Blood of Empire

Chapter 35

Michel spent his free time integrating both himself and Ichtracia into Mama Palo’s command structure. Ichtracia’s eagerness to belong to something came in handy, and although she kept her aloof demeanor, she remained omnipresent – hanging around Jiniel or her lieutenants at every moment, giving insight into Dynize operations, and never hesitating to offer a helping hand whenever it was needed.

Her gloves remained out of sight, and her true nature was only revealed to a handful of Mama Palo’s inner circle, with those sworn to secrecy. Michel kept his ear to the ground, listening for any rumbling that the Dynize Privileged and bone-eyes had become alerted to her flash of sorcery the other day. As time went by and soldiers did not march into the Depths by the thousands, Michel began to relax.

They’d gotten lucky.

Michel himself did much the same as Ichtracia. He was immediately slotted into Jiniel’s command structure just below Mama Palo herself. But while her lieutenants seemed to accept this new state of things, he could tell that it was uncomfortable for them. His reputation as a maverick spy won him admiration, not loyalty. As he’d told Ichtracia, he was still an outsider. He’d have to work to change that.

In the meantime, the fact that he had a reputation gave him anxiety. A known spy was a bad spy. All it took was a single informant, or even one pair of careless lips mentioning his name at the wrong time, to bring the might of Ka-Sedial down upon them. He wondered if he should change his identity again and work from the shadows, or leave the city altogether. Jiniel was about as good a leader as the Sons of the Red Hand could get: competent, intelligent, fervent. But she was short-handed, her attention divided among a thousand different directions. She needed Michel almost as much as he needed her.

He was pondering this conundrum, sitting on the floor in the corner of Jiniel’s office, when Ichtracia burst in through the door, a victorious grin on her face.

“What’s gotten into you?” Michel asked.

“Meln-Dun has called for you. He’s agreed to talk.”

Ichtracia accompanied Michel into Meln-Dun’s cell. The quarry boss huddled on his mattress, the spent lamp hanging from the ceiling, and the newspapers and reports Michel had left for him sitting on his lap. He had the thousand-yard stare that Michel had seen on more than one broken convict. Michel replaced the spent lamp with his own and leaned casually against the one dry spot on the wall. “You wanted to talk.”

“You have to guarantee that they won’t torture me,” Meln-Dun croaked.

“I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Michel replied coolly. “As I said, I’ll do what I can to make your life more comfortable. But my ability to do this depends completely upon how useful you can be.”

Meln-Dun stared at him for several moments, a flurry of emotions crossing his face. He barely even glanced at Ichtracia. Once again, a sliver of pity nearly broke into Michel’s thoughts. He steeled himself, remembering who Meln-Dun was and everything he’d done.

“You want to know about the disappearances,” Meln-Dun finally said, looking down at his hands.

“I do.”

“It was Ka-Sedial.”

Michel glanced at Ichtracia. She was watching Meln-Dun just as intently as he was looking away in shame. “Go on.”

“He came to me just after the invasion. Told me that he needed people that wouldn’t be missed. Said that if I could provide him with two hundred a week, he would make sure that my quarry remained independent, that my people would be taken care of.”

Michel had expected this. He knew the sinister implications. But hearing it out of Meln-Dun’s mouth made his gut twist. “So what did you do?”

“I provided them,” Meln-Dun whispered. “Kresimir help me, I provided them. Old men. Children. Drifters and dispossessed. I put a couple of my foremen in charge of the gathering. I didn’t want to know the details.”

“You’re a monster.” The absolute lack of emotion in Ichtracia’s voice caught Michel’s attention more than any amount of anger. Her face was a stone wall, but her eyes smoldered. He prepared to throw himself between them if it came to that.

Meln-Dun looked up, his lip curled. “I did this to survive.”

“You did this to enrich yourself.”

“And save my people! Thousands depend on me for work! Tens of thousands depend on my quarry and work projects for survival! Without me, the entire Depths is doomed!”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Michel said, trying to hold in his own anger. He needed to remain uninterested, detached. “So you gathered up the unwanted. What happened to them?”

“Like I said, I didn’t want any details.”

