The Burning God, page 10
part #3 of The Poppy War Series
But they couldn’t find her, so they’d targeted anyone who might possibly look like her instead.
Guilt twisted in her stomach like a knife.
She heard the sudden noise of steel scraping against steel. She jumped and turned. The little girl, still sitting in the corner of the hut, had started fiddling with their weapons.
Chief Lien turned to look over his shoulder. “Don’t touch that.”
“She’s all right,” Souji said easily. “She ought to learn how to handle steel. You like that knife?”
“Yes,” said the girl, testing the blade’s balance on one finger.
“Keep it. You’ll need it.”
The girl peered up at them. “Are you soldiers?”
“Yes,” Souji said.
“Then why don’t you have uniforms?”
“Because we don’t have any money.” Souji gave her a toothy smile. “Would you like to sew us some uniforms?”
The girl ignored this question. “The Mugenese have uniforms.”
“That’s true.”
“So do they have more money than you?”
“Not if we and your baba have anything to do with it.” Souji turned back to Chief Lien. “Please, Chief. Just hear us out.”
Chief Lien shook his head. “I won’t risk the reprisals.”
“There won’t be reprisals—”
“How can you guarantee that?”
“Because everything they say about me is true,” Rin interrupted. Little arcs of flame danced around her arms and shoulders, just enough to cast long shadows across her face. To make her look utterly inhuman.
She saw a faint look of surprise flicker across Chief Lien’s face. She knew, despite the rumors, that until now he hadn’t really believed what she was. She could understand that. It was hard to believe in the gods, to truly believe, until they stared you in the face.
She’d made believers of the Mugenese. She’d make him believe, too.
“They’re killing those girls because they’re afraid,” she said. “They should be. I sank the longbow island. I can destroy everything around me in a fifty-yard radius. When we attack it won’t be like the previous attempts. There will be no chance of defeat and no reprisals, because I cannot lose. I have a god. I only need you to bring the civilians out of range. We’ll do the rest.”
Chief Lien’s jaw had lost its stubborn set. She’d won him over, she knew. She saw it in his eyes—for the first time, he was considering something other than compliance. He was thinking about how freedom might taste.
“You can ambush them at the northern border,” he said at last. “Not many civilians live up there, and we can evacuate the ones who do. The reeds would be tall enough to conceal you—you could fit about five hundred men in those fields alone. They won’t know you’re here until you choose to reveal yourselves.”
“Understood,” Souji said. “Thank you.”
“You’ll only have a bit of time to get in position. They send troops with dogs and staves every few hours to track anyone who might be hiding in the fields.”
“Combing their hair for lice,” said the girl. “That’s what they call it.”
“We’ll have to be clever lice, then,” Souji said. Relief shone clear on his face. This wasn’t a negotiation anymore; now it was just about logistics. “And do you know how many men they have?”
“About three thousand,” Chief Lien said.
“That’s very precise,” Rin said. “How do you know?”
“They commission their grains from us. We know how much they eat.”
“And you can calculate that by the grain?”
“It’s simple multiplication,” Chief Lien said. “We’re not stupid.”
Rin sat back, impressed. “All right. Three thousand, then.”
“We can draw them two hundred yards out of the township if we split half our forces around and drive them into the fields,” Souji said. “That’s out of Rin’s range—”
“No,” said Chief Lien. “Four hundred.”
“That might not be possible,” Rin said.
“Make it possible,” Chief Lien said. “You keep your fight away from this township.”
“I understand,” Rin said. Her voice turned hard. “You want your liberation without suffering the consequences.”
Chief Lien stood up. The message was clear; this audience was over. “If you lose, they will come for us. And you know what they can do.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rin said. “We won’t lose.”
Chief Lien said nothing. His eyes followed them silently, judging, as they left the hut. In the corner, his daughter hummed and continued to scrape steel against steel.
“That went well,” Rin muttered.
“Sure did.” Souji was beaming.
“What are you so happy about? He’s made this ten times harder than it had to be, and he hasn’t given us anything in return—”
“That’s not true. He gave us permission.”
“Permission? Who the fuck needs permission—”
“You always need permission.” Souji stopped walking. The grin slid off his face. “Every time you bring a fight to a village, you put every innocent civilian’s life in danger. It’s your obligation to warn them.”
“Look, if every army behaved like that, then—”
“Listen. You’re not fighting a campaign for this land, you’re fighting for the people. And if you learn to trust them, they’ll be your best weapons. They’ll be your eyes and ears on the ground. They’ll be natural extensions of your army. But you never, ever endanger them against their will. Do you understand?”
He glared at her until she nodded.
“Good,” he said, and strode briskly toward the gate. Chastened, she followed.
Someone stood awaiting them in the shadows.
Rin pulled a flame into her hand, but Souji grabbed her elbow. “Don’t. It’s a friendly.”
The man at the gate was, indeed, Nikara. He had to be—his clothes, ratty and faded, hung from his gaunt frame. None of the Mugenese soldiers were starving.
He was quite young—hardly more than a boy. He seemed terribly excited to see them. He took one look at Rin, and his entire face lit up. “Are you the Speerly?”
