Peculiar Soul

Gentlemen, I will be direct. Our sources on the continent have informed us of the death of Stellar’s bearer, thought to have happened some time yesterday. We do not - order, please. We do not know at this time if a new bearer has been identified, nor where that bearer might be. It might pass from our view for a time in some isolated land, or remain with the Mendiko.

Or it might not. If it should pass to another bearer within the known scope of the world, then it will most probably resurface within Saf. Such a thing is horrid to contemplate, but we must do so for the benefit of Ardalt. We will need unity in the face of such a threat, and foremost for the members of this body to retain a clear head and steady heart.

Even if it should pass to Mendian, the aggression from northern lands will not easily wane now that they have trampled the thin veneer of their neutrality. Their newfound hostility towards Ardalt shows that we cannot rely on the presumption of Mendiko benevolence in our foreign policy. They are an adversary, or must be counted as one in the course of prudent planning.

And then of course there is the other option, one which I often hear discussed in these halls. There is the thought of Stellar finding an Ardan vessel. Some of you rejoice in this thought; I say to you now that this is the most calamitous of the possibilities I have named thus far. Clear heads and steady hearts, gentlemen, but I do not trust that all members of this body would retain theirs during such a trial.

Therefore it is with proper respect paid to the gravity of the moment that I move to support Lord Baumgart’s request granting emergency powers to the Committee of War. War, for that is where we find ourselves even as we celebrate the War’s departure. It has not gone, gentlemen. It is regrouping, and so must we.

- Carolus Altenbach, address to the Assembly, Gleaning 37 693.

The low afternoon sun struggled to pierce the thick cloud cover over the hills; it was not late in the day, but the dim sky lent everything the gloomy feel of twilight. Michael walked at the head of their small convoy, his eyes on the road. The rest of the men were strung out behind him, with Zabala and Charles in the rear. Unai and Sobriquet walked close to him, the former bearing an expression of quiet watchfulness. Sobriquet, however…

She practically dripped with annoyance, her eyes flicking to where Vera walked along happily beside them. She held her hands behind her back, a slight smile on her lips. Her presence drew the eye of all the soldiers marching behind, stilling their conversation and distracting their march in ways that brought a dark scowl to Zabala’s face. There had been whispers, too, of the “pale lady” that had saved them from enthrallment back on the continent, but those had quieted after an irritated glare from Sobriquet.

“They act like they’re Safid,” she groused, her voice coming low by Michael’s ear. “I half expect them to take up bowing and wearing those damn veils. She’s not even Sibyl!”

Michael gave a quiet snort of amusement. “Sibyl didn’t free them from the obruors,” he said. “Vera did. It’s not strange that they’d hold some gratitude for her after that.”

Her eyes settled on Lars, who was walking close to Vera with an excited look, his arm extended with her hand laid upon it, chattering away about the various features of Korbel’s geography as they came into view. He had thus far proved resistant to Sobriquet’s displeasure, or perhaps simply oblivious to it while Vera occupied his vision.

“Gratitude is only some of it,” she muttered. “They’re smitten. You’re sure she hasn’t-”

“I’m sure,” Michael said, not for the first time. “I’d notice. The men are quite afflicted, but the source is entirely natural.” He raised an eyebrow. “Remember that conversation about a person’s good standing apart from the bad-”

“Yes, yes, stop being infuriating,” she replied, waving her hand. “It doesn’t make it any easier to watch a monster basking in misplaced admiration.”

Vera turned away from Lars, cutting off the Ardan captain mid-sentence, to direct her faint smile at Sobriquet. “Would it help,” she asked, “if I were to state plainly that I have no ill intent towards you or yours? Quite the opposite; it’s my advocacy for Michael that has unraveled my alliances-” She paused. “My friendships, here at home. If I were given to duplicity, surely I’d have started there.”

Sobriquet blinked; Michael felt a slight pressure slide away from him. “I had us veiled,” she said.

“Your feelings about me are unsubtle.” Vera shrugged. “And unnecessary. I don’t share Sofia and Isolde’s animosity towards you.”

“I’m not concerned with their feelings; you’ve done more than enough on your own.” Sobriquet turned to face her. “Or has your turnabout affected your memory? I have a distinct recollection of the day you met my sister.”

