“Come on, Nolan. How did you figure it out?” Oly inquires as he, Moses, and I duck behind the supply tent. It’s just about dawn, and the first streaks of light are appearing above the horizon. Moses and I carry broken chain lines, part of our slapdash plan to escape. Only a few more hours and a few more items before we follow Levi to freedom … or a painful death at the hands of a reaver. At least I’ll die wearing my boots. I wiggle my toes in my reclaimed Swanson’s. It feels good to be wearing them again. A little bit of home.
“Let’s focus on the task at hand, eh?” I say, waving him off. Oly has been hounding me all night, trying to figure out how I was able to spot his card trick. The truth is, I’m not sure how to explain it, and even if I could, I’m not sure how he’d react. I can’t get Levi’s words out of my head: Fight with me and you will fear no man. I will teach you to use your gifts to find your family.
It feels so wrong, thinking of myself the way Levi said, of having “Atlee’s grace” in me. It’s a betrayal of Cenecan values. My people haven’t prayed to Atlee in several hundred years. To us, he is a false prophet, a distraction from the true harmony of the Seasons. We pray to Father Winter when it snows and Mother Spring when the blooms come. When it is warm, we rejoice with Sister Summer, and when the harvest comes, we thank Brother Autumn. That is our way.
But how does any of that explain what I saw after I blacked out with the Cenecan’s hands around my throat? The red sky. The eyes. The pain I felt in my body as if it had been stitched together like a quilt. Levi believes that he and his kind have been saved by Atlee, that they are chosen to serve his will and saved from some sort of eternal purgatory. The Kalykans call them holy warriors.
Can I really be the same as them? Did I really die and come back … changed?
Another thought closes in on me: if I can do what the reavers can, if I can master what abilities Levi seems to think I’ve been gifted with, then I can use them to find Sarah and Emily like he said.
Hope flutters in my breast.
“Conscript inventory is over there,” Oly says as he points toward a cluster of worn, once-white tents whose main purpose seem to be to cover stacks of brown crates. A handful of Kalykan soldiers rim the tents’ perimeter, smoking and finding ways to pass the time. The monotony of the siege is found in the bags developing under their eyes and in their increasingly wistful tales of hometowns and fair maids waiting for them in some far-flung corner of the Republic of Kalyko.
One of them catches sight of us, and the relaxed posture of the group immediately stiffens. But it’s not Oly—who leads our retinue like some vaunted official—that their eyes flock to. Rather, it’s Moses. Since joining Group Thirteen, I’ve observed that the man has this effect on everyone who crosses his path. He revels in the reaction.
“We seek an exchange,” the big man booms as he tosses the chains we carry at the feet of the Kalykans. He doesn’t warn me, of course, which means that the moment the chains crash to the ground, they jerk me forward with them. Oly clears his throat.
“What my friend here means to say is that Guard Lieutenant Hoods requests that we exchange these busted shackles for new ones. Seven are needed,” he says.
The Kalykans can’t pull their eyes from Moses, and I wonder if they heard anything Oly said. Part of the reason Levi suggested we bring Moses was to lend credibility to the ruse. Any soldier who has fought on the front lines and seen the conscript groups knows of Moses and his connection to Group Thirteen. Why wouldn’t Lieutenant Hoods send his most trusted conscript group for such an important exchange?
“I’m not giving you anything without some type of proof of your claims, conscript,” the lead soldier, a dusky, mustachioed corporal says. He spits on the ground like that settles it. Levi had anticipated this, of course, so when Oly pulls out a letter and hands it to him, the corporal grunts in annoyance and snatches it away.
It’s so strange that seemingly insignificant moments such as these can decide one’s fate. If they find out the work order is Warrick’s forgery, we will be dead in moments.
But if I am a reaver like Levi says, can I even die? Isn’t that what a reaver is, someone who has mastered death? I don’t suppose I want to find out.
The spitting soldier lets out a groan.
“Hoods,” laments the soldier, “that sisterfuck.” He turns to one of the men behind him who is still stealing glances at Moses. “He used to be like us once, you know? One of the regular men. But reading this really shows how damned arrogant he’s become ever since he got promoted to guard lieutenant.”
The humor isn’t lost on me, but I take special care to hold it inside. Warrick, who always has to have the last word, couldn’t help but put a bit of himself into the forgery, it seems. Moses lets out a booming laugh that’s so obnoxious we draw glances from nearby soldiers. Both Oly and I look to each other, terrified, but to our surprise, the Kalykans find it humorous and laugh along with Moses.