Something about him struck her as familiar—his thick eyebrows, his broad shoulders. He carried himself like a born leader, confident and resolute.
“You’re Chief Lien’s son,” Rin said. “Aren’t you?”
“Guilty,” he said. “Lien Qinen. It’s good to meet you.”
“Come here, you bastard.” Souji grasped Qinen’s arm and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Does your father know you’re here?”
“Father thinks I’m still hiding out in the woods.” Qinen turned to Rin. “So are you the Speerly? You’re smaller than I expected.”
She bristled at that. “Oh, am I?”
He held out his hands. “No, no, I wasn’t—I—wow.” He blinked several times. “Sorry. I’ve just heard so much about you, I was expecting—I didn’t know what to expect. It’s good to meet you.”
He wasn’t being rude, Rin realized. He was nervous. Her expression softened. “Yes, I’m the Speerly. And you’re here because—”
“I’m your ally.” Qinen reached out quickly to shake her hand. His palms were slick with sweat. He gawked at her, mouth hanging slightly agape, as if he’d just watched her descend from the heavens on a staircase of clouds. Then he blinked and cleared his throat. “We’re going to help you fight. I’ve got men prepared to come out for you, just say the word and we’ll—”
“You’ll do nothing,” Souji said. “You know what your father demanded.”
Qinen’s face twisted in contempt. “My father’s a coward.”
“He’s just trying to keep you alive,” Souji said.
“Alive?” Qinen scowled. “He’s sentenced us to a living hell. He thinks compliance means lenience, but he doesn’t listen to reports from villages all around us. He doesn’t know what they do to the women. Or he doesn’t care.” His fists tightened. “Thirty miles from here, a village tried to hide girls in nearby mines, and when the Mugenese found out, they sealed off the exits and let them suffocate over three days. When they finally let the villagers retrieve the corpses, they found the girls dead with their fingers cracked and bleeding from trying to claw their way out. But Father doesn’t understand. He’s been—I mean, since my brother died, he’s . . .” His throat bobbed. “He’s wrong. We aren’t safe here; we’ll never be. Let us fight beside you. If we die, then at least let us die like men.”
This isn’t about permission, Rin realized. Souji was wrong. Qinen was going to fight whether they agreed to let him or not. This was about validation. After everything Qinen had seen, he needed absolution for the guilt of remaining alive, and he could get that only by putting his life on the line. She knew that feeling.
“You and your friends aren’t soldiers,” Souji said quietly.
“We can be,” Qinen said. “Did you think we’d just lie down and wait to be rescued? I’m glad to see you, brother, but we would have started this fight without you. You’ll need us. We’ve been laying down our own preparations, we’ve already set your stage—”
“What?” Souji shot him a sharp glance. “What have you been doing?”
“Everything my father’s been too scared to try.” Qinen lifted his chin with pride. “We’ve taken down their patrol routes to the minute. They’re all written down in a code they can’t read. We’ve sent round signals so the villagers know exactly when to run or hide. We’ve made sure every household has a weapon. Knives made from stakes, or farming implements we’ve snuck out of the sheds one at a time. We’re ready for this fight.”
“If they found out they’d kill you,” Souji said.
“We’re braver than that,” Qinen scoffed. “You saw my baby sister?”
“The girl in the hut?” Rin asked.
He nodded. “She’s with us, too. The Mugenese have her working in the mess hall—that’s where they force the children to work—so she slips a handful of water hemlock into a few bowls every time. It doesn’t do much. Just induces some vomiting and diarrhea—but it weakens them, and no one ever suspects it’s her.”
Watching Qinen’s face—his earnest, furious, desperate face—Rin couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and pity. His courage amazed her. These civilians were poking the dragon’s nest, risking their lives every day, preparing for a rebellion that they must have known they wouldn’t win.
What did they really think they could accomplish? They were farmers and children. Their little acts of resistance might infuriate the Mugenese, but wouldn’t drive them away.
Maybe, Rin thought, under these circumstances, that kind of resistance—no matter how futile—was the only way to live.
“We can help you,” Qinen insisted. “Just tell us where to be and when.”
The ruthless side of her wanted to say yes. She could use Qinen. It was so easy to go through cannon fodder. Even the most inexperienced commander could buy seconds, even minutes, by throwing bodies at the enemy.
But she couldn’t forget the look in Chief Lien’s eyes.
She’d learned, now, what it meant to bring the war to the south.
She read the expression on Souji’s face. Don’t you dare.
And she knew that if she said the wrong thing now, then she’d lose the support of both Chief Lien and the Iron Wolves.
“Souji’s right.” She reached out to touch Qinen lightly on the arm. “This isn’t your fight.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Qinen snapped. “This is my home.”
“I know.” She tried to sound like she meant what she was saying. “And the best thing you can do is keep your countrymen safe when we attack.”
Qinen looked crestfallen. “But that’s nothing.”
“You’re wrong,” said Souji. “That’s everything.”
