by Keira Drake
It is dark and quiet in the moment of my death.
In the void, in that black place where I am content to dwell, a searing pain intrudes. I try to move against it, to ignore its noisome beckoning, but it only grows stronger; I open my eyes and draw in a breath—a thing of blistering, excruciating pain. I gasp, cough, choke, taste blood in my mouth. Not dead. Perhaps I was, but no longer.
The tunnel of my vision widens and I see the Topi, swaying on his feet, examining the ruin of flesh at his side made by my knife. Skin and muscle have been flayed, now hanging in jagged flaps and ribbons. How many times did I stab him? How does he still stand?
I roll onto my stomach. I lie scraping in the dirt, saliva dripping from my mouth, creating soft puddles in the soil beneath my chin.
The Topi is not done with me yet.
With one foot, he nudges me onto my back and pins me there. I struggle to move, gasping as I try to push myself up. He swings the axe back as though it were a toy, and time seems to splinter as the blade moves toward me. I close my eyes, my fate sealed. This time, I will die, and stay dead.
But the weapon does not reach me—there is no cold blade at my neck, only the sound of a sharp, ear-splitting clang. I open my eyes to see that a long spear has been thrust directly in the axe’s path, stopping it mid-blow.
Shoshi Kaken stands to my left, holding the spear, his tattooed face spattered with blood. With a swift stroke, he pulls the weapon back and jams it up and into the Topi’s torso, piercing the heart. The man is dead before the stroke is complete. Skewered. His axe drops to the ground with a heavy thud, and Shoshi yanks the spear backward, wrenching it free. The Topi falls to the ground beside me.
“Get up,” Shoshi growls, gripping me under the arms and pulling me to my feet. He thrusts a weapon that looks like a long, flat spade into my hands, and points to my right. “Remember the bull, Vaela Sun.”
I follow his finger to see a Topi bearing down on me with all speed, not ten feet away. Shoshi is gone; I hear the clash of metal behind me, the grunting of men locked in battle. I grip the long handle of the spade and brace myself. The Topi is wild-eyed, his face smeared with paint, his muscled body lean and taut and dripping with sweat. He holds a hatchet in his left hand—a weapon meant for my head, I am sure. Just like the bull, that day on the farm—ready to spill my blood and remove me from his territory.
“Not today,” I whisper. I spring from his reach as he raises the hatchet above his head, and bring the spade full force into collision with his face. The impact knocks him off his feet, stuns him for a moment—and a moment is all I need. I drop the weapon, pull a knife from my belt, and end him.
Shoshi moves beside me; we are alone now at the edge of the wood. “The Aven’ei are nearly finished,” he says, and gestures to the field.
I look out across the sea of men: at the thousands and thousands who fill the field above the Vale, and anguish fills my heart. The Topi are so many, the Aven’ei so few. I cannot make a difference in this battle, nor can the brave Aven’ei warriors who now fight so fiercely. Numbers don’t lie. The Topi will prevail.
A noise fills the air, something greater even than the cacophony of war. It’s like the buzzing of a bee; a terrible humming that echoes across the plain. Instinctively, I turn my head skyward, and joy beyond reason consumes me.
There, moving swiftly into position above the battlefield, is not one heli-plane, but twelve.
The Spire has come.
CHAPTER 35
YES—THE SPIRE. BUT SOMETHING IS AMISS. THE four-pointed star on each plane has been removed; a dark blue gull is now painted across the side of each fuselage. A seagull—the symbol of the West.
These planes are much, much larger than the small craft I have seen before. They hover above the center of the field, white bodies massive and intimidating, the great propellers in the wings spinning like mad. Enormous cargo doors slide open on each plane, one after another, to reveal men clad in heavy body armor—six to each side, all positioned behind mounted guns. The largest craft, the one at the center of the formation, hangs lower in the air than the others.
