Now I Rise

by Kiersten White

  Amal nodded, then held out his hand as though begging. Radu dug free a single coin and placed it in the boy’s palm.

  Radu turned to go back home, happy he could at least report to Nazira that Mehmed thought of them and had sent a warning. And then he remembered: Cyprian was already at the wall.

  The wall Mehmed thought was dangerous enough it merited risking sending a message.

  Radu could go home. He could wait and see what happened. He could stand at the window, watching for Cyprian. And if Cyprian did not return…

  Radu ran for the wall. He would think of some reason, some excuse to pull Cyprian away. He did not question why it was worth the risk. He simply knew he had to.

  When he got there, though, he stopped in shock. There were towers on the other side of the wall. Made of wood, they were covered in sheets of metal and leather hides to protect them from fire and arrows. Huge wheels stuck out from their bases. And they were making their way toward the city.

  Where Mehmed had been keeping the towers was a mystery. No one around Radu knew where they had come from or when they had appeared. But their purpose was already being served. As the towers moved forward, the shielded men within them threw dirt and rocks and bushes into the fosse. Slowly but surely they were filling up the protective ditch.

  Radu hurried past a line of archers, desperate to find Cyprian. Mehmed had not wanted him here, and he saw why now. The walls would fall today.

  The archers shot burning arrows, but they bounced harmlessly off the towers’ shielded exteriors. Small cannons were fired to little effect. The towers carried on without pause. Giustiniani pushed his way to the center of the wall, a few men down from where Radu crouched behind barrels. A constant barrage of arrows flew at the wall, preventing any concerted counterattack.

  “What new hell is this?” Giustiniani said, peering between barrels. He noticed Radu and crawled over to him, gesturing toward the towers. “Did you know he had these?”

  Radu shook his head, leaning back against the barrels, unable to face the towers.

  All his previous anger at Mehmed had fallen away, like an arrow bouncing off the armor Mehmed’s message had supplied. But Mehmed protecting him and Mehmed trusting him were two different things. The towers had to have been in the works since the beginning. And Mehmed had never breathed a word about them to Radu.

  Which meant one of two things: either Mehmed did not trust him, or Mehmed had deliberately withheld information because he had been looking for a way to get Radu into the city from the very beginning, and he had suspected Radu would be caught and tortured.

  Even with the armor of Mehmed’s warning, either option broke Radu’s battered heart.

  By nightfall the ditches were filled enough for the towers to cross them. Their progress was as slow and inevitable as the passage of the sun. As near as anyone could tell, men in the bottom pushed, inching them forward. The rain of arrows from the towers had not stopped. No counterattack could be launched, no run on the towers was possible. They crept forward at an agonizing pace, slowly bringing the city’s doom. And still Radu had not found Cyprian. At this point he could not leave—because he did not have his friend, and because it would look as though he was running away.

  Someone rode across the space between the walls on a horse pulling a heavily laden cart.

  “Giustiniani!”

  It was Cyprian. Radu perked up. The city was going to fall, but Cyprian was here! Radu could get him out, and they could get to Nazira and flee. Radu crouched, running along the wall to the ladder, then climbed down.

  Cyprian was standing in the cart, arrows falling around him as he pushed a barrel off the end. Radu grabbed a discarded shield and ran forward, climbing on next to Cyprian and covering him while he worked. “We need to go!” Radu shouted.

  “Almost finished!” An arrow thunked against the shield over their heads. Cyprian paused, giving Radu that smile that changed his whole face. “Well, that is another life I owe you. One of these days you will have to determine how I can repay you.”

  “What is this?” Radu asked as a few other men who had come to help lifted barrels down.

  “Gunpowder.”

  “The cannons are too small to do enough damage to the towers.”

  Cyprian’s grin shifted to something less warm but more appropriate to their surroundings. “Not for the cannons. Get these on the wall!” he shouted.