“Frank, Dalvany.” The lead soldier stands up from the crate he was perched upon. “Go fetch seven new shackle lines, and bring them to the Group Thirteen tent.”
“We will carry the chains, my friends. There’s no need for you to be bothered with this,” offers Moses as he wipes away tears of laughter. To my surprise, the Kalykans seem almost grateful. Private Moustache leads us to a set of crates within the tent and tells us the conscript chains can be found within. He looks around, trying to find something to pry the box open with, but is startled by the sound of Moses ripping up planks with his bare hands.
“Thank you, my friend. We will be back soon for the rest,” Moses says, with a kind smile. The specialist shrugs and walks out, and Moses’s grin disappears as he turns to me and Oly, whispering, “Help me, you fools.”
As we trek back to the Group Thirteen tent, I turn to Oly behind me and see him struggling with the weight of the chains.
“Hey, Oly, aren’t you supposed to be the thief?” I ask.
His nose and brow scrunch like a crumpled piece of butcher paper, and he pretends to laugh but is quickly cut off by Moses, and for the second time that day, our ears ring with the giggle of the giant.
When we reach the Group Thirteen tent, Levi is satisfied with our haul.
“Good work, you three,” he says, patting Oly on the back. “Store the extra chains in the water barrels and latrines; the two places they won’t look. Moses, how many more do you think you’ll need to finish this up quickly?”
The big man doesn’t hesitate. “Three more. I’ll go get them now.”
As Levi looks around for other group members to check in on their progress, I feel a hand grab my bicep and pull me away from the excitement. It’s Caleb, and he’s got a wild look in his eyes.
“Lad, I think I found a way for you to find out the name of that city where we were processed, where you lost your wife and little girl!”
I whip around, meeting his eyes with my own.
“How?” I ask, trying my best to keep my tone even.
“That woman, the reaver who whooped the conscript-killing soldier? She’s here, in the camp.”
“Where?”
Caleb points to the far side of the camp, toward the east side of the second trench.
“There’s two of them, lad, so let me come …”
But I don’t catch the rest of his statement. I’m already in motion, like a boulder tumbling down a cliff. There’s no stopping me.
The fastest way to get to the other side of the camp would be simply to follow the trench behind our conscript tents and the latrines, but doing so carries its own risks. The soldiers stationed there would surely ask questions as to why a conscript is wandering alone. The safer bet would be to cut through the war camp and maneuver my way toward my quarry.
The tents that the Kalykans call home fill the muddy space between the two concentric circular trenches surrounding Summerset. Unlike the death, devastation, and chaos we experience on the field of battle, here there is only strict order. What was devoid of humanity weeks ago is now a crawling miniature metropolis with hospitals, mess halls, barracks, conscript quarters, horse paddocks, and on and on.
Despite all that has been done to me and mine, I cannot help but be impressed with how precisely and efficiently their camp is arrayed and run. Each of the white tents is placed in rows of two, set exactly one fathom apart. Yet the rows seem to continue forever, giving the appearance of a great white cloud staked permanently to the ground. Along the alleys that the rows of the tents create are flags with the gammadon flickering about in the wind and the odd tree that somehow survived the formation of the camp.
Suddenly I am struck by a memory.
It is winter, and the snow is falling on Broad Street back in Mustang Prairie. Emily is tugging at my shirt and signing frantically toward a tinkerer’s stall in the marketplace. Sarah smiles and ushers me to see what all the fuss is about. She carries a basket of parsnips, carrots, and leeks. She will be making her famous root soup for the Winter Solstice Festival this week.
Emily points at a collection of tin soldiers, each no more than the length of my thumb.
Present? she signs, holding her lower hand like a cup and covering it with her right, then signaling that this was a question.
“I thought only boys were interested in toys like these?” I ask my wife.
“Solstice is coming up, Nolan, if she wants it, get it for her. We’ve had a good year,” Sarah says.
I don’t, though. I get her a stuffed lion instead, and a pretty dress. I didn’t want my daughter to play at war. I didn’t want her to know about such ugliness …
Upon entry to the camps, its ordered symmetry is forgotten, and I am swallowed by the bustle of soldiers and conscripts alike. I allow momentum to carry me past soldiers, conscripts, and tents until I reach the area Caleb mentioned: the outskirts of the outer trench, the one built to keep potential Cenecan reinforcements from flanking the Kalykan army. Once there, I immediately see the woman reaver, as well as one other.
