Peculiar Soul

Chapter 79: Human Nature

Chapter 79: Human Nature

You cannot conquer a people. This is often how it is phrased, but our own experience under Ghars boot taught a different lesson. Land is conquered, people are subdued. Some of these people rage and wither under the harsh light of change, others sleep dormant, waiting for their hour. This second faction is by far the largest and most dangerous.

Ghars mistake was to assume that a span of years would render these sleeping seeds impotent and safe; history has shown the error in their logic.

- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687

The welcome party arrived sooner than Michael would have preferred, but he was able to drag himself outside even so. He and Sobriquet entered the taverns main room together; enough cheer and laughter greeted them that he suspected some of the villagers had begun their celebration early. Warm air scented with spices and roast meat banished the evenings chill.

Thomas swooped over to welcome them with great enthusiasm; the headmans chilly manner from earlier had vanished entirely, replaced with a bombastic cheer. He stopped short of actually hugging them, though the set of his arms said that he had considered the prospect. Instead, he contented himself with handing them a tall mug of ale apiece and ushering them to a table.

Its not much, of course, but were proud of our little tavern, he said, sparing a wink for the harried barman. One of the oldest buildings in Rouissat, and the largest for most of that time. His smile dimmed. Least until the Savvies built that monstrosity of theirs, but well have that set right soon enough. Enough brick there to build a few houses, maybe a couple of stout granaries - we found a good use for some of those bricks already, of course, but well think on the rest over winter. He chuckled darkly, then took a long draught from his mug. Heavy enough that we dont need to worry about theft, though the Savvies tried with damn near everything else.

Michael nodded. We had thought youd be wanting for food, but it seems like youre well-stocked, he said. Looks like you managed to hang on to more than most.

Weve learned how to deal with Savvy thieves over the years, Thomas snorted. Rouissat is out of the way, but we still had to be cautious. Most houses here have cellars, but few have cellar doors. He waggled his eyebrows at Sobriquet. And we did our part for the cause over the years, to show them they werent welcome.

She flashed a grin back at him, feeling the infectious cheer of the room. Its people like you that kept Daressa going through the occupation, she said, her voice loud enough to carry over the din; there was a cheer and sloppy toast from those nearby at the praise. It cant have been easy. The Safid were here in - what, forty-five?

Forty-three, Thomas said, nodding gravely. Only a few of us left that remember anything from before the occupation, and none that were any more than children. A melancholy came over him, and he looked out at the swelling ranks of young Ardans enjoying the party. Its good to have this many young folks in town. Our young ones - well, some died over the years, or got taken in conscription. Others married Safid, or went to find their fortune in bigger towns.

He took another lengthy pull from his mug, then shook his head; his smile reasserted itself. But thats enough of that talk, he said. Were celebrating, hey? Supper should be nearly ready - ah, yes. He beamed as a pair of older women staggered out with a whole roast pig on a platter, setting it down on the bar. A queue of men formed immediately, but Thomas waved Michael and Sobriquet back to their seats when they made to stand.

Please, let me, he said. Its the least I can do for genuine Daressan heroes.

Michael turned to Sobriquet as the headman began to push his way through the crowd around the pig, raising an eyebrow. I suppose Im an honorary Daressan now, he murmured. His mood has certainly improved.

Youre the first man to bring soldiers here in fifty years that didnt want to plunder the town, Sobriquet replied. He had good reason to be paranoid. She looked him up and down. Besides, you look suspicious.

I look suspicious? Michael laughed. I dont look suspicious, Im perfectly respectable.

Which is why anyone with a brain would be wary if they saw you poking your nose around honest country villages. She poked him in the shoulder. You have too much money, it makes people nervous.

Michael poked her shoulder in return. I dont have any money whatsoever, he said. And I doubt Im still named in my fathers will, if that was your hope.

Youve been around it too long. You smell like money. She leaned in and sniffed exaggeratedly before planting a kiss on his cheek. But its a flaw I can overlook.

