From below, she figured that she would look like nothing more than a pile of debris, and as she remained still, waiting and watching for the others, her eyes began to grow heavy. She stifled a yawn, and felt sleep tugging at her, pulling her down into its warm embrace. She fought to keep her eyes open, to remain vigilant, but the truth was, she was feeling safe here in her perch. And between that feeling, and the warmth of being under the blanket, she could fight her tiredness no longer, and her eyes drooped closed.
Catelyn, ten sojourns old, ran headlong through the streets, scuffing and scraping her skin on rough stones. Her stinging feet were bleeding. Behind her, she could sense the other children catching up to her.
Barefoot! they called after her. Come back and play! She was blind again. Catelyn’s heart raced, in complete panic. She had to get away.
She reached for her bubble, but this was before she had learned how to form it.
She was stumbling in the dark, literally.
She felt something slam into the side of her head. A shoe, thrown by one of the children pursuing her. She fell to her knees hard, the pain causing her to cry out.
Over here! she heard one of the children cry.
She heard the feet of dozens, in pursuit of her, gaining ground as she tried to crawl away on her hands and knees, which were now bleeding as well. She tried to speak, to plead with them for mercy, but no recognizable sound escaped her. And then she realized why.
She had no tongue. Inside her mouth behind her teeth, all that remained was a vast absence and the salty iron tang of blood. She spat out a gob of blood and moaned. The footsteps stopped, gathering around her. She was surrounded.
What’d you say, Barefoot? one of the children shouted in her ear. She recoiled from the screams of the mad child at her side.
Lookit, she’s tryin’a get away.
She’s stupid. She can’t go anywhere.
Catelyn knew they were right. Another blow on the side of her head, and inside her head she felt dizziness fighting with the pain of her feet, her knees, her head, and the acrid foulness as gobs of her own blood continued filling her mouth. All of these sensations, in combination, threatened to overwhelm her.
Then from out of nowhere, a familiar voice. This one older, rougher, and cold as ice.
You’re useless now.
The words awakened something deep inside and she changed. She was no longer a child in her dream. She stood now, clothed in bloody strips of her thieve’s garb. The voice froze her heart, and sent chills throughout her entire body.
You’re useless now. Her heart sank and she shivered as the words were repeated.
It wasn’t the words themselves that caused her anxiety. She had long ago come to terms with that proclamation, and had proven it to be the lie that it was. No, what had frozen her heart was the voice itself, and as she replayed the memory in her dream, she felt the voice stab out of the darkness of her past and into her like a dagger through her heart.
I believe in the Empire. This isn’t a fatal wound. If you are strong enough, you will live and become something hard, and cold. You will become a benefit to the Empire. If you are not, then you will die and the Empire will be stronger for it.
Six sojourns may have passed, but she could hear him now, as clearly as if he were standing right in front of her. The voice had changed in tone, but not that much. She cursed herself that she hadn’t made the connection before, but now it was as clear as anything she had ever understood.
Her recognition of the identity of the speaker of those words sent her spiraling out of her dream, and she awoke on the scaffolding, and put her head into her hands, a silent scream reaching up from inside, strangling her voice with one word poisoning her tongue.
Ortis.
Chapter 22
Ortis approached the warehouse from the street, watching for any observers, particularly Imperial soldiers. He saw none. He wished for this all to be over. He had reluctantly agreed to the girl’s terms, but she’d made it clear that she would not do as he needed her to do. Not until he did something for her first. Again, as so often happened when his thoughts turned to the girl, he was overcome by a sense of confusion and self-doubt. And in the end, her Will had won out.
His life before meeting her had been a series of certainties, one after another. Uriel had always provided that kind of clarity to him. He’d been the bedrock upon which Ortis had based much of his life, much of his own self. And then he’d met her and everything had changed.
From that night, he felt like a moth drawn to a flame, unable and unwilling to stop his own obliteration. He hadn’t known it that first night, what her purpose was to him, but it had all become clear to him in the marketplace. When he’d stood there, engulfed in her presence, everything had fallen into place. He had known then, that she was to be his end. His release from this life.
He didn’t know how or why he knew this, nor did he question its origin, he only knew that it was truth. After a lifetime of living for the Will of another, he had finally found his own.
The warehouse appeared empty upon entering through the side door, but he knew better. He had a strong sense of her presence. Catelyn was here. His eyes drifted upward to the ceiling, where he knew she would be. Like a bird, she seemed much more comfortable above the ground than on it. He spotted her pack, lying on copper scaffolding that had turned green with age, but she was not there. Another whisper passed, with him scanning the remaining rafters, until he spotted her small, dirt-covered feet dangling from one of the beams.
“Catelyn,” he called up softly. He knew that he wouldn’t need to shout; he had witnessed firsthand the strength of her senses, feats which reminded him, in a way, of Uriel. The girl didn’t respond. He walked to the ladder and climbed up to the metal scaffold, his booted feet clanking noisily on the metal walkway.
“Don’t come any closer,” the girl called out to him, and he could hear the pain in her voice. He didn’t know why, but her sorrow pulled at him, and he ached to comfort her. But he ignored that impulse and did as she commanded and stood his ground.
