Oly, noted boot thief of Group Thirteen, slams my pair of Swanson’s down on the ragged bedding of our tent.
“You sure you want to do this?” he says. “You’ve already lost two days of rations trying to win them back.”
The entirety of Group Thirteen gathers around, scarfing down their rations, to watch me try to win back what was stolen from me. I’ve failed every time. Even Caleb, who is beginning to look like himself again after Warrick’s treatment, joins the procession of laughter at my expense. Tonight is the night, though. I’m sure of it.
“All right, you know the deal: two out of three jesters wins, but you have to win the final flop. What are you willing to barter?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together and purse my lips, insinuating the question he asks is ridiculous. The only thing any of us truly claim ownership of in this place is our food. I’ve gone to bed starving the past few nights in a vain attempt to get my damn boots back.
“Nolan, I need to hear you say it, or the bet doesn’t count.”
“Just deal the damn cards.”
He has the kind of face that one would initially perceive as friendly, but when he moves, his smile gives way to a scar that runs from the left side of his lip all the way up his cheekbone. He’s beloved among the men in Group Thirteen because of his ability to get them things. Boots, obviously, but also rations, medicine, bandages, and even the odd bottle of swill nabbed from the officer tents, all in exchange for our rations. I’ve never seen a better-fed conscript in my life.
Although I initially hated him for stealing the last semblance of my old life, my stance on him softened when he stole the rotten fruit needed for Caleb’s treatment, at Levi’s request. Now I just want to break his jaw and take back my boots.
With a flourish, Oly places three cards in front of me in a line and smiles his crooked smile. He then piles them on top of one another, bends them, and redeals the cards in the same exact line.
He picks up the card in the middle, revealing the jester. I nod, and he turns the card back over, shuffling the three cards in a unique motion. He uses both hands to do it, holding the cards with his thumbs and middle fingers, almost like crab pincers.
He shuffles the cards close to twelve times, taking special care to do it slowly, clearly letting me see where the jester is, like I’m a child. This is part of his trick. He wants to lull me into a false sense of security. He’s all right with me winning the first round, so I sit back on my heels for the next.
“So, Nolan … where is the first jester?”
I point to the card in the middle, and he wastes no time in revealing it to me, proving I made the right choice.
“That’s one.” Trying to create more excitement, he flashes his index finger to the circle of men watching our showdown.
Moses, the giant of Group Thirteen, claps his hands and lets loose a guffaw. Games like these amuse him.
“Make it harder for him, Oly. You’re only going at half speed,” he says between bouts of laughter.
I stare in disbelief. For the week I’ve been here, this is the most I’ve heard him speak. One of his friends was included in the trade for me and Caleb, and apparently the big man is one to hold a grudge.
Oly snaps his fingers in front of my face, bringing my attention back to him.
“If you want to just give me your food, we can skip the game. Pay attention. Here’s the jester,” he says, and flips the middle card back over, showing me what I already know, and repeats the same revolution of cards. Except this time, he increases the pace, theatrically adding a few flourishes as he uses his ring finger to rotate the cards while moving them. The rotation does nothing to change the card’s positioning, only my perception of the movement. Abruptly, he finishes shuffling and flips his hands over to indicate he’s ready for my guess. Those gathered crowd don’t wait for me to answer before they blurt out their guesses.
“Middle.”
“No, you dolt, it’s the left.” That was from Warrick, the bookish former doctor. He pushes his glasses back to the top of his nose and looks like he’s about to say something further but holds back.
I point to the card on the left, and Oly flips it over, once again revealing I’m right.
“That’s two,” I say, doing my best to keep the excitement out of my voice.
“Doesn’t mean a thing if you guess wrong on the final jester.” He uses a showman’s tone, sowing doubt for the audience. There’s more laughter and claps and a couple of hoots. But this next bout is where I’ve failed the two previous nights.
