City of Lies

by Sam Hawke

  I felt a strange sensation deep inside me, like an ancient but familiar wound. Religion had been part of what drove many of our ancestors to flee here centuries ago. That group of misfits and, yes, rebels had escaped a brutal religious state and sought refuge here. Doubtless those old fears had created a certain reluctance by some to mix the governance of a country with its spirituality, and perhaps led the gradual move away from religious practices in the cities over time. But Silasta had so much to offer. Designed as a testament against the worst civilization had to offer—violence, oppression, cruelty, and ignorance—it stood as a beacon of peace, learning, and grace. Perhaps the city had few temples and shrines, but a lack of shared belief couldn’t justify a violent rebellion. We were still the same people, and how could our supposed heresy harm believers out on the estates?

  Jov drew his left leg up and rubbed the bottom of his shin as though it pained him, though I saw no wound. “There’s something more. Something … something happened down there. I can’t really…” He trailed off, tone turning embarrassed. “No, it’s nothing.”

  “There,” the physic said, daubing the stitching with a pale ointment. “If the flesh turns red and hot, you must come back, yes?”

  Jovan thanked her and stood gingerly. “Where’s Tain, do you know?”

  I helped refasten the cording on his paluma, which had been pulled down to expose his shoulder. “There.” I pointed to a familiar dark, curly head by the main doorway. We wound through the throng, trying to block out the heartrending cries and moans from all around.

  Tain was comforting a sobbing young man beside a woman’s body. Long corkscrew ringlets obscured her face and chest, but left exposed the ragged hole in her belly. Perhaps his mother, or aunt? His grief was infectious. My own breath hitched in my throat and my eyes burned. Etan would never comfort us again, or offer us wisdom. All we had was each other, and I could have lost Jov today.

  Outside the hospital, the evening lay heavy around us, moonlight skimming the thick shadows. We sat on a bench by the canal in silence, listening to the lap lap of the water and the sigh of the breeze in the bushes. Tain’s posture was rigid and he avoided looking at Jovan.

  “Honored Chancellor,” someone said, and we looked up. A boy wearing a messenger’s sash and carrying a bottle and a cloth parcel, hopped from foot to foot. His hair stuck up in the middle of his head like a little crest. He looked vaguely familiar—possibly a child of one of the Families, though he was only ten or twelve, too young for identifying tattoos. “Credo Marco asked if you could come to the Warrior Guildhall when you are available.”

  “Thanks, Erel,” Tain said. “Did he say what it was about?”

  “Yes, Chancellor. It was to do with the deserters, he said.”

  “Deserters?” Jov asked, frowning. “We’re in a siege! Where can anyone desert to?”

  “Marco’s trying to work out what to do with people who aren’t showing up to their sectors for their duties. I imagine he’s worried about how many people didn’t respond to the call today. He’s calling them deserters, for want of a more appropriate word.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  Tain sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Honor-down, I don’t know. It’s hard to blame them, but we need every person we’ve got if we’re going to make this work.” He stood. “I’d better go, anyway.”

  “Have something to drink and eat first, Honored Chancellor,” Erel said, thrusting the bottle and parcel toward Tain. “I picked it up for you on the way.”

  Jov intercepted the items. “I’m thirsty,” he said, taking them off the bemused boy. “And hungry. The wound and all. You don’t mind, do you, Chancellor?” When he caught the messenger boy staring at him, slack-jawed, he added dryly, “Nor you, Erel?”

  The boy mumbled something about “not my place,” but I was looking at Tain, and saw his frustrated gaze dart from the bottle Jov raised to his lips to the angry wound on his shoulder, and back again. I suddenly understood the awkwardness between them.

  Jov passed him the bottle once Erel had left. “It’s just water,” he said. As Tain took the bottle, the glance they exchanged, the torment in Tain’s eyes, made my chest hurt.

  “You saved my life today,” Jov said, reading Tain as easily as I had. “If you and Marco hadn’t shot those men when you did…”

  “You offer yourself in my place every day,” Tain replied.

  “That’s my duty.” Of all the things my brother held dear, his honor, our family’s honor, was always at the forefront. The duty that should have been mine had always ruled our lives. A wave of bitterness and failure swamped me, familiar as an old friend.

  “Yes,” Tain said, but his mouth twisted. “I have to go.”

  We watched him leave, silent, neither looking at the other. I felt like crying. Between Tain’s guilt, Jovan’s fears, and my resentments, this war was making strangers of us all.

  * * *

  “How many deserters are there?” Nara’s heavy eyebrows were drawn together in her wrinkled face, giving her the look of a very angry papna fruit. It had only been a day since the attack but the shock had worn off and everyone seemed ready to assign blame. Jov was holding his injured side awkwardly and his expression suggested he was fantasizing about poisoning half of the whining, self-important men and women around the table.

  “So far, we have rounded up thirty-two,” Marco replied. He rubbed his head. “As I was saying, the Honorable Chancellor—”

  “Honored,” Bradomir corrected, his well-manicured hands folded primly on the table. Tain frowned, his patience for dealing with authoritarian condescension clearly stretched thin.

