The Reawakened (31 page)

Addano nodded and crossed the otherwise empty dining room toward the general’s table, which also held three majors, the general’s staff officers.

As he sat down, they gave him looks of undisguised contempt. His job offended their sense of Ilion honor, even as they ordered him to continue it.

He hated them in return, but they were the only reliable sources of information. He hoped tonight’s news would be better than last week’s, when he’d heard about the takeover of the Tiron garrison and the destruction of the bridge. Sometimes he felt like he was the only one who noticed the occupation wasn’t going well. Or maybe they all knew it, but no one wanted to voice the reality.

General Lino poured him a half a glass of wine, then set the carafe at the other end of the table. “I’ve ordered wine to be rationed until we can get a shipment in from Ilios, if they can spare it.”

“This is fine.” Addano tilted his glass. “Thank you, sir.”

The vineyard fires had stolen one of the few bearable aspects of living in Asermos: cheap wine. The Ilion command had rebuffed the ransom demands of the rebels, provoking six more arsons in the last three days.

Luckily Addano had about fifty bottles in his home, a stockpile that should last him five or six weeks.

“I thought you should know,” the general said. “We’re going to fill the hamlet this fall instead of waiting until spring. All the native Asermons from the outlying farms—about a thousand head.”

“Why now?” he asked. “I heard it wasn’t even finished.”

“With so few vineyards left, we don’t need so many beasts for the harvest anymore. Better to contain them.”

“Contain them from what?”

Lino scoffed, then slowed his voice as if he were speaking to a child. “The bandits, of course.”

Addano blinked. Even now that the guerrillas occupied more territory than the Ilion army and controlled one of their garrisons, the senior officers still insisted on calling them “bandits.”

The general poured himself another glass of wine—a full one, Addano noticed. “I wouldn’t normally share such strategic intelligence with a junior officer, but I’ll need some of your men to help with the relocation. I could have Major Strato here make the assignments, but your operations are so…specialized—” he raised an eyebrow “—I thought you should recommend which men can be spared.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, ignoring the frowns of repugnance on the majors’ faces. “How many do you need?”

“The question is, how many do
you
need to maintain your work?” He waved his hand toward the major. “You two figure it out. I don’t want your mission undermined. It’s too valuable.”

Addano said nothing as the overboiled green beans slithered down his throat. He tried to forget how the fresh ones from his father’s farm had tasted, lightly steamed and coated in butter.

He also tried to forget how the information he’d gathered from the prisoners had steered the Ilion military in the wrong direction five or six times. The harder he pressed them, the worse intelligence they offered. His superiors thought the mistakes meant he wasn’t pressing hard enough.

So he’d killed the ones who’d lied to him, and now they all said nothing. Why he hadn’t been relieved from duty for incompetence was beyond him. His superiors seemed to think the prisoners’ suffering was an end in itself.

Addano cleared his throat. “Sir, if I may—”

They all looked at him at once, the general with an indulgent smile.

He shut his mouth, then wiped it with his napkin before continuing. “I’m curious. Does this order come from Ilios or is it a local decision?”

The general stopped smiling. “It’s my decision.”

Addano looked away and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll check my roster and get Major Strato a list of personnel to help with the relocation. I can do that right now, if you like.”

Lino fell back into his easy manner. “Now, that’s not necessary. Stay, eat, enjoy our company.”

His mouth suddenly dry, Addano lifted his wineglass and saw that it was empty. He let out a sudden cough to hide his panic, then went back to eating.

The general returned to the topic at hand. “The sooner we get those farm people into that hamlet, the sooner I’ll sleep at night. The bandits are pressing in on Asermos from all sides.”

One of the majors chuckled. “Once they see what we do to Kalindos, they’ll come around.”

Addano swallowed his bite of unrecognizable meat. “What are we doing to Kalindos?”

General Lino raised his eyebrows. “Completing a very old mission.”

Captain Addano searched his memory for Kalindon missions and could only come up with one—the invasion twenty years ago, the one that had left a blot on the entire nation of Ilios.
Kalindos
had become synonymous with
dishonor.

He put his fork on his plate. “If I may be dismissed, I’ll get to work on those rosters now.”

Lino waved him off. “I wish you’d take more leisure, but I admire your dedication. It’s good to see in a young officer.”

The others laughed, and Addano’s face flushed. At thirty-eight, he was older than all of them besides the general, and was several years from his next promotion, which he knew he’d never see even if he lived to be a hundred.

He left the dining room, forcing his gaze away from the half-full carafe of wine.

Downstairs in his “office,” an Ilion woman was scrubbing the blood off the floor near the whipping post, her shoulder-length blond braid bouncing with each grating stroke.

“Evening, Captain Addano.” Rilana’s voice was chipper, considering her task. Any civilians who could gain the security clearance to work in the prison were too patriotic to question what went on in here. In their minds, Addano’s work kept them safe from the “beasts.”

