The Iron Phoenix

by Rebecca Harwell

  Drina took another rattling breath. After what seemed like an hour, she nodded slowly. “It is possible. You speak of the manipulation of the mind, something that has never been a gift of a true Nomori.”

  “How would such a thing be done? Who could do it?” Marko pressed.

  “I am not sure of the exact practice of molding a mind like it is clay. I only know that no one can do such a thing without a foothold, a weakness of the mind. Fear. Guilt. Hatred. This scum before you would have many such footholds. Greed, bigotry. Any could be used to turn his mind against him.” Drina sighed. She no longer looked like the powerful matriarch of a Nomori family. She was a worn elderly woman. “As for your second question, I don’t know the answer.”

  Nadya frowned. Her grandmother’s slow heart rate jumped slightly with that last statement.

  “Thank you for what you have shared.” Marko shook his head. “Is it the Great Storm, or has something more come over this city? First, a Nomori guardsman murders his master, then another Nomori man kills several Erevans and proclaims his race’s superiority. And now we have an Erevan who has killed a beloved Nomori Elder. Not only that, but we have hints of power beyond any this city has known.”

  “I am worried about what this might incite. We will not be able to keep Jastima’s death a secret,” her father said gruffly. “There will be Nomori who will seek revenge and play into the hand of whoever orchestrated her death.”

  “Double the patrols in this tier, and make them all Nomori. No need to invite aggression,” Marko said. He turned to the magistrate, but Nadya couldn’t help but speak.

  “Is that all?”

  Everyone stared at her. She bit her lip. “I just…shouldn’t something more be done? I am no military expert, but it sounds as if someone is trying to spark war.”

  Marko spoke, and she hated how friendly his tone was. “Miss Gabori, we have a long period of floodwaters ahead of us. The Duke’s Guard will have their hands full just trying to keep the peace. As much as I want to believe you, and know that part of me does, I can’t waste resources on a theory.”

  He continued to speak with Shadar on strategy as two of the guardsmen came and dragged the unconscious murderer out. Nadya watched, still angry at the Duke’s son for his casual dismissal. But she could not really blame him. She hadn’t told any of them about the strange man and the black eyes. She peered around at rooftops, wondering if even now he watched.

  “Excuse me.”

  Nadya started and turned. The man Marko called the magistrate was speaking to her.

  “I was saying that we had not been properly introduced. My name is Levka Puyatin, magistrate to the Duke. And you are?” His expression was friendly, but something lingered underneath.

  “Nadezhda Gabori. I…um…”

  “A Nomori truthteller. Yes, well, on behalf of the Duke, I thank you for your work here tonight.” He patted her arm. Nadya resisted the urge to flinch.

  She managed a quick smile and turned to go. She kept her eyes on the ground, but she heard her grandmother’s mutter. “Work of one of the nivasi.”

  When Nadya dared look up, Drina’s eyes were hard, staring at the corpse of her old friend. Nadya wanted to ask, though she couldn’t. What were the nivasi, and why did they scare her grandmother, the most fearless person she knew? Why did it bring chills to Nadya’s chest that had nothing to do with the damp of the night?

  Chapter Ten

  If Lord Marko and her father weren’t going to look into the murders much further, then Nadya resolved to do so herself.

  She already knew something they did not: the seamless black eyes that tied Duren to the Nomori man who blew up the theater. If she had anything to wager, she would bet the Erevan scum who murdered Jastima also had those eyes when he did it. There were plenty of puzzle pieces still missing, however. She hoped she might find one or two more in the Guardhouse.

  Early the next morning, Nadya and her father left their home and began the trek up through the city to the palace with tired circles around their eyes. He had his duties to attend to, magnified as they were because of the storm. Storm’s Quarry now sat like a rock in a bowl full of water. Outside the tightly shut gates and the fifty pace wall that surrounded everything, thirty paces of water lapped against the stone. More was added to it every moment by the steam pumps, continuously working to rid the city of the last of the rainwater.

