “Would she do that?”

  “She might if I beat the shit out of her a little.”

  Signe looks at her, shocked. “Would you do that?”

  “Hells yeah I’d do that. If it keeps me from ducking a firing line, I’d beat her ass like a drum. Keep cutting.”

  Mulaghesh keeps watch. The metallic walls of the statue yard reflect the light a little too well for her tastes, bouncing off and sending rays scattered around the yard. Both of them keep ducking down as beams strafe over their heads. Mulaghesh turns and looks up through the fence and up the slope to where Rada Smolisk’s house sits in the trees below the cliffs. It’s about five hundred yards up, by her guess. She can see one cheery yellow window burning among the trunks, and the chimney, of course, is belching up merry gray smoke. But it’s not your average wood fire, is it? thinks Mulaghesh.

  Then she spots a few sparks of light to the right at the same elevation as Rada’s house. She shields her eyes against the other strobe lights to see a band of soldiers, perhaps five or so, walking along the road to the polis governor’s house.

  “Shit,” says Mulaghesh. “We’ve got company. Soldiers on their way to Rada’s house.”

  “I’m almost done here. How much time?”

  “Twenty, ten minutes away. Maybe.”

  “Then we’ll have to book i—”

  She’s cut short as Mulaghesh drops down and clamps a hand over her mouth. Signe’s eyes widen and look at her, surprised. Then Mulaghesh shakes her head and nods backward, behind the mounds of earth.

  At first it’s quiet. Then they hear it: footsteps, slow and uncertain.

  Mulaghesh takes her hand off of Signe’s face and pulls out her carousel. She squats down low and readies her aim.

  For a moment, nothing. Then a beam of light surges out of the darkness and falls on them.

  Mulaghesh almost shoots. It takes a lot of training not to, but she’s more worried about giving away her position than anything. She waits for the owner of the light to say something, anything, identifying themselves—but they don’t. There’s just a long pause.

  Then a voice: “Uh…CTO Harkvaldsson?”

  Signe lets out a breath. “Damn it all, Knordstrom!” she says. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

  The beam lowers. Mulaghesh blinks until she can make out a thickset Dreyling guard with the SDC insignia on his breast standing among the dirt mounds. “Oh. Uh. Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

  “Well, obviously, I am!”

  “I see. Can I ask…Uh, what’s going on? I’m hearing reports of Saypuri troops storming the harbor….”

  “Yes,” says Signe grimly. “It seems General Biswal has gone mad with power. He’s looking to arrest me. This will be a serious diplomatic incident, I’m afraid. Do not report back that you saw us, and I recommend you usher all Saypuri troops away from this part of the yard. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And one more thing. Find my father and tell him to meet us up at Rada Smolisk’s house, up the hill.” She points through the chain-link fence.

  Knordstrom looks where she’s pointing. “The, uh…the polis governor’s house?”

  “Yes. We’re to have an emergency rendezvous to discuss the situation. Tell him that. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Excellent. Now hop to it.”

  Knordstrom, despite his ample bulk, hurries away through the piles of dirt.

  “That was smartly done,” says Mulaghesh. “I hope like hells he gets Sigrud over here.”

  “Me, too.” Signe clips through the last of the chain-link fence, and Mulaghesh kicks it open. The two crawl through, the bits of wire biting at their shoulders and backsides, then stand and sprint away.

  The hill stops being a hill and starts being more like a cliff, with Rada’s house sitting above. “Why are soldiers coming in the first place?” asks Signe as they begin to climb.

  “Standard protocol,” says Mulaghesh, breathing hard. “First thing you do during a security threat as regional governor is secure the safety of all other Ministry officials. I just never thought that I’d be the threat to the polis governor.”

  Signe looks up along the cliff. “It’s a straight climb up the rest of the way,” she says. “Do you need any help?”

  “I’ll manage,” says Mulaghesh. Then, quieter: “Maybe.”

  They climb, and climb, and climb. Mulaghesh doesn’t say so, but it’s extraordinarily difficult for her, trying to compensate for her left arm. More than once she’s certain she’s going to topple over and plummet down to the streets below. She’s so focused on not falling that she’s shocked when something soft strikes her shoulder. It takes her a moment to realize it’s a rope.

  She looks up and sees it dangling from Signe’s dark form above. “Tie that to your belt,” she says. “I’ve got it tied to mine. I’ll steady you.”

  “So I can pull you to your death, too?”

  “I’m bigger than you,” says Signe. “I’ll be fine.”

  Tying the rope to her belt on the side of a cliff one-handed is a tall order for Mulaghesh, but after a few minutes of fumbling around in her pants she manages it. She gives Signe a thumbs-up and the two of them start their ascent again. She has to hand it to her: Signe is bigger than her and much better at this than she thought.

  Finally they get to the top of the cliff. Signe vaults over it, then turns, lies down, and reaches down to Mulaghesh. “Here. Give me your hand.”

  Mulaghesh looks up to see a beam of light shoot through the air ju
st above Signe. They’re close, she thinks. Too close. We were too damned slow!

  She hurriedly begins untying her end of the rope. “Signe! Get away! Get down, they’ll see you!”

  “Just jump up and grab my hand!”

  “Signe, you—”

  “Just do it already!”

  Mulaghesh jumps up. Her entire body fills with terror as she’s suspended over a precipitous drop for one blistering moment.

  Her fingers touch Signe’s. At first she’s convinced it won’t work, that her grip will pass through and she’ll go tumbling down the slope. But then Signe’s fingers clutch together, seizing Mulaghesh’s hand. She then leans down and hooks her elbow into Mulaghesh’s left arm, above her false hand.

  Then everything goes bright as a beam of light falls on them. “Halt!” cries a voice. “Freeze!”

  Neither of them speaks. Signe pulls Mulaghesh up, though their progress feels agonizingly slow.

  “I said freeze!” cries the voice. He sounds worried, agitated. Mulaghesh can see that Signe’s rifling is very visibly strapped to her back. That’s bad, thinks Mulaghesh.

  Mulaghesh kicks at the cliffside and pushes herself up and over. She tumbles over the edge and rolls away from the light. Signe tries to follow her, but she’s still recovering and moves just a little too slow.

  A shot. Mulaghesh hears Signe cry out. Mulaghesh rises up onto a knee and draws her carousel.

  Even in this moment, when she’s being fired on and she’s aware her comrade has been hit, she’s still painfully aware that these are her own soldiers, her own colleagues and brothers and sisters—and, as an officer, her own responsibility. So she fires three shots up into the trees above them, high but not too high—just enough that they seek cover, fast.

  It works: the beams of light go skittering through the trees, fleeing the shots. Mulaghesh hooks one arm around Signe and hauls her up, not bothering to look for where she’s hit.

  The two of them limp along through the trees, Mulaghesh stumbling and flailing and trying not to fall. Shots ring out, but none of them come close.