Michel almost swore out loud. The testimony of a condemned man might be enough evidence to convince Mama Palo and her lieutenants, but it wasn’t enough to galvanize the population. He needed more. “You don’t know anything?”

Meln-Dun flinched. “I know they were taken to a keelboat every night at about one. A handful at a time.”

This was something. Michel leaned forward. “And?”

“They shoved off downriver.”

“Toward the bay?”

A nod. “I don’t know what happened to them after that. I didn’t ask; I didn’t want to know.”

“Are you still making deliveries?” Ichtracia demanded.

“No. No! I… the requests stopped. Ka-Sedial said that he had enough.”

Michel didn’t like the look of alarm that crossed Ichtracia’s face, and he didn’t stop her when she crossed the room to snatch Meln-Dun by the front of the shirt. Despite her size, she jerked him around to face her and shook him hard. “How long ago did the deliveries end?”

“Weeks ago! He said he didn’t need any more. I think… I think we gave him a couple of thousand people in total.”

Ichtracia released Meln-Dun, dropping him and staggering away. Her whole body trembled, and she fled from the room without another word. Michel watched her go, then turned his attention back to Meln-Dun. “Is that all you’ve got?”

“It is,” he whispered. “I don’t know anything else about it. I’ll give you the names of the foremen I had doing the work. I’ll give you the keelboat launch. That’s all I have, I swear.”

Michel swallowed his disgust. Meln-Dun didn’t need to know exactly what those “unwanted” Palo would be used for to know that it wouldn’t be pleasant. He’d sold the lives of his own countrymen and worse, those that couldn’t defend themselves. There was a strong temptation to go back on his word and let Mama Palo’s foot soldiers tear the bastard apart. He wrestled with the thought for several moments before leaving the room in disgust.

“Give him a better mattress,” Michel told the guards outside. “And a permanent light.” He stormed off to find Ichtracia.

She’d retreated to the street outside. He found her on the stoop, her whole body still shaking. Michel took one of her hands gently, sitting down beside her.

“I should have seen it happening,” Ichtracia whispered. “I should have put a stop to it.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have. I was willfully ignorant.” She rubbed her face hard enough to turn her cheeks red. “I knew that Ka-poel – I didn’t know her name then, just that my grandfather had an adversary – I knew that Ka-poel had somehow locked the godstone. I knew that Sedial and his Privileged and bone-eyes were trying to remove that lock. I just thought they were…” – she gestured mysteriously – “doing magic things to solve the problem. I never went near it myself. I should have known that those magic things would require blood, and lots of it.” She cradled her head in her hands. “And that blood should have been mine.”

Michel frowned, trying to catch up. A slow realization entered the back of his head. “So if the blood of those people was being used to undo Ka-poel’s sorcery, and the deliveries stopped weeks ago, that means…”

“That Sedial already managed to unlock the godstone,” Ichtracia finished.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

“If he’s had it unlocked this long, then what is he waiting for?” Michel asked.

Ichtracia shook her head. “He doesn’t know everything. Perhaps he’s been studying it, trying to figure out how to activate it. Or maybe he’s waiting until they can get their hands on the third godstone. Or waiting until he’s finished off his enemies. I don’t know, but he must have a good reason for not having used it yet.”

Michel let out a shaky breath. “This is bad.” He wished he could tell Taniel and Ka-poel. They needed to know. He would get the information to Emerald as quickly as possible, but even if the albino knew how to find them, it would take weeks to reach them. “Okay, one thing at a time. This makes it even more vital that we rouse the Palo. But to do that, we need evidence.”

“You think anyone will care?” Ichtracia said, a note of defeat in her voice.

“About the abduction and blood sacrifice of thousands of their kin?” Michel finally let his anger out. He was mad, but he was not helpless. He could do something to avenge these people. “Of course they’ll care. Ka-Sedial has made a mistake.” He got to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To follow the path Meln-Dun just gave us. To find evidence. Are you coming?”

Michel got the name of the keelboat landing from Meln-Dun. He and Ichtracia found it without a problem, near the southeastern exit of Greenfire Depths. There was nothing particularly unique about the landing – it was one of dozens within the Depths. Michel examined it thoroughly, asked a few of the workers about smuggling opportunities, spread around a little bit of money. No one reported anything out of the ordinary. Michel wasn’t surprised. With many weeks since its last insidious use, these might not even be the same people.