  Radu jumped down, still shielding Cyprian as he directed the men. He kept looking toward the gate, wondering how he could get himself and Cyprian out. Meanwhile, Cyprian continued, oblivious to Radu’s desperation. It was no small task leveraging the heavy barrels up the narrow ladders. They managed awkwardly, losing one man to an arrow. Radu followed Cyprian as they rolled the barrels along until they were positioned directly in front of the tower. Maybe if he helped Cyprian accomplish whatever he was doing, Radu could trick him into leaving.

  Giustiniani gestured with concern. “This is nearly all the gunpowder we have left.”

  “It is doing us no good in the cannons,” Cyprian said. “This is our best chance.”

  “But we do not have enough to take out all the towers. There are several more.”

  “The sultan does not know that, does he?”

  Understanding dawned on Radu as Cyprian worked long fuses into the tops of the barrels. “You are going to blow up the towers.” Radu laughed, his throat hoarse from exhaustion and smoke. It was exactly what Lada would have done. He should have thought of it himself.

  No. He was not actually on this side. Radu tapped his head against the stones beside him, trying to knock some sense into himself. He should do something to prevent it. But he was trapped. He could not do anything for Mehmed, and he could not do anything to risk Cyprian’s life.

  Cyprian patted his vest, swearing. “I do not have a flint.”

  Radu held out his own. When Cyprian’s fingers met his, there was a spark unrelated to the flint. Radu swallowed the mess of emotions blocking his throat and his breath.

  Cyprian grinned at him, then struck the flint and lit the fuse. “If it bursts open when it hits the ground, we are blowing ourselves up.”

  Radu shrugged, sitting back. Perhaps that would be a kindness at this point. “At least I will have good company in hell.”

  Cyprian laughed. Giustiniani glared at them both. “On three,” Cyprian said. The two other barrels were a few feet away. “One…two…three!”

  Radu and Cyprian pushed the barrel up and over the wall while other soldiers did the same with theirs. They braced for an explosion, but none came. They peered over, holding their breath and watching as the barrels tumbled and rolled away from the wall and toward the tower. Giustiniani’s veered too far to the right, lodging in debris. The third barrel lost momentum halfway there. But Cyprian’s kept going, rolling right to the base of the tower.

  “Get down!” Cyprian shouted, pulling Radu flat. Radu covered his ears, but the explosion was still deafening. He felt the concussive force of the blast passing right through him. The world hung in stillness for one soundless moment. Then debris pinged against the barrels, against his back, falling everywhere.

  The tower was on its side, ripped open. Men ran forward to help the fallen Ottomans, not accounting for the other barrels. Radu and Cyprian ducked again, two more blasts coming in quick succession.

  The scent of gunpowder almost covered the stench of burning flesh.

  Giustiniani stood, pointing to a group of soldiers standing at the ready behind a sally port. “Burn everything! Kill anyone still moving!”

  The port was flung open and men ran out. It was quick work, killing any Ottomans still alive and stunned from the last explosion. They poured pitch onto what was left of the tower’s wooden frame and wheels. When lit, it burned so brightly that Radu could feel the flames warm his face.

  Cyprian turned away from the killing, pulling his knees up and resting his head on them. His shoulders were shaking.

  “Are you hurt?” Radu’
s hand hovered above the other man’s arm. He did not dare touch him. Not on purpose, not in tenderness. He had defied Mehmed’s order to stay safe because he could not abandon Cyprian. And in doing so, he had helped defeat this newest, best chance at the end of the siege. How many ways could a man turn traitor in one lifetime?

  Cyprian looked up. Radu could not tell if he was laughing or crying. “I really thought that would blow us up. I thought there was a very good chance I was taking down our own walls and letting him in.”

  “But you tried it anyway?”

  Cyprian wiped under his eyes, which left his face smeared with soot. “He is attacking us from every possible angle. Below the walls, outside them, above them. From the land, from the sea. He does not need everything to work. Just one thing. And eventually, something will.” Cyprian leaned his head back, looking up at the smoke above them. “But not tonight,” he whispered.

  “But not tonight,” Radu echoed. He did not know if he said it in relief or in mourning.

