City of Blades (50 page)

“What, it even makes you a hundred sizes bigger?”

“It's all a play of images and perception, a warping of the world! Miracles are apparently very formal things, I'll have you know!” She winces as Mulaghesh tends to her shoulder. “But they do
not
make one invulnerable.”

“How was it that no one else saw you?”

“Because I did not wish them to,” says Thinadeshi. “I tapped the sword's strength to veil myself from the land of the living. But…when I climbed the cliff, the sword
bucked,
like a dowsing rod sensing water. Something was wrong. Perhaps it sensed you—maybe it sensed some quality in you it found familiar, or even desirable. Why hide one's self from a kindred spirit?”

Mulaghesh is silent as she considers the awful implications of this. Finally she asks, “How did you know about the mine?”

“Because someone opened a window into it,” says Thinadeshi. “I felt someone trying to open many entryways into this place. I didn't know that was one of the things I could do—sensing such a thing—but apparently I can. They tried it over and over again. I went to investigate, fearing someone could, I don't know, incite or awaken all the souls here. Then I came across a gap hanging in the air, a mirror or window into…somewhere else. A tunnel of some kind, and in that tunnel were some grubby little men. They did not see me, and I listened to them talking, digging down in the dirt and hauling up all the fragments of the very things I'd hoped I'd destroyed long ago. I thought that this might be the reason the City of Blades was being pulled back, reconnecting with the land of the living. So I did what was necessary.”

“And you destroyed it,” says Mulaghesh. She doesn't bother telling Thinadeshi that she killed three soldiers in the process of doing so. What good would that do?

“But it didn't work,” says Thinadeshi miserably. “I can still feel us growing closer and closer. It made me so weak, to do it, but it accomplished nothing. The dead remember more and more of what was promised to them. Something has happened in Voortyashtan, and it acts like a faint light to a blind man, and they are following it, feeling their way back to the land of the living, and what they are owed. What were you people
doing
with that mine, anyway?”

Mulaghesh summarizes what little she understands about the wide-ranging qualities of thinadeskite. Thinadeshi is absolutely horrified. “And they named it after
me
?” she says. “They named this hellish material after the person who tried to
annihilate
it?”

“Well, they didn't know that,” says Mulaghesh. “You're well thought of, and they thought it could be world-changing….They said it would revolutionize nearly anything electrical.”

“Of course it would!” says Thinadeshi angrily. “If it can store a soul and all of its memories for hundreds of years, then a few photons are no issue at all! Every atom of those things is packed with the fury of millions of people denied what they felt was their due. I've no doubt that's expressing itself in all manner of horrible ways!”

“But they're not doing anything special with it,” says Mulaghesh. “They're just making wire and other electrical material out of it. And if you're telling me that destroying the mine didn't stop anything…then it must have been something else that started this whole thing.”

“Then what?” says Thinadeshi. “What else could possibly be waking the dead?”

Mulaghesh thinks back to that afternoon on the clifftops: tripping over the tunnel, finding Choudhry's letter describing a mysterious person infiltrating the thinadeskite mines…

“What if…What if it's not just messing around with the ore that does it? You said yourself that the dead wouldn't accept just anyone as Voortya, they needed someone that was…I don't know, the right
shape
. The right
clothes.
”

“Yes?”

“So the right shape for the thinadeski—”

“
Please
stop calling it that.”

“All right! The right shape for the ore…would be a sword.” She looks at Thinadeshi. “Would it be possible for someone to forge
new
swords out of the ore?”

“I…I suppose,” says Thinadeshi. “But how would one know how to do it? How would one even know what to make? I made sure no examples of Voortyashtani swords remained in the living world.”

“No, you just destroyed that one tomb,” says Mulaghesh. “Special saints got tombs of their own. Ones that I guess contained
only
their swords. We found one in the Teeth of the World, one that didn't have a sword in it. Unless someone had already been there and taken it—”

“—so they could use it as an original,” says Thinadeshi, “and use it to make copies. But they would need to have extensive smithing knowledge for that to work.”

Mulaghesh cocks her head, thinking. Then time seems to slow down for her.

She remembers walking into a house, noting how cold it was…but then as she left, turning around and seeing a thick tumble of smoke from the chimney.

A voice in her head:
Have you ever heard of Saint Petrenko?

And then the words of the Watcher:
It was Petrenko who developed the method that the old ones first used to make their swords.

“I think I know who it is,” says Mulaghesh softly. “But damned if I know why.” She looks at Thinadeshi. “Can you leave with me? Do you have enough strength for that?”

Thinadeshi laughs hollowly. “If I leave, they leave.” She nods out the window. “I'm the only thing keeping them back. Even as you're talking to me now, I'm fighting a war here.” She taps the side of her head. “It's killing me. Destroying the mine weakened me terribly. But I have to keep fighting them, telling them not yet, not yet….So I can't go, General. More so, I won't.”

