“I wish,” Frieda said.
Emily snorted. “You loan me those ten crowns, after I promise to repay you fifteen,” she said. Vesperian had offered her such terms, after all. “But I can’t repay you. What do you do?”
Frieda shrugged. “Take it out of your hide?”
“You could,” Emily agreed. It was precisely what Frieda’s family would have done. “But in the meantime, your bills come due. You have to pay ten crowns yourself to your creditors. And you can’t pay them, because you gave me the money. There’s a limit to what you can get out of my hide. Perhaps I don’t own my house, or tools…perhaps I don’t own anything. Or maybe I abandon ship and run before you can start tearing me to pieces. What do you do then?”
“My creditors try to take it out of my hide,” Frieda said.
“Precisely,” Emily said. “Do you own a house? They’ll take the house. Or…or whatever you have. That’s the threat. It isn’t just about large sums of money evaporating into thin air…it’s about what happens when that money is never repaid.”
They reached the end of the tunnel and made their way through a set of complex wards and into the house. Emily had expected someone to meet them at the far end, but the house looked deserted. They walked to the door and opened it, recoiling in shock at the sudden noise. A small procession was making its way through the streets, chanting a single word over and over again.
“Justice! Justice! Justice!”
Emily fought the urge to cover her ears as the procession marched past the door. It was led by the Hands of Justice, but hundreds of others from all walks of life had joined the chanting parade. A set of grim-faced stewards ran from place to place, pushing and shoving marchers in and out of line; a handful of young girls in flowing white dresses handed out pamphlets to interested onlookers. Emily took one absently and scanned it, noting that the claim that ‘Justice’ had killed hundreds of sinners. It was long on gruesome detail and short on accurate facts.
This can’t be true, she thought. We’d be seeing statues everywhere if hundreds of people had been killed.
She folded up the pamphlet and pocketed it, then hurried down the street. It was barely mid-afternoon, but crowds were already forming everywhere. There was an ugly note in the air, something she remembered from Farrakhan. The city was on edge, again. She hoped they could get back to Caleb’s house before something happened. It felt as though they were standing on a powder keg.
We are, she thought.
There was another batch of letters waiting for her when they reached Caleb’s house. Sienna passed them to her without comment, muttering something about impudent correspondents when she turned away. Emily looked past her, hoping to see Caleb, but there was no sign of him. Karan was the only one in sight, sitting on a sofa darning her socks.
Emily sat on the chair and glanced through the letters. They were all the same, inviting her to dinner with vague promises that it would be made worth her while. Sighing, she started to write out another set of polite, but firm, rejections while Frieda read her book and made notes for her fourth year project. Emily envied her. She didn’t have to worry about banking problems and financial disasters…
“Dinner time,” Sienna called. “Come now if you’re coming.”
There was no sign of General Pollack, Caleb, or Marian at the table. Conversation was stilted: Sienna seemed occupied with some greater thought, while Karan and Croce kept throwing odd glances at Emily. Emily felt uncomfortable, wishing she could speed up time in order to escape. She’d never known what to say at the dinner table.
A messenger arrived midway through the meal, carrying a note from Markus.
Vesperian refuses to talk, it read. Now what?
Chapter Fourteen
“WAKE UP,” FRIEDA SAID. “EMILY?”
Emily opened her eyes. “What ... what time is it?”
“Time to get up,” Frieda prompted, quietly. “You have to get dressed.”
Emily nodded as she sat upright and stood. Sienna had taken one look at her when she’d come down for breakfast, deduced that Emily hadn’t slept well at all and ordered her back to bed after a light snack. Emily had been too tired and restless to argue, but when she’d returned to her bed she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d been too busy trying to figure out a way to defuse a ticking time bomb. And yet, she must have slept. Her watch insisted that it was after midday.
She stumbled into the bathroom, removed her nightgown and splashed water on her face. It didn’t help. The face she saw in the mirror looked pale enough to pass for a vampire, with dark circles around her eyes. She rubbed her eyes in annoyance, then stepped under the shower. She’d been told, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t to use a glamour or anything else to alter her appearance during the funeral. It was, apparently, tradition.
