For her part, the sister didn't say anything, but bowed her head. "New Moon?" she said.
"I am now waxing."
"Blessed Abbess of Night."
"We have to act, before the city burns. But first the girl who helped me here. Quickly, quickly."
A moment later they brought the girl into the room. Britta knelt before her, doing her best to muster up her most reassuring smile. It felt fake, weak. "I'm sorry," she said. "Your parents. . ."
Britta need say no more. The girl nodded. Sniffled. Wiped her nose with her sleeve.
"You may stay with us, if you wish. Become a priestess, if you wish. Either way, we'll care for you and. . ."
"Yes," said the girl.
Britta enveloped the girl in her cloak and said "I take you, child, in the name of Eventide, the Night of Starless Sky, the Dark and all things done therein. May She hide you in Her shadow," and the girl was made one of them. "Now," Britta said, turning to the gathered sisters around her. "This city is about to go up in flames. Surely you can smell it on the air. We couldn't stop this night from happening, couldn't stop the riot before it started, but that doesn't mean we're helpless. It doesn't mean we're broken, or that nothing can be done. Ladies, Ankshara is still our home, and we'll do all we can to save it."
"So what should we do?" asked the girl. "What can we do?"
"I want every bucket in this city. Do you ladies understand? Kick down doors if you have to."
"You'll need axes and hooks," said the soldier Lucius had left to guard the old Abbess of Night. Did he know she was dead yet? Now that Britta had taken the position, would she be liable? If Weboshi was safe, and thus the abbey's innocence assured, then it didn't matter. So long as the wind didn't shift and–
Britta shook the thoughts away. She didn't have time to worry. She had to act. "Axes and hooks?"
"Yes, ma'am. You'll want to tear down buildings around the fire, so that they–"
"Do you know something about stopping fires?"
"It's – I mean yeah." The soldier shrugged, an oddly goofy – if not embarrassed – smile on his face. "It's part of our training. You'd be surprised how often soldiers are called to put out fires."
"Good, you're in charge."
"Ma'am?"
Britta didn't have time to debate, so she leveled her eyes at him. His own gaze dropped to the floor. "Yes, ma'am," he said.
"Good, listen to him."
"Listen to him?" asked the newest member of the abbey.
The sisters mumbled their agreement with the girl's question. Britta understand why they were hesitant. These soldiers had long been their oppressors. Expecting her sisters to risk their lives side by side with the people who'd held them down so long was asking a lot. "When this is over," she said, "we're going to have to work with the Regnals to rebuild this city. We need this alliance to work. Not just for our abbey, but our people. That hasn't changed. It may be old, and decadent, and wicked, but Ankshara is our home. We're not just going to save it tonight, we're going to ensure its future by integrating into the Regnal Empire. On our terms. This is how we survive."
All the sisters glared at her. Were they with her or against her? All her new found powers had fled from her. Is this what it meant to be the Abbess of Night, cursed with a fickle clairvoyance that came and went as it pleased? She could figure out the rules later. The most important thing at the moment was whether her sisters were on her side.
"May She hide you in Her shadow," the girl said in a thin, wobbly voice.
Then another said it, and another. Their voices rose together in a chant that crescendoed upwards and shattered into a cheer of confidence. They were going to do it. They were going to save Ankshara, and they were going to do it hand in hand with the Regnals.
Chapter 17
The smoke wasn't obvious at first. Perhaps if he hadn't had his head down in the fight, dealing with the war in front of him instead of taking a fuller view of his surroundings. . . Well, it was too late for second guessing now. As his eyes watered and nostrils burned, Lucius turned his focus to what to do next. The damn fools had set fires to the homes on either side of the street, never thinking they'd be trapped between walls of flames just as they were trapped between his two shield walls. So what now? Let them burn inside a holocaust of their own making?
No, Lucius couldn't do that. He couldn't let them go free, either. When the crowd collectively realized the depth of its trouble, it would panic, stampede. His and Captain Marcus's shield walls might hold, but probably wouldn't. He couldn't be responsible for that. He wouldn't be responsible for it.