Talking with the men of Group Thirteen taught me that only two people have ever bested Oly at this game, and those two people happen to be the most important pillars of the group: Walter and Levi. I tried asking Walter how he was able to best Oly after my first failed attempt, but the man simply spit on the ground and told me to fuck off. After my second failed attempt, I approached Levi, who was much more forthcoming: You’re just not paying attention. Don’t watch the cards; watch the man. You’ll catch him red handed. Then he walked away, softly singing a folksy melody. Spots of red, strike ’em dead. A tremblin’ hand, a shell of a man.
Much of my time after receiving Levi’s advice was spent trying to make sense of it. I found he often talks in riddles and strange truisms, and the rest of the men seem to like chewing on his phrases as much as I do. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. His whole demeanor is just … easy. Like nothing around us could possibly hurt him, so any stress or anger would be only wasted effort.
“Third round. Go,” Oly says as he starts the third and final revolution of the cards, but this time everything is exponentially faster. Now he uses all his fingers to spin and twirl the cards around the box top, and they appear to dance around his hands. Everything is a blur of motion and complex patterns. The consummate showman, Oly can’t help but flip a card into the air and catch it in his teeth. The card hangs between his incisors, face out, showing the jester and his striped suit. He spits the card back on the table, seamlessly works it back into the shuffle, and grins his uneasy grin.
“Don’t blink, chum.”
I won’t be distracted. Not this time. I focus my attention on the movement of the cards, and somewhere along the way, I end up getting fixated on the bend in the cards, the raised crease in the middle.
No! That’s what happened last time.
Though I hate him for constantly beating me, I have to admire his sleight of hand. Everything is done with style, and there’s no wasted movement. He must have spent years practicing, running this scam again and again on the streets of Lobo.
But there’s a flaw with it, something so minuscule that even an intelligent person would be blind to it. Each revolution falls victim to the same exact pattern. The jester appears first in the middle, then on one side, but the last draw is always on the opposite side of the previous. It’s as though his bias moves him to choose certain patterns over others. He can shuffle and flip and flop and distract all he wants, but he won’t stop until the cards are in the “right” order. At least, I think that’s true. My frustration at being bested by him is starting to wear on me.
A red speck flashes across my vision, causing me to fight back the urge to blink and shake my head. It feels unnatural to keep them open this way, like a piece of dirt is caught in my eye. But instead of being blinded, I can see clearer than I’ve ever seen before. It’s like time compresses so that the alarming rate at which Oly’s pattern with the cards unfolds seems slow. I’m able to clearly follow the jester’s path, and it is then that I see the trick happen.
Oly moves his left palm over the jester, and it disappears for a moment as it’s replaced by a different card. It must be, the crease is totally different. Seasons’ sake, he must have had it tucked in his sleeve. Of course. I close my eyes, unable to keep the level of focus up, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I keep guessing wrong because I’ve fallen for a thief’s trick. The jester is in his sleeve. What’s worse, Oly must be playing the rest of Group Thirteen for fools. If Walter and Levi have figured it out, why haven’t they told the rest of the men? Or have they, and I am the last to find out? Damn, it always grates to be the new guy.
“All right, Nolan. I’m getting hungry, and that stale bread you have there looks tasty.”
Group Thirteen keeps up the ruse by shouting guesses in a frenzy.
“Left.”
“Middle.”
“No, it’s left!”
I move my hand like I’m about to choose the card on the far right, and to my surprise, a collective groan echoes through the tent. I slam my hand down on the bedding, right where the far right card is, and flip it, revealing the lowly three of nooses.
“Poor man. You’re going to starve to death,” says Moses, before he lets out a laugh that sounds like a shout.
“You’ll be all right, lad. I’ll share some of mine with you,” Caleb says piteously.
Before Oly can grab the bread from my lap, my hands flick in a blur, flipping over the other two cards to reveal a six of graves and king of blades. Before he can react, I grab Oly’s arm and twist. He yelps in pain.
“Oi! Nolan! Don’t be a sore loser.”
With more force than I mean to, I shake his arm until the jester falls from his sleeve. When it hits the box top, the tent erupts.
“I don’t believe it!” Moses booms, erupting into peals of laughter.