Michel hired a small, two-man canoe. Ichtracia sat in the front while Michel took the back, giving her a brief boating tutorial as they pushed into the middle of the river.

There was plenty of traffic on the river, both from the Depths itself and from farther upriver, shipping supplies and soldiers back and forth from the bay. Michel allowed the gentle current to take them and kept his eyes on the rock walls of the plateau. They were soon out of the Depths and entirely buried within the canyon. He watched for smugglers’ coves, outcroppings, low entrances to the catacombs – any place that the Dynize might take a keelboat full of old people and children.

“They’re taking them down to the godstone south of the city, correct?” he asked Ichtracia.

She nodded unhappily. “From what I understand, the longer the blood is separated from a person, the less useful it is. The most potent use will be direct from them.”

“That’s how je Tura described it,” Michel said, shuddering at the memory. “Men, women, and children, their blood being spilled directly onto the godstone.”

“That sounds right.”

“So if they kidnapped them from the Depths, loaded them into the keelboat, then…”

“They would take them south.”

“Right.” Michel kept his eyes on the walls of the plateau, but began to suspect that he’d find nothing here. Already loaded onto the keelboat, it would be easiest to take the prisoners out through the bay and down the coast a couple of miles. “There’s a barge landing on the coastal plain near the godstone. I’d be willing to bet that’s where they’re unloaded.”

They continued down the river in silence, dodging keelboats and river barges, letting the current take them out into the bay, where they canoed past the big Dynize ships laying in anchor. It was a calm day, the ocean like a sheet of glass, so they proceeded out past the breakers and turned south to hug the coast. They were not alone, either – plenty of traffic moved up and down the coast, making them just one of hundreds of boats, ships, barges, and canoes.

Once they were out of the harbor, the stink of dead fish and city sewage dissipated, and Michel found himself breathing the ocean air in deeply. He wondered why he didn’t do this more often, then remembered that he’d been an active informant for most of his adult life, which left very little room for innocent pleasures.

“You act like you’ve done this before,” Ichtracia said.

They were the first words spoken in almost an hour, and Michel reluctantly brought his mind back from its pleasant trance. “When I was a kid,” he said, “I used to steal a canoe after the really bad storms and paddle up and down the shoreline looking for anything washed up from shipwrecks.”

“Isn’t that… dangerous?”

“Wildly. But you can see more when you’re out on the water. Trick is to stay close enough to land that you don’t get swept away, but far enough that you don’t get bashed against the rocks. A day like today? An absolute breeze.” Michel continued to paddle with long, even strokes, propelling them through the calm water. His arms were beginning to hurt, but he didn’t mind.

The shoreline was his main concern. Much of it was marshy scrubland, providing a barrier between the ocean and the plains beyond – the same kind of horrid swamp that Lindet’s forced labor camps had spent the last ten years trying to irrigate around the plateau. This was broken by the occasional rocky outcropping and, even less often, a gentle sandbar big enough to constitute an actual beach.

“Should I be looking for anything in particular?” Ichtracia asked.

Michel shook his head slowly. “I’m not even sure myself. Things out of the ordinary, maybe?”

“I don’t know what constitutes ordinary on a coast like this.”

Michel didn’t answer. He was beginning to suspect that he’d taken this expedition as a way to get out of the city more than anything else. What did he hope to find out here? A trail, like he’d said, but the most likely trail led right to the barge landing that he could now see about a mile to their south. Not too much longer and they’d have to turn back. That landing was likely heavily guarded. He didn’t want to risk talking his way past those guards, not with Ichtracia in tow.

They proceeded another half mile before he dug in his paddle and turned them around, heading back north. The pleasant feeling was gone now, replaced by frustration. Had he just wasted an entire afternoon paddling up and down the coast? His mood began to sink further, and he was just beginning to lose his concentration when Ichtracia spoke up.

“You see something in those rocks there?”

He followed her outstretched finger toward one of the rocky outcroppings. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this one – it had a small gravel beach at its base, upon which the trunk of one of those giant trees from up north had washed. As a child he used to love those giant trunks. He would climb all over them, inspect their roots for caught treasures, and pretend they were his mighty ship run ashore.