Lucius couldn't retreat either. If he ordered his men to stand aside and let the crowd through, who was to say they wouldn't just keep on rioting? The crowd might take his saving their lives as an admission of surrender. It might encourage them to tear up the rest of the city as badly as they had the docks. It was Lucius's duty to protect the law abiding citizens behind his line, and the guilt of having backed up this far already tugged at him. He'd fallen back far enough. The home he'd taken Britta to burned. No one escaped. He could retreat no farther physically because he could retreat no further morally.
Get your head back in this, he thought. Emotions clouded judgment. A fatal flaw for any military commander. Moments like these were why he'd studied with the Disciples of the Sun Triumphant. He needed to see past the tears formed by smoke and shame. He needed to hear over the shouting crowd and his thundering heart. He needed clarity. Clarity.
And then it came. Over his shoulder, a brigade of cloaked sisters, buckets in hand, led by Britta and the soldier sent to guard the Abbess of Night, tromped down the street towards him. Dux Lucius thought he could forgive the soldier for abandoning his post given the circumstances – especially since the man started shouting orders, telling the sisters what to do to fight the fire. They split into two groups, one on each side of the road. With long hooks, hammers, axes, and other tools, they began tearing houses down on either side of Lucius's flank.
Whose idea had it been for the sisters to come down here in the first place? Lucius knew. He wanted to grab Britta up in his arms, swing her around, kiss her, tell her he was glad she was safe.
Kiss her? Where had that thought come from?
There was no time to ponder it, because the wind shifted, sweeping up from the docks. The flames shot into the sky. Worse, they raced up the street toward his line.
What Lucius feared most, happened. The crowd panicked. He shouted for his men to put their backs into it as the bodies pressed against their shields. He did likewise, leaning into the man in front of him hoping this one, tiny gesture, might stem the human flood. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be. The damn burst. His line disintegrated, and a mass of angry, scared people exploded through.
His shield wall gone, there was nothing left to do but survive. He and his men had done more than anyone could have asked. They'd gone above and beyond. He prayed they could escape the violence, rally at the garrison. He would meet them there. But first–
Lucius darted into the crowd, fighting against the current as he struggled towards the last place he'd seen Britta. He had to find her, pull her to safety before. . . Before. . .
Lucius stopped in the middle of the street as the crowd surged around him. The priestesses had set down their house breaking tools and formed a line of their own. Instead of shields, they linked hands. Britta at the head, they waded into the crowd. At the edge of the fire, the sisters started passing buckets down the line. When it reached Britta, she tossed it on the fire and sent the bucket back. A bucket at a time, the fire didn't even notice – but the crowd did. The sound of the riot faded. Around Lucius, the great mass of people hung their heads in shame.
Valex broke through the crowd and ran to Dux Lucius. "Sir! Sir! They've stopped fighting on our end. And here too, I see. What's happened?"
Frankly, Lucius wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't about to let the boy know that, though. "Tell Captain Marcus to find every bucket his men can get
a hold of and start putting the fire out on his side of the city. Go!"
Valex ran off, back towards the harbor. Lucius's men formed around him, asking for orders. "Help them," he said. "Help the priestesses put out the fire." And it wasn't just his men that followed his command, but the crowd. They joined the line, carrying buckets back and forth. They formed into new lines, doubling and tripling where they attacked the flames. People who'd been hiding since the riot began, stepped out of their homes and joined the fight. As Lucius joined Britta at the head, he realized there weren't any distinct lines fighting the fire anymore – only a giant, interlocking chain.
***
It was just before dawn when the last of the embers, wetted to ashy mush, drained down the gutters towards the sea. Britta and Lucius sat in the middle of the street. Caked in soot, blood and sweat; beaten and bruised, they leaned on each other as they watched the first hints of daybreak stretch over the horizon across the harbor.
"I hate this city," Lucius said.
Britta chuckled, weak, tired, but genuine. "I don't blame you."
"Shouldn't you be off to hide from the light?"