  Marco had thicker skin, because he continued without a change in tone. “The Honored Chancellor has determined that these deserters will not be punished now, but will be assigned duties reporting to Order Guards directly, and will pay fines after the siege is over.” He gave Tain a look that, while not precisely disrespectful, conveyed his disapproval.

  “These are our people. They’re afraid,” Tain said. “Can you blame them? And locking people up won’t alleviate that fear, it’ll just cost us extra bodies we desperately need. This is the best solution for now.” As one or two other Councilors began to speak, Tain overturned the paper in front of him and continued on in a firmer tone, making it clear the discussion was over. “What’s next?”

  “We need to prepare for the next attack,” Marco began.

  “We swatted them away easily enough yesterday,” Lazar said, waving a plump hand confidently. “I daresay we’ll do so again!”

  There was a sudden silence as many faces regarded the Credo with something close to disgust. Even among this crowd, yesterday had been a confronting day, not a triumphant one. “We lost people we could ill afford to lose,” Marco said. “We were lucky to withstand it. Next time, I believe the rebels will make a stronger attack at our infrastructure, since they failed to come over the walls.” He turned to address Eliska. “Stone-Guilder, we will need to redouble our efforts to build our own range weaponry. I propose we reduce our presence on the walls and supply additional people to assist your Guild to build siege weapons.”

  A few murmurs rose up around the room and even Eliska frowned. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think unskilled workers will assist much—even my best Guild members have never made anything like this. We’re working from drawings and diagrams in books.”

  “Use the help to delegate the less-skilled parts,” Tain said. “Searching the city for materials, shifting them, melting metals down—anything to make it easier for your Guild workers.”

  “Isn’t it too risky taking our people off the walls?” Varina asked. “Won’t they see that and respond?”

  “Our supplies of cane and wood for arrows are limited and they outnumber us ten to one. We will not be able to hold them off if they can come through our walls.” Marco shook his head, grim. “If we don’t have proper weapons to defend a full attack, we will lose the city.”
>
  Everyone fell silent. Both Varina and Marco made fair points. We didn’t need people on the wall wasting their time if there was no attack, but we couldn’t risk the rebels exploiting any decrease in manpower should they detect it. I shifted, starting to feel the discomfort of crouching hidden up here again. My joints had started to protest these frequent visits.

  “I have an idea.” Jov cleared his throat. “Credo Pedrag, your Craft Guild members are assisting with making armor, but do you think you could set some to sew false sentries? Like the dummies we use to practice archery. If we dress them in armor and set them at intervals around the wall, between our real sentries, wouldn’t they look the same from a distance? The army is staying out of range for now, and if we show the rebels the appearance of a full defense, maybe it’ll discourage them from doing anything rash until they’ve built their rams and catapults.”

  Pedrag’s crinkly little eyes disappeared when he smiled. “I could do that, Credo,” he said. “I daresay it’d be easy, in fact. We’ve plenty of straw and we can make giant moppets that’ll look as good in silhouette as any man.”

  “I agree,” Tain said. “Let’s take fifty extra people from wall duty to be laborers for Eliska, and get replacement dummies made as soon as we can.” He turned over another paper and I caught a suppressed sigh as he continued. “Now, you all saw the message the rebels sent us a few days ago, and you’ve probably heard rumors about the sorts of things they were shouting during the attack. We know from the bodies of those who made it over that they are indeed Sjon. We now know for sure it’s a rebellion. Our countryfolk are aggrieved at the city, possibly for some reason connected to religious beliefs.”

  “I’ve always said those earthers are practicing a primitive belief system,” Varina said. “And apparently it’s a violent one, too.”

  “The proper name for it is Darfri,” Javesto corrected. “And I never saw any sign that they were violent until now. Did you? Has something been happening out on the Leka estates, Credo Varina? Credo Bradomir?”

  As with every previous time the subject had come up, this question turned the mood immediately defensive, as the other Credolen hastened to express their ignorance of what could have spurred an uprising. “You must understand, Honored Chancellor, these matters are handled by our stewards,” Bradomir said. “That’s what they’re for. Like yourself and your most Honored uncle before you, we lack the time to personally oversee these kinds of operations.”

  And once again, Tain was left unable to press the issue. Chancellor Caslav had indeed had little involvement in the Iliri estates, partly because it was inappropriate for the Chancellor to be too concerned with his personal wealth, and partly because of the scandal associated with his sister Casimira and her unconventional “family” out there. Likewise, Jov and I knew little of the Oromani lands and affairs. We had other responsibilities, and my health and his compulsions and anxiety made traveling difficult. It was hard to demand answers when we could offer none ourselves.

  “There were only three survivors among the rebels, and none are yet conscious. In the meantime, I’ve checked my household staff,” Tain said. “A few are believers, but they were all raised here in Silasta. They didn’t know why the countryfolk, Darfri or not, would have a grudge against the city and certainly not why they’d be calling us heretics.”

  Javesto shrugged. “The Darfri religion isn’t about gods or worship or recruiting followers. I knew plenty of believers growing up and they were never bothered by whether someone else believed or not.”