Mulaghesh and Thinadeshi exchange a silent moment then: the two women look at each other, each hard-eyed and determined, and Mulaghesh understands right away that to try to convince Thinadeshi to leave her post would be a waste of time. Her mind's made up, and Mulaghesh can respect that.

“How much time do you have?” asks Mulaghesh.

Thinadeshi looks relieved they're moving on. “Not much. The closer we get to the land of the living, the more the sentinels awake. It's getting harder and harder.”

“I
would
propose that I go back to Voortyashtan, find the swords, and destroy them,” says Mulaghesh. “But what happens if you die before I do that?”

“Then they invade,” says Thinadeshi. “And you die.”

“Shit,” says Mulaghesh. She rubs her mouth, frustrated. “So there's no Plan B? No backup option?”

Thinadeshi is quiet. Then she slowly looks at the sword in her hand. “There is…one option.” She holds it out to Mulaghesh, her face grim. “You can take this.”

“What?
Me
take the sword of Voortya? What the hells are you talking about? Won't that kill you?”

“I'm already being killed,” says Thinadeshi. “This strange device won't keep me alive much longer. And it will take some time for its powers to depart from me: in essence, it will take time for this place to realize I've dropped the act. Probably no longer than the time I have
with
the sword. You can take it, in case you fail.”

“And what in the hells am I supposed to do with it?”

“It's a token,” says Thinadeshi, “a symbol. It can be unlocked, unfolded, interpreted to be many things. You can do many deeds with it if you use it the right way, if you
think
about it the right way. Voortya was the goddess of warfare, General. And you of all people should know that war is an art requiring decorum and formality. It feverishly adheres to rules and traditions—and that can be used against it. Take it!”

Mulaghesh reaches out hesitantly, then takes the black, severed hand from Thinadeshi's grasp. Instantly the faint sword blade vanishes, and Mulaghesh is left holding a heavy black sword handle with a rather curious crossguard, and nothing more: there is no suggestion of fingers or flesh in it, no flash of lightning, no lick of flame. It is just a thing, not a Divine conceit made solid.

“That all sounds like a bunch of variations on ‘I don't know' to me,” says Mulaghesh.

“It responds to different people in different ways,” says Thinadeshi. “And the dead still believe me to be Voortya. Once I am gone, it will awaken to you—but I am not sure how. And I would prefer we not have to depend on that at all.”

“Me neither,” says Mulaghesh. “So how do I get out of this place?”

“I can push you back,” says Thinadeshi. “That will not sap my strength much, or so I hope.” She shuts her eyes. “I see an entryway—a doorway in the water. My face looks down on it. No, no…It's Voortya's face, of course. There is a young woman there, waiting.” She opens her eyes. “Is that safe? Should she be there?”

“Was she blond and kind of unbearable-looking?”

“She was blond, yes. And she did have a…a
combative
look to her….”

“Then that's fine.” She gathers up her gear. “Can you just…do it now?”

“I can,” says Thinadeshi. She reaches out to Mulaghesh, then hesitates. “I suppose this would be my last chance to ask how the world has gotten along without me, wouldn't it?”

“Yeah. Is there anything you want me to say or do?” says Mulaghesh. “Anything you want me to tell your family?”

Since Mulaghesh first saw Thinadeshi she's always had a hard look in her eye, as if her soul is an anvil and she expects the whole of the world to be shaped on it; but at this question the barest crack begins to show, and she trembles a little. “I think…I think it would be best to think that I
did
die all those years ago. I did leave the land of the living, after all. Is that not death? But I think I chose this before then. When I chose to travel to the Continent and take my children with me…When I chose accomplishment over my responsibilities…I look back on all I did, all I got done, and they fill me with nothing at all. Not pride, not joy, not contentment. All I have now is this insatiable hunger.”

“Hunger for what?”

She smiles faintly. “To tell my children that, despite everything, I loved them. And I wished I could have loved them more, showed them that more.”

“I'll tell them, if I can find them,” says Mulaghesh.

Thinadeshi's face hardens. “Then go,” she says. “And get it done.” She taps Mulaghesh on the forehead, just barely pushing her off balance, and Mulaghesh falls backward, sure to strike the floor….

…But she doesn't. The floor isn't there. Instead there are the still, cool, dark waters, and she's plummeting down through them again, sinking faster and faster. The white citadel of the City of Blades shrinks above her, dwindling down until it's a slice of light above her, and then it's gone.