"Now that I'm the Abbess of Night, I think I'll change that particular taboo."
"You're the Abbess of Night?"
"Yes."
"So we're not to be married?"
Britta licked her thumb. She used it to scrub grime away from a cut on his forehead. "Of course we are."
"I thought, if you're the new Abbess of Night. . ."
"We're not celibate, if that's what you're thinking. I mean, come on."
Too tired to resist, Dux Lucius threw his head back and released a great guffaw that emanated from his belly. The sound reverberated up and down the street. So tired were his men, the sisters, the citizens, they barely even lifted their heads to see what was happening. Some even dozed in the same spots they'd been trying to kill each other in hours ago.
"I like to hear you laugh," said Britta. She put an arm around his shoulder and drew him close. They rested their heads together, watching as the sea burst into a magenta light that rippled far below them.
"What happens now?" asked Britta.
"Captain Marcus is securing Weboshi. My theory was right, she was on one of our ships. Marcus said it hadn't occurred to him not to search the Regnal ships – that when I told him to search the boats in the harbor, he assumed I meant all of them. Anyway, I'll take a cohort to the Governor's manse and confront my father."
"And if he's guilty?"
Dux Lucius sighed against her. It wasn't loud, but she felt it. "Then I'll take his place."
"The Emperor won't send a replacement?"
"No. Couldn't anyway. By then, we'll be married – the two heads of this city. And when he hears how we've rebuilt it, made it better than before, he'll leave us to rule it."
"Are you sure?"
"Not even a little."
Britta dug her elbow into his rib and Lucius laughed as he told her to stop. "We can do this, Britta. Tonight proved it. Together, we can make peace between our peoples once and for all. You're smiling."
Britta leaned back on her elbows and squint at the distance. "For all the violence and destruction, it was a good night. Maybe Ankshara needed to have part of it burned away, to fertilize new growth."
"Nice, but it doesn't quite explain the smile."
"I guess not. I learned a lot tonight – so much I can't process it all. It'll take years, if I can at all."
"That's a reason to smile?"
"My mother, Dux Lucius. The abbey told me she died. She didn't. I understand why they told me she did, but. . ."
"But?"
"I saw her so clearly as the soldiers dragged her away. She was so skinny, ragged, but the expression on her face was so peaceful. She'd done the right thing giving me to the abbey, and she knew it." Britta wiped a tear from her eyes and sniffled. "Sorry. I'm not getting maudlin. I grieved her loss a long time ago. It was just nice to see her face again."
"You're fine," said Dux Lucius. "Learn anything else?"
"I learned I can see things in both the literal and figurative dark."
"Figurative dark?"
"Yes, like into the heart of a man who's cut himself from the world emotionally because of his grief."
Lucius stiffened.
"A man," Britta said, "who feels guilt anytime he finds pleasure. A man who hurts so deeply he's afraid to love."
"Stop."
"She'd forgive you for finding love again. She'd want that for you."
"So you can see into the darkness beyond death?"
"No, but–"
"Then you don't know." Lucius pulled away from her. Stood. "Our business isn't done yet. We still have to deal with my father."
Chapter 18
The party of cloaked sisters and soldiers – Weboshi fettered in their midst – passed through the city streets as Ankshara woke. Those citizens who hadn't been party to the riot stole glances as the unusual parade went. The march from the docks to the Governor's manse was a sign of unity between the two peoples, a symbolic act as important as the real act of putting out the fire together not long before. Weboshi, by accident born of incident, had caused it all. Britta wanted to hug her, tell her it was going to be okay, but her new position as Abbess of Night prevented her. Was this what it meant to be the Abbess? A constant stream of lies, secrets, and omissions? It explained a lot about her predecessor.
Britta hated it, and hated herself for not being able to speak the words that brewed inside, for not being able to save Weboshi from her fate. If the Governor wasn't guilty, then what? Weboshi would hang – might hang anyway. Britta couldn't blame Dux Lucius for it. Weboshi had stolen his daughter, almost killed her. He was well within his rights to be angry. Was he right to be angry with Britta too? It's not as if she'd intentionally looked into his soul to uncover the secrets of his heart. She didn't ask for that information, it had been thrust on her.