He sat at his desk, wishing Rilana would leave. He wanted to take a draught from the bottle of wine hidden in the back of his bottom drawer without feeling obliged to share it with her.

She scrubbed on. Addano’s heels tapped the floor in a nervous rhythm as he debated whether to pull out the bottle. Instead he reached into the opposite drawer and withdrew his staff roster.

The names blurred and swam before his eyes, which he rubbed with fingers that trembled. When had he last slept a full night or day? Since long before Nisa left. Since before the nightmares.

The ghastly dreams hadn’t surprised him, considering the way he spent his waking hours. It bothered him more when they stopped, because it meant there was no part of him left to horrify.

Rilana hummed a familiar tune, keeping time with the scrape of her horsehair brush against the wooden floor. Lulled by the rhythm, he closed his eyes, grasping for a few moments’ sleep.

Suddenly she gasped. “My apologies, sir.”

He started awake. “Hmm?”

“I hope my singing didn’t bother you. I get off in my own world sometimes.”

“No, please continue. It reminds me of home.”

“You’re from the south, too?”

“From Saldos. The countryside.” Ilios had only annexed this area two generations ago. Many people there still identified more closely with the region than with the Ilion nation itself.

“I’m from Salindis.” She wiped stray hairs from her forehead with her wrist. “A town girl my whole life.”

“My mother lives there now.” He looked at her. “How did you get here?”

“By boat.”

“No, I mean, what made you decide to come all this way?”

“They said there’d be jobs.” She gestured to the blood-stained floor. “There are jobs.” She glanced at the clock. “If you don’t mind, sir, I have to get home to my children for dinner. The littlest one’s been losing weight.”

“Of course.” He tried to blot out the image of his own children, the way they used to look around corners as they moved through the house, to see if he were coming. “Go right ahead.”

Rilana finished quickly, then wished Addano good-night. She left with her bucket of water that was no doubt as red as the sun on the Ilion flag.

The moment the door closed behind her, Addano pulled out his bottle of wine, uncorked it and took a deep gulp. He set it down, the thick glass bottom slamming the wooden table.

His mind clear at last, he set the staff roster aside, then unlocked the center drawer of his desk. He withdrew his work log, the one detailing what they’d done to every prisoner, the questions asked and answered, the dates and methods of execution.

From a side drawer he extracted a sheaf of blank paper, then methodically cut sixty sheets. He refilled his inkwell, sharpened the nib of his pen and set to work.

By midnight he’d copied the entire work log. He set this aside and began again. Long before sunrise he finished, returning the original log to the locked drawer.

Addano addressed two large brown envelopes, one to his mother—he hoped she still resided at his sister’s mother-in-law’s house—and another to the Salindis newspaper.

At last he returned to the staff roster, poring over the list of names. He chose the men with no wives and children, as well as the men he didn’t like, the ones who reported late for duty or ridiculed his accent behind his back. These he put on the list for Major Strato to reassign to the hamlet relocation project.

The others, the family men or the ones who’d been loyal colleagues, he left in his own service.

He would at least give them the honor of looking their betrayer in the eye.

A messenger had come from Asermos three days ago with news that Ilion troops were making their way up the Velekon River to Kalindos. Each night since then, the few remaining Kalindons had stayed up, anticipating an attack. The waiting had turned Dravek’s stomach into one huge knot.

He hoped it would be tonight, and not just to end the agony of delay. The weather was warm for this part of autumn, and the brisk winds would stir the flames. It was as if the air itself wished their success.

Few Kalindons remained in the village; few were needed. Most of the archers—Cougars and Wolves—and a half dozen Bears and Wolverines were all that remained, along with a pair of Otters who would meet them at the rendezvous point on the trail to Tiros, to treat injuries. Though this strange ‘defense’ of Kalindos had been Lycas’s idea, Dravek had engineered the details here with Ladek and Drenis, the third-phase Bear and second-phase Wolverine.

“You should get some sleep.”

Adrek appeared out of the darkness, probably thinking he’d startled Dravek, who had smelled him coming and hoped he would change his path. It was the first time his stepfather had spoken to him since their fight.

Dravek resisted the urge to jam his unlit torch down Adrek’s throat. “I’ll sleep tomorrow morning.”

“What if they attack tomorrow morning?”

“They’ll come at night. Even though most of you see better in the dark than they do, it still provides them with more cover than daylight. Ladek agrees.”

The Cougar paced around the circle once more in silence, then sat on the ground several feet away. “I didn’t mean what I said about your mother.”

“Everyone thinks it, including me.” He turned the torch over in his hands. “How could she ever get over what they did to her, with me reminding her every day, just by existing?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Adrek drew his palm over his stubbled jaw. “If anything, you gave her something to live for.”