I present my palm to Oly and motion for my boots back. He’s about to hand them to me when he suddenly stops. A grin appears on his face.
“Double or nothing,” he says. “I’ll give you the boots and my rations for the night.”
He must have another scam.
“Not a chance. I just want the boots,” I say, shaking my head. But before he has a chance to hand them to me, Walter hurries into our tent and hisses, “Hoods.” Everyone in the group scrambles back to his assigned mat. Some trip over each other, but by the time Levi enters, followed by Lieutenant Hoods, everyone is back to where he is supposed to be, sitting at attention at the foot of his sleeping mat.
It took only about a week for all the conscript groups to complete the digging of a second trench on Kalykan orders. Except, instead of this one circling the city, the Kalykans wanted one that circled the war camp, protecting the position from being flanked. I half expected the Cenecans to launch more attacks to stall our progress, but none have come. As it turns out, conscripts were a thorn in the Kalykans side during the week; a trio from Group Eight attempted escape. We watched their return to the Kalykan war camp in the form of heads swinging from a blood-soaked bag on a reaver’s saddle. Ever since then, a camp-wide decree has been issued that conscripts are to have their ankles chained even in sleep.
Hoods surveys us all, then turns to Levi and nods. “Impressive, Levi. If the rest of the groups were run half as effectively as yours, we would have taken this godforsaken city by now.”
“Thank you, sir.” Levi gives a quick, deferential bow.
“You all know the situation: lanterns out and lock up. Though, I suspect the best group deserves fifteen extra minutes, don’t you?”
Excitement grows among the men. It’s such a contrast to how Group Eleven was treated by Lieutenant Hoods. To be honest, I wasn’t sure the man had any kindness in him. I suppose, though, like everything else, this affection is conditional.
“Shut it, Group Thirteen,” Walter hollers. We answer with silence.
Hoods laughs. “I swear, you all are just like one of our squadrons of soldiers. Maybe even better than some of those in my colleagues’ commands.” Hoods leans in conspiratorially to our group, enjoying being the center of attention.
“None of the other conscript groups will hear this, but between you and me …” Hoods pauses for effect. He’s a showman knowing he’s playing the crowd. “The Cenecans are starving inside Summerset. The siege will probably last for only a few more days. A week, at most. Braxton is leading the Fourth Battalion up from the south and should arrive in the next few days to help us finish the siege. We should be thinking ahead, beyond Summerset. Some think that when this city falls, Ceneca will surrender and the war will be over.”
That gets a few audible gasps and some murmurs from the men, which is clearly what Hoods was desiring. He strikes me as the type of man that sees what the cruelty of conscription does to us and, in doing so, recognizes the effective tool that the allure of freedom can be. It fits so nicely within the Kalykan narrative of “civilizing” the “barbaric” northern peoples and bringing them into Atlee’s grace. Coming here to check in on his favorites helps him justify the whole operation: if this ragtag group of delinquents can get with the Kalykan program, surely the rest can.
He grins paternally.
“Rest up, Group Thirteen.”
Levi walks Lieutenant Hoods out of the tent and, after a few minutes, returns. He glances toward Walter, and the two share a look that’s missed by almost everyone else; they’re too wrapped up in their free time.
“Listen up, you sisterfucks,” says Walter. “Levi has something to say. But before that, I want two volunteers to stand watch in case that pinprick comes back.” No one raises a hand. To miss out on a talk by Levi is a disappointing thing. Walter glares at me.
“Oly, did you beat him again?”
The young thief’s shoulders slump. Walter immediately understands.
“Then it seems we have our first volunteer. Thank you, Oly,” Walter says.
The boot thief groans and begins to muster the strength to stand, like a child grumpy about having to go to bed. A measured voice stills him in his seat.
“Not him, Walter. I need him for this discussion,” Levi looks around, taking special care to make us feel like he’s speaking to each one of us individually. “I can assure the two volunteers that I’ll speak with them personally about what is discussed among the group here so they don’t miss anything.”
