The Lessons Never Learned, page 13
Silva came calling the next day as the sun was just peeking over the horizon. I was going through my morning stretches with Hardt, as much of them as I could with my injuries. I think it was a token gesture on both our parts, keeping up the tradition though neither of us were in any fit state. She brought with her a credit note that turned us from the poorest of people into poorly dressed rich folk. I had questions for Silva, so many questions, yet she answered none of them and left me burning to know more. Who was she, exactly? Was she a true daughter of the Rand or just some orphan taken in? How is it she was clearly terran yet called a pahht her sister? Why did Prena Neralis call her by the title Aspect? What did I have to do to secure myself an audience with the Rand? I will admit I was quite excited when I asked that last one; it's not every day you get to meet a god.
I have admitted I have never been very good with money, then or now. Spending it has always seemed so easy and saving it so pointless. It's not exactly a good trait for a queen which might explain the destitution of my reign. Hardt claimed responsibility for our funds and I certainly didn't try to stop him. Our other choices were a crazed old man who could barely remember his own name, or a young girl who had already stolen from me twice. Some decisions truly do make themselves.
We barely had time to count our good fortune when the whole city started to shake. I rushed outside to find no one looking in the least bit concerned. At least I don't think anyone was. My trouble understanding pahht facial expressions is one thing, but tahren are even more inscrutable; eyes are often the most expressive part of a person and they have none.
It took some coaxing from the locals to discover that the shaking was normal when the anchor was winding back up. It went on for some time, maybe half the day, and only my little group seemed to care. I trekked to the western edge of Ro'shan, where the land stops and there is nothing but a long drop. I got as close as I dared to that edge, though the shaking seemed more pronounced there so I played it somewhat safer than I am known for. Hardt and Tamura followed me and we watched Terrelan disappear over the horizon. Ro'shan does not move particularly quickly and we were there most of the day, until the land was just a line in the distance and all we could see below was water.
It is strange to say it, but it felt like running away, like I was fleeing from my enemies, from those I had sworn to kill. And from those I had sworn to avenge. I think I hated myself a little. I thought myself a coward, running and hiding under the skirts of the Rand where the Terrelans couldn't get to me. My desire for vengeance only grew along with my anger at my own cowardice.
"I'm coming back," I spat the words. I wasn't talking to Hardt or Tamura or even Ssserakis. I wasn't even talking to Terrelan as it vanished beyond the horizon. I said it to myself. There is a power in spoken words; saying something aloud makes it more real somehow, releasing a thought to the world and claiming it as your own. By saying those words aloud, I made them a promise, an oath I would keep no matter the cost. I was coming back!
Hardt placed a big hand on my shoulder, the uninjured one this time, and nodded. "One day."
Tamura let out a content sigh as he laid on the ground and stared up at the sky. "All of life is a circle. Round and round and round and round and…"
Neither of them understood. It wasn't their fault; I left half of the promise unsaid. Ssserakis heard it though; the ancient horror was in my soul and in my head, it knew my thoughts as well as I did, maybe even better.
The fear we will cause will be a fitting meal, and our power will grow. I smiled at the thought. But don't forget your promise. You will send me home.
I didn't just intend to return to Terrelan. I intended to destroy it. To burn the empire to the ground and see the emperor suffer just as I had. I didn't care what it cost me or any others. It was a matter of vengeance, of justice, of a burning need to do unto others as was done to me. I would see Terrelan in ashes and blood, regardless of how many lives it would cost. For my loyalty to the Orran Empire for all it had given me. For justice for the hurts committed against me and my friends. For the loss of the one person who had ever understood me. I was the weapon, and even without a wielder I would cut out the heart of the Terrelan Empire.
I think I realised then that I had been running ever since the fall of Orran. Even locked down in the Pit I was running away; from myself, from Josef, from what the Terrelans wanted to make me into. I was running away again, but one day I would stop running and when I did, my enemies would finally learn to fear me.
