New Enemies

  Chapter 51

  Request was bored. Very bored. She had nothing to draw with, nothing to read, and was under orders to keep her Spirit secret. Her fellow Acolytes were silent, sullen, travelling with a dark cloud over them. Two were in the carriage, Tie and Press. Disc was driving until they stopped for the night, which wouldn't be long. They rode in a cheap vehicle that amplified every bump in the road so it felt like the carriage might topple at any time. More than once, tall Press had bumped her head during an unexpected jolt.

  Request snapped, said what the other Acolytes were thinking, “Well, this burns, doesn't it?”

  “It does.” Tie, built like a Disciple but not as attractive, grumbled. He wiped his forehead as he looked out the carriage window. “It burns.”

  “Hey, that's no way to talk,” said Press. “It's not Maya's fault that she couldn't come.”

  “Isn't it?” Request asked. “She said she would, she said we would spend two weeks together, just the five of us. And then some stupid Lord pulls a stunt, and she drops us like bad gear? I’d gamble that she could have done more. I don't like it. And neither does Ink.”

  Her Spirit appeared when mentioned, a floating miasma of green liquid with two piercing eyes at its centre. “She shouldn't have crumbled like that,” Ink said.

  “Hey, put her away!”

  “Not brilliant, Request,” Tie said. “We're supposed to be incognito.”

  Request tutted. “No one can see in here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She sighed and dismissed Ink. The Spirit sank back into her paintbrush. In protest, she made the implement feel obvious, heavy: she wanted to remain, stretch her tendrils. Request didn't blame her as remaining hidden, small, was in neither of their natures.

  “I still don't get this. Any of this,” she said. “We're Acolytes. Why travel under false names in these...” Request looked down at her dull, brown dress and flicked at it. “These disgusting clothes. I love my robes. I want to wear them at all times.”

  “Well, apart from the impacts on Aureu, there's Draw's Loss to consider,” Press said.

  “The Folly,” Tie said.

  Request frowned. “I can't take what you're offering.”

  “You never heard of this?” Tie asked. “It was all the news.”

  “I've never been a part of Stationed society,” Request reminded them.

  “Sorry,” Tie said, still a little awkward at talking to someone who'd grown up Stationless. “This was before any of us joined. Sol, it would be a year and a half ago now, wouldn't it?”

  “It would,” Press agreed. “At the beginning of spring, last year.”

  “Time disappears, doesn't it?”

  Request allowed them a polite amount of introspection, then said, “Who's Draw and what did he lose?”

  “Draw is the Shield Councillor, a boorish–”

  “A great leader,” Press broke in.

  “Anyway, the story goes that Draw was sick of the Acolytes, and the Shield-General he was forced to take under his wing, getting all the glory.”

  “Or that he saw a tactical opportunity,” Press hissed, a former Contegon.

  Tie tapped his fingers against the carriage's thin glass. “Whatever. Draw technically had control of the Acolytes back then. No one minded either: we were all in the war together, so why would specifics about command structures matter? So he gathered three Acolytes, and ordered them to raid Moenian with a cadre, slash and burn, take the fight to the bastards. Being warriors of Sol, they relished the opportunity.”

  “Any fucker would,” Request said.

  “Not any more. Only one Shield returned.”

  Request blinked. She couldn't believe what they were saying. “They lost three Acolytes?”

  Tie nodded. “In one night. A third of the Acolytes, gone. The surviving Shields returned five months later, battered and bruised, and reportedly told Shield-General Eagle what happened. But Maya knew well before that what he'd done, and Draw was nearly tossed out, nearly destroyed, for his Folly.”

  “His Loss,” Press corrected.

  “You just going to keep correcting me, Press?”

  “Only if you continue to tell the story like a Heretic.”

  Tie gnashed his teeth, but let it go. His feelings for Press were too strong to go any further.

  Request couldn't believe what he’d said, though: three Acolytes lost at once, destroyed deep in enemy territory because a Councillor had wanted to prove his worth. It was no shock that Maya wanted to keep the Acolytes well-protected after that, out of the Shield Councillor's reach.

  “That still doesn't explain the secrecy,” Request said. “She got the Stations re-ordered, so she doesn't have to worry about another Loss. Why keep us incognito then?”

  “When you're robbed,” Press said slowly, “you ensure your next wage is well protected.”

  There was a bash on the carriage. “All right then, my fellows,” Disc shouted down, his Port accent thick as his mop of hair, “I do think we're at a good place to stop for the night.”

  The Acolytes poured from the carriage and stretched to release the strain of being cooped up. Request had lived in Aureu all her life, and so would never have guessed that travel could take so much from her.

  “Moving always takes juice,” Ink whispered. “And journeys are no different.”

  “True,” Request replied with a smile.

  Disc had pulled them into some unclaimed greenery between two farms, a waystation for travellers with a well-worn place for a camp fire. With their cheap, nondescript carriage and poor clothes, they would hopefully be mistaken for young Merchants heading along the Great Road, to Ember or Rise. It was good cover, particularly as they had more food than they needed, including Maya's surprise for them.

  Maya... Request didn't really blame her for not coming. Their teacher, their friend, operated at another level, always seeming to have many plans on the go. Some on the Council, such as this Draw, still didn't accept the former Heretic's presence among them. Achieving what she knew was best, what Sol told her was best, meant treading a fine line.