  Kesali predicted all that water would be gone in two months, Nadya thought as they passed the first ration line. I hope she’s right. For the first time since their kiss and the announcement of the betrothal, the thought of Kesali did not squeeze her lungs, robbing her of all but the most painful of breaths. Duty was something the Nomori were ingrained with, and now Nadya could not be more grateful for it. With Storm’s Quarry in danger, duty must come first, and that numbed her heart, at least a little bit.

  Nadya had convinced her father to let her come, hoping to speak to one of the prisoners that was being held there. With Mirela in the care of one of their neighbors, he reluctantly agreed.

  They dodged Erevan traffic as they made their way through the narrow streets of the second tier, heading toward the stairs that would eventually take them to the palace. There were few people about. Erevans stumbled in and out of alehouses. They didn’t have money to spend and the barkeeps watered the beer, but food was already getting scarce and there was no work to be had. Nadya kept a wary eye on every man who passed them, but Shadar’s uniform limited any harassment to cursing and spittle.

  As they rounded a sharp turn, the thin predawn crowds turned into a roaring wave of flesh. Hundreds filled the streets. Nadya stopped. Where did all these people come from? Shadar grabbed her shoulder, pushing her behind him. He drew his rapier.

  The putrid scent of sweat hung thick in the air as more bodies crowded into the narrow street. Nadya held her stance firm and held on to her father’s free arm to keep them both from being bowled over. Men pushed past them, men with wild eyes; Nomori men, she realized with a sick feeling.

  There was no reason for this many Nomori to be in the second tier, in a district such as this one. No reason, except the news of Jastima’s death that had spread like disease throughout the Nomori tier. And angry and frustrated from the storm, they had come for justice.

  Glass shattered as fire billowed out the second-story windows of one of the buildings bordering the streets. The crowd cheered. One shout could be heard above the rest: Avenge the Nomori blood that has been spilled!

  More fire licked the walls of the building—the most popular alehouse on the second tier. Screams of an entirely different nature came through the windows intertwined with smoke.

  “Nadya, get out of here,” Shadar ordered. He waded into the sea of angry Nomori men, rapier held aloft. Nadya put a hand to her belt pouch, reaching for a cloak that wasn’t there.

  She cursed. How was she to do anything without her disguise? Vowing never to leave home without it again, Nadya followed her father. She kept her head down. Several Nomori men made a move to intercept Shadar. She grabbed the backs of their vests and yanked.

  She couldn’t see what was happening. Bodies pressed in around her, and smoke hung just above the crowd. She shoved through the Nomori rioters, spotted a one-story bathhouse that smelled of piss, and leapt. Her boots hit the roof hard. Nadya turned, and she had an unobstructed view of the street below.

  Nomori men hurled rocks and garbage into the windows of the rundown alehouses that lined the street. Any Erevans, drunk or sober, who were unfortunate enough to be caught in the riot were downed and beaten within seconds. Nadya saw one Erevan pull a pistol, but before she could jump down to stop him, the nearest Nomori caught his arm, wrenched it down. The pistol dropped from paralyzed fingers, and the Nomori caught it. In the same fluid motion, he brought it up and fired between the drunk’s eyes.

  Blood blew out the back of the drunk’s head, spattering those who stood behind him with a crimson rain.

  Nadya turned away. Her stomach
churned as she tried to form a plan. How was she, without a disguise to hide behind, to stop this madness before it became a bloodbath?

  A low pounding underscored the gleeful shouts of the Nomori men, finally getting back at those who had ill-treated them for so long. It grew louder. Nadya looked up from the riot.

  Hundreds of Erevans ran through the narrow streets straight at the crowd. They carried makeshift weaponry and old muskets. More came out of buildings, joining in to expel the Nomori from their tier. Some of the Nomori turned from their assault on the alehouse to ready themselves to face the oncoming tide of fighters.

  Nadya froze. She did not know what to do, and doubt tore at her like a wild animal.

  Over the angry shouts of both sides, she heard her father yelling to the pitifully few others wearing the uniform of the Duke’s Guard. “Keep them apart!” he shouted, thrusting his rapier toward the empty stretch of street poised to become a bloody battleground as he shoved men aside to reach it. The other guardsmen did the same.

