The Poppy War

by R. F. Kuang

  Rin climbed off the corpse and sucked in a great, heaving breath. Then she vomited.

  “I’m sorry,” said Nezha when he awoke.

  “Don’t be,” Rin said. She lay slumped against the wall beside him. The entire contents of her stomach were splattered on the sidewalk. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It is my fault. You didn’t freeze when you saw it.”

  “I did freeze. An entire squadron froze.” Rin jerked her thumb back toward the Federation carcasses in the market square. “And you helped me snap out of it. Don’t blame yourself.”

  “I was stupid. I should have known that little girl—”

  “Neither of us knew,” Rin said curtly.

  Nezha said nothing.

  “Do you have a sister?” she asked after a while.

  “I used to have a brother,” Nezha said. “A little brother. He died when we were young.”

  “Oh.” Rin didn’t know what to say to that. “Sorry.”

  Nezha pulled himself to a sitting position. “When the chimei was screaming at me it felt like—like it was my fault again.”

  Rin swallowed hard. “When I killed it, it felt like murder.”

  Nezha gave her a long look. “Who was it for you?”

  Rin didn’t answer that.

  They limped back to the base together in silence, occasionally ducking around a dark corner to make sure they weren’t being followed. They did so more out of habit than necessity. Rin guessed there wouldn’t be any Federation soldiers in that part of the city for a while.

  When they reached the junction that split the Cike headquarters and the Seventh Division’s base, Nezha stopped and turned to face her.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  He was so beautiful then, standing right in the space of the road where a beam of moonlight fell across his face, illuminating one side and casting long shadows on the other.

  He looked like glazed porcelain, preserved glass. He was a sculptor’s approximation of a person, not human himself. He can’t be real, she thought. A boy made of flesh and bone could not be so painfully lovely, so free of any blemish or flaw.

  “So. About earlier,” he said.

  Rin folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Not a good time.”

  Nezha laughed humorlessly. “We’re fighting a war. There’s never going to be a good time.”

  “Nezha . . .”

  He put his hand on her arm. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve been a real dick to you. And I had no right to talk about your commander like that. I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you,” she said cautiously, and found that she meant it.

  Altan was waiting in his office when she returned to base. He opened the door even before she knocked.

  “It’s gone?”

  “It’s gone,” Rin confirmed. She swallowed; her heart was still racing. “Sir.”

  He nodded curtly. “Good.”

  They regarded each other in silence for a moment. He was hidden in the shadow of the door. Rin couldn’t see the expression on his face. She was glad of that. She couldn’t face him right now. She couldn’t look at him without seeing his face burning, breaking under her hands, dissolving into a pulpy mess of flesh and gore and sinew.

  All thoughts of Nezha had been pushed out of her mind. How could that possibly matter right now?

  She had just killed Altan.

  What was that supposed to mean? What did it say that the chimei had thought she wouldn’t be able to kill Altan, and that she had killed him anyway?

  If she could do this, what couldn’t she do?

  Who couldn’t she kill?

  Maybe that was the kind of anger it took to call the Phoenix easily and regularly the way Altan did. Not just rage, not just fear, but a deep, burning resentment, fanned by a particularly cruel kind of abuse.

  Maybe she’d learned something after all.

  “Anything else?” Altan asked.

  He took a step toward her. She flinched. He must have noticed it, and still he moved closer. “Something you want to tell me?”

  “No, sir,” she whispered. “There’s nothing.”

  Chapter 18

  “The riverbanks are clear,” Rin said. “Small signs of activity on the northwestern corner, but nothing we haven’t seen before. Probably just transporting more supplies to the far end of camp. I doubt they’ll try today.”

  “Good,” said Altan. He marked a point on his map, then set the brush down. He rubbed at his temples and paused like he’d forgotten what he was going to say.

  Rin fidgeted with her sleeve.