  Request knew all this because they had grown close. How could they not, when only a dozen or so people had been granted Spirits to enact Sol’s will? Their training and knowledge had pulled them together. They loved each other, and loved Maya most.

  “I think you hate her for crumbling still,” Ink said. “Keeping the wound.”

  “Of course I do. But at least I know how irrational it is.”

  “Request, stop talking to yourself,” Press warned as she used the carriage to stretch her calves.

  “People are going to think you mad,” Disc said with a smile. He was filling wooden bowls with water and holding them to the horses’ faces. The beasts gratefully lapped, having had a hard day.

  Request blew air out through her lips. “All right, you don't have to shout twice.”

  “I do not think I'll ever get used to your way of talking, city girl,” Disc said.

  “Don't throw what you're covered in, swimmer,” Request said.

  Press laughed. “I've not heard that one in ages! 'Don't throw what you're covered in.' Are people really saying that again?”

  Request shrugged. “My Grandma taught me it.”

  “'Don't throw what you're covered in,'” Disc repeated, tasting the words like grapes. “I like it. I think I will be borrowing that, if and when you don't mind. After all, I am just a swimmer?”

  Request smiled despite herself. “Take it. I don't own it.”

  “Well, well, thank you!”

  Disc gave her that boyish smile of his. He was muscular but good-natured as anything you could hope for. Request had never met someone with power who didn't think to use it: you used any scrap of power you had where she'd grown up. Especially when your skin wasn't the same colour as everyone else's.

  “Let's set up the tent,” Tie said.

  “No, let's do food first,” Press replied.

  “I'll throw my marble
at that one,” Disc said.

  “You made that up,” Tie rumbled.

  “Damn! I owe you another Circle.”

  The group laughed. As they came from different parts of Geos – Request from Aureu's slums, Disc from Port, Tie from Mine, a Mountain settlement, and Press from a Farming community called Helm – they had their own colloquialisms, slang, and so on. At Maya's suggestion, they'd made a game of trying to sneak fake sayings past each other. If you got one past, everyone owed you a Circle. If you were called out, you owed the person who called it. But, if someone named a real saying fake, they owed everyone a Circle. It was a fun game, something that bound them.

  “Pay me later,” said Tie. “Let's cook first.”

  A call of nature tugged on Request's bladder. “I'm going to the gutter,” Request said.

  “Thanks for sharing,” Tie said.

  “Well, I didn't want you thinking I was shirking my duty to cook.”

  “Go on,” Press said, waving her away.

  The farmlands were flat, like a soil shelf, so there was only an apple tree to hide her... unless she wanted to squat in crops that would end up being someone's dinner. The thought amused her until she realised it could easily be hers, so she elected for the tree.

  One advantage of incognito wear was ease of removal: her Acolyte robes were her favourite possession after the brush her Father gave her – a medium artist's brush with inch-thick bristles tapering to a fine edge – but they were not easy to remove. Half her training, it seemed, had been learning to manage her guts so she wouldn't be caught short. This dress, she only had to lift to relieve herself.

  When done, she walked back to camp. Press had a fire going. Tie was debating what kind of meal to put together, facing salted meat and a sack of vegetables like they were enemies. Disc was rustling around on top of the carriage, grinning.

  “Hey, what do you reckon this is?” Disc asked. Request's hearing was good: she could still hear him even from a distance. He held a large trunk, well-built, made to protect its contents from the bumpy journey.

  “Don't know,” Tie shouted, more interested in his food.

  The Port boy jumped down and brought the trunk to the fire. “It sounds... metallic. And there's something carved into the lid here, a marking that looks like an M. I cannot help but wonder what it could be!”

  “Open it, then, and save us your blathering!” Press snapped. She prodded the fire, trying to get it going, but failing miserably. “It's probably Maya's surprise for us.”

  “So it is! Request, back up!” Disc called.

  “Why?”

  “I want you to guess what it is when I open it, but don’t want you to get any clues. Okay?”

  “Why?” she asked again.

  “Why not?”

  She couldn't argue with that so she stepped a few feet back. “Is this far enough?”

  “That's good. Now, let's see–”

  He opened the trunk and it exploded, a great conflagration that threw Request back. Baking heat passed over her like a wave as she flew, making her skin taut, forcing her eyes closed. Ink was alive or suspicious enough to catch her, the Spirit's green tendrils saving her from an awkward landing. Her Spirit put Request back on her feet and floated next to her as she looked around, dazed, ears ringing from the blast.

  “No...” Request whispered, her mouth dry. “No, no.”

  The carriage had been a few feet away from the explosion, but it was aflame, had been tossed onto its side. Disc, Press and Tie could not have survived such a blast. Ink must have covered Request in Gift armour for her to be unsinged. Disobeying Maya’s orders by keeping Ink close to hand had saved her life.

  What had happened finally sank in. Request shook her head and ran toward the wreckage. Only charred earth remained where her friends, her fellow Acolytes, had stood. The blast had been so hot that it was as though they had never been.

  “No! No! NO!” Request roared, sinking to her feet. She punched the earth until she realised she was striking the likely remains of her friends.