“She had Daria. She had you.”

Adrek grunted. “Me, with my own nightmares of Ilios. I couldn’t help her.” He slid a finger along the curve of the bow. “Maybe no one could.”

Dravek stared into the flames. “I didn’t eat breakfast.”

“Sorry?”

“The morning she died. I wanted a quail egg, like the day before, but she said we didn’t have any, we only had fish. So I wouldn’t eat.” He closed his eyes, remembering the last time he saw her face, sunken in despair. “For years, I thought that was why she jumped.” He looked at Adrek. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“That explains why you always ate whatever I put in front of you. Not like Daria, who was so finicky.” Adrek’s face was shadowed by the fire. “Will you accept my apology, son?”

“I’m not your son.” He walked to Adrek’s side and held out his hand. “But I’ll accept your apology—”

“Thank you.”

“—as soon as I hear it.”

The Cougar took his hand and let Dravek help him up. “I’m sorry.” His green eyes didn’t blink as they looked up at him. “Your mother loved you.”

“I know.” Dravek let go of him. “But that never solves anything.”

Adrek was about to reply, when he suddenly lifted his chin. “What was that?” He listened for a moment, then frowned. “I keep imagining I hear the scout, but it’s just wishful thinking. I want this to be over.”

“Think we’re doing the right thing?” he asked Adrek, telling himself he didn’t care about his stepfather’s opinion.

“This is war. There is no right thing.”

“But our people are safely evacuated. We could just leave. Let the Descendants come and find it empty.”

“They’ll follow until they catch us.” Adrek stared past him toward the western end of town. “We came home the morning after they took your mother and sister. Found the Kalindon elders, every third-phase man and woman, strung up on the paddock posts.” He pointed with his bow into the distance. “Old men and women, throats slashed or heads bashed in. Your mother’s father. My father.”

“I know,” Dravek said quietly. “But it wasn’t these soldiers.”

“These soldiers would do it if they could. They’d kill us both and take Daria back to Ilios.” His lips curled. “Do you know, if we hadn’t rescued her, she would’ve been working in a brothel by the time she was twelve?”

“But a whole battalion.” Dravek looked into the village that would soon become a graveyard. “I’ll be a mass murderer.”

“You’ll be a hero.”

Dravek was about to retort when he saw Adrek’s face go taut again.

“That time I definitely heard something.”

The ground vibrated beneath Dravek’s feet just before Daria shot out of the darkness.

“They’re coming, by the river.” She panted, patting her chest. “The scout said half an hour, no more.”

Dravek picked up a handful of torches and lit them all at once from the campfire. They snapped and sparked in the wind. “Take these to the others. When they’re finished, they should snuff them out and get into position outside the ring.”

“Dravek, I—” She stamped her foot and blew out a breath. “I hope you don’t die.”

“Thanks.” He gave her the torches and dared half a smile. “You, too.”

When she scampered off, he picked up the last two torches and lit them, then handed one to Adrek. “See you on the other side.”

Dravek ran to the base of one of the nearby ladders. Using a ring attached to a pulley, he drew the torch up to the bridge, then climbed the ladder.

He opened the door on his old home, the one where Kara had proposed to him, where they’d once shared a marriage bed. It was empty now except for the fuse.

Here and in several other houses, a stovepipe had been stuffed tight with pitch-soaked ropes and suspended a few feet from the ceiling. The ropes protruded from each end of the pipe, and at the bottom end, a pile of dry brush lay on the floor, leaves and pine needles and kindling.

He checked the windows—which here in Kalindos were just square holes cut in the wall—to make sure they were shut tight. Then he took a deep breath and stretched to light the top of the fuse.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

The fuse lit, forming a double glow with the torch upon the walls of his old home. He backed out and shut the door quickly.

A long, thin cloth lay on the porch. Dravek stuffed the cloth under the door—tight enough to seal it but not too tight to keep it from opening. In less than an hour, the Descendants would come to this house, ready to yank out its inhabitants. By then the fuse would have burned down to the brush pile and smoldered from lack of air. The moment the soldiers opened the door, the back-draft would swallow them whole and engulf the tree in flames.

Theoretically, at least. He’d tested the timing of the fuses, but there was no safe rehearsal for the rest.

He lowered the torch, scrambled down the ladder for the last time, then took off for the fire ring, where he was met by several other Kalindons. Endrus carried Dravek’s torch over the top of the ring while the rest of them slipped through a tiny hole cut far from the entrance. Everyone dashed across the wide, moonlit firebreak to the trees beyond.

Dravek hid with Endrus behind a thick arrowwood bush, where he could see the trail if he peered through a small gap in the leaves. He carefully snuffed his own torch, ensuring that enough heat lay within its core to resurrect it.