Whispers passed, and finally she pulled her feet up and stood up on the rafters, and he could see her looking down at him. Her face was dirt-covered, with the exception of two clear tracks streaking her cheeks from her eyes, indicating that she had been crying for some time. Again, Ortis felt a stab of compassion, a feeling he was no longer completely uncomfortable with, even if he couldn’t understand its origin.
“Are you well?” he asked tentatively. For answer, Catelyn held up the dagger he had given her days before, for protection on their journey, additionally so that she could fulfill her part of their agreement. He could see fresh blood dripping off of the blade, and his heart leapt into his stomach. He reached out and gripped the copper railing in his hands.
“What’s happened?” he demanded. She showed him by turning her other hand so that he could see the cut marks she had made along her lower arm. “What have you done?” he asked.
“I…” she started to say, then trailed off, and balanced
along the metal beam, and slipped down so that she was sitting on the beam, facing him as he stood beneath her. “What. Have. You. Done?” he repeated, letting some of his anger show.
He could see her blood dripping down her hand and onto the filthy warehouse floor.
“I had a dream,” she began. “I remembered something. Something important from when I was younger. From the day I lost my family. When I lost my sight.”
Ortis felt a buzzing begin in his mind, as though something lived behind his eyes, beneath his skin.
Something...something was not right.
Catelyn looked directly into his eyes, her glowing green gaze piercing him with its intensity, and rooting him to the spot where he stood. The girl continued recounting her dream.
“After my family was brutally murdered, I was alone. I don’t know for how long. Alone, as my parent’s bodies turned cold, as the bloodfire which stole my vision worked its way across
my face, and one of the evil men who had come to kill my parents and steal me from them suffered an agonizing death.”
The buzzing grew louder, and Ortis felt sweat beginning to pool between his shoulder blades. His upper lip quivered. He felt his grip on the metal railing tighten until his hands hurt.
“After some number of prayers, finally some Imperial soldiers arrived. I didn’t know what to expect, truthfully. A quick death, most likely. Or perhaps to be taken to an orphanage, or to even to a slavemaster to be sold as manual labor or worse.”
Ortis could hardly hear Catelyn’s words now as the buzzing in his ears took hold of him. He released the metal railing and brought his hands to his ears, trying to block out the noise, but it was useless...the buzzing was inside his head. And he could still hear Catelyn’s words as she told the rest of the story.
“But no, on this day, the worst of my life, there was no mercy to be had. Instead, an Imperial officer...and I now know who that officer was...left me there to die. Alone. Like a piece of trash.”
The buzzing grew louder and louder until everything else in Ortis’ world fell away, and the memory came flooding back.
Ortis sat looking at the reports of the central district’s dispatches, trying to remain awake. Every sojourn at this time, Uriel sent him on these inspection tours of the various Imperial outposts, and every sojourn, Ortis grew so tired of the bureaucratic mess that he often thumbed through the reports without even bothering to read them. The entire process was just a formality.
Ortis knew that the sole purpose of these tours was to provide the local constabularies with the knowledge that the Emperor was watching, and to deter sloppiness and negligence. Ortis disagreed with the Emperor on this particular point. Fear was enough to keep the locals in line. Ortis had personally witnessed this for sojourns, and told him this, yet Uriel still insisted that he be the face of these oversight efforts.
Ortis was reading through the detailed case file of an altercation over a crate of produce being delivered to the wrong merchant, when an Imperial soldier bounded into the room. Gilliam was his name. Ortis made a point of learning every soldier’s name, at least the ones he dealt with directly. It helped inspire loyalty if the men under your command believed you cared about them as individuals. It was all a farce of course; they were as expendable to him as a sturdy pair of boots, and like boots, they were only as reliable as your upkeep.
“What is it, Gilliam” Ortis barked, putting the sheaf of papers down on the desk.
The young man Gilliam, with a face like malformed iron and a number of blackened teeth, stopped and snapped him a rigid salute.
“Highness, we’ve received an eyewit-”
Ortis cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“It’s not Highness, Gilliam. I’m no royal. Address me as General or Ortis.”
Gilliam’s face reddened.
“Your pardon, General. We’ve received eyewitness, or rather ear witness reports that there has been some kind of altercation involving multiple citizens in the sixty-third quadrant.”
Ortis sighed.
“What kind of altercation?” he asked tiredly.
“It’s unclear, General. But the witness said she’d never heard screams like that before in her life.”
Ortis paused to consider the man. He had half a mind to tell the incompetent young man to handle it himself. What bother was it to him?
But as he looked at the desk, filled with papers, he decided that perhaps a break was overdue. “Gilliam, grab two men, and we’ll go check it out.”
As he stood, Gilliam snapped another salute and ran for the doorway. Ortis picked up and wrapped his sword belt around his waist. He strode out of the office and down the steps to the hallway, and then out into the courtyard of the constabulary. He waited a whisper until Gilliam returned with two of the other soldiers. Rathburn. And Millerd. Strong, capable men. He had watched them train earlier that span. Maybe Gilliam was smarter than he looked.
