Beggar's Rebellion: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Empire of Resonance Book 1)

by L. W. Jacobs

  “No. But we have to do something soon. Who knows what they’re doing in there? If they’re even feeding them?”

  Aelya put a hand on his arm, face serious for once. “They’ll be all right, Tai. They’re tough, and there’s other Achuri there to help them. Come on.”

  They met Ilrick a hand after sunset, night air blessedly cool. The Yershman was leaning against a smooth boulder, pipe crackling cherry-red in the blue dimness. “Tai! And who’s this? A lad for the fight?”

  Tai felt Aelya stiffen. Though she was stocky and kept her hair short, she didn’t like being mistaken for a boy. “My name is Aelya.”

  “Ah, a girlfriend, then.”

  “Just a friend,” Tai said quickly. “A friend in need of some help—she lost a fight with the lawkeepers.”

  Ilrick whistled low through his teeth. “I can see that. Nasty business. We can put her up for a few days, but—well, we’ll talk to Karhail about it.”

  Tai glanced at Aelya. “Thanks. We owe you one.”

  Ilrick chuckled. “Amount of yura you just got us, stains, we should be putting her up for life. C’mon. And watch your feet—the ground gets tricky.”

  Ilrick led them, as much by his chatter and sage smoke as by starlight, into the fields between the city and the mines, veering toward the rocky eastern hills. The star dropped maybe two fingers in the sky before Ilrick stopped next to a cluster of boulders. “This is it.”

  “This?”

  The Seinjialese’s smirk was just visible in the glow from his pipe. He slipped between the boulders, and following behind, Tai recognized the stairway he’d climbed up the night before. Had it only been a day?

  Karhail, Lumo and a few others Tai didn’t recognize were waiting in the torchlight at the bottom as they arrived. They clapped and bellowed on seeing him, calling “There’s the man!” “Stuck it to Coldferth!” “Best wafter in Ayugen!”

  Karhail clapped him on the shoulder, glancing at Aelya. “Welcome back, man. A solid blow to the Houses!”

  The praise felt strange.

  “Ah—thanks. Karhail, this is my partner Aelya. Aelya, this is the Ghost Rebellion.”

  He went around introducing them—mountainous Lumo and sour-faced Beal, a red-haired woman named Eyna, and several other new faces. Most greeted them with a nod or a welcome, though the timeslip Weiland got up from his lazy sprawl to give Aelya a gentlemanly bow and a kiss on the backside of her hand.

  When introductions were done, Karhail said, “Come, you must be tired, and I see Aelya is wounded.”

  “Lawkeepers,” she said, always on edge around new people.

  Karhail lead them to a smaller chamber, walls partially hewn and partially natural rock that glistened in the torchlight. There were a few pallets and stools and they took seats, Karhail calling for porridge. “We’ve heard reports of the theft,” he said, settling on a three-legged stool. “They say you wafted through the roof of one of the stockhouses?”

  Aelya goggled. Tai shrugged. “There was nowhere else to go.”

  “Well, it was a good thing you did, and brave. This load of arms means we can finally start recruiting more and equip ourselves better for strikes. We stand in your debt.”

  Tai nodded. “As I stood in yours. I would collect on that debt for at least a few days. Aelya needs a safe place to rest while she heals, away from a lawkeeper named Tulric who’s likely seeking payback.”

  The bulky Seinjialese swung his head to Aelya. “Will you join our cause as well? What’s your resonance?”

  “I’m a brawler,” she said, still clammed up. “And I don’t know. I think so.”

  He nodded. “Well, we’ll see you healed at least. It’s the least we can do.”

  “She got hurt protecting our kids, Karhail. We come from the prison camp where they’re being held—have you seen it?”

  “I have not, though I lived near the ruins of such a thing in Seingard. My father’s tales were dark.”

  “It’s like a fortress, and heavily guarded. It will take more fighters than we have here.”

  Karhail nodded. “There are more in the forest hideout, but it may be some time before we’re able to take them on. Months yet, or a year, even. Are you still willing to stand with us?”

  Tai rolled his shoulders. A year was too long. But thinking of strength put him in mind of the lighthaired woman Ella, of the story she’d told. “There—may be a way to increase our strength faster.”