  They hadn’t trained together in weeks. It was just as well. There was no time for training now. Months into the siege, the Nikara position in Khurdalain was dire. Even with the added reinforcements of the Seventh Division, the port city was perilously close to falling under Federation occupation. Three days before, the Fifth Division had lost a major town in the suburbs of Khurdalain that had served as a transportation center, exposing much of the eastern part of the city to the Federation.

  Beyond that, they’d also lost a good deal of their imported supplies, which forced the army onto even poorer rations than they’d been subsisting on. They were surviving on rice gruel and yams now, two things that Baji declared he would never touch again after this war was over. As it was, they were more likely to chew down handfuls of raw rice than receive fully cooked meals from the mess hall.

  Jun’s frontline units were inching backward, and suffering heavy casualties while doing so. The Federation took stronghold after stronghold on the riverbank. The water of the creek had been red for days, forcing Jun to send out men to bring back barrels of water not contaminated by putrefied corpses.

  Apart from downtown Khurdalain, the Nikara still occupied three crucial buildings on the wharf—two warehouses and a former Hesperian trading office—but their increasingly limited manpower was spread too thin to hold the buildings indefinitely.

  At least they had shattered fantasies of an early Federation victory. They knew from intercepted missives that Mugen had expected to take Khurdalain within a week. But the siege had now stretched on for months. Rin realized in the abstract that the longer they fended Mugen off at Khurdalain, the more time Golyn Niis had to assemble defenses. They had already bought more time than they could have hoped for.

  But that didn’t make Khurdalain feel like any less of an utter defeat.

  “One more thing,” she said.

  Altan nodded jerkily for her to continue.

  She spoke quickly. “The Fifth wanted a meeting about the beach offensive. They want to move it up before they lose any more troops at the warehouse. The day after tomorrow at the latest.”

  Altan raised an eyebrow. “Why is the Fifth conveying a request through you?”

  The request had actually been conveyed through Nezha, speaking on behalf of his father, the Dragon Warlord, whom Jun had approached because he didn’t want to give Altan legitimacy by going to his headquarters. Rin found the interdivisional politics incredibly annoying, but could do nothing about it.

  “Because at least one of them likes me. Sir.”

  Altan blinked. Rin immediately regretted speaking.

  Before he could answer, a scream shattered the morning air.

  Altan reached the top of the sentry tower first, but Rin was right behind him, her heart pounding furiously. Had there been an attack? But she saw no Federation soldiers in the vicinity, no arrows flying overhead . . .

  Qara lay collapsed on the floor of the tower. She was alone. As they watched, she writhed against the stone floor, making low, tortured moans in the back of her throat. Her eyes had rolled back in her head. Her limbs seized uncontrollably.

  Rin had never seen anyone react to a wound like this. Had Qara been poisoned? But why would the Federation target a sentry, and no one else? Rin and Altan instinctively crouched low, out of the line of potential fire, but t
here were no subsequent arrows, if there had even been a first. Except for Qara’s twitching, they saw no disturbances at all.

  Altan dropped to his knees. He grasped Qara by her shoulders, dragging her to a sitting position. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “It hurts . . .”

  Altan shook her hard. “Answer me.”

  Qara just moaned again. Rin was stunned by how roughly Altan treated her, despite her obvious agony. But, she realized belatedly, Qara had no visible injuries. There was no blood on the ground, or on her clothes.

  Altan smacked Qara’s face lightly to get her attention. “Is he back?”

  Rin looked between them in confusion. Who was he talking about? Qara’s brother?

  Qara’s face twisted in agony, but she managed to nod.

  Altan cursed under his breath. “Is he hurt? Where is he?”

  Chest heaving, Qara clenched the front of Altan’s tunic. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if she was concentrating on something.

  “The east gate,” she managed. “He’s here.”

  By the time Rin had helped Qara down the stairs, Altan had disappeared from sight.