Chapter 18
Josef
I realise the true punishment Deko dealt me when he put me in charge of spooning out the gruel. The shiny eyed mud fucker is more devious than I ever gave him credit for. I think the overseer gave him orders to keep me alive. And I think that's why he hates me. He hates me being down there, one of the scabs, but protected.
The scabs are never happy with their portions, and they don't blame Deko. That would be far too dangerous. They blame whoever is dishing out the gruel. That's where the punishment comes in. The hatred from the other scabs. Dishing out the gruel turns you into a pariah, and I still have the bruises to prove it.
But it's over now. Deko and the scabs and the gruel and the overseer. It's all behind me. I'm out. I'm free!
I HATE the overseer! I HATE the overseer! I HATE the overseer! I HATE the overseer! I HATE the overseer!
It feels so good to write that, to admit it and not scribble it out for fear he might see. I may have no voice, but I still have words and I use them to admit that I hate the overseer. I hate Deko. I hate the Pit. I hate everyone in it. And I hate Eska. I won't scratch it out. I won't deny it. I won't pretend she didn't betray me.
Death returned to the Pit. She came back for me. No one else. No one else down there was important enough. Because no one else knows Eska. Even my escape is all due to her.
It was feeding time down there. Hundreds of scabs with their bowls raised, hungry eyes hating me for the portions that I had no choice but to dish out. From up there they all look so worthless. Scabs is a good name for them. It suits them. Something to be peeled off and discarded. Something disgusting hiding a festering wound. But today, Death came. She rode down the lift alone, the other soldiers nowhere to be seen. I spotted her though, striding towards the Trough as though she weren't surrounded by thieves and murderers and worse. They moved out of her way like ice retreats from a flame. It was so satisfying to see Deko watching from the Hill, just watching and nothing else. He's scared of her. Scared of real power. He should be.
She looked at me and said my name. My full name. Josef Yenhelm. It had been so long since I heard it, I almost didn't respond. I had almost forgotten what my name sounds like. All I could do was nod. I wish I had my voice still. I wish I could speak. She took me with her when she left, ordered me to follow. I did. I left the Trough and the scabs and the Hill and Deko all behind me. We rode the lift all the way up and the soldiers didn't stop us. They stepped aside, nodded to Death as she walked past and said not a word. I wonder who she is to inspire such fear and respect among others.
I shied away from the exit. I slowed and dragged my feet to a stop. It wasn't the thought of freedom after so long that stopped me. It was the light. The Pit opens out into exactly that, a tunnel of stone that leads to a pit dug into the earth, wooden stairs sticking out of the sides, and a giant crane above. Those last few steps of the tunnel were so bright, I found myself squinting against the light, barely able to see anything. It scared me. Death noticed I had stopped. She turned to me and beckoned. She stood in the light, sun glinting off her golden plate. I stood in the dark, shrouded in the shadow of the Pit, and she beckoned me towards her. I felt a pull I couldn't resist. My feet moved of their own accord. And then she took my hand. I expected Death to have a hand as cold as ice, clammy, maybe. But it wasn't. Her hand was warm, her skin tough with callous, and her grip strong. She didn't pull me out of the Pit but led me out. And I went willingly.
I write this entry from a tavern. I'm clean, bathed, shaved, and dressed in new clothes. It's not the military uniform the overseer made me wear when he sent me after Eska, but it's a lot better than the rags of a Pit scab. Sturdy riding leathers with a symbol on the breast. Death's symbol. Lursa and Lokar crashing into each other, and ten weapons falling from the sky. I don't know if this makes me her servant or prisoner. I don't think I care. I have never been so grateful for anyone before.
I know Death is not her name, but I know whose death she seeks, and I mean to help her. I will do anything to remain free.