  Cyprian’s gamble paid off. When one tower fell, Mehmed pulled them all back. The bombardment continued unabated, but by now that felt almost normal.

  Two days after the towers retreated, Cyprian received a summons to the palace. Radu was pulling on his boots to go back to the wall. Amal had not been at his place outside the Hagia Sophia. Radu had nothing but confessions and confusions to send to Mehmed anyway.

  “My uncle has asked you to come, too,” Cyprian said.

  Radu frowned, surprised. “Why?”

  “He does not say.”

  The small part of Radu’s soul that had not been beaten down under the bombardment feared that he had been discovered. Perhaps he was walking to his death. He caught Nazira’s eye from across the room. “Nazira, it seems quieter at the walls today. You should go over to Galata and see if there is any food you can buy there. Cyprian is losing weight.”

  “I am not!” Cyprian forced his stomach forward and patted it.

  “He looks terrible.” Radu smiled as though in jest but levied a meaningful look at Nazira. “Bring him some food from those beautiful fat Italians.”

  “You look terrible.” Nazira narrowed her eyes and shook her head at Radu. “I am not going to Galata for anyone or anything. I will be right here when you come back from the palace.”

  Radu walked up to her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Please,” he whispered against her skin.

  “Not without you.” Then she pulled back and smiled, reaching up to rub at the stubble on his face. “Both of you eat at the palace. Save me the trouble of making you a meal. And while you are at it, see if the emperor can spare a razor, too.”

  With one last pleading look, Radu joined Cyprian. They walked in silence through the muddy streets. Though there were more religious processions than ever, they were fortunate enough not to run into any. Sometimes in his dreams Radu was stuck in the middle of one. Around the sound of the priest’s liturgy, the women wailed and the children cried, while the smoke of the censer clogged his eyes and nose until he could neither see nor breathe. When the smoke finally cleared, everyone around him was dead. But the liturgy continued.

  “Are you well?” Cyprian asked. “You keep shuddering.”

  Radu nodded. “Cold for May.”

  “Do not tell anyone else that. They will find some prophecy or other that states that a cold May signals the end of the world.”

  Radu tried to laugh but could not. If only Nazira had agreed to leave, he would feel at peace with facing his end. It was inevitable, at this point. He was always going to die here. He did not want her to.

  At least he trusted that Cyprian was not the one who had figured it out. Cyprian wore his honesty painted across his face. If Radu was going to his death, Cyprian did not know it. It was poor comfort, but enough to give Radu the strength to keep moving, keep walking in this precious space before Cyprian found out the truth and never again looked at him with those beautiful gray eyes.

  They passed several women and children dragging sacks full of rocks and rubble to repair the walls. When a stone cannonball shattered the wall of a house next to them, Radu and Cyprian ducked instinctively, before they had even processed what caused the noise.

  The women and children had no such experience. One of the children lay in the street, broken and unmoving. A woman knelt over the child. She picked up the body and tucked it against the wall. “I will be back,” she said, her hands bloody. Then she retrieved her bag and the bag of the child, and continued on to the wall.

  “How can we go on?” Cyprian whispered. “Is this hell?”

  Radu took Cyprian’s hand, turning him away from the body of the child. The palace was before them. Radu knew it did not matter what he hoped or feared would happen. Death was unfeeling and random, as likely to strike down an innocent child as a guilty man.

  They were met by two soldiers who escorted them past Constantine’s study. They moved deeper into the palace, and then through a courtyard into another building. It was colder than the palace, the rocks leeching warmth from the day. The air smelled of mildew and despair.

  “Why are we going to the dungeons?” Cyprian asked.

  Radu allowed himself one moment of true sorrow for Nazira. He had failed. At everything, at all of it, but at this one most important thing he had promised himself and God. I am sorry, he thought as a prayer. I am sorry. Save her.

  “Prisoners,” one of the soldiers said, as though that explained everything.