  Karhail’s eyes locked on him. “Oh? What is it?”

  “Well, I haven’t tried it myself. But you just need a handful of yura…”

  The rebels were not as excited about the experiment as Karhail had been. “You want me to take how much moss?” Ilrick asked.

  “Twelve balls. Or so,” Tai said, not remembering exactly what Ella had said.

  “I don’t know,” Eyna said, braiding her red hair. “No one ever takes that much. It could be dangerous.”

  “I have never heard of this thing,” Lumo rumbled from the corner. “Are you certain, Tai?”

  Aelya made a dismissive psssh sound. “These are the tough rebels, Tai? I don’t know.”

  Tai gave a dismissive shrug, recognizing one of their street routines. “Yeah. Maybe we should try someplace else.”

  “I’ll do it,” Beal snapped. “Then we’ll see who’s the stronger wafter.”

  Twelve balls and several bowls of agetegang later, Beal was unchanged, glaring at Tai across the circle of stones. “I told you it was a damn lie. I don’t think he wafts without yura, either.”

  “Don’t get testy,” Ilrick said, throwing dice with Lumo on the long stone, “just ’cause it didn’t work for you. You know Lumo here resonates without any moss in.”

  “That’s ’cause he’s a Minchu,” Beal spat.

  “No,” Lumo said. “This thing is not easy but it is possible for anyone. Did you hear voices?”

  Beal shifted his seat. “The temptations?”

  “Ah, yes. In your beliefs, they are temptations. You need to overcome them, if you want to take your ability back.”

  Beal’s eyes glanced from Lumo to Karhail, back to the floor. “You don’t overcome temptations,” he muttered.

  Karhail flexed his neck. “Who’s next?”

  Silence. Aelya gave a street-girl sniff that let them know exactly what she thought. Weiland got up at this, glancing at her. “I’ll do it.”

  He took twelve balls, then a couple more for good measure, and they waited, Lumo playing melancholy tunes on the lute to the pop and sizzle of the tallow lamps. Two songs in, Weiland started muttering to himself, then with a zip of rent air slipped from the cavern and was gone.

  “Where ’n meck’d he go?” Ilrick asked.

  Lumo paused. “In this time, he needs to be alone.”

  Beal muttered something and left the chamber, brushing past Tai where he lay, trying to sleep. Aelya was curled up too, having taken another packet of herbs, but Tai couldn’t stop thinking of the kids. What they were doing? Who they were with? What were conditions like inside the camp?

  Eventually, he gave up on sleep and walked over to Lumo, who was plucking a somber melody on his lute.

  “Tai,” he said, not missing a note, “your dreams are not good?”

  “No.” He sat on the rock ledge near the giant red-haired man. “I’m worried about my kids.”

  “They will find their way. The Councilate has no reason to kill them.”

  The words held little comfort. The Councilate had no reason to keep them alive, either.

  “This taking of yura, it is how you overcame your first voice?”

  “No. I—my first voice?”

  “Yes. Or have you overcome the second as well?”

  Tai shook his head. “There are two?”

  Lumo laughed, never missing a note. “There are many voices in the world, but you can only hold two at a time.”

  Oh, boy, Hake said inside. Here we go again.

  “So, what happens when you overcome the seco
nd?”

  “You gain your second ability—like when you use yura now, only stronger.”

  Tai shook his head. “I tried yura once, to see what would happen, but I still just wafted. I thought I didn’t need it anymore.”

  Lumo nodded. “The tonic—that is what we call the second ability—is more difficult than the root. Most of my people cannot do it without training. For wafters, you become able to waft objects other than yourself.”

  Tai started. Waft other objects? Other people?

  You’re not seriously believing this. Tai, last time you listened to him, you almost died trying to rob a mecking mine compound. Now he’s going to tell you some more elkmeck and ask you to do something even more dangerous. You’re smarter than this.

  Lumo smiled. “Your revenant, he doesn’t like hearing this.”

  “You can hear that?”

  “No. But I can see from your expression. It is common. They do not like being named.”

  “I—his name’s Hake. But he’s not a…revenant. He’s a spirit guide.”

  Thanks.