“Hurry,” Frieda called. “We’ll be leaving in thirty minutes!”
“I know.” Emily stepped out of the shower and looked at herself, critically. The cuts and bruises were fading, thankfully, but she still felt tired. “I’m coming.”
Frieda pushed past her into the shower as Emily entered the bedroom. The mourning clothes were already waiting for them, hanging behind the door. Emily pulled on an undershirt, then took the larger of the two black robes from the hook and pulled it over her head. It was shapeless, as shapeless as the robes she wore at Whitehall. Karan and Marian had spent the last two days sewing them for the funeral. It looked simple, yet there were a handful of complex designs stitched into the cloth. They weren’t magic, as far as she could tell. She had no idea what they meant.
She tied her hair back, then inspected herself in the mirror. There was no sign that she was wearing anything underneath her robe, thankfully. Imaiqah had joked about wearing her robes and nothing else at school, but Emily knew she couldn’t do the same. Someone might just try to levitate her and flip her over. They’d get in awful trouble, she knew, yet it might not be enough to deter some of the boys. Or even some of the girls.
“You look like a ghost,” Frieda said, coming back into the bedroom. “It isn’t going to be that bad.”
“I feel like a ghost,” Emily muttered. “I’ll get better.”
Frieda dressed quickly, then tied her hair into a pair of pigtails. “How do I look?”
Emily examined her, critically. “Ready to go,” she said, grabbing her shoes. “Shall we?”
She could hear the bell tolling as she walked down the stairs and into the living room. Sienna, Karan and Marian waited for her, all wearing the same black robes. Sienna’s face was hidden behind a black veil that made her look sinister, while both of Casper’s sisters were bareheaded. They’d left their hair completely untied.
“Very good,” Sienna said, after a quick inspection. “Come.”
The bell tolled louder as they made their way to the door. It hung above the porch, sounding again and again…Emily resisted the urge to cover her ears as she walked underneath the bell. No one was touching it, she saw. Sienna must have charmed the bell to sound constantly.
Outside, a small crowd had already gathered. They were a diverse collection: guildmasters, priests, sorcerers and even commoners. Most of them wore black, although only a handful wore formal robes. The coffin itself stood at the center of the road, with General Pollack, Caleb and Croce standing behind it. Emily tried to catch Caleb’s eye, but he was staring at the coffin. Perhaps he hadn’t really grasped that his brother was dead until the funeral had begun.
Sienna stepped forward. Silence fell.
“My son fell in battle,” she said. Her voice echoed on the air. “Today, we lay him to rest.”
She lifted a hand, pointing at the coffin. Emily felt the spell a moment before the coffin rose into the air, then started to glide down the street. Frieda pulled her into position beside the coffin as they walked beside, Sienna and her husband taking the lead. The streets were lined with people, all present to bid Casper farewell. Emily couldn’t help wondering how many of them were there because they’d
known Casper, and how many of them had come just to be seen. Whatever he’d been in life, in death Casper had become the city’s favorite son.
The crowd was silent as the coffin went past them. Emily couldn’t hear anything, even a cough. She reached out with her senses, picking up the edges of a powerful silencing spell. It was an impressive piece of work, blanketing the coffin and surrounding crowds. She wasn’t sure she could have cast anything like it herself. Sienna was a very skilled magician.
No wonder Casper was so determined to prove himself, she thought. He wanted to impress both of his parents.
She glanced at Caleb. His head was bowed. What little she could see of his face was somber. Casper had been his brother, for better or worse. She knew the two boys hadn’t been close, but still…they were family. No, they’d been family. They wouldn’t see each other again. Unless, of course, there really was life after death…
The Temple of War rose up in front of them, standing amidst the other temples. It was a massive building, made from white stone and covered in hundreds of statues. There were men – all men – holding weapons, ranging from clubs and swords to crossbows and even muskets. The latter statues looked new, she thought. They would have to be. There hadn’t been any guns on the Nameless World until she’d introduced them.