  When they emerged through a door at the bottom of a winding set of stairs, Constantine turned to face them. His face was hard. Next to him was Giustiniani. Radu took a deep breath, praying for strength. He met their gazes unflinchingly. He might still be able to barter for Nazira’s life.

  “There you are. Come on.” Giustiniani gestured impatiently. Radu stepped forward, finally able to see past them.

  Kneeling on the floor chained, bloodied, and dazed, was a man Radu had last seen being berated by his mother while delivering gunpowder. Tohin’s son, Timur. How was he here?

  “He has been speaking Arabic,” Giustiniani said, “and we cannot understand him. Can you translate?”

  “I should be able to. Where did he come from?” Radu asked, trying to control his voice.

  “We caught him digging a tunnel under the walls. The rest were killed with Greek fire. Burned alive.”

  “I am the lucky one,” Timur mumbled around a bloody, swollen tongue and broken teeth. He looked up at Radu and smiled. Radu did not know if the smile was one of recognition or madness.

  Radu was not here to be tortured and killed. He was here to aid in the torture of a man he knew. A man with a family. Two children, he had spoken of. Or was it three? Radu could not remember. It seemed very important now to remember. I am sorry, he prayed again, this time with even more anguish. But Nazira was still safe. He held on to that light as a way to keep out of the darkness threatening to claim him.

  Radu cleared his throat. “I know this man. His name is Timur. I met him briefly before fleeing the court.”

  Giustiniani grunted. “We need the locations of all the other tunnels. My men have been working on him for a while, but he has not given us any information.” He pointed at a map of the walls. “Do whatever you can think of to get him to talk.”

  Blood dripped slowly down Timur’s face, pooling on the stained stones beneath him.

  Radu crouched in front of him. He only knew Arabic from the Koran, and he would not bring those sacred verses here. He did not want to use Turkish for fear Constantine and Cyprian would understand. “Do you speak Hungarian?” he asked in that language. He knew Cyprian did not speak it, and he was fairly certain none of the other men did. He looked at them, but they did not seem to understand.

  Timur dragged his head up. His eyes widened for the briefest moment in recognition, then he hung his head again. “Yes,” he answered in the same language. “A little. Can you save me.” It was not spoken like a question. A question implied hope. Timur knew there wa
s none.

  “I can guarantee you a quick death. And—” Radu’s voice caught. He took a deep breath, then pressed on. “And I will send word to Mehmed of your bravery. Your family will be taken care of forever. I swear it.”

  Timur shuddered, the last of the tension in his shoulders leaving. “What do they want?”

  “The location of all the other tunnels. Will there be any men in them now?”

  “Not now. Tonight.”

  “If we give them the information, they will act on it immediately. No more of your men have to die. The tunnels did not work. You tried your best. I am sorry it ended this way.”

  A sigh escaped the other man’s lips. It smelled like blood, but it sounded like relief. “I did my part. God knows. You will tell the sultan that.”

  “I will.” Radu gestured for the map. Timur pointed to several locations, tracing lines. The blood on his fingers worked as ink.

  “He is telling the truth,” Giustiniani said. “I suspected these two. This one we found this morning. But the others we did not know about.” He rolled up the blood-marked map and handed it to a waiting guard who ran out of the cell.

  With his back to the other men, Radu mouthed a benediction in Arabic that only he and Timur could see. Timur’s face relaxed, and he closed his eyes. Radu pulled out a knife and drove it into the base of Timur’s neck. He slumped to the floor, dead. There was very little blood. Whatever had been done to him before Radu arrived had already drained him of most of his blood.

  Cyprian exclaimed in surprise. Radu pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his knife clean. His hands looked steadier than he felt. “I promised him a quick death in exchange for the information. He upheld his end of the bargain.”

  “But we might have needed him for something else,” Giustiniani said, frowning.

  Radu feigned his own look of surprise. “I am sorry. You told me to do whatever it took to get him to give us what he knew. That was what it took.” He avoided Cyprian’s eyes and bowed to Constantine. “Unless you have further use for me, I am due at the walls.”