He signaled for the men to move out, and they sprinted ahead.
It was a four block march to the scene of the altercation. The building was nondescript, like every other housing unit in the Seat. The three men walked, with swords drawn, into the building ahead of Ortis, and he followed up two flights of stairs. As he reached the threshold of the unit where the altercation had taken place, he heard Millerd’s voice.
“What a mess.”
Ortis approached and stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. On the ground, two bodies, a man and a woman, lay closely together with their guts spilled across the floor. Nearby, another man with a sword rammed through his middle lay face up, his lifeless eyes already providing nourishment for flies. Further away, a third man lay with his face almost completely eaten away by something, and yet somehow he was still alive and twitching. Even Ortis felt a twinge at the sight.
Finally, in the center of it all, a young child crying quietly, her face ruined and her eyes a patchwork of melted flesh. A girl, thought Ortis. Damaged. Weak. He discounted her as soon as he noticed her.
“Divines, what…” Gilliam said, and then he stumbled to the corner of the room and vomited.
“Ugh. Bloodfire. I’ve seen this before. Nasty stuff from the Before,” Rathburn said.
“Yeah, that stuff eats right through anything,” Millerd offered. “Look, you can see right through to his brain an’ all.”
That comment sent Gilliam into another round of sicking up. Millerd and Rathburn were correct, though. He too had seen the effects of Bloodfire firsthand. Or rather, what Bloodfire could become. He thought of the Emperor’s naked torso, criss-crossed in beautiful, undulating scars.
“Enough,” Ortis said. “We’re here to investigate.”
He drew his sword, stepped over to the dying man, and placed it point first directly through the man’s chest into his heart. The man gave one last sputtering breath from one of the orifices in his melted face, and then expired.
“That was a mercy,” Rathburn commented, looking at Ortis.
“That was convenience” he replied, annoyed.
“No skin off my bones,” Rathburn returned, shrugging his shoulders and turning away.
Ortis waved to the three men, and they made their way around the room, conducting their investigation. Gilliam walked to the kitchen, looking for valuables, opening and closing drawers and looking through cupboards. Rathburn and Millerd took to dragging the bodies away to the corner of the room.
Then Ortis heard the young girl cough.
Gilliam stopped his rummaging to look at the girl, then look up at Ortis. Ortis simply shook his head, and Gilliam resumed his searching.
“Can you...help?” the girl said quietly, her voice quavering.
Ortis ignored the comment, as did his men. There was nothing to be done. They all knew. The girl would be the fifth victim of this altercation today. The men signaled to Ortis that they had completed their tasks. He nodded.
“Alright. You three, take the bodies and report in. I’ll be right there. I’ve just got to take care of this last thing,” he said, nodding at the girl.
“Sir,” all of the men responded.
Gilliam, Rathburn and Millerd each walked to one of the bodies, hefted them onto a shoulder, and made their way out of the living unit, and down the stairs to the street. Ortis remained behind, with the body of the disemboweled woman.
“Please, don’t take my family…”the girl said, and then she collapsed to her knees sobbing uncontrollably, no tears able to form on the ruins of her doll-like face.
Ortis finally looked at the girl for more than a breath, and closer at where she had been marked by the bloodfire. It had taken her eyes, and most of the upper part of her face, but she had somehow survived her injuries. The worst had already been done, it seemed. Especially if what Uriel had told him of Bloodfire was even half true.
Ortis walked toward the girl and the woman’s body, which he could safely assume was the young girl’s mother and readied his sword to cut t
he girl’s throat. As he moved closer, something about the mother, lying lifeless on the floor, caught his attention. He stopped, looking down at the woman’s still, bloodstained face.
Her dead green eyes stared up at him, and he felt his bowels turn to water.
Sera.
Sera, the prostitute, one of tens of women who had been sent to service his men for sojourns. Who he himself had experienced a number of times. Who, among all of the whores who had been employed in such service, he had taken note of because of her tenderness, even in the face of the horrors she was forced to endure in the camps day after day. Ortis felt his hands begin to sweat in his gauntlets, the sword feeling like a lead weight in his grip. He looked down now at the girl, and saw that same mouth, those same hands.
He felt something unusual then. Mercy. And his task grew less clear.
“Please…” the girl said.
Ortis felt conflicting desires within himself as he looked down at the helpless girl. In one breath, he nearly cleaved her head from her shoulders, and in the other, he wished to take this girl away from this place, and give her just a tenth of the kindness that her mother had shown to him and his men. But he closed himself off from those feelings, and drew himself up with his inner strength, given to him to serve the Empire.
Finally, he reached out and cupped her chin, turning her face up to look at him, if she still had eyes. Her face winced at the pain of that movement, and he looked at the whorled scarring across her cheeks and eyes, again reminding him of the Emperor’s body. Thoughts of Uriel brought his mind back to the task at hand. He decided on his course of action, and laid it out for her so that she could understand.
Bloodfire (The Sojourns of Rebirth) Page 42