Her partner, a man, sits atop a horse on the outside of the trench like he’s looking to lay waste to the Cenecan city all by himself. He leads his roan stallion at a walk alongside the trench and seems to scatter the men occupying it. Each looks away, unable to meet his eyes. It brings me satisfaction that even the average Kalykan soldier feels the same fear we do toward these black-handed brigands.
Fittingly, his ebony-gloved right hand holds the reins of a second horse, this one a chestnut-brown mare topped by an empty saddle. The mare’s owner, the woman, has dismounted and walks the other side of the trench, surveying the occupants there. It’s definitely her. Seeing her now takes me back several … what, weeks? Months now?
Even from afar, I can see her stern face and long black hair flittering in the wind. She wears the same lavaliere around her neck that I saw that day with my family. The only notable difference is that with the weather starting to nip a bit, she dons the gray duster that I’ve come to learn is part of a reaver’s garb.
The pair surveys the camp like hawks scanning a field for voles. They are searching for something. Or someone. Hunting.
I must talk to her. This might be my only chance to find out where we were split up. But how? A conscript does not simply walk up to a reaver and introduce himself.
I follow at a distance, careful to remain out of their sight while keeping them within mine. A delicate balance needs to be struck. The key is getting the woman alone so I can ask her without her partner, so I stay as close to the war camp as I possibly can and duck behind tents and crates whenever possible. At one point, I pick up and carry a sack of mealy potatoes, just so I look like I’m moving with purpose.
Suddenly, the man on horseback points to a conscript in the trench, and the woman pulls him out effortlessly, as though he’s as light as a bedsheet. I halt my progress and shift the sack of potatoes to cover most of my face.
“What are you doing, conscript?” A Kalykan who sees me hiding confronts me.
Thinking quick, I lie. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m looking for the conscript tents. Can’t seem to find my way back.”
He looks like he’s about to hit me but thinks better of it. He points behind me.
“Just go back round that way until you find the inner trench. Follow it until you find the latrines. The smell will guide you.” He chuckles at that. “Now get out of here.”
I peek back around to where the two reavers are and notice they’ve finished interrogating the conscript and have let him go back into the throng. He hurriedly stumbles away, and they turn to make their way into the heart of the war camp, toward the direction of the inner trenches.
“Thank you, sir,” I say to the soldier, not even looking him in the eye, allowing my pursuit to continue.
When I find the reavers again, they’re near the tents in the camp closest to the conscript quarters. The camp is not exactly in the conscript quarters but close enough to alarm me. What’s interesting is the man has decided to remain saddled while the woman remains unsaddled. The pair have clearly worked together before, and they search from different vantage points.
All I can see is the back of her head. She’s a brunette, like my wife, and wears her hair up high so that the sway of her brown locks matches that of her mare’s tail. Her gray coat ripples as wind catches it.
They walk as though they are being pulled along by some unseen guide. How is it they know exactly where they are going? Never have I seen a reaver come to the conscript tents. Everywhere they roam, they are given a wide berth, feared as they are by all.
Levi says that reavers are just people like us, that they are flesh and blood and can be hurt and killed the same as any man or woman. He says our fantasies about them are often just that. Whether driven by curiosity or necessity, I follow them, anxious to learn anything about them that could help me.
The pair draws nearer to the conscript tents; the man takes an eastern path, the woman the western path. As I follow the woman and focus intently on the back of the woman’s duster, another streak of red flows across my vision. The coat slows in the wind. I take note of her saber. Toward the top, where the steel of the blade protrudes, I can see a small dent, probably from a successful parry. The edges of her duster jacket are caked in mud, but it’s a different color from the mud on her tall boots. Whatever she is looking for, the search has taken her through lots of different terrain. If I can’t figure out how to approach this woman, I may never see Emily or Sarah again.
Crimson specks flow past my vision. It hurts to keep my eyes open. Levi said this would happen if I grew too focused on a thing. I don’t want this sickness, this Kalykan curse. I close my eyes for a moment and shake them, trying to clear the red splotches from my vision, but when I come to, she’s gone. Bewildered, I spin around, frantically scanning the crowd for my quarry. Where could she have gone?
It’s only when I feel the cold steel of a knife at my throat that I realize my mistake. The potatoes tumble to the ground as I drop the bag and raise my hands skyward.
“Why are you following me, conscript?”