Chapter 19
We spent money with wild abandon. We bought ourselves new clothes, no longer dressing in threadbare rags or garments stolen from the corpses of people I had killed. Honestly, it had been so long since I had been clean and dressed in fresh clothing, I think I had forgotten what I looked like under it all. I stared at myself in a mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back at me. I was older than I remembered, my skin weathered. The scar Prig gave me stood out on my left cheek, proud and ugly. I hate that scar and yet I wear it with pride. It is a constant reminder of how helpless I felt and that I escaped the Pit. I have been told I could cover it up with powder and certain oils, and I would be lying if I said I haven't considered it. But the truth is, I never will. Scars are proof of a life lived, of hardships that changed us yet didn't kill us. I wear mine with pride and I have many of them.
I suffered through having my hair cut so it was less wild and unruly. The barber, a pahht man who wielded his scissors with more skill than I ever have a sword, cut it short and told me it would need to grow back in. He also left me with strict orders to wash it more regularly than never. I bought a dress and I was quite happy about that. I have always liked wearing dresses though I have rarely found opportunity to do so in my life. They have always given me a sense of freedom, and I will admit to some vanity; I can look quite pretty in a dress. I bought two dresses up on Ro'shan. The first was made of blue silk the same colour as my eyes. It was beautiful, but it didn't fit me. It has never fitted me. I think I bought it for a woman I would never be. The second dress I purchased was more drab, designed for everyday use and for constant adjustments to a woman of increasing size. And I felt like I was increasing in size every single day.
I was soon far beyond the point of being able to hide my pregnancy and I quickly found it changed the way people dealt with me. Some would treat me like a fragile flower whilst others would keep their distance as though I were a wild animal, likely to bite. I didn't mind it from the people I didn't know, the citizens of Ro'shan, but my friends also started treating me differently.
Hardt refused to keep training me, and right when I felt I was starting to make progress. I was furious with him for that. I watched him chew over a question for nearly two months before he finally worked up the courage to ask me if it was Isen who put the child in my belly. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear me say it. I think it made Hardt happy, knowing that Isen had left something of himself behind, other than bad memories. After that, he tried to do everything for me, as though I were some kind of invalid. More than once, I considered swallowing my Kinemancy Source just so I could push the man away, but I wouldn't risk what the magic might do to my child. Of course, I still had Ssserakis inside, coiled around my mind and soul, and that put enough fear in me to keep the horror well fed. I could only hope it was not inflicting that same fear on my child. It is a mother's job to protect and nurture the children they carry, and I could not even do that.
Tamura started to act even stranger around me, though he was not nearly as infuriating as Hardt. I have discovered that pregnancy affects women in different ways, and for me it makes me sleepy during odd hours of the day. I am not usually one for napping, but while carrying my first child I honestly found it hard to stay awake at times. A few times I woke to find Tamura whispering a story to my swollen belly. I will admit, the first time it happened I was confused and angry, and it took some time for me to calm down. Despite my anger, Tamura just laughed and walked away, promising my unborn child he would finish the story later. Once I calmed down, I realised there was no real harm in it. Tamura is a crazy old man who can barely remember yesterday, but sometimes it seems he knows every story ever told and he tells them well; without having to resort to his usual puzzles and codes. The next two times I caught him whispering his stories to my belly, I let him, feigning sleep so I could listen in as well.
The months wore on and Ro'shan continued its migration across the world. I saw so much in that time, but always from afar. None of us dared leave the flying city for fear Prena was still chasing us. I started to think of it as my home, perhaps even more of a home than any other I've ever had. I continued my training with Tamura as much as I was able, but I soon discovered that pregnancy does not well lend itself to balance and I have never seen a martial art that does not require balance. I also found it quite difficult to practice patience when I needed to piss every few minutes. You may notice that I do not look upon pregnancy kindly. There is a reason for that.