The Descendants came, a dozen soldiers slinking on the trail from the river. They hacked at his fire ring with hatchets to create a hole wide enough for three or four men to walk abreast.

Dravek saw Daria standing behind a thick-trunked hickory. She gripped her bow as she watched the Descendants begin their invasion. He knew she was dying to let arrows fly into their flesh. But not a single Kalindon moved. Though the Ilion soldiers scanned the forest for lookouts, they saw no one. Dravek hoped it didn’t make them suspicious, but rather confirmed their belief that Kalindos was a village of lazy, foolhardy drunkards.

Once the hole was complete, the Ilions advanced in full force, with no war cry, but trampling the soil so hard that the ground seemed to quake beneath Dravek’s feet. Instead of their usual red-and-yellow uniforms, they wore dark brown shirts and trousers with no insignia or buttons, and their swords were sheathed at their sides. No part of them reflected the moonlight shining across the barren firebreak.

The troops kept coming, running in step. Dravek stopped counting the rows of four after he reached two hundred.

They would all die here.

Finally the entire battalion had passed into Kalindos. Ladek and Drenis were the first out of their hiding places. They uncovered one of several large wooden pieces of wall that had been buried under leaves around the fire ring. They carried it across the firebreak and heaved it vertical to block the opening. As they held it in place, four other Kalindons tied it, sealing the ring.

The Descendants were trapped.

With a silent prayer to Snake, Dravek reignited his torch. It seemed as bright as the sun in the darkness. Instinctively he wanted to shield it from the eyes of the Ilions, but the Kalindons had thickened the fire ring so that no one could see through it.

Six Wolves gathered around him. They lit their torches from his, then took off, three in each direction. Their speed and stamina would place them around the circle in less than five minutes, and their stealthy footsteps would raise no alarm.

Dravek began to count under his breath, knowing the torch-bearing Wolves were doing the same. When they reached three hundred, they all would light the ring.

One hundred.

Ladek had predicted that when the order came to retreat, the soldiers would head in the direction from which they’d come, toward the river and their ships, rather than take off on an unfamiliar path. So most of the archers had been positioned here, near the Descendants’ original entrance.

Two hundred.

Adrek ran up with his longbow. Dravek lit his extra torch and handed it to the Cougar. “Burn it all.”

Adrek sprinted to the deer blind perched in a hemlock tree just outside the firebreak. A cache of arrows waited for him there, their tips soaked in flammable pine pitch.

Three hundred.

Dravek stepped across the rocky trench and lowered his torch to the wall. The dry wood sparked and smoked, and just as he’d hoped, the wind blew generously. The ring was ablaze.

He jammed the unlit end of the torch between two of the rocks in the trench, then moved back into the firebreak, where he could feel it all.

Dravek closed his eyes. For the first time in over a year, he stoked a fire with something other than lust. He wouldn’t use thoughts of Sura to vaporize and kill.

Instead he thought of how they’d murdered her mate and his parents, set the windows and doors ablaze so even the children couldn’t escape, how they’d left Sura with scars inside and out.

Rage made his blood pulse hot through his veins. He turned its rhythm into fire.

His inner vision showed him the arc of Adrek’s first arrow. It stopped midtrajectory, caught in a treetop. Dravek pushed it, and the tree burst as if it had been struck by lightning.

Kalindos was burning. He took a deep breath to counter the crushing feeling in his chest. Better that their home disappear, better it rise in sparks and ashes than fall into the hands of tyrants.

“You’ll never take us,” he whispered.

He stretched out his hands, feeling each separate blaze around the circle, drawing them together into one strong beast. He had only to feed it.

Within the ring, soldiers yelled to one another, their voices charged with fear and anger. But not pain. Not yet.

A house exploded. Dravek put his hands to his face, slippery with sweat. By now someone had died because of him, maybe several people. He was no better than his father.

The fire stretched into the distance, curving as the Wolves ran around the circle, lighting more sections of the ring. The shouts of the Descendants came closer.

Dravek finally opened his eyes. Kalindos burned like a nighttime sun. The wind howled hot and hard, stoking the flames into a massive, roaring conflagration.

Now the soldiers screamed. Dravek covered his ears and backed away across the firebreak. Some had reached the ring, seeking the entrance that no longer existed. A few tried to climb over in panic. One made it as far as the top of the wall before Endrus shot him in the neck.

The Descendants spread out, searching for a safe place to climb. A group of them shouted ahead to his left. He cursed as he realized the ring in that section was burning too fast. Soon it would crumble and leave a gap, and they would all pour through.

The wind shifted, wafting the smoke his way. Even if the archers could hear him over the roaring flames, they could no longer see their targets. It was up to him.

Dravek knelt in the dirt, closed his eyes and fired.

The flames streamed from the wall and enveloped the soldiers. They ran and fell, burning. He shrieked with them.

There would be more. They would find another hole.