Vera’s smile faded. “I am sorry for that,” she said quietly. “It was wrong of me to use my soul in that manner.”

“Just like that?” Sobriquet snarled. “A simple apology, and let’s put it behind us? I’ll just forget that you’d have made my sister no different than these rotting, hollow shells-” Her voice hissed into incoherent fury; she held an incandescent glare upon Vera for a long moment before turning aside.

Michael felt her anger ebb, replaced by something icy, calm, and more threatening by half. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I said I wouldn’t interfere.”

“Rot comes in many forms,” Vera said. “We never mocked Jeorg, for he was dear to us, but we did find his precepts naïve. We dismissed him as an idealist, a good man, but one too detached from the realities of the world.” Her smile crept back, suffused with bitterness. “It seems he was just waiting for a better student. We used his teachings to master our souls, then turned away towards personal aims. More similar to Spark than I’d like to admit, in that regard, yet it did not feel like - rot, in the moment.”

She took a breath, turning her sightless eyes ahead. “Yet, how I crumbled.”

Sobriquet did not respond, though Michael could see that she’d very much like to. Michael stepped into the silence himself.

“And what are your aims now?” he asked. “I was - surprised, to say the least, when I recognized you in tales of liberated Ardan soldiers. Doubly so to see you here. I had thought I’d be seeing less of you after our last meeting, not more.”

Her smile returned. “I’m only doing what I must.” She turned to look at Lars, who smiled bemusedly. “Just as I could not watch the soldiers be destroyed and do nothing, I cannot let my dearest friends throw themselves against you.” Her eyes turned to fix on Michael, placid white. “They’ll die.”

“I’m not going to kill Sofia and Isolde,” Michael protested, pointedly not glancing at Sobriquet. “I’d be content never seeing either again, for that matter. I told her as much when we spoke. I only approached her out of need.”

Vera nodded. “And I’m glad of it,” she said. “It may let her replace the hateful Michael in her mind with a more reasonable reality.”

“I don’t know that his record in that regard has been particularly sterling,” Sobriquet observed. “Close interaction with those contemplating violence against Michael tends to sway their decision to the side of violence, in my experience.”

“You misapprehend the problem.” Vera turned her pale eyes to Sobriquet. “We three were Sofia’s friends, yes, but we were more than that. We helped her be Sofia, rather than Sibyl. She relied on us to talk with people, to gauge their feelings, to speak artfully. Vincent and Isolde were her hands, and I was her face.”

She let her fingers brush lightly over her own cheek. “Her soul governs perception, as you’ve experienced. She can grant it with a touch, spread it between close friends. From each other, we gained what we had lost. Her soul gave me sight, and my soul granted her a view into the hearts of others.”

Michael blinked. “And now you’re both blind.”

“In our particular ways,” Vera sighed. “Yes. And Sofia is left with only Isolde. Her last vestige of human connection is a woman that hates you utterly for Vincent’s death. My hope is that working with you will steer them away from a path of vengeance.”

He finally let his eyes stray towards Sobriquet. “I’d prefer that, if it’s possible,” Michael said. “Conflict serves nobody’s interest here. I’m surprised you came to me, though, given their animosity; Sever seems a more palatable choice if she needs someone with combat potential.” He paused. “I had heard that he was indisposed.”

Vera gave a small nod. “Indisposed is an excellent description,” she said. “He is healthy, insofar as I know, but his inclinations have not led him to leave his estate since he returned. Rumors abound, as they are wont, but there’s little more than that to be had. Carolus suspects that the Klingefraktion is not inclined to encourage him out. It’s best for them if he remains out of sight, especially during the current political climate.”

“You mean while my father consolidates power,” Michael grunted. “I can see that.”

“It’s not so one-sided,” Vera replied. “He is not seizing it so much as he is being given a mandate; people are terrified.”

Michael lifted his head, curious. “Of what?”

“Of you.” Vera frowned. “Even if they don’t know it’s you that they fear. They see the periphery of the storm - Mendian, Saf, their own losses on the continent, your friend Luc seizing Stellar, the Institute falling only to rise again. Inevitable change from each footprint you make.” She shook her head. “You said you wouldn’t kill Sofia and Isolde, but your intent matters very little. Storms don’t kill by intent.”