She knows what's going to happen this time, but it doesn't make it any easier: again, the pressure builds and builds until it feels like her head is about to crack like an egg. She swears she can feel her ribs popping and creaking. She doesn't struggle this time, but curls up into a ball. Then she feels gravity swirling around her, like the world can't decide what's up and what's down, and when she opens her eyes she sees a dark black hole opening above her.

She punches through, flailing wildly. Her arms strike the rim of the stone basin. She's still blinking water out of her eyes, but she can see the canvas roof of the yard of statues above her.

“Careful! Careful!” says Signe's voice. Signe grabs her by her arms and hauls her out. She bounces roughly off of a stone edge below before both she and Signe topple over into the mud.

“Good heavens,” says Signe. “What happened to you? Did you…Did you actually
go
there? And why are you…well…
red
?”

Mulaghesh coughs up what feels like a liter of seawater again. “I know who it is,” she gasps. “I know who it is!”

“Who…what is?”

Mulaghesh rolls over and pulls herself up onto all fours. The bone-white faces of the statues stare at her expectantly.

“It's Rada Smolisk,” she says quietly. “Rada Smolisk is who's waking up the dead.”

He sang to them, “Mother Voortya dances always!

She dances upon the hills, Her blade flickering to and fro!

She dances upon the hearts of men

For battle is our rightful state!

If you were to open up the human heart

And look within,

You would find two figures

Screaming, clutching, wrestling in the mud!”

—EXCERPT FROM “OF THE GREAT MOTHER VOORTYA ATOP THE TEETH OF THE WORLD,” CA. 556

I
t won't be easy getting up there,” says Signe. “Biswal's forces are returning, and I've had reports they're flooding the harbor works. They'll be here any minute.”

Mulaghesh grimaces as she performs a gear check. She's still stained red from head to toe, though it does seem to be sloughing off, a little. She hasn't bothered to tell Signe everything—there isn't enough time to describe how Thinadeshi became the stand-in for the goddess of warfare—but she's given her the details on how the City of Blades is waking up again. “And unfortunately Rada's house is between the Galleries and the fortress,” says Mulaghesh. “There'll be lots of exposure between here and there.”

“It's in a little copse of trees, though,” says Signe. “Perhaps that can give us some cover.”

“If we can
get
to the trees, that is. If Biswal's troops are entering the harbor works, that means the roads away from this place are going to be watched.”

“Are you
sure
it's her?”

“It must have been. She quoted Petrenko to my face, and the Watcher over there said they'd been visited by a student of his. And Rada would
know
which families were isolated enough for her to test her swords on—one of the dead boys in Poshok had some kind of horrible rash, and they said in Ghevalyev that the man was always fretting over his wife's health….She must have visited each of their homes.”

Signe shakes her head, disgusted. “I can't believe this.”

“And Petrenko was the saint who invented the method of making Voortyashtani swords,” says Mulaghesh. “Rada must have gone to the Teeth of the World, found the tomb…”

“Which must have been Petrenko's tomb.”

“Right. Petrenko's sword acts as a blueprint for how to make more. And now here we are.”

Mulaghesh checks the sword of Voortya, though currently it's still more like a handle. She has it stuffed in the belt of her pants for easy access, though she still has no idea what she'd need it for. Once she's confirmed it's secure, she scans the walls. “You got any rope around here?”

“I'm sure I can find some somewhere, bu—”

“And you're a pretty good climber, right?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I'm suggesting that that arch over there,” she says, pointing at a spectral sculpture designed to look like the bones of a whale, “rises almost to the top of the wall. Meaning we wouldn't have to use the door. Rada's house is just up the slope from this yard, provided we go over the wall.”

Signe sighs as she takes in the scale of the arch. “You do have a knack for getting other people to stick their necks out for you.”

“Recall, please, that I just plummeted into the afterlife to save the necks of this city.”

“Good point, I suppose.” Signe fetches a few lengths of rope from a storage area in the statue yard, and the two begin to run over.

“After you get me over the wall,” says Mulaghesh, “what next?”

“What next? Why, I'm coming with you, of course. You're making me climb up on a damn wall, I might as well go all the way.”

It's the answer Mulaghesh wanted to hear, though she didn't want to ask the direct question: to guilt others into your dirty business is bad sport, in her opinion. “Are you sure?”

“You'll need the backup, won't you?”

“Yes. But I want to make sure that you're sure. You could see some fighting. I can't guarantee that it won't be dangerous.”

“General, this woman apparently wishes to destroy everything I've made so far,” says Signe. “Though frankly I've no idea why. I intend to stop her, at the very least, and then find out her reasoning.” Signe begins to deftly climb up the arch. “She isn't even a true Voortyashtani. She's from Bulikov, for the seas' sakes!”

“Feel like you'd be decent with a rifling tonight?”

Signe vaults up and straddles the edge of the wall. She sighs, bowing her head. “I do despise combat, you know.”