How magnanimous of you, Michael chuckled, half-rising to grab an offered plate of pork from Thomas. Thank you, this smells incredible.

The headman joined them at the table, grinning wolfishly around a mouthful of meat. Thanks for the excuse to indulge, he said. Honestly, it didnt feel real until now. The Safid left, and good riddance - but nothing else changed. No Daressans coming back, no word from out east. He shook his head. Just wondering who the next to show up would be.

Thomas looked up as Lars approached the table, sliding aside with a bit less enthusiasm for the Ardan captain; Lars let his plate clatter to the table and raised his mug. Doubt you expected our lot, he said. Didnt think to find myself here either, of course. Damn sight better than the welcome we got under Ardan colors, cheers-

Lars toasted Thomas again; the headman intercepted the incoming mug with his own and took a grudging sip. If milady Sobriquet says youre for Daressa, then youre welcome here, he said. Otherwise, weve had quite enough of foreign folk for our tastes.

Too right, Lars chuckled. Cant blame you, fifty years cheek-by-jowl with the bloody Savvies. Well be out of here soon enough, dont you worry.

Heading off to chase down stragglers? Thomas asked. Or this Esroun man youre hunting?

Michael cleared his throat before Lars could respond; the captain appeared well-lubricated enough already that he didnt want him rambling. Only looking for the one man, Michael said. Hopefully no Safid in our way, but if there are soldiers left well point them towards the border.

Point them towards the ground, more like, Thomas grunted. Or theyll be back before long, mark me. Plenty of em got to thinking this land was theirs, and they wont sit idle.

Oh, were old hands at dealing with their sort, Lars said. Why, just a few weeks back, outside of Az- He caught himself, grinning and pointing a finger at a nearby soldier who had wheeled on him with an expectant look. Imes, lad, you wont catch me in old mistakes. No, we had just marched down to Imes after the Safid shelled Leik, and we caught a patrol of fresh young Savvies who hadnt been called back - poor bastards almost died of shock alone, seeing us! Any rate, my commander sent me out to chat

Thomas nodded along, his standoffishness forgotten amid Larss relentless stream of chatter. Michael had to admit that the Ardan captain had a way of setting people at ease; he recognized the manner of a young Calmharbor socialite when he saw it, thanks to a few too many events with his father. Those men usually adopted their enthusiasm for the moment, however. With Lars, Michael found he had trouble telling where the affect stopped and the man began. The young captain was clearly from a family of means, though his name wasnt one Michael recognized offhand.

But amid the laughter and theatrics there was something else that put Michael ill-at-ease - the sparkle in the headmans eyes when Lars talked of assaulting a wayward Safid camp, the easy way Sobriquet nodded along with his blow-by-blow description of an advance. It floated like an oily film atop the merriment in the room, leaving the taste of salt and iron on Michaels tongue.

He stood from the table; a few eyes looked questioningly his way.

Outhouse? he asked, looking at Thomas. A laugh and some quick directions later, he stepped out of the door and into the chill night air. It was bracing, but clean and fresh in the way that warm air never quite managed. He walked a few paces from the door and looked up at the purpling sky, breathing his fill.

Not in a festive mood? Zabala asked.

Michael turned; he hadnt noticed the fortimens leaning against the outside wall of the tavern. I suppose not, he admitted.

Nobody ever tells you about that part of it, Zabala grunted. The drinking, I mean. I never indulged much before I got my soul, but I do miss it sometimes. There are some nights when it would be nice.

It took a moment for Michael to piece together Zabalas meaning. He blinked, taking stock of his current state - the ale had been strong, as ales went, but he was still perfectly clear-headed. Oh, he muttered. Damn, I didnt realize. Hasnt been time for a drink lately.

There are some places that sell pure grain spirits for potentes, Zabala said. But most dont, since normal men take to drinking it as well - port cities tend to have laws about it. But the taste He shuddered. Its not worth it. No help for you, anyway, since it only works on fortimentes and weaker potentes.