Half of the group’s hands shoot up. Such loyalty among conscripts astounds me. Caleb and I have been here for only a week, and even we are caught up in the fervor.
“Christopher and Simeon, thanks, lads.”
Two men who I haven’t gotten to know very well yet walk past and stand a way outside the tent on both ends to ensure no one interrupts.
Lit by lantern light, Levi takes a deep breath. Whether for theatrics or himself, I cannot be sure, but I can’t help but notice that the rest of the room seems to inhale with him without realizing it. He holds his breath for a moment, and so, too, does the entire group.
“As you’ve just heard from our esteemed guard lieutenant, the Kalykans are about to receive reinforcements,” Levi says, then pauses, allowing that statement to sink in before continuing. “Normally this would be a welcome relief for many of us since we’d be assigned to camp duties only while the new regiments’ conscripts would be thrown into the fire we’ve been facing every day for the past month. But in truth, the relief couldn’t come at a worse time.”
I’m reminded of the time I took my wife to the theater in Lockleed for her birthday. Then, as now, we sat quietly in the audience, captivated by the performances. None dared interrupt the performers then, and the conscripts in the tent don’t interrupt Levi now. We are moths drawn to his flame.
“Not a day goes by that one of you doesn’t come to me and ask when the right time for escape is. We’ve all seen what has happened to the other would-be escapees. Some try to fight, while others accept their fates and lie down to die. Those who try to escape haven’t been training like we have. They haven’t been preparing like our group has. Their escape attempts were doomed to fail because they were dreamed up by a handful of men who had misguided notions on what it takes to pull one off.” He looks around the room once, meeting our eyes one by one.
“I’ve carefully cultivated this group into what it is today. Every one of you is here because you contribute something needed to escape from this shitstorm. Warrick …” He bends down and grabs an ankle bracelet on the conscript chain that we are supposed to lock into for the night. “What’s the math on how many ankle bracelets each conscript group contains on the chain?”
“Three hundred twenty-five.” He doesn’t even blink. “But there are currently only …” He fumbles around for a logbook that Oly stole for him to do accounting in. “Two hundred forty-three living conscripts to fill out the numbers. It’s interesting, in fact, tha—”
Levi cuts him off before he can continue. “And how many horses does the Kalykan cavalry have left in its retinue?”
Warrick flips through the logbook until he finds the correct page. “Yesterday there were one hundred eighty, but Byron reported three died today.”
One of the things that I’ve learned about Warrick is that Levi has tasked him with keeping track of the Kalykans’ numbers. For all intents and purposes, he is Levi’s bookkeeper. I’ve never seen anyone quicker with arithmetic or calculating odds; he is well suited for the job.
“Even if we manage to escape the war camp, our greatest threat is the paragons running us down with their horses.” At the mention of this threat, the men seem to shrink back, just a little. Though the Kalykans among us think of them as holy warriors, the non-Kalykan conscripts almost uniformly despise and distrust them as witches, cutthroats, and murderers. Levi observes this reaction and softens his tone.
“Yes, the paragons—or reavers, if you prefer—can be frightening when they come back into camp with a bag of severed heads, but in every case, they are chasing down a small number of escaped conscripts on foot. No contest. Of course, those men were caught. But we won’t be leaving here on foot.”
Oly misreads the moment and interrupts Levi with a question. “But, Levi, if we leave as a group, they’ll send reavers and an entire unit of cavalry after us, won’t they?”
I expected Levi to get angry at the interruption, but surprisingly, he is gracious.
“A sound question, Oly. The answer is attached to your ankle.” As everyone looks at their own shackles, Levi bends down to pick up a spare chain to shake it for effect. “These Kalykan bastards have given us the very weapons with which we can win back our freedom.”
Before any can follow up, he focuses our attention back to Warrick, asking, “How many chain lines would you need to hamstring every single horse the Kalykans have out in that field?”
“Given that horses have twice the legs that people have, twenty-eight. But being able to shackle every horse is unrealistic. You’d probably need about seven conscript chains to get the job done, assuming you’re not shackling every leg. Besides, shackling alone wouldn’t …” Warrick stops, finally realizing what Levi suggests.