She followed the coffin into the temple, careful to keep an eye on Karan. When the younger girl stepped to the side, Emily walked after her. Frieda moved up beside her, touching Emily’s hand lightly, as Caleb walked to the other side. General Pollack and Sienna followed the coffin into the exact center of the building, moving to each side as the coffin drifted down onto a stone altar. Emily glanced around, taking in the decorations. The interior of the temple was covered in carvings, each one showing a single man standing against overwhelming odds. Most showed humans or orcs as the enemy, but one showed a single amorphous creature and another showed no enemy at all. And yet, the Old Script written around the carving suggested there should be something there…
Silence fell. A single man, wearing a golden suit of armor, clanked his way to the coffin and turned to face the crowd. He was the priest, she realized. Every square inch of him was covered in armor, save for his dark face. His voice, when he spoke, was so full of gravitas that Emily found herself paying close attention. There was no magic in his words. Merely…presence.
“A man who goes to war goes to prove himself,” he rumbled. “He may stand firm against the enemies of all…or he may break and run. He may prove himself a man or he may run like a woman. War…proves him.”
Emily concealed her amusement. She didn’t know anyone who would dare suggest Lady Barb or Sienna hadn’t proven themselves in war. Hell, she’d been in the war too. But she understood what the priest meant. Sergeant Harkin had said much the same, when she’d been pushed into his class. War was the ultimate expression of masculinity, he’d said. A woman who wanted to succeed had to act like a man.
And there are very few female non-magicians who fight in wars, she recalled. Lady Barb had made no bones about that, either. Even a trained woman can be dangerously outmatched if she meets a skilled opponent.
“Casper of House Waterfall went to war,” the priest continued. “And while he fell, he fell in battle. He fell in honorable combat. He did not run. He did not hide. He stood up to the enemy and died in glorious battle.”
Emily shivered, fighting down a flicker of anger. It hadn’t been glorious. She’d had half a plan, a plan that had threatened to go off the rails even before they’d discovered the necromancer’s secret. She knew she’d been scared, when she walked into Heart’s Eye. Casper, she was sure, had felt scared too.
Feeling fear isn’t the problem, she recalled. The problem lies in allowing your fear to dominate you.
“For those who fall in battle, death is not the end,” the priest said. “They rise to the heights of war, to serve the gods in their battles with evil. They will feast in the halls of war, then go out to fight and then return, brothers in arms with the gods themselves. We honor their memory just as we look forward to joining them.”
Emily kept her face expressionless. The prospect of spending eternity feasting and fighting didn’t appeal to her, although she could see why some people might like it. A godly realm might turn war into a game, rather than a life-or-death challenge. The slain might rise again to feast and fight, after they fell in heavenly war. But it didn’t strike her as restful. It wasn’t what she wanted.
And it might be a lie told to encourage the troops, the cynical side of her mind noted, sarcastically. Why fear death if it is merely the gateway to eternal reward?
“Casper died, and died well.” The priest held up one hand in a rough salute. “And we deem him worthy to pass through the Iron Gates and take his place among the elect.”
There was a long pause. Emily risked another look at Caleb. He was watching the coffin with grim eyes. General Pollack was completely expressionless, even as he stepped forward and drew his sword. The blade shone so brightly that she was sure it had been charmed.
“From birth, life is a risk,” General Pollack said. His face was as immobile as granite. “Parents swiftly come to learn that they cannot shield their child from danger, that they cannot protect them against the world…that even trying can do terrifying damage. It is never easy to strike the balance between supporting one’s children and letting them make their own mistakes, between being there to help them and allowing them to deal with the consequences of their ignorance. Parenting…is not easy.
“My son chose to follow his father into the military. I was proud of him even as I feared for his life. Casper was my firstborn son, the fruit of my loins. I did not want to lose him. I wanted him to remain safe and well. And yet, I could not stand in his way. A youngster has to make his own mistakes before his parents die, before he stands alone against a hostile world.