  “Revenant is the best translation I have for our word,” Lumo said. “I know your people believe they are guides, but trust me, they are not. They are not friends or ancestors, no matter what they may say.”

  That set Hake off. Rather than listen to it, Tai said, “This second ability, the tonic, could you teach me?”

  Lumo inclined his head, adjusting the tune of a string. “I have never wafted, but I have heard others being taught. I could try. And if I fail, that is life, yes?”

  Watch. To figure it out, you’ll need to put yourself in some kind of danger or something. Do their next theft. Tai, these people are using you.

  A wail sounded down the passage. Aelya started, opening her eyes. “Wha?”

  A zip sounded, and they all looked up.

  “Weiland?” Ilrick called. “That you?”

  The lanky timeslip appeared in the center of the room, grinning. “Aye.”

  Tai opened his mouth to ask him something, but the man was gone in a wail of sped-up speech. He looked at Lumo. “Did it work?”

  Lumo’s lute vanished, then Ilrick’s dice and the pot from the fire. Weiland appeared in the center again, holding them all in his hands. “I’m free. Free, mates!”

  Lumo stood. “You haven’t taken any more yura?”

  Weiland grinned. “All gone, and slipping deeper than ever. Ever!”

  Ilrick gave a shout, but Lumo looked concerned. “And you have fought with your revenant? You overcame it?”

  Weiland grew serious. “Aye. The challenges. Aye, we fought. I never thought you could overcome them. Sooty deeps! You’re not supposed to overcome them. But here I am.” He grinned again, then with a rattle of steps, the lute, dice and cooking pot reappeared in their places.

  “That is good,” Lumo said. “Do not forget how you overcame them, or they may come back.”

  “Aye,” Weiland nodded, serious.

  Karhail appeared from another passage, Beal behind him. “Weiland! Did it work?”

  Weiland grinned. “It did!”

  Karhail gave a roar, pounding his foot against the floor. “It worked! Let’s see it!”

  Weiland zipped again, this time appearing in the center of the room with Karhail’s sword and sheath. Karhail gave a surprised shout, but he was grinning. “Stains, man, you’re even faster than before!”

  “I am,” Weiland grinned. “Feel like I can stop mecking time.”

  “Yes,” Lumo put in. “The resonance is stronger this way, and overcoming releases a surge in power. Even more so for those with great natural strength.” He gave Tai a significant look, as if to say when Tai overcame his second revenant, it would be a sight to behold.

  Another zip and the sword and sheath were back, Weiland appearing in the center of the room. “Searing right.” He zipped over to Tai. “Thank you. Without you, this wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have seen—” He shook his head. “Thank you.” He held out his fist in the old rebellion style, and Tai hooked it with his forearm.

  “Aye,” Karhail said from the door, checking his sword buckle. “You’ve done a lot for us, Tai. If this method works for others, and with the load of weapons coming from Odril”—he grinned, wolflike—“the Houses won’t stand a chance.”

  Tai stood. “Then you will take Aelya, too?”

  “Aye.” His eyes were feral in the torchlight. “With this method, we’ll take them all.”

  16

  Comparing journals and oral accounts of the fall of the Yersh Kingdom offers a more nuanced view. Worldsmouth, already a bustling and independent port, did not shatter Yershire’s glass cities so much as let them break, driven past political viability by overpopulation, poor governance, and Brinerider disease.

  —Telen Fostler, Introduction to The New Yersh Kingdom: Empire Reconsidered

  Ella paused on the grand concourse in Newgen. The walled village was amazing, an idealized version of Worldsmouth’s sprawling delta of islands and ornate buildings, complete with pleasure boats bobbing between the artificial islands. It was better, really—gone were the mud, the crumbling old foundations underneath new, and the stink of nightpots and butcher’s waste thrown in turgid waters.

  And topping it all was the Tower. Ella had to stop a moment, despite herself, to gaze up at the thing. Fifty-some floors of iron and glass, rising from the waters in a smooth spiral up to a top so high, it appeared hazy in the sunlight, the seven-armed squid of Galya gleaming at the top. In a city of ornate architecture, it put the other buildings to shame.

  And she was going there, to meet the highest authority in the city?

  To ask him for money?