She paused. “That’s why I want you to work with them. Even if you can’t dull their hatred, they need to see you as you are now. They need to understand where that path ends.”

Michael could not think of much to say to that, and therefore said nothing. The silence expanded around him; even Lars remained mercifully quiet, leading Vera onward as they walked ever closer to Korbel.

It had grown dark by the time they arrived in the city. They were stopped on the street by an anxious patrol of constables as they entered, but Vera showed a paper that set the men at ease. The lead constable shooed them gruffly into Korbel’s bounds, admonishing them to be indoors before the coming curfew.

Michael took in the surroundings. Korbel had the feel of a small city, its streets laid out in the organic, twisting paths that grew naturally from humbler beginnings. It had been the center of Ardalt for centuries before trade and business shifted the locus of power to Calmharbor; now it persisted as a quieter, older shadow of itself.

The silence tonight was total, though the ever-present trill of fear hung in the air like distant thunder. Anyone with ears knew that the Institute forces were closing on Korbel, and the prior record of the government’s response had not inspired confidence. It was a city that expected to fall.

“This way,” Vera said, nudging Lars to the left, down a side street.

Sobriquet gave her an odd look. “How can you tell?” she asked.

“It’s easier when there’s people around,” Vera replied. “I’ve been in Korbel for some time now, ever since Sofia was outed as Sibyl. There are some bruised egos attached to that deception, and perhaps some criminal charges as well; Carolus has put me up in one of their family’s apartments - I would say until things calm down, but I doubt Ardalt will be anything resembling calm for a while.”

She shrugged. “But I’ve been here long enough to remember the people who live near me. Each one of them shines differently, and I can navigate by those stars if I bother to learn their patterns.”

Michael nodded, and watched as Vera’s steps grew in confidence. She led them to a nondescript brownstone, unlocking it with an ornate brass key. They ducked inside to find an understated, tasteful apartment done up in light woods and bright, electric lighting.

Charles made an appreciative noise, taking a step in to look around; he drew up short when Vera’s arm halted his progress. She gave him a sweet smile.

“Shoes off, if you please,” she said.

There was grumbling from the ranks, but Lars had his boots off faster than blinking. The rest of the men followed in his wake - Unai and Zabala with indifferent acceptance, Charles and Sobriquet with evident irritation. Michael was finished before the rest of the men had contributed to the pile of dirty boots in the foyer, and he walked over to where Vera stood patiently.

“So?” he asked. “Where is she?”

“Not here,” Vera said.

A slight jolt of panic spun through Michael as scenarios played out in his head - his men, bootless, being ambushed by Sibyl’s soldiers. But he felt nothing alarming from Vera, and a quick check of their surroundings showed them to be quiet, empty apart from a few residents in the surrounding buildings.

“Not here,” Michael repeated. “Where, then?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. You’re meeting with me because Sofia doesn’t trust me anymore, remember?” She gave a small smile, opening a drawer in a nearby end table and retrieving a small, boxy device. “I was given this, when I set out.”

Michael took it from her hands, turning it over. “A radio,” he realized. “Mendiko.”

“Those are restricted for export,” Zabala said darkly, walking up behind him. “A strict ban on sales to foreigners.”

“Technically your countrymen exported them by bringing a great quantity to Daressa; it’s only natural that a few of them might be mislaid during such an extensive campaign.” Vera flashed a smile at Zabala, who scowled back. “Carolus has quite a few more interesting items than this in his collection, I’m sure. But this is the relevant piece for the moment.”

She hefted it in her hand, then gestured to a side room. “There’s a small kitchen and dining area,” she said. “Your men are welcome to take their ease while we talk. The wine cellar-”

Vera broke off at the noise of several stocking feet running towards the kitchen; Zabala swore and set off after the men before they could open too many bottles.

Michael gave her a flat look. “Neatly done,” he said.

“I’ve had years of practice,” Vera demurred. “Working in a different medium is challenging, but not overly so. Now, shall we let Sofia know we’re ready?”

He looked back; only Sobriquet had stayed by his side. “I suppose we should,” Michael sighed, gesturing for her to proceed. Vera twisted the knob on the side of the radio; a small click and hiss resulted, followed by silence.