“Nothing,” Michel answered her.

“There’s a kid hiding behind the roots.”

Michel watched carefully for several minutes. Finally, he saw a little flash of color and a movement. “Okay, I see it. Two kids, looks like.” He pulled in his paddle, letting them drift, and considered their options. They’d seen relatively few people along the shore between here and Landfall. It would be smart to walk all the way back, question everyone as they went, but those long stretches of marsh made such an endeavor difficult.

“They’re awfully far from the nearest fishing village,” Michel said, looking up and down the coast. They were, it seemed, trapped on that outcropping by the marsh. “They might be local, though. We can go ask if they’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.”

He turned the canoe toward shore. By the time they reached it, both of the children had disappeared. Michel looked around the empty little beach and up toward the rocks, hesitant to go looking through that tangle. He pushed the canoe farther onto the beach. “Stay here,” he told Ichtracia. “I don’t want a couple of damned kids getting the drop on us and stealing our canoe.”

“They’d do that?”

“It’s what I would have done for fun at that age,” he said over his shoulder. He headed up the beach, around the ocean-worn tree trunk, and began to climb the rocks. He got to the top and looked around. They were, indeed, trapped on the outcropping, surrounded by marsh. He couldn’t see any kids, and he couldn’t see any likely path that they would have taken to get here.

He could see the godstone from here. It was a couple of miles away, rising from the plain like a twig thrust into a sandbar. Around it swarmed a small city, constructed entirely by the Dynize since they arrived. There were laborers, soldiers, scientists, Privileged, and bone-eyes. The walls of a mighty fortress, as of yet unfinished and covered in scaffolding, surrounded the monolith itself.

The very idea that that thing was active and usable, bathed in the blood of thousands, made him want to look away – to spill the content of his stomach into the rocks. He wasn’t sure whether it was the sorcery of the stone or just his own horrible knowledge, but the whole horizon seemed to pulse with dark purpose. He shuddered and turned back toward the beach.

Only to come face-to-face with an old Palo man, bent and gray.

Michel almost tumbled from his perch in surprise. The old man held a driftwood branch over his head, as if preparing to swing. His clothes were torn and weather-beaten, his beard and hair unkempt and unwashed. He seemed as surprised that Michel had turned around as Michel was that he was there, making a oop noise.

“Were you just about to hit me with that?” Michel demanded.

The old man brandished the stick. “Give us your canoe,” he said.

Michel eyeballed the makeshift weapon. The old man’s arms trembled so hard that it almost fell from his hands just hanging there, and he doubted it could be swung with any strength. Michel raised one hand toward the old man and another toward the beach, where Ichtracia could no doubt see that something was happening. He didn’t want her to do anything rash, not out in the open like this.

“Whoa there,” Michel said gently. “Hey old-timer, can I help you with something?”

“You can give us your canoe.” Despite his trembling limbs, the man’s voice was strong.

“So you can go where?” Michel asked. “It doesn’t look like you’re fit for rowing anything.”

The old man tried to brandish the stick again, but finally let out a defeated sigh and let the weapon slip from his fingers. Michel gave him another quick appraisal. He was whip-thin, the gauntness of his face speaking of malnutrition. Michel wondered how long he’d been out here. Was he a hermit? A shipwrecked sailor? Did he have something to do with the godstone? It was the final thought that sharpened Michel’s curiosity.

“Who is ‘we’?” Michel asked.

The old man wilted to the ground. “No one,” he said, waving Michel off. “Just me. Go on, get out of here.”

Something about this was very strange. Michel took a cautious look around, remembering the small figures he’d seen from the water. Two children. Alone, he had just written them off as local kids playing on the shore, much as he would have when he was a child. But with this old man… “Do you need help?”

The old man didn’t look up.

Michel continued, “If you need help getting back to Landfall, I don’t mind rowing you to the city. But I’m not gonna let you strand me and my friend here.” He tried to read the old man, to get a feel for who and what he was. Mad? He didn’t seem mad. Just half-starved. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. I’m trying to find out if there’s anything strange about that new citadel over there. You help me…” He trailed off, because when he gestured toward the godstone, the old man flinched. Not a small flinch, either. He might as well have cowered. Michel’s breath caught in his throat.