  Ella straightened herself and kept walking. Yes, she was.

  It was as grand on the inside as the out, a hollow cone of space and light, massive pillars descending from the ceiling to punctuate the enormity of the central space. Music tinkled from chime players in the central courtyard, incense wafted, plush rugs soft under her feet. A sweeping stairway beckoned at the rear, spiraling up and inward toward the massive glass cupola at the peak. It would lead mainly to apartments for the wealthiest of Newgen, with House Galya and Councilate offices at the top.

  Taking a deep breath, Ella started up. She knew the girl Aelya had been right—she would likely find little aid among the darkhaired people of the city. It was amazing Tai had helped her as much as he had, considering what her people had done to his.

  That left her homeless, moonless, and dependent on the strangers of a society not known for its generosity. Her one hope was Arten Sablo, the man she had met on her first day here, who had offered aid in her search for the thief. Whether he’d been earnest or not remained to be seen—he was, after all, nobly born and the highest local representative for an empire she trusted not at all.

  Ella paused in her thoughts—it was odd, having LeTwi gone. Like there was a space where he’d normally speak, an intellectual retort she could almost hear. But he had really vanished with the yura overdose—and while there was more space inside now, it still felt a touch hollow.

  The walkway was busy, lighthaired men in long-tailed kurtas and women with elaborate braidwork stepping up and down the long spiral of red-carpeted stair. None gave her a second look, but Ella couldn’t help feeling out of place somehow—that her dress was too shabby, her hair unwashed, that someone at some point would realize she wasn’t really like them, wasn’t simply on a stroll from her expensive apartments and well-placed husband. She had preferred the company of the sailors on the Swallowtail and viewed her interactions with her clients as a sort of game, a role to be played. Actually being in Councilate society with nowhere to retreat felt entirely different.

  Maybe because she had never really been in polite society. She’d been locked in her father’s house since age eleven, and all her mother’s etiquette lessons or the books her brother brought still didn’t add up to the socialization most of her peers would have gotten. And when she’d escap
ed, she’d spent her time on the docks, in the slums, passing as a Yersh peasant to avoid detection. Meaning that now, among what should be her own people, she felt a fraud.

  Ella began walking again, nodding to a group of women chatting as they made their way down. Technically, she was a fraud. Aygla was not her family name, nor was the history she’d invented for herself, or her calculism credentials. If her true identity was ever discovered, she would have bigger problems than Odril and the debt of a few thousand moons.

  No reason that it should, but still, Ella had to steel herself a few times more before reaching the Arbiter’s offices, nearly at the top of the Tower, ground floor a dizzying drop off the railing of the spiral walkway. A polished young man behind a high wood counter greeted her in impeccable Worldsmouth Yersh. “Good day, madame. What can we do for you?”

  She summoned her mother’s poise. “I seek an audience with the High Arbiter, if he is in.”

  “I’m afraid he’s a very busy man. What is the nature of your business?”

  To beg money seemed like a bad response. “A follow-up to a conversation we had last week at Merendian’s Teahouse. Just a few words.”

  “I see.” The man’s hair was oiled to a sheen, swept back in a fashion she suspected was too new for her to have heard of it. “Well, he’s taken up in arbitration for the better part of the afternoon, but if you sit in audience, you might catch him between sessions.”

  Ella extended a hand to him, feeling foolish though she knew it was the proper thing to do. He brushed lips against it. Thanks, Mom. “Thank you, sir. I will.”

  The arbitrarium was a few turns down the spiral walkway, doors guarded by lighthaired lawkeepers standing at rigid attention. Ella slipped in, again feeling wildly out of place as a few of the audience members turned to look at her. She found a seat in the rows of benches, an attorney at the front giving a lengthy argument. The Arbiter sat on a dais above the rest, dressed in robes of state. He looked older than she remembered, and less kind, though his distant expression could just be from boredom.

  The arbitration was something having to do with mineral rights, with House Coldferth having impinged on the underground holdings of a minor House. As she waited for the arbitration to finish, Ella realized there would be more to ruining Odril than simply summoning him to court. She would either need to hire an attorney—something she could scarcely afford at present—or teach herself the legalese these men rattled off with such nonchalance.