Damn, Michael said, trying to think back to the last drink he had enjoyed. His mind yielded a memory of the balcony at Leires house, of Sobriquet leaning close-

Damn, he repeated. I would have gone for a drink before, had I known - but the whole thing was something of a surprise. He shook his head, feeling unaccountably put out by the idea. Its not as though I drank much before either. Its - Ghars bones, Im not sure why it bothers me so.

Zabala smiled knowingly. We all lose things, he said. With time, if nothing else. Friends we cant speak to anymore. Old men who used to be able to run, soldiers who used to be able to stand, to see. He shook his head. Souls take their due as well. It may not seem like much, never being drunk - or weak, or fragile. But people - people are drunk, and weak, and fragile, and now we cant be.

Most people would say that a soul makes you more than human, Michael observed.

Most people are idiots, Zabala snorted. More than human, but not more human - not by any stretch. Spectors are robbed of their perspective, potentes of struggle, verifices of pleasant doubt. The Star lost companionship. He looked at Michael. And youve lost more than most, even if you bear it well.

The cold weight of the grain shifted within the tin as he walked; Michael barely felt it. He stalked outside towards the tavern. The village headman waved as he approached, leaving his broom to the side - then let his arm drop as he saw the set of Michaels shoulders, his expression growing closed.

Problem, milord? Thomas asked.

Michael tossed him the tin of grain. The headman caught it, his eyes registering the details on the outside. There was a pulse of recognition from him, then something milder that might have been distaste; his face remained inscrutable. Something amiss with the grain?

Whered it come from? Michael asked.

Thomas blinked slowly. From the village, milord - from Rouissat. The innkeep had come out to stand behind him, looking curiously. More villagers and soldiers were watching from doorways and windows, pausing in their chance transits of the common.

From the Safid who were here? Michael saw a change come over Thomass face at last, his brows drawing together at the question.

Some of it, aye, Thomas said. But it was only our due after so long under their heel. Every scrap of grain, of timber, of stone that comes from this village is ours by right.

Michael took a step forward. Strange that the Safid didnt want it for their travels, he said.

The headman took a step back from his advance; his eyes flicked to the side, where his rifle was leaning against the stone wall of the tavern. They got their due as well, he said.

Sometimes there was ambiguity in what Michael felt from others. Fear was stark and unmistakable, while more nebulous emotions often felt like a tune he didnt quite recognize. The satisfaction that rolled in waves from Thomas, though - Michael could not mistake it for anything but what it was.

Their due, he repeated, taking another step closer. I saw the bodies, you bastard.

There was a moment of surprise, fading quickly to flinty anger. A man has the right to defend his home.

Defense, was it? Michael asked. Lets see. He sprang forward and grabbed Thomass arm before the headman could do more than squawk in surprise; Stanza flooded outward and touched upon the tangled paths of the mans life.

There was a child of little note, save that his father was the villages headman. His family was neither poor nor prosperous, and if there was an air of worry about the encroaching war it was far too much for a young child to understand.

But then some soldiers left and other soldiers came - foreign soldiers, with veils upon their hats and odd mannerisms. The childs father was still headman, though, and for a while things continued as they had before.

Then came the builders, who chopped down the towns old orchard and raised a church in its place. The townspeople protested, threatened the builders. More soldiers came, that night, and the boy never saw his father again. There was a new headman who lived in the church, and the boy was nobody but a widows son.

The boy became a man, and the man watched the village grow. New houses went up, and new families moved in. They were polite, kind even - but never friendly to those who didnt attend the new church. Prosperity lived behind those doors, for there were no Safid jobs for nonbelievers, no new allotments of land or contracts at the market.

Some of the villagers began to attend; the mans aging mother forbid him to go. His father did not die, she said, for her son to sing the invaders praises.

The man grew older. The invaders had families and warm hearths while he huddled alone in his fathers house. The tavern was a refuge, one of the few places left to the old guard of Daressans in town. There they would sit and drink, commiserating. Few Safid ever wandered in, and fewer still after the tavern developed a reputation for being unfriendly to churchgoers. There were fights - once, Thomas was brought up on charges for breaking a mans nose. He grit his teeth and paid the fine to the church coffers, hating every coin that slipped through his fingers.