“The cavalry,” I say, unable to contain myself. “You plan to maim the horses and neutralize their cavalry. That way they can’t pursue us.”
Levi smiles and points to me. “Well, not all the horses,” Levi qualifies. “We’ll need some for ourselves. Everyone can thank Nolan and Caleb for the inspiration: seeing them trip up the Cenecan horses showed me how strong these chains are. But the sun is setting on our chance. If we don’t act quickly, before the Kalykan reinforcements arrive, we’ll lose this opportunity forever.”
He lets the weight of the information settle on us before he speaks again.
“The only reason this works is because Kalyko has invested so much into this siege. The whole offensive seems to hinge on taking Summerset and clearing a path to the capital. They can’t afford to lose this battle, and they’ll choose staying here to complete it over chasing down a bunch of runaways.”
Could it be so simple? Emily, Sarah, could I really be on my way to you in a matter of days?
The image of the reavers slaughtering a dozen charging Cenecans with ease is at the forefront of my mind. Even if everything goes right for us during the escape, the chances of us being able to fend off a reaver are slim. Something tells me that these monsters would chase us down even without horses.
“Oly, do you think you can find a way to steal seven sets of chains from the supply tent?” Levi asks, but before Oly has a chance to answer, I blurt out:
“I think you’re underestimating the reavers, Levi,” I say in my most deferential tone. “With respect, of course. I’m not saying it’s a bad plan, but whether they win or lose the battle here at Summerset, they are still going to come for us. I don’t think any of us are strong enough to fend them off.”
Levi looks at me with an expression I’ve never seen plastered on his face before: annoyance. But he quickly masks it with a smile.
“I’m sure we can handle one reaver. You give them too much credit. There will be twenty-five of us.”
“Yes, but the reaver will be fully equipped. And what if they send two? Don’t they usually work in pairs?” These are good points I’m bringing up. Why isn’t anyone asking these questions?
Caleb, who sits with his legs crossed on the mat next to me, gently clears his throat in an effort to get me to recognize I may have just offended more than Levi.
I realize belatedly that the whole of Group Thirteen looks as if they’re willing to cut my throat for questioning the plan. No one must have ever done this before. The awkwardness of the silence is broken by Walter, who uses a sharp piece of wood to pick the dirt out of his fingernails.
“Shut the fuck up and listen, Nolan. This is about our freedom.”
With a sigh, Levi puts a hand on Walter’s shoulder.
“Now, now, Walter,” he says. “Nolan is proving his value by trying to poke holes in the plan. That is a good thing! Forces us to make our preparation perfect. But, Nolan, I promise you that I can handle the reavers if they end up sending them. In fact, I’m willing to discuss any concerns you have with the plan privately after I lay it out for everyone here.”
He goes on to do just that, asking Oly to put together a team that can barter for spare chain lines from other conscript groups all while ignoring my existence. As I silently pout, other members of Group Thirteen chime in with additions on how to improve the plan.
“I believe it would be in our best interest when we escape to feint toward Summerset for a spell,” says Warrick. “There are unclaimed weapons in no-man’s-land, among the corpses. I imagine they’ll prove to be useful.”
“And what of the men traded to Group Eleven for these two?” Moses asks, glaring at me and Caleb.
“Do you really think I’d leave one of my own behind, Moses? I’ll talk to them, make sure they know when and where to be. Giving their shit stain of a capa the slip should be easy enough.” This placates the big man, and he nods.
“That’s it for the night,” Levi says. “Everyone, get some sleep and lock in, and we’ll start tomorrow. Nolan.” He gestures for me to stand up and follow him out of the tent. “Let’s talk about your concerns and see how we can alleviate them.”
Levi gracefully explains the plan to the lookouts, Christopher and Simeon, before sending them to lock in with the rest of the group. Levi has that rare type of charisma where time appears to dilate for others. Five minutes of discussion feels like ten, like Levi focuses the whole of his attention on you. I find it disorienting. As the hard lines of his face center on me, I get the sense that I’ve deeply angered the man.