“Yeah. I know how you feel.”

She begins uncoiling the rope, lowering it down. “But I'm still willing to do it.”

“Yeah,” says Mulaghesh, grasping the rope. “I know how you feel.”

As they rappel down the wall Mulaghesh looks out and sees the dark cityscape littered with beams of lights, the roving torches of soldiers on a search. She does a quick count and gauges their number at fifty or so. She can tell by the way the lights are bobbing up and down that they're running, and it looks like a lot of them are running for the statue yard.

“Hurry up and get down!” says Signe.

They slide down the rest of the wall and lurk in its shadows, watching the search beams.

“Oh my,” whispers Signe. “There's rather a lot of them, isn't there?”

“On my mark we run to the fence ahead, all right?” Mulaghesh points across the industrial yard to a chain-link fence about ten feet high.

“We're not climbing that, too, are we? There's razor wire at the top.”

“I have wire cutters. But it'll take time.”

“Why do you have wire cutters?”

“Because every damn soldier worth their salt has wire cutters!” snaps Mulaghesh. “Anything else you want to know?”

Signe cranes her head forward. “I don't think anyone's coming. On the count of three?”

“Works for me.” She counts off with her fingers and then they bolt forward. They dart around a stack of rebar, then through piles of soil and pulped wood until finally they come to the chain-link fence.

They squat and look behind them: bright beams of light are slashing through the night air. “Not torches,” says Mulaghesh quietly as she pulls out her wire cutters. “Spotlights. They're really looking for us.”

Signe takes the wire cutters and goes to work, snipping through the fence. “Will they shoot us?”

“They might if we run. Likely they expect we're armed. And you do have a rifling strapped to your back.”

“And what if we succeed tonight? What if we get to Rada and stop what she's doing? Do you think Biswal would forgive us?”

“If we got Rada to tell him the story, maybe,” says Mulaghesh.

“Would she do that?”

“She might if I beat the shit out of her a little.”

Signe looks at her, shocked. “Would you do that?”

“Hells yeah I'd do that. If it keeps me from ducking a firing line, I'd beat her ass like a drum. Keep cutting.”

Mulaghesh keeps watch. The metallic walls of the statue yard reflect the light a little too well for her tastes, bouncing off and sending rays scattered around the yard. Both of them keep ducking down as beams strafe over their heads. Mulaghesh turns and looks up through the fence and up the slope to where Rada Smolisk's house sits in the trees below the cliffs. It's about five hundred yards up, by her guess. She can see one cheery yellow window burning among the trunks, and the chimney, of course, is belching up merry gray smoke.
But it's not your average wood fire, is it?
thinks Mulaghesh.

Then she spots a few sparks of light to the right at the same elevation as Rada's house. She shields her eyes against the other strobe lights to see a band of soldiers, perhaps five or so, walking along the road to the polis governor's house.

“Shit,” says Mulaghesh. “We've got company. Soldiers on their way to Rada's house.”

“I'm almost done here. How much time?”

“Twenty, ten minutes away. Maybe.”

“Then we'll have to book i—”

She's cut short as Mulaghesh drops down and clamps a hand over her mouth. Signe's eyes widen and look at her, surprised. Then Mulaghesh shakes her head and nods backward, behind the mounds of earth.

At first it's quiet. Then they hear it: footsteps, slow and uncertain.

Mulaghesh takes her hand off of Signe's face and pulls out her carousel. She squats down low and readies her aim.

For a moment, nothing. Then a beam of light surges out of the darkness and falls on them.

Mulaghesh almost shoots. It takes a lot of training not to, but she's more worried about giving away her position than anything. She waits for the owner of the light to say something, anything, identifying themselves—but they don't. There's just a long pause.

Then a voice: “Uh…CTO Harkvaldsson?”

Signe lets out a breath. “Damn it all, Knordstrom!” she says. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

The beam lowers. Mulaghesh blinks until she can make out a thickset Dreyling guard with the SDC insignia on his breast standing among the dirt mounds. “Oh. Uh. Sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize you'd be here.”

“Well, obviously, I am!”

“I see. Can I ask…Uh, what's going on? I'm hearing reports of Saypuri troops storming the harbor….”

“Yes,” says Signe grimly. “It seems General Biswal has gone mad with power. He's looking to arrest me. This will be a serious diplomatic incident, I'm afraid. Do
not
report back that you saw us, and I recommend you usher all Saypuri troops away from this part of the yard. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And one more thing. Find my father and tell him to meet us up at Rada Smolisk's house, up the hill.” She points through the chain-link fence.

Knordstrom looks where she's pointing. “The, uh…the polis governor's house?”

“Yes. We're to have an emergency rendezvous to discuss the situation. Tell him that. Understand?”