Time passed, and the winds changed. This time it was the Safid who were nervous, their eyes looking to the horizon for the stomp of soldiers boots. Some left right away, others with the exodus of the towns small garrison. There were a few who stayed behind, though, hoping for the best. The headman in the church who would not leave it behind, the miller who reasoned that all men needed grain, the carpenter and his painter wife, who didnt want to risk the road with their newborn daughter.

The church burned on the first night after the garrison left, with the headman still inside. The miller went down with a shovel to the head, the carpenter barred his door - but that was no obstacle. The man kicked the door open with five decades of pent-up rage, storming into the house and seeing all that had been denied to him. The cozy furniture, the plentiful food, the beautiful wife turning to protect her baby, the baby that wouldnt stop its crying-

Michael released his grip, his stomach twisting; Thomas sprang backward. He grabbed his rifle and leveled it at Michael, breathing hard.

What was that? he yelled. What did you do?

I wanted to see what defense looked like, Michael said. He straightened up, looking around at the small crowd that had formed. Mixed soldiers and villagers alike were watching the two men, scattering quickly out of the way as Thomas raised his weapon. Sobriquet stood in the back next to Unai and Charles, watching but not concerned.

Thomas bared his teeth. What does that mean? he hissed. What do you know about any of this, Ardan?

I know you burned the old headman in the church, Michael said. That you killed the miller, the carpenter with his wife. He took a step forward, staring down the rifles barrel.

His infant daughter, Michael whispered. He had been too slow to avoid all of that memory, and a fragment of sound and color still festered in his mind. What defense was that?

Thomass face had gone pale as Michael spoke, but he kept his weapon high. They were Safid, he hissed. They came here to steal, to take what was rightfully ours. They took everything from me. It was mine to take back.

The conviction radiated from him, pure and unshakable, backed by a simmering rage - no.

That was Michaels own. He hadnt felt the anger creeping up on him amid the shock of seeing Thomass murders through the mans own eyes. His indignant manner, though, his victimhood and lies - there was a disgusting familiarity to them, an echo of the impenetrable self-justification that had pervaded his fathers every oily word.

The change in Michaels eyes must have been evident; Thomas gripped his gun tight. A golden line of light lanced from the barrel towards Michaels chest. He moved a hand as thunder split the morning, its echoes fading under the shouts and frantic retreat of those standing nearby.

When the smoke cleared, Michael had not moved; he opened his hand and let the bullet drop to the ground. Thomas gawked at it for a moment, but that was all Michael allowed him. A brisk stride closed the distance. He plucked the rifle from the headmans hands and bent it over his knee, backing the man against the stone wall of the tavern.

There was proper fear from Thomas, now, but only fear of consequences. Consequences from yet another intruding foreigner who wanted to ruin his life. Michael saw it all clearly, now that he recognized the pattern.

Zabala had been correct again - there was only pity and contempt for such men.

Michael grabbed Thomass head with one hand, leaning in close until their faces were nearly touching.

You murdered a child, you self-obsessed bastard, Michael rasped. You murdered a child. Thomas gasped as Michaels soul flooded into him - not Stanza, this time. He seized the countless facades that the man had thrown up around an ugly truth. Excuses, justifications, self-deception-

Michael tore them away.

And left him with it.

He turned to face the crowd that had gathered; those who had not been drawn by the shouting had certainly heard the gunshot. Michael felt shock, anger - and fear, of course. Some of his soldiers wore wary expressions, others looked downright mutinous. Michael found that he didnt much care.

If anyone has something to say, say it. Michael spread his arms. Go ahead.

The innkeep took a step forward, looking down at Thomass huddled form. What did you do to him?

I let him see who he was, Michael said. There was a strangled, animal sob from the man behind him; the innkeep scowled and rushed over.

The rest were silent. Michael nodded. Pack up, he said. Were leaving.