“Hello, Sofia,” Vera said. “I’m here with Michael and Sobriquet.”

There was an extended pause before a light snap of static came over the line, followed by Sofia’s voice. “Michael,” she said. “I was surprised to hear from you.”

“As surprised as I was to hear you respond, no doubt,” Michael said. A strange nervous energy had settled around him, a feeling like treading a knife blade. His mouth was unaccountably dry.

There was a clink of glass as Unai stepped up behind them; he set cups down on the table and filled them from a wine bottle in his other hand; when he had poured the fourth drink, he took it and sat to the side, listening.

Michael gave him a grateful nod, sitting to take a sip of the wine as Sofia replied.

“It’s a delicate time,” she said. “The depth of the Institute’s treachery caught us unprepared, their acquisition of Stellar even more so. Your offer was one I couldn’t refuse.”

Michael let the implication of her last sentence pass unmentioned, shifting in his chair. “I’ll endeavor to trouble you for as little time as possible,” he said. “Tell me where Luc is, and I’ll kill him.”

There was another extended pause. “He’s near to Korbel, north-west. They have enough occultors to prevent me from glimpsing him directly, but I can see enough.” She paused. “An attack would disrupt his protection, letting me give you more precise guidance.”

“We can continue to coordinate with the radio, then,” Michael said.

“Unless you have a way to extend its range, that won’t be feasible,” Sofia replied. “While we were testing this pair, they fell well-short of what would be required.” The handset hissed with soft static for a few moments more. “It would be easiest if Sobriquet stayed here in the city. She can relay information to you.”

Michael was shaking his head before she had finished speaking. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I’m willing to work together, Sofia, but my people stay with me. You disclose your location, and Sobriquet will contact you from our forward position.”

Sofia gave a quiet, frustrated sigh. “Not acceptable,” she said. “She can cause great harm even at a distance.”

“Fine, then,” Michael said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Vera stays here, and retains the radio. Sobriquet comes with me, monitoring Vera from our position. You provide updates to her, and she relays them to Sobriquet.”

“A convoluted solution.” Sofia’s voice was dull, irritated. “Again, you’re unwilling to extend your trust.”

Michael snorted. “I’d say I’m as willing as you are.”

Static buzzed. Eventually, Sofia’s voice came back. “I increasingly regret that I didn’t simply let you walk away from dinner that night,” she said. “And that you did walk away from our last meeting. We had a plan, Michael, a peaceful path forward. You were going to help us set things right in Ardalt, neutralize the Institute. I said I’d keep you safe. I meant it.” She took a breath. “It would have worked.”

“The cost was too high,” Michael said.

“The cost?” Isolde’s voice demanded. There was an abrupt clatter from the far end of the connection, as if the anatomens had seized the handset. “Look around you! Ardalt is torn by war, Mendian is rampaging through the continent. All for what - for your ideals? Your whims? Your terrorist whore? Tell me her life is worth more than Vinc-”

Her voice cut off; Vera looked down at the handset with a stricken expression. Michael and Sobriquet exchanged a glance.

“You’ve been spending my money this whole time,” she muttered. “If anyone’s the whore-”

The radio crackled once more. “Back to the matter at hand,” Sofia said, as though there had been no interruption. “We don’t know how long the Institute’s forces will wait before attacking the city, but they appear to be mostly ready. If we’re settled on this - awkward mode of communication, then I see no further reason to delay.”

Michael blinked, bemused. “You want to attack tonight?” he asked.

“Would waiting bring any benefit?” she shot back.

“I suppose not,” Michael sighed. He drained the rest of his wine, then stood, looking at Unai. “Go tell the men to prepare for a run, have them drink and eat something appropriate.”

Unai nodded and turned towards the kitchens; Michael stretched - then turned back towards the radio. “I wish events had unfolded differently,” he said. “For what it’s worth.”

The radio gave a slow, languorous breath of noise. “I often wish the same,” Sofia replied, at length. “And I’ve learned very well what such wishes are worth. Northwest, Michael. Have Vera contact me when you’ve spotted them.”

There was a soft pop from the handset, then nothing. Michael looked up at Vera and Sobriquet.

“That went as good as could be expected,” he said.