In a pocket of clear ground, a hail of bullets rains down around the center craft. Clods of dirt and charred grass spike upward into the sky; the power of the Spirian weapons cannot be denied. A crackle cuts across the field, and an amplified voice booms out a warning: “Cease fighting. Cease this war. Stop, or you will be killed.”
The warriors are distracted, yet still they attack one another. Even the appearance of twelve massive heli-planes is not enough to impress the natives of the Continent.
The message is repeated; the fighting continues.
Shots ring out above us; the noise is deafening. Four Topi fall nearby, and hundreds more across the plain. With few exceptions, the battle comes to an abrupt halt.
“Cease fighting,” the voice calls out again; I am astonished to realize that it belongs to Mr. Lowe. “You will cease hostilities at once, or you will be killed.”
The few areas where skirmishing continues are now targeted, and more Topi fall dead. The warriors howl at the heli-planes with impotent fury. Arrows fly toward the aircraft, but glance away or are deflected by the men with shields.
“This war is ended,” booms Mr. Lowe. “Any further hostilities will result in violence against the perpetrators. Return to your own territories, and let neither pass into the other’s realm again.”
There is movement and general consternation amongst the throng of warriors. A single arrow flies toward the center plane; the man who loosed it is shot.
“Return to your territories.”
Whether or not the Topi understand the language, they have clearly received the message. The men step away from one another—the Topi backing away westward, the Aven’ei moving to the east.
Oh, God, I pray, let Noro, Keiji, and Takashi still live. Please, let them live.
As the men and women disperse, another message sounds from the sky: “Vaela Sun, if you live, please come to the center craft and await further instructions. Vaela Sun, please come to the center craft.”
Shoshi, still beside me, raises an eyebrow. “Important, are we?”
“I’m the only Spirian on the ground.”
His lip curves, but the smile is kind, not cruel. “You’re no Spirian, Vaela Sun.”
My throat tightens. “No. I’m not.”
He gestures to the heli-plane. “Shall I escort you?”
“I would appreciate that very much—but…but I must look for Noro and Keiji first. I have to know if they are all right.”
Shoshi laughs and claps me on the back, as though we are old comrades-in-arms. “Go to the anzibatu—if the boys are alive, they heard the message plain as we did, and they’ll be coming to see if you survived.”
I consider this. Hundreds—thousands, perhaps, lie dead or dying around us. Thousands more tend to the wounded, or mill about in groups across the battlefield—the Aven’ei with faces of grief or elation, the Topi fierce and angry. To search the throng seems an almost impossible task.
I nod. “I’ll keep a lookout from the plane.”
We pick our way across the field, Shoshi with his weapon still at the ready, though the Topi have largely cleared out. I think to myself that Shoshi probably sleeps with a spear in his hand, one eye open, ever on the alert.
As we step into the shadow of the great craft, Mr. Lowe looks down at me from the open cargo door. He clasps his hands together, smiles brightly, and instructs one of his men to roll out a long metal ladder.
I turn to Shoshi. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“There is no need to thank me.”
“I’m sorry, Shoshi. For what I said at the farm.”
He looks away, and shifts his spear to his left hand. “There is no need for that, either. Let us put away the past, in the face of new circumstances.” He bows and gestures to the ladder. “Give my thanks to the warriors above. They have done a good thing today.”
Mr. Lowe greets me ab
oard the heli-plane with a grin so broad it seems to stretch across his entire face. “Miss Sun, how relieved I am to find you alive!” He gives me a once-over and his expression turns to one of horrified concern. “But…are you quite all right? There’s…your throat, it’s badly bruised—what happened?”
I know I must look a mess; blood and dirt alike seem to be crammed into my every pore. “I’m alive.”
He gestures to a row of plush seats along the back of the cargo area. “Come and sit.”
“Might we stay here, near the open door? I am hoping a few friends might come to find me, having heard your message.”
“But of course,” he says, and we take a seat along the edge while a uniformed man affixes a safety harness about my shoulders. I keep a sharp watch of the battlefield below, hoping against hope that I shall see Noro, Keiji, or Takashi. “All set there?”