“My question is simple, Nolan: Did I make a mistake trading for you?”
The blunt way in which he asks takes me off guard. I look around nervously, as though anticipating some type of help to come.
“No, Levi,” I say, “but just because you traded for me doesn’t mean I’m not going to point out flaws in a plan that could get us all killed.”
I brace myself, expecting a verbal lashing, but instead all I hear is the disappointment in his voice as he says, “You really don’t understand why we’re not worried about the reavers? I thought you would have figured it out by now.”
I’m not sure if I’m more angry or confused.
“Have you not seen what they’ve been doing to the conscripts that run away?” Hesitancy creeps into Levi’s voice. “Do you trust me, Nolan?”
“I already told you. I’ll do anything to get back to my family …” But before I have a chance to complete the thought, he cuts me off.
“That isn’t the same thing as trust. All you are admitting is that my group is convenient for you, but when a better opportunity arises, you’ll leave for it.”
I say nothing. He’s right. I’m almost afraid of the lengths I’d go to, to see them again. He lets out an annoyed sigh.
“I suppose it’s my fault. You haven’t really seen me fight yet. Look …” His hooded eyes bore into me, and his voice gets gravelly and serious. “Why do you think Caleb is in there limping around but you’re perfectly fine?”
A loud, brash voice cuts through the seriousness of the conversation. “Boss,” Walter shout-whispers to Levi as he trots across the muddy pathway. “Levi, it’s almost time to lock …” When he sees the way Levi is looking at me, he pauses, and his expression changes to one of disdain. “You’re doing this now? He ain’t ready.”
“We’re out of time,” Levi responds. “And the man is right: the paragons are going to come for us, Walt, and we’re going to need Nolan for the fight.” Turning back to me, he says, “Nolan, you’ve been seeing things that aren’t there, right? Like little symbols or eyes peering out at you in the dark, but that other people can’t see?”
My mind flashes to the incident in the trenches with the birds and the gammadon. Still, I say nothing.
“You’re able to almost slow down time,” Levi continues. “You see those tiny specs of red as you do it.” I shake my head. How does he know? “You feel stronger than you have in years, despite being forced to toil day and night while subsisting on the worst food imaginable.”
“He’s not going to be any help to us,” Walter cuts in again. “This is pointless.”
Levi raises a hand to hold Walter off.
“You died and came back, Nolan,” Levi says, and steps toward me so that we are eye to eye, only an arm’s length apart. “You saw the other side but were saved by Atlee and delivered back from the meridian.”
“No,” I argue. “I was almost choked to death by a Cenecan in my first battle, but Caleb saved me before I lost consciousness. Besides, William Atlee is a false god. We Cenecans have no need—”
Levi shakes his head in a way that makes me think of a schoolteacher kindly correcting a student after they get a question wrong. “Your senses feel heightened. Like you can spot a drop of dew on a fly’s eyeball.”
“No!”
“Weights that once were heavy are like nothing to you now. I reckon you could stop a horse and not so much as dislocate your leg.”
No! That’s impossible. I’m alive, I’m breathing.
But Levi is relentless.
“It’s not just you,” he says, gesturing to himself and Walter. “We died. Saw the lands of the other but were ushered back. But you haven’t yet realized that we three didn’t come back empty handed from the abyss. No, no, Nolan. We came back with gifts that make us richer than the false kings of old.
“But where dear old Walter and I had teachers and learned scholars to show us the way, to help us master these gifts, you have us.”
I can’t stop shaking my head. I don’t want this. I don’t know what it is, but I feel cursed. Forever stained.
“Nolan.” Levi approaches me, kindness returning to his voice. “Fight with me, and you will fear no man. I will teach you to use your gifts to find your family.” Levi places his hand on my shoulder.
What is this pressure in my chest?
“The reason we don’t have to worry about the paragons is because you, Walter, and I are going to kill them,” he says.