Sobriquet snorted. “She’s definitely going to try to kill us at the first opportunity.” She turned to Vera. “You ready for your part in this?”

Vera was still, her blank eyes glistening with tears. “Yes,” she murmured. “I will help.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Michael asked. “We’re going to be relying on you-”

She raised a hand, shaking her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve just realized the path ahead is a good deal narrower than I thought it might be. Not hopeless, but - not likely.” She wiped at her eyes, then nodded. “This will be a start.”

Michael had several more questions than before, but was interrupted by a line of men tromping their way back out of the kitchen, most still stuffing some manner of food into their mouths. Zabala followed along behind them, looking weary.

“We’re good for a run,” he said. “Some of them got a few glasses of wine in; nothing that will stop them from working. They’re better-fed than we’ve been in a week, so that’s something.” He frowned, looking at Michael. “Did you eat?”

“I’ll be fine,” Michael said, walking over to fetch his boots. “If all goes well, this is the last night we’ll be on the hunt. I’ll have plenty of time to eat then.”

Zabala rolled his eyes, pulling on his own boots. “Nothing good ever came from a sentence that started that way,” he grunted. “But sure. Where are we going?”

“Northwest,” Michael said, straightening up. “And then we’ll see.”

The night was dark, the stars shrouded by the same thick clouds that had cloaked the land all week. What light there was glittered in dancing refractions from the icebound trees as Michael sped past with his men. There was no subtlety in their approach, silent as it was; Michael ripped a scar straight through the heart of the trees as they ran.

There was a low mountain valley to the northwest, shielded from casual view. Michael steered them towards it. He occasionally slowed to send his sight up, scouting ahead, but so far had seen nothing but forest in their path.

As they came up over the crest of a ridge, however, Sobriquet nudged him and pointed. “There,” she said. “It’s faint, but there’s a lot of area being obscured in that direction. Many occultors working in tandem, or it wouldn’t be this sloppy.” She clucked her tongue. “Not too much farther and we’ll run right into their perimeter.”

“All right,” Michael said. “We stay together until we’ve got confirmation of Luc’s position, then we diverge to bracket him. Same teams as last operation. Lars, left flank. Charles, Unai, right. Stay close enough to Zabala in the middle that you’re protected.”

He looked around, seeing only acknowledgments, then turned back towards the camp. “Once we see him, delay him until I can engage. Don’t try to fight him directly, just keep the other soldiers off of me. When he’s down, I’ll go down too - but don’t get near me. Take out obruors, and any units that get too close. Sobriquet will keep the rest of them confused until I’m able to stand again. Clear?”

Various mutters of assent came back. Michael turned to look at them. “Then let’s go.”

His heart was well and truly pounding by the time they saw the first signs of occultor work. It was almost easier in the dark; the mottled black of the forest gave way to an eerie homogeneity that made Michael uneasy to stare at for long. He stepped forward into it. Immediately, he felt a spike of alarm from someone nearby.

At a glance, the trees sprang aside to reveal a pair of soldiers looking wide-eyed at their party. A moment later the air around them flickered with Sobriquet’s painful blur; both men dropped to the ground. Michael paused. The forest around them was silent once more - but dark no longer. A narrow corridor through the trees admitted a faint light from the camp, no longer shrouded by the two sleeping men.

“Sera?” he asked.

“One moment, Vera is talking,” she replied. “Sibyl was right about one thing, this is not ideal.”

“You’d rather wait on her mercy back in Korbel?” Michael asked.

She snorted. “Fuck no. That was a transparent excuse to - ah, here we go.” She paused. “He’s here. Not in the command tent, in with the rest. Sixth tent down on the third row from us.”

For the first time on that cold night, Michael felt a chill. He let his sight move forward to slide through the walls of the tent in question.

He saw Luc. There was nobody else in the tent, and no furniture save for a cot. Luc was lying upon the cot, a thin blanket clutched to his chest. He was not asleep, though. His eyes were open, staring straight upward; tears streaked down his face, and his lips quivered with quick, convulsive sobs.

Michael let his sight linger for a long moment on Luc’s face, watching him cry - then drew it backwards. “I see him,” he rasped. He raised a hand. A moment later, he crooked his fingers forward.

They began to walk across the darkened camp.