“Thank you, Mr. Lowe. I’m sure I cannot express my surprise at your interference, and my gratitude for it. I scarcely know what to say.”
He smiles and pulls a sheet of folded parchment from his breast pocket. He opens the paper and places it in my hands; it is the map I drew for the officials of the Spire. The Vale is encircled with bright red ink—one of the very few places I mentioned by name when I spoke of the impending Topi attack. He taps the paper lightly with one finger. “You said all that needed to be said, back in the Chancellery.”
“But the Spire voted to—”
“Yes,” he says. “And the West has chosen to act alone.”
“But…doesn’t that mean—”
He nods. “Exile for the West. I’m sorry, my dear. The Spire is dissolved—the nations are united no more.”
I feel as though I’ve been hit with a hammer. “But—that can’t be. Did you speak with the Chancellery before you came?”
“Of course. We petitioned the council to review and reconsider the plight of the Aven’ei. We were rebuked, and warned that to act against a majority vote is to enter into an act of war.” His eyebrows draw together, and I see for the first time how tired he looks. “The West was cut off from the other nations in the interim, pending our decision.”
“And you came anyway. Knowing it would mean the dissolution of the Treaty.”
“We did.”
“To save the Aven’ei?”
“To stop the ceaseless bloodshed here—something I fear we ought to have done long ago. How many thousands might have been saved?”
“You…you have a military force. How is that possible?”
He smiles. “Every nation in the Spire conducts a clandestine armed force, and has done so for years. Each simply turns a blind eye to the others.”
I press my hands against my forehead. “The Chancellor himself would be happy to see the Continent burned from east to west, and all the natives with it.”
“The Chancellery was charged with upholding the Treaty, and was dissolved with the Spire. We are an independent nation, as is the East, which declared to defect upon our action. The North and South have allied together—the borders are sealed.”
“Mr. Lowe,” I say, my throat tightening, “have I helped to end one war only to sow the seeds of another?”
“I wouldn’t use that word just yet,” he says. “I am hopeful that ultimately, the four nations may unite again. And in any case, the responsibility for what has happened does not rest on your shoulders—you merely asked for help when help was needed, Miss Sun.”
“I fear the Topi and the Aven’ei will require more than one intervention.”
“I agree,” he says. “The West has taken Ivanel. We shall maintain patrols, and will assist in the construction of barriers and defenses here on the Continent, as you yourself so wisely suggested. This war will not be renewed—we will see to it. I mourn every life taken today by my weaponsmen. But if the deaths of a few will save one or both of the tribes from ongoing violence, I consider it a fair price for peace.”
“It’s a heavy price,” I say, thinking of the blood on my own hands. “A terrible price.”
“Indeed.”
“With all that’s happening back in the—well…will you now resume relations with the Aven’ei?”
He smiles. “Miss Sun, we intend to do far more than that. It is our wish that the Aven’ei should become allies to the West.”
“Allies,” I say, openly surprised. “Equals?”
“In all things.”
“And the Topi? Are you to reach out to them as well?”
“Ah,” he says, and smiles. “That will take a bit of doing.”
“But you will try?”
He laughs. “Are you an optimist, Miss Sun, or a politician?”
“A fresh start ought to be fresh for all, no?”
“Mmm,” he says. “A bit of both then. Well. We shall certainly do our very best. But forgive me, I nearly forgot—we’ve brought a friend of yours along! He has been so hoping to see you.”
“Which friend, sir?”
“Hold on there, we’ll just bring him over—he’s aboard another plane.”
A few minutes later, the heli-plane nearest us moves out of position; another plane takes its place, and through the open cargo door I see Mr. Cloud, looking very sharp in one of the sleek navy blue uniforms of the West. He waves and claps his hands together, his warm blue eyes reflecting a lightness I have not seen in him before. An elastic platform is laid from plane to plane, and a few men work to secure it. I peer out the door to see if Noro, Keiji, or Takashi have come, but the field is empty below us; my heart twists, but I hold on to hope.