  She looked up and saw archers of the Fifth Division standing frozen at the top of the wall, arrows fitted to their bows. Rin could hear clashing steel on the other side, but none of the soldiers were shooting.

  Altan had to be on the other side. Were they afraid they might hit him? Or were they just unwilling to help?

  She helped Qara to a sitting position by the nearest wall and made a mad dash up to the wall overlooking the east gate.

  On the other side of the gate, an entire squadron of Federation soldiers clustered around Altan. He fought astride a horse, slashing his way through in a frenzied effort to get back to the gate. His arms moved faster than Rin’s eyes could follow. His trident flashed once, twice in the noon sun, glistening with blood. Each time he wrenched it back out, a Federation soldier collapsed.

  The crowd of soldiers thinned as soldier after soldier dropped, and finally Rin saw the reason why Altan had not summoned his flames. A young man was seated in front of him on the horse, sagging back against his arms. His face and chest were covered with blood. His skin had turned the same pallid white as his hair. For a moment Rin thought—hoped—that he was Jiang, but this man was shorter, visibly younger, and much thinner.

  Altan was taking on the Federation soldiers as best he could, but they had backed him up against the gate.

  Down below, Rin saw the Cike had gathered on the other side.

  “Open the doors!” Baji shouted. “Let them back through!”

  The soldiers exchanged reluctant looks and did nothing.

  “What are you waiting for?” Qara shrieked.

  “Jun’s orders,” one of them stammered. “We’re not to open it at any cost—”

  Rin looked back over the wall and saw another squadron of Federation reinforcements rapidly approaching. She leaned over the wall and waved her hands to get Baji’s attention. “There are more coming!”

  “Fuck it.” Baji kicked one of the soldiers out of his way, jammed the butt of his rake into the stomach of another, and began cranking the gate open himself while Suni fended off the guards behind him.

  The heavy doors inched ponderously open.

  Standing directly behind the opening crack, Qara whipped arrow after arrow out of her quiver, firing them rapidly one after the next into the crowd of Federation soldiers. Under a hail of arrow fire, the Mugenese fell back long enough for Altan to squeeze through the blockade.

  Baji cranked the gates the other way until they slammed shut.

  Altan yanked on the reins, forcing his horse to a sudden stop.

  Qara ran up to him, shouting in a language Rin didn’t understand. Her tirade was interspersed with a variety of colorful Nikara invectives.

  Altan held up a hand to silence her. He dismounted in one fluid movement, and then helped the young man down. The man staggered as his legs touched the ground; he slumped against the horse for support. Altan offered him a shoulder, but the man shook him off.

  “Is he there?” Altan demanded. “Did you see him?”

  Chest heaving, the man nodded.

  “Do you have schematics?” Altan asked.

  The man nodded again.

  What were they talking about? Rin shot Unegen a questioning glance, but Unegen was equally nonplussed.

  “Okay,” Altan said. “Okay. So. You’re an idiot.”

  Then he and Qara both began yelling at him.

  “Are you stupid—”

  “—could have been killed—”

  “—sheer recklessness—”

  “—don’t care how powerful you think you are, how dare you—”

  “Look,” said the man, whose cheeks had gone as white as snow. He had begun to tremble. “I’m happy to discuss this, really, but I’m currently leaking life out three different wounds and I think I may pass out. Would you give me a moment?”

  Altan, Qara, and the newcomer did not come out of Altan’s office for the rest of that afternoon. Rin was sent to fetch Enki for medical attention, but was then told by Altan in no uncertain terms to get lost. She milled around the city, bored and unsettled and without orders. She wanted to ask one of the other operatives for some explanation of what had just happened, but Unegen and Baji were gone on a reconnaissance assignment and did not return until dinner.

  “Who was that?” Rin asked as soon as they appeared in the mess hall.

  “The man of dramatic entrance? He’s Altan’s lieutenant,” said Unegen. He sat down on the bench across from her. He adopted a contemptuous, proud affectation. “The one and only Chaghan Suren of the Hinterlands.”