  “As for calling us spirit-killers, my staff didn’t know what that could mean. They’d never heard of anyone talk about killing spirits. To them, spirits are a part of the landscape, just as natural as a mountain or a river.” Tain’s tone rang with the same frustration I felt. His servants had been genuinely baffled, unable to help unravel the mystery at all. One of them, who was both servant and, surreptitiously, a personal guard, had been raised Darfri but said other than paying his respects if he passed a shrine, he barely thought on it. Another had been more devout, showing us her Darfri charm necklace and explaining each sigil on it as belonging to spirits that her mother and Tashi had hoped would bless her with good fortune and strength—one for the great spirit of Solemn Peak, one for the great spirit of the Bright Lake, another for the spirit of the land her mother had been born on. To the servant, they were symbols of a connection to the earth and a source of comfort. She had cried as she showed us. I hated that we had made her afraid.

  “How can you kill a spirit, anyway?” Pedrag grumbled. “It doesn’t make any sense. Either we’re heretics for not believing in their silly spirits or we’re killing them with our supernatural powers. It can’t be both.”

  “Forgive me, Honored Chancellor, but is there any point delving into these daft beliefs?” Eliska asked wearily, rubbing the back of her neck as if it pained her. “They murdered our peace emissary and sent back a message saying they want no peace. There’s no prospect of negotiation. They’ve established themselves as the enemies of our capital and our Council and therefore as traitors to Sjona. That’s good enough for me.”

  I couldn’t see Tain’s face properly but the conflict inside him came out through his long pause and hesitant tone. He wanted so badly to protect the city, but struggled to believe his own people could be his enemies. He was a grown man now, but in him I still saw the boy who never wanted anyone to be unhappy or upset. Who wanted to be loved. Perhaps he had finally come across a game he couldn’t win without cost.

  “I want to understand,” he said eventually. “I need you all to ask among your staff as well. Someone must know something that could help us.”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m almost servicing my own home as it is—my entire blasted household staff have disappeared,” Pedrag said. Other Councilors added their agreement.

  Credo Lazar shifted in his seat. “Gone without so much as a word. Employed mine for years, ungrateful things.”

  “Yes, I can’t imagine why they’re not putting your chores first,” Credola Varina said, curling her lip in scorn. “The city’s under attack. I doubt anyone expected they were still required to turn up to work.”

  Tain let out his breath, his patience visibly thinning. “I don’t expect staff to still be working in our houses, but presumably you have a way of contacting them? And some probably live on your properties, don’t they?”

  “Yes, Honored Chancellor,” Bradomir said. He cleared his throat. “However, what I meant is that many of our staff have fled our home altogether. Perhaps to stay with relatives in the lower city.”

  It was almost like our plans were laid out before us like pieces on a game board, and someone was there, in front of us, knocking them over one at a time. Every time we got an answer, it led to more questions.

  * * *

  By the time I headed back to our apartments I was exhausted. The road seemed endless. I had let myself go too far past my energy limits, and now the way home felt like an arduous trek. Worse, one of the crowd of petitioners lined up along the street outside the Manor caught sight of me, and the disheveled woman peeled off to follow me as I tried to walk away.

  “Credola! Credola!” she panted, hobbling after me. She walked with an obvious limp and apparent pain. Guilt made me slow down, though I knew I couldn’t help.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m really not able to take petitions,” I told her. “You can report matters to the Order Guard in charge of your sector, or you can leave your issue with the clerk at the Manor at the end of the week. Please—”

  Though she moved slowly, when her hand snaked out and grasped my elbow the grip was firm. Too firm, in fact. I tried to pull it back but it was as if she couldn’t even feel it. “You must help me.” She looked back and forth on the street, edgy. “I tried to talk to the Chancellor, but it’s impossible to get time with him, you see.”

  “He cares about all of you,” I said, “but you must understand how much there is to do in a bes
ieged city, auntie. Which is your sector?”

  “The Order Guards run the sectors, Credola!” The old woman’s grip tightened on my arm. The smell of cheap spirits and soiled clothing wafted from her. “They’re everywhere, and you must stop them finding me. They’re killing us off! Taking us for food! Everyone knows you can starve in a siege!”

  I patted her arm gently as I pulled my own harder, trying to free my elbow. “I promise no one is taking any people for food, auntie. I know you’re frightened, but I really do promise you—”

  “They come in the night! Only last night, five of us streetfolk vanished, poof!” Her fingers were trembling. Something had certainly terrified her. “I saw the Guard checking on us earlier, in the evening, looking us over like he was measuring us. I hid under my blankets, Credola. I didn’t like the way he looked at us, no I did not. No mistake, in the morning, gone, five of us!”

  “He was probably looking for recruits,” I said. “We need all the help we can defending the city. If an Order Guard talked to your friends and now they’re gone, they were probably assigned duties.”

  “Or spirits!” she cried, changing tack as if she hadn’t heard me at all. “It might not have been the Guards! There’s talk of wicked spirits coming alive down by the canals. People didn’t believe before, but there were darker than usual shadows last night, you mark me.”

  “Please let go of my arm, auntie. You’re hurting me.”

  She dropped it like a coal and looked me up and down, terror morphing into scorn. “You don’t care! None of you care. This city’s doomed and no one sees it!”