Mr. Cloud trundles across the bridge and removes his hat. “Miss Sun, you’re indestructible, aren’t you, now?” His eyes shine as he shakes his head. “I’m so glad to see you safe, miss.”
Given all that has just happened, I cannot tolerate the formality of his manner. It gives me such great joy to see him again that I throw my arms about his waist at once. “I am glad to see you, too.”
It takes him a moment, but he returns my embrace. “Well, I—I don’t rightly know that I deserve such affection, Miss Sun. But I do think of you as family now, just in my own way of thinking, as it were.”
I step back and smile up at him. “Just so, Mr. Cloud. It is just so.”
He looks abashed, but smiles all the same. “They’ve made me director—director of the facility at Ivanel.”
“I wondered about the uniform,” I say, brushing a bit of lint from his shoulder. “Congratulations to you, sir—I can’t think of anyone more deserving.”
“I’m proud to be of the West,” he says, looking out across the Vale. “Couldn’t be prouder.”
“And well you should be.”
“So if you’re to stay here on the Continent, and I’m to be nearby at Ivanel, I don’t wonder if we ought to manage a visit now and then?”
“That would be lovely! I’m sure I—”
“Vaela!” comes a call from below, nearly whisked away by the noise of the engines. “Vaela!”
I hurry to the edge of the plane, my heart hammering in my chest. And in one instant, hope turns to joy, as I look down to see Noro and Keiji, bloodied and battered and alive, waving up at me from the field.
The extension is deployed and I climb down as quickly as I can. Noro pulls me off the ladder and into his arms, holding me close, so close, and the kiss he gives me is like to set my heart on fire. We cling to one another, awash with a relief that knows no bounds, a joy tempered only by all we have lost.
When he sets me down, I drag Keiji toward me and wrap my arms around both of them. We are all in happy tears, even my beautiful, stoic Noro, my love. I look down at Keiji. “Are you hurt, sweet one?”
He lifts his arm to reveal a gruesome gash along his side. But his eyes show pride rather than pain, and I cannot help but laugh. He points to a boy nearby who looks to be about his age.
“Go,” I say, but kiss his cheek before he runs off. I turn to Noro. “And you?”
A slim wound runs along his left cheekbone; I trace
a path beside it with my finger.
“I have never felt better.” He takes my hand, running his thumb over my nails, the beds of which are encrusted with blood. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I promise.”
He touches me lightly, just above the collarbone. “Many of your knives are missing, Vaela, and there are bruises upon your neck.”
“I am alive, Noro.”
“Did you take life today?”
“I did what any Aven’ei would have done,” I say, echoing his words from the night we first met.
There is sadness in his eyes. “This is not a burden I wanted for you.”
“I know.”
“I will help you bear it.”
“I know that, too.”
He pulls me close and rests his chin atop my head. “We have lost much today.”
I close my eyes and think of Yuki, so strong and skilled, dead in half a second. Grief tugs at me, familiar and new, beckoning me to that dark place of loss and regret. How I long to be home in the cottage, where I might entertain my memories and cry for the empty place she has left in the world. I pull away, and Noro releases me.
“Have you seen Takashi?” I ask. “Does he live?”
Noro nods. “He is alive, but none the happier for it now that Yuki is gone. He is badly wounded—the healers are seeing to him now.”
“Shoshi Kaken lives,” I say. “He saved my life.”
Noro thinks on this for a moment, then gives me a small smile. “For this, I shall swear to him my everlasting friendship. No matter how much it may pain me to do so.”
“People change. Just look at you: a smile on your face and hope in your heart.” He kisses me, and I wrap my arms about his neck. “What do we do, now that the war is ended?”
“Now,” he says, “we bury the dead, help the wounded, and go back to life in Hayato.”
“A life without war,” I say.
“We shall see.”
“It is done now,” I say, gesturing up at the heli-planes. “The West has come to ensure peace. You need never wear the shadow of the itzatsune again.”