  As the Erevans rushed in toward the Nomori, a thin line of the Duke’s Guard held the two races apart. They held firm—the Nomori guardsmen with rapiers and the Erevans with barrels of muskets—as Shadar yelled for order.

  Nadya leapt off the roof and into the fray. She shoved through the sea of bodies until the red uniforms came in sight. Careful to stay away from her father, she joined the guardsmen in pushing the two sides apart.

  It was not easy. The Erevans were filled with drunken anger and cared little for their lives. The innate fighting skill of the Nomori made them much more formidable opponents, even for their own kind in the Guard. Nadya was soon out of breath as she ducked swings and retaliated with restrained blows to slowly push the Nomori back. Behind her, Erevan guardsmen did the same for the other side.

  Two men converged on Nadya, intent on breaking through to get revenge for Jastima’s death. She ducked the first punch. The second man’s fist hit her in the stomach. He gasped and recoiled, rubbing his knuckles. She dove between them, grabbed the first man’s arm, and wrenched him off balance. He fell. Nadya whirled around, blocking a blow to her head with her arm. Her other fist came up and hit the Nomori man squarely in the chest. He flew backward and disappeared in the chaos.

  “Have you no respect for Jastima’s memory? Will you lie down as a dog while these barbarians slaughter us in our beds?”

  A guardsman and a rioter, two Nomori men, rapier poised against a long piece of wood, faced each other not far from Nadya. The one who had spoken parried the guardsman’s rapier and swung down at his head. The guardsman brought his weapon up. Their faces were close enough to taste each other’s breath.

  “We are the barbarians if this madness is the legacy of the Nomori,” the guardsman said.

  Their weapons flashed again, and soon their fight was lost in the pandemonium of the riot.

  Nadya drew a ragged breath. She caught a Nomori man who had broken through the line of guardsmen with one hand, and pushed him into the cobblestones. She wiped smoke from her eyes with grimy hands. This could not continue. The Duke’s Guard was barely holding back a slaughter. Someone had to end this.

  “Enough!” Her father’s shout echoed off the walls of alehouses and up and down the narrow street. He stood on the roof of the building opposite from where Nadya had surveyed the scene, rapier at his side. Blood streaked across his face, but his stance gave him the power to grab the attention of the rioters.

  The action at the frontlines slowly came to a halt. Hundreds of eyes turn to Shadar, anger in their tired depths. He returned the stares. His eyes swept over the rioters, seemingly staring into the soul of everyone there. Nadya ducked when he turned to where she stood.

  “Under the Duke’s rule, this city will not succumb to bloodletting and mayhem. It is over.”

  Angry murmurs turned into shouts up at him. Shadar dodged a few rocks that were thrown, and leapt down. He landed hard, grimacing. Slowly, he paced the neutral ground the Duke’s Guard had cleared. Nadya readied herself. The instant he was in trouble, she would act.

  “You Nomori scum came into our tier and starting looting and killing. We were protecting our own,” one man yelled. When Shadar turned to look at him, a group of Erevans closed in around their fellow, protecting him from her father’s wrath.

  “And the matriarch of a proud Nomori family was murdered last night.” He turned and looked at his own people. “There cannot be blood for blood here. If Storm’s Quarry is to survive these floodwaters, there must be peace. Attacking a citizen of this city, Erevan or Nomori, is against the Duke’s law. And any who break that law will face the Guard and the Duke’s justice.” He looked to the rest of his men. “Round them up for processing.”

  “We’re not going anywhere with one of your kind.” An Erevan pushed through the crowd. Five others followed him, forcing their way past the Erevan contingent of the Duke’s Guard, who immediately aimed their muskets at them.

  Shadar shook his head, and they lowered their weapons. Nadya bit her lip. What was her father doing? The Nomori looters watched silently from behind the barricade. Some bore small smiles.

  “If you have a grievance, bring it to the Duke’s open session this week. Until then, you will follow my orders,” he told the Erevan who challenged him.

  “Your Nomori witches have the Duke in their grasp. He’s a puppet, nothing more,” the man spat. His group moved until they completely circled around.