  “Took him long enough,” Baji grumbled. “Where’s he been, on vacation?”

  “That was Qara’s brother? Is that why . . .” Rin didn’t know how to ask politely about Qara’s seizure, but Baji read the puzzled look on her face.

  “They’re anchor twins. Some sort of . . . ah, some kind of spiritual link,” said Baji. “Qara explained it to us once, but I forget the details. Long story short, they’re bound together. Cut Chaghan and Qara bleeds. Kill Qara and Chaghan dies. Something like that.”

  This concept was not wholly new to Rin. She recalled that Jiang had discussed this kind of dependency before. She had read that shamans of the Hinterlands would sometimes anchor themselves to each other to enhance their abilities. But after seeing Qara on the floor like that, Rin didn’t think it was an advantage but rather an awful vulnerability.

  “Where’s he been?”

  “All over the place.” Baji shrugged. “Altan sent him out of Khurdalain months ago, right around the time we got word they’d invaded Sinegard.”

  “But why? What was he doing?”

  “He didn’t tell us. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Baji nodded, his eyes fixed over her shoulder.

  She turned around and jumped. Chaghan stood directly behind her; she hadn’t even heard him approach.

  For someone who had been bleeding out that morning, Chaghan looked remarkably well. His left arm was carefully bandaged up to his torso, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. Rin wondered exactly what Enki had done to heal him so quickly.

  Up close, Chaghan’s resemblance to Qara was obvious. He was taller than his sister, but they possessed the same slight, birdlike frame. His cheeks were high and hollow; his eyes embedded within deep sockets that cast a shadow over his pale gaze.

  “May I join you?” he asked. The way he spoke made it sound like an order, not a question.

  Unegen immediately shifted to make space. Chaghan circled the table and sat directly opposite Rin. He placed his elbows delicately on the surface, steepled his fingers together, and rested his chin on his fingertips.

  “So you’re the new Speerly,” he said.

  He reminded Rin very much of Jiang. It wasn’t simply his white hair or his slender frame, but the way he looked at her, as if he saw straight through her, not looking at her at
all but a place behind her. When he looked at her, Rin felt the unsettling sensation of being searched, as if he could see straight through her clothing.

  She had never seen eyes like his. They were abnormally huge, dominating his otherwise narrow face. He had no pupils or irises.

  She forced a facade of calm and picked up her spoon. “That’s me.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Altan said you were having performance issues.”

  Baji choked and coughed into his food.

  Rin felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

  Was that what Altan and Chaghan had spent the afternoon discussing? The idea of Altan talking about her shortcomings to this newcomer was deeply humiliating.

  “Have you managed to call the Phoenix once since Sinegard?” Chaghan inquired.

  I bet I could call it on you right now, you twit. Her fingers tightened around her spoon. “I’ve been working on it.”

  “Altan seems to think you’re stuck in a rut.”

  Unegen looked like he dearly wished he were sitting anywhere else.

  Rin gritted her teeth. “Well, he thought wrong.”

  Chaghan shot her a patronizing smile. “I can help, you know. I’m his Seer. This is what I’m good at. I traverse the world of spirit. I speak to the gods. I don’t summon deities, but I know my way around the Pantheon better than anyone else. And if you’re having issues, I can help you find your way back to your god.”

  “I’m not having issues,” she snapped. “I was scared at the marsh. I am not now.”

  And that was the truth. She suspected she could call the Phoenix now, right in this mess hall, if Altan asked her to. If Altan would deign to talk to her beyond giving her orders. If Altan trusted her enough to give her an assignment above patrolling stretches of the city where nothing ever happened.

  Chaghan raised an eyebrow. “Altan isn’t so sure.”

  “Well, maybe Altan should get his head out of his ass,” she snapped, then immediately regretted speaking. Disappointing Altan was one thing; complaining about it to his lieutenant was another.