That was the problem, she realized as they neared the Governor's manse. The Goddess had given her a lot of information, but not the information Britta needed. Couldn't this whole ordeal be cut short if the Goddess had simply told her if the Governor was guilty; and if he was, where to find proof? Another secret, piled like a brick a top a wall of more secrets. The Goddess shared nothing more than was necessary to achieve Her own goals. Could someone who lied so much ever be trustworthy?
Look at me, Britta thought, a mere mortal questioning the motives of a goddess. So what? How much pain could the world be spared if the gods kept their noses out of mortal business? No, Britta knew better than that. Mankind made its own mistakes, committed its own atrocities. If anything, her Goddess had mitigated the worst of that. It wasn't fair to castigate Her. But then, what harm would it have done to stop Weboshi from ever acting in the first place? So much hurt, so much pain, so much destruction could have been avoided if the Goddess had commanded the last Abbess of Night to act. She could have nipped all this in the bud. She'd revealed to Britta so much; why had she revealed what Dux Lucius thought too? Especially if bringing it up had only served to upset him. In the crucible of the riot and ensuing fire, Britta felt she and Lucius had forged a bond. Anyone who'd seen the pair sitting side-by-side, leaning on one another in the aftermath, would have thought them lovers. And what ruined that moment? Revealing what the Goddess had shown her in the darkness of Lucius's heart. It wasn't right – sabotage even. "Have faith," the last Abbess had told her, but how could Britta when it seemed like the Goddess moved the peace process forward only to immediately undercut it. What purpose did it serve?
Disloyal, Britta thought, like Weboshi; I am Her chief priestess, and I am disloyal. She would think on it later, pray, meditate, see if the Goddess would reveal more. Britta wished she could stop and do it now, but the reality of the situation faced her as the Governor, surrounded by his household guard, stepped onto the front porch of the manse.
"Son!" said the Governor, arms wide as he descended the steps. "You found her!"
"Yes," said Dux Lucius.
"Excellent! Excellent!" The Governor glanced over his shoulder at his guard. "Take her away," he said. "No more waiting. We can be done with this. How long until your men arrive with the Abbess of Night?"
Britta took a step forward but Captain Marcus quietly put a hand across her chest, restraining her.
"She's not coming," said Dux Lucius.
"What? Why not? Did she escape?"
"No, she died."
"Ah." The Governor scratched his chin. "Okay then, arrest her instead," he said indicating Britta.
Britta's heart pounded. Could he do that? The last Abbess might have been guilty in the sense she hadn't acted to prevent Weboshi's crime, but Britta was blameless.
"I won't," said Lucius
The Governor's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand."
"I won't arrest Britta, the new Abbess of Night. I don't know if the old Abbess was involved, but I'm certain Britta wasn't."
"That can come out during the trial. I'm sure she's innocent to, but–"
"There won't be a trail."
The Governor took a step back from his son. His skin stretched taut across his face. "There won't?"
"No. I want to release Weboshi."
"But Ava–"
"I know what Weboshi did," said Dux Lucius. "Believe me, I know. Between what Britta has told me and what Captain Marcus learned from interrogating her, I've learned much about her. She was angry at us – rightfully from what I can tell. We took one daughter from her. In her mind, when Britta and I marry, we'll be taking a second. Weboshi was wrong. She was wrong to poison Ava, and she was wrong to kidnap her. I know that, and she knows that."
"You're not making sense, son. She wronged you and Ava in some revenge scheme."
"I know. I forgive her."
"Forgive her? Why?"
"She acted on emotion, let if blind her into doing something she wouldn't have done otherwise. Forgiving her – releasing her – is the right thing to do. And if you don't accept that, father, then think of it this way: the city just had a riot. Regnals and Anksharans came together to save the city from burning down. Their chief heirs are about to marry each other. Releasing Weboshi would be an act of of magnanimity and mercy that would impress both sides."
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