  Shadar reached up and wiped his cheek. When he spoke again, it was in the low tone that had always frightened Nadya when she was a child. “You have insulted my Duke, to whom I have sworn loyalty. Watch your next words carefully.” He looked around at the five other men who encircled him. “Get back in line. You’ll regret it if you do not.”

  Their leader smiled. “Nomori scum don’t know the meaning of loyalty.” He swung his fist at Shadar’s head.

  Nadya cried out. The man was even taller than her father, and Shadar was outnumbered, six to one. But he had ordered the other guardsmen off, and none of the Nomori made a move to help him. She took a step forward, but one of her father’s men stopped her. He did not seem to recognize her as he said, “Wait, child, and watch.

  He was right.

  Clearly, these men had never faced a Nomori swordfighter in his prime. Her father might have been forty-three, but he was still in top fighting shape.

  Faster than Nadya could have thought, he dodged the fist, coming up around and grabbing the man’s arm. In a swift movement, he used the man’s own momentum to flip his upside down and bury his face in the dirt.

  Two other men rushed him. Shadar waited for them. He ducked their blows, and then sank a fist into each of their stomachs. Wheezing, they crumpled to the ground.

  He did not wait for the final three men to attack. Leaping into the air, he smacked one in the chest with a solid kick. His fists took out the remaining two, and suddenly her father was surrounded by six moaning forms on the ground. He straightened his uniform and looked up at all those who watched him. He said nothing, but the message was clear.

  “Show-off,” Nadya muttered, but a weight fell from her shoulders.

  Shadar looked down at them. In one quick movement, he drew his rapier and touched it to the nose of the man who’d instigated it all. “I had the right to kill you in that fight. I spared you out of pity for your stupidity. You will join the rest of those here, both Erevan and Nomori, who believe that fear and death are suitable ways to get what you want.” He sheathed his blade and stepped out of the ring of groaning bodies.

  “The Duke’s Guard will regret this day!” The shout came from the rooftop where Nadya had stood. A figure in ratty clothing balanced on the edge, his voice carrying over all who were present. Nadya frowned. She recognized the Erevan man—he had been the zealot at the market, preaching the wrath of the storm gods.

  The zealot continued, “This is proof of the darkness that has festered in Storm’s Quarry. Blood will rain down upon you. Nomori filth has i
nfiltrated the once-proud Guard, and the storm gods will purge it with fire. The Guard will burn!”

  Shadar shook his head. He looked at a nearby guardsman, saying, “Get him down from there. We have no need to listen to the empty threats of a madman.”

  A horn split the air. Reinforcements from the Duke’s Guard streamed in, cutting off both sides from escape. Shadar barked orders at other red-uniformed men. The riot was slowly diffused as arrests were made. The zealot disappeared before anyone could lay a hand on him.

  Nadya ducked the outreached arm of a guardsman and sprinted down an alley. She would go home, as Shadar had asked her to before the entire mess started. As she ran, her mind replayed his fight with the six men. He could have killed them, even with his rapier sheathed, but he was in control of every move he made. She wished she could do that.

  She wished she could ask him to train her as he trained Lord Marko.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Guardhouse resembled an anthill, red uniforms skittering around in the aftermath of the second tier riot. Nearly one hundred men, Nomori and Erevan, were brought up for processing. More were sent directly to the prison on the bottom tier. Shadar hadn’t stopped bellowing orders since it happened, and Nadya was grateful when she could finally slip away. She sneaked into a nearby corridor. Keeping her head down, she went down the hall to the stairs that led to the holding cells below. She had made a trip back to her house to pick it up her cloak before meeting her father here. The riot reminded her not to go anywhere without it.

  Most of the guardsmen she hurried past didn’t even glance at her. With each step, she grew more confident, and the images of being strung up in a cell faded.

  “Business here, miss?”

  She tripped to a stop, biting back a curse. A lone guardsman stood at the head of the cellblock. Thankfully, he was Nomori. She put on what she hoped looked like a shy smile.

  “Running an errand for my father. He’s got me sprinting all over this rat maze.”