An elderly Palo man and a couple of children. The unwanted, the uncared-for.

Michel crouched down, staring intently at the old man. “Do you know something about that place?”

“No,” the old man growled. “Nothing. Now, go.”

It was an obvious lie. Michel continued on in a gentle, firm voice. “How long have you been here?”

No answer.

“Are you from Greenfire Depths?”

Still no answer.

Michel looked around for any sign of the kids. He thought he saw a bit of red hair poking up behind a nearby rock. It moved. He didn’t give any indication that he’d seen it, keeping one eye on the man and one on the rocks. “I’m from the Depths. I’m trying to find out about people who went missing there. I think some of them were taken to the new Dynize citadel.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The old man was a terrible liar. He was also clearly terrified. Michel caught sight of a tattoo on his wrinkled skin: the roots of a cypress tree on his upper arm. Michel knew the mark – it belonged to a large contingent of Palo soldiers who’d fought for Fatrastan independence.

Michel pursed his lips and spoke in a strong, confident tone. “I am a Son of the Red Hand, and you have no need to fear me, brother.”

The old man looked up sharply. His whole body convulsed and shuddered, and he suddenly sprang forward. Michel caught him in surprise, and soon found himself holding an old man who wept against his shoulder. “A friend!” the old man cried. “By my life, a friend!”

It took some time to calm the old man. The children were coaxed from their hiding spot – three of them, all looking as ragged as the old man, but none nearly as starved. They gathered around Michel, touching his clothes and his hair. He recognized the parlance of the street urchins of Greenfire Depths and replied to them with their own vernacular. They clapped and laughed, and asked when they could go home.

Michel struggled to maintain his professionalism. He would get them back to the Depths, of course. But he had to know their story. He prodded the old man twice before it all came pouring out in short, staccato bursts.

“Soldiers gathered us up. At least, I think they were soldiers. Armed Palo, carrying Dynize muskets. I was pulled from my tenement late at night, threatened into silence. They took us to the docks. Old people, like me. Kids. So many kids.” The old man spoke between deep breaths, every moment threatening to burst into tears again. “Keelboats. Down the river. Down the coast. Marched us to the citadel. To that… thing. The Dynize, once they had us, kept us placid with talk of food. Spoke of service to a higher cause. Religion. Gods. I didn’t understand any of it. I’ve heard promises before, you see.” He tapped the tattoo on his arm. “I snuck off when I could. Got lost. Then I saw them… the bodies. It was the smell that got me first, and then the sight. Within the citadel. A mass grave. Bloodless corpses.”

The man began to shake and shudder. Michel put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Several more minutes passed before he could speak again.

“I saw them bloodlet a child. A child, damn it! Slit her little throat like she was an animal to put in the stew, then dashed her brains against the base of the monolith. I fled. Managed to gather these three. I don’t think anyone even noticed. There were so many of us, and the night was dark and the soldiers sleepy. We left through a drainage ditch in the citadel wall. But… but I got lost in the dark. Led them across the marsh. It wasn’t until morning that I realized I’d trapped us on this forsaken rock.”

“Why didn’t you head back to the city?” Michel asked.

“Fear,” the old man replied unashamedly. “Fear of the snakes and the bottomless marsh. Fear of the Dynize. Fear that we’d be rounded up the moment we returned.”

“How long have you been here?”

The old man looked at the oldest of the children, who held up one hand, fingers splayed.

“Five weeks. We survived off fish we caught with our hands. There’s a little cave down under these rocks. Big enough to keep us out of the rain and sun.”

Michel looked around the group. He didn’t let himself react to this story. He couldn’t afford to. He had to harden himself. This was a horror, but he had a job to do. He looked toward the beach, wondering how long he’d been gone, only to find Ichtracia standing less than ten paces from them. The fury on her face told him that she’d heard enough. He took a long, calming breath and turned back to the old man.

“Do you still have any fight in you?”

The old man looked down at his own trembling hands. This time, there was shame in his eyes.

“Not that kind of fighting,” Michel said reassuringly. “A different kind. I want you to come back to the Depths with me. Meet Mama Palo. Tell your story.”

“To who?”

“To everyone.”