“He thought I knew nothing, of course. Such is the folly of youth.”
He paused. Emily kept her thoughts to herself. If Casper’s father had told him that before he died ...
“It is tragic when a father outlives his son,” General Pollack said. “I believed there would come a time when Casper carried the torch to my coffin and lit the fire. Instead, I must watch as my son’s coffin burns. I mourn for his loss…
“And yet I am proud of my son.
“Like me, when I was young, he wanted to prove himself. Like me, he chose war as his way to prove himself. He sought out a challenge, then another challenge…when the time came, he did not flinch. He was no coward. His death did not shame him or any of us.”
There was a second pause. This time, it seemed to last forever.
“It is never easy to know how one will react, when one faces the challenge.” General Pollack held up his sword and considered it reflectively, then returned the blade to his belt. “It is not something you learn until you actually do it. And then, you find out what you actually are…
“My son could have hurried back to the army. It would have been easy for him to justify a tactical retreat on the grounds that someone had to take a warning to the city before it was too late. But he didn’t. When the time came, when he was tested, my son proved himself worthy of his heritage. And so I am proud, even as I mourn his loss.”
He stepped back, smartly. Emily found herself blinking away tears as Sienna moved forward, her gaze sweeping the hall. General Pollack hadn’t been that good a father to his oldest son, she knew. Casper had been trapped between his father’s expectations and his father’s legacy…he’d even been on the verge of suicide before he’d finally had a chance to prove himself. And yet, the general truly mourned his son. Casper had grown up, but there had been no time to mend their relationship.
“We bring our children into the world.” Sienna’s voice was so composed that Emily knew she was in distress. “We birth them, we bathe them, we teach them their lessons and show them how to behave. And we watch, helplessly, as infants grow into children and children grow into adults, pushi
ng gently against us all the time. There always comes a time when the cord must snap, when the newborn adult must stand on his own, when…
“I have seen war. I have seen skirmishes and clashes; I have campaigned against the necromancers and hunted rogue sorcerers until only one of us emerged victorious. When Casper came to me to ask for my blessing, I knew I would sooner go back to war myself than let him go. In my mind, he was still the little boy I’d raised from birth. I did not want him to die.
“But I looked him in the eye,” she added. “I told him to make me proud. I told him to live up to the legacy of both sides of the family. And I hated myself for saying it, because I knew that war kills. I have lost friends and family in battles, some killed outright while others were never the same afterwards. I knew my son could die.
“I let him go.
“I could not have stopped him. How could I? He was a grown man, as little as I might care to admit it. He would have resented me if I’d stopped him from going, even – perhaps – hated me. I’ve seen lives ruined because they couldn’t go to war, because they were mocked and belittled until harsh words became a cancer gnawing at their souls. Casper wanted to go, and I could not stop him. I had to let him go.
“I will never see my little boy again,” she finished. “But I am proud of the man he became.”
Emily had to wipe away her tears as Sienna stepped back. The priest turned to face the coffin, chanting in a language she didn’t recognize. General Pollack waited until the priest finished, then drew his sword again and placed it on the coffin. A moment later, he bowed and strode out of the temple. Caleb and Croce followed him, bowing to the coffin before heading for the rear door. The remainder of the men followed them. Sienna waited until the last of the men had bowed before leading the women past the coffin and out into the rear garden.
I’m sorry, Emily thought, as she looked at the coffin. The empty coffin. I wish I could have brought your body home.
Frieda slipped her hand into Emily’s as they walked out into the garden. It was strange; a handful of plants had grown up around dozens of statues. A handful of men in silver uniforms milled around, carrying trays of drinks. Emily took one, and sniffed it carefully. She was no expert, but she thought there was enough alcohol in the earthen bowl to make a strong man drunk. Hopefully, no one would notice – or care – if she didn’t drink.
Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12) Page 14