Night had fallen by the time Rin and Souji rejoined the camp. They’d planned their attack for the following sunset. They had considered striking right then, under cover of darkness, and before any news had leaked of their arrival. But they’d decided to hold off until the next evening; Chief Lien needed time to orchestrate the villagers’ evacuation, and the Southern Army needed time to scope out the terrain, to position their troops optimally within the fields. The general staff spent the next few hours huddled around maps, marking out lines of entry.
It was far past midnight when at last they disbanded to rest. When Rin returned to her tent, she found a slim scroll placed neatly at the top of her travel pack.
She reached out, paused, and then withdrew her hand. This wasn’t right. Nobody at camp was receiving personal parcels. The Southern Coalition owned only one carrier pigeon, and it was trained to take a one-way message to Ankhiluun. Every instinct screamed that this was a trap. The scroll’s exterior could be laced with venom—countless Nikara generals of old had tried that trick before.
She leaned over the scroll with a small flame bobbing in her palm, carefully illuminating its every angle. She couldn’t see anything dangerous—no thin needles, no dark sheen on the parchment edge. Still, she used her teeth to pull her sleeve over her fingers before she picked the scroll up and unrolled it. Then she nearly dropped it.
The wax seal bore the dragon insignia of the House of Yin.
She exhaled slowly, trying to slow her racing heart. This had to be a joke—someone had pulled a deeply unfunny prank, and she would make sure they suffered for it.
The note inside was scrawled in a wobbly, childish font; the characters were so smudged and messy she had to squint to read it.
Hello, Rin,
They told me to write this in my own hand, but I don’t see how it could have made a difference seeing as I could barely write when you left, so you wouldn’t have recognized it anyway.
“This isn’t funny,” she muttered to herself.
But she knew this wasn’t a joke. Nobody at camp could have done this. Nobody knew.
This is Kesegi, if you hadn’t pieced that together. I’ve been in the New City prisons for a while and it was my fault, I got stupid and bragged to some people that you were my sister and I knew you, and then the talk trickled up to the guards so now here I am.
I’m sorry I did this to you. I really am.
Your friend says to tell you that this doesn’t have to be difficult. He said to tell you I walk free if you’ll come to the New City yourself, but if you bring an army then they’ll behead me above the city gates. He says that this doesn’t have to end in bloodshed, and that he only wants to speak. He says he doesn’t want a war. He’s prepared to grant clemency to every one of your allies. He only wants you.
Although to be honest—
The rest of the message had been scratched out with thick inky lines.
Rin snatched the scroll up and ran outside her tent.
She accosted the first sentry she saw. “Who delivered this?”
He gave her a blank stare. “Delivered what?”
She waved the scroll at him. “This was inside my travel pack. Did anyone deliver this to you?”
“N-No—”
“Did you see anyone going through my things?”
“No, but my watch has only just started, you’d have to ask Ginsen, he was here for three hours before that, and he should be—General, are you all right?”
Rin couldn’t stop trembling.
Nezha knew where she was. Nezha knew where she slept.
“General?” the sentry asked again. “Is everything all right?”
She crumpled the scroll in her fist. “Get me Kitay.”
“Shit.” Kitay lowered the letter.
“I know,” Rin said.
“Is this real?”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, is there any chance this is a forgery? That this isn’t really Kesegi?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve no idea.”
She couldn’t tell if that was really Kesegi’s handwriting. Frankly, she wasn’t even sure Kesegi knew how to read; her foster brother had rarely attended school. She couldn’t tell if the letter sounded like him, either. Certainly she could imagine the words in his voice, could picture him sitting at a writing desk, wrists shackled, his thin face trembling as Nezha dictated the words to him one by one. But how could she know for sure? She’d barely spoken to Kesegi in years.
“And what if it’s not?” Kitay asked.
“I don’t think we should respond,” Rin said in the calmest tone she could muster. “Either way.”
She’d worked through the possibilities in the minutes it had taken Kitay to arrive. She’d weighed the cost of her foster brother’s life, and she’d decided she could afford to lose him.
Kesegi wasn’t a general, wasn’t even a soldier. Nezha couldn’t torture him for information. Kesegi knew nothing of importance about either the Southern Coalition or Rin. Everything he knew of Rin was the biography of a little girl that she’d killed long ago at Sinegard, a naive Tikany shopgirl who existed only in suppressed memories.
“Rin.” Kitay put a hand on her arm. “Do you want to go after him?”
She hated how he was looking at her, eyes wide with pity, as if she were on the verge of tears. It made her feel so fragile.
But that’s just what Nezha wants. She refused to let this shake her. Nezha had manipulated her with sentiment before. The Cike had died for her sentiment.
“The problem is not Kesegi,” she said. “It’s Nezha’s troop placements. It’s his fucking reach—I mean, he put a letter in my fucking tent, Kitay. We’re just supposed to ignore that?”
“Rin, if you need to—”
“We need to discuss whether Nezha’s forces are in the south.” She had to keep talking; they had to move the conversation on to something else, because she was afraid of how her chest would feel if they didn’t. “Which I don’t think is possible—Venka says he’s leading his father’s troops in Tiger Province. But if they’re in the south, they’ve hidden so well that not a single one of our scouts has seen any troops, dirigibles, or supply wagons.”
