Fall of Angels

CXXIV

NYLAN LAY AWAKE on his couch, his ears and senses listening to the gentle sound of Dyliess’s breathing, his thoughts on scattered feelings and images-including an evening meal with only a handful of guards even there, most gone out into the twilight with full quivers; including the idea that the whole world was decided by violence and where no achievement or possession was ever enough.

His breath hissed out between clenched teeth.

“Are you awake?” Ryba asked quietly from across the gap between them.

“Yes. It’s a little hard to get to sleep, no matter how much you need the rest, thinking of two thousand men who want to kill you and destroy all you’ve built.” Nylan really didn’t want to discuss the problems of violence and greed with Ryba.

“They won’t do it. Not if we all do our parts.”

“You’ve said that before. I know in my head that you’re probably right, but my emotions don’t always follow reason. You seem to have more faith than I do that we can destroy a force close to fifty times our size.”

“Fierral thinks our archers have already taken out between a hundred and two hundred of their armsmen. She still has a few out there, the ones with night vision,” Ryba said. “Tomorrow, if we can take out another two hundred and get them in a murderous mood coming up the ridge, your little traps could add a hundred or two more. We might get them down to an even thousand before you have to use the laser.”

“And … poof … just like that, our troubles are over?”

“What’s gotten into you, Nylan? I know you don’t like all the killing, but, outside of dying or running like outlaws until we’re hunted down, what choices do we have?” She paused. “Oh, I forgot. We could spend the rest of our very short lives barefoot and pregnant and beaten, unless we were fortunate enough to subject ourselves to someone who’s as kind as you are, and I’ve met exactly one of you in a life a decade longer than yours.”

Nylan had no answer, not one that made sense. Logically, what Ryba said made sense, but he wanted to scream, to ask why logic dictated violence and killing, when the only answer was that only violence answered violence, and that some people refused to give up violence.

“Your problem is that you’re basically good and kind, and you really have trouble accepting that most people aren’t, that most people require force or discipline to live in any sort of order.”

“I see that part,” Nylan conceded. “What I don’t see is why people are like that. War leaves a few people better off, but most worse off. Sometimes, it’s even necessary to survive, but that means that the other side doesn’t.”

“Look at those Gallosian men who attacked earlier this summer.” Ryba’s voice was low and cool. “They couldn’t conceive of women like us. They wouldn’t face it. They would rather have died than faced the idea that women could be as tough and as smart-and they did. You have to face the facts, Nylan. Most people’s beliefs aren’t rational. They wouldn’t do what they do if they were. But they do, and that’s the proof.”

“I suppose so.” Nylan took another deep breath, trying to keep it low and quiet. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He just wanted to know why people were so blind. Sure-violence was always successful for the strongest, but only one person could ever be the strongest. So why did so many people delude themselves into thinking they were that person? “I suppose so … and I can see what you say. I don’t have to like it.”

“Neither do I.” Ryba yawned. “But I can’t change people.”

Nylan wondered if she really wanted to, but said nothing in the darkness. He turned to watch the cradle, hoping that Dyliess might understand, yet fearing that, if she did, she would not survive. He studied her profile in the silence until his eyes got heavy, until he dropped into an uneasy sleep, far too late, and far too close to an early dawn.