Our money supplies began to dwindle at which point Hardt had to admit he, too, was not very good with money. We had spent a lot on clothes and exotic foods, and we were quite free with our spending. Before long we had but two choices; either we sold my Kinemancy Source, or we found work. So, we found work. Hardt did what men of Hardt's size often do; he lifted things, carried things, occasionally chopped things. I think the only thing Hardt truly refused to do back then was hurt things. He also refused to dig and that was not something any of us could blame him for. Tamura found work in the taverns; he might not be able to sing, but his storytelling brought in many a coin and he returned each day on the sour side of sober. Imiko… Well, Imiko never told me what she did, but thieves will ever be thieves and there is plenty of crime to be about even up on Ro'shan. I have never met a city that didn't support a healthy population of rogues.
That just left myself and I soon came to terms with the fact that I simply didn't have much in the way of marketable skills. I was a Sourcerer, and until the child was out of me, I couldn't use my magic. Even if I could, I'm not sure how much use I would have been. Kinemancy can be used to move things, much the same as Hardt's muscle, but it requires precision and that is simply something I didn't have. I'd be more likely to dash a crate and its contents into a hundred pieces than get it to where it needed to be. I suppose I should count myself lucky there was a basket weaver on the same street as our house. It turns out some skills get rusty, but you never quite forget them. I found it somewhat ironic that in the latter stages of my pregnancy I found myself weaving baskets just like my mother. It gave me a small taste of what my life could have been if I were not a Sourcerer. If the Orran recruiters hadn't come for me. It was not entirely unpleasant, but it also wasn't me. Every day stuck there, weaving baskets, was one day I wasn't moving towards my goals. I had too much drive and anger to sit and do nothing with my life.
Silva visited more and more often. At first it was under the pretence of checking on us; we were, after all, some of the only terran citizens of Ro'shan and that put us as something of an oddity. We were also the only refugees on the run from Terrelan for war crimes. She said she needed to make certain we were fitting in and that we weren't causing any trouble. She never seemed to care too much about how Tamura, Hardt, or Imiko were fitting in. We became friends, and I will admit I had never had a friend like her before.
Many times, I would walk down the streets of Ro'shan beside Silva. I could talk to her, I found, about almost anything. In some ways I think she filled the hole in my life left by Josef, but there was always tension between us. I knew from the very start Silva was lying to me. She refused to answer my questions about her mother. I think it was my curiosity that drew me to her early on. I wanted to know what she was, how a child of a Rand could be so terran. But Silva always changed the subject and I quickly found we were talking about other things without even realising it. She made me talk about myself, the things I had seen and done. More than once I ended up crying in front of Silva and she always knew what to say to comfort me. I blamed those tears on the pregnancy, it can affect a woman's emotions. But that was lie. They were tears of sorrow and they needed to be shed. I see that now. Without even realising it, she coaxed me into dealing with my grief, and though the betrayals Josef and I visited upon each other still stung, I soon discovered I could remember my friend without either running away or bursting into tears. And that led me to realise just how much I missed him. But he was gone. Dead. And my last words to him were spoken in anger.
It was hard to fathom how everyone in Ro'shan seemed to know Silva. We couldn't walk down a street, nor sit in a tavern without people greeting her and with real kindness, often asking her for advice. I think in many ways we were complete opposites. Everyone knew her and loved her; no one knew me and those that did feared me, or at least they feared what I might do. Maybe that was what drew us together and made us friends. I have heard it said that neither light nor darkness can exist without the other.
I never told Silva about Ssserakis. Just like with Hardt and Tamura, I feared what she might think of me if she knew what I harboured inside. She knew, though. Silva knew from the very start. Saw it in me even back in that cell. That was her power, her gift. She saw it in me and she didn't shy away.
Ssserakis grew more sullen with each passing day, at the same time as growing more outspoken. It's strange to think a disembodied presence in my mind could feel sullen, but it did. I think it was the lack of progress that made the horror so. I had promised to send it back to the Other World and there I was, putting down roots in Ro'shan and spending my days weaving baskets and complaining about the child growing inside of me.
