AMNAR

Holy Complex, Rad Ruinn

Muytil 1, 4765 

By the time the sun hung as a huge red disk on the western horizon, Tahrin was too tired to focus any longer. His conversation with Anarya was the only one he’d had all day. Flooded with rich yellow light, the lab was peaceful, the dark shapes of the city hulking and indistinct. On the eastern side of the Holy Complex, stars blinked brightly over the dots of city lights below. An impromptu celebration to welcome the Ai Ta’Sifra Talija to the city had been arranged, and the repetitive thudding of drums rippled through the evening air.

Tahrin made his way up to the Ai Ta’Sifra’s reception chamber alone, carrying some of the notes he’d written up over the last few days. He thought, finally, he had reached some kind of conclusion, but he needed to speak to Talija herself first. If she wasn’t totally mobbed by everybody else, he knew his treatment of Caro might depend on getting Talija’s support and insight.

The marble-lined hall outside the reception chamber was mostly empty now. A few families remained, sitting together in a group and chatting as though they’d come here for some kind of a picnic, rather than to find out about their missing relatives. At the door to the chamber, Celik stood, watching the group with a frown on her face. Her demonstration of public agitation seemed to have left her dissatisfied.

“Is Talija busy?” Tahrin decided to get straight to the point.

“She’s just speaking to another family.” Celik nodded in the direction of the huge carved doors. “Then she just has to see them, and then she’s done.”

“I’ll wait then.” Tahrin glanced at the family and then back to Celik. “I thought you’d look a little happier than this. Talija’s made sure everybody’s had the right information, I presume.”

Celik sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as though in an attempt to contain her frustration. “I just thought…”

“You know, just because things are broken in Duum doesn’t mean they’re broken everywhere else,” Tahrin said. “You achieved a lot here. I wouldn’t be disappointed. You got Talija herself to come down here and get all of these people information about their families.”

“We still don’t know what they’re going to do about Duum, though.” Celik glared across the hall. “That hasn’t changed. We know who survived, and who hasn’t, but this has been going on for over two decades now. When are they going to step up to the plate and do something about the way Tiom behaves? I wanted them to say something about that.”

“They probably don’t know yet. Didn’t Talija or Anarya say anything at all?”

“Anarya said she was going back to discuss it immediately, but that they’d have to wait for all the Uskele Leadership to gather at Nas Isca before they could make some kind of a decision. It could be ages.”

“These things take time. They just want to minimise the loss of life. And they don’t want another repeat of Cir Nacayjil.”

“Cir Nacayjil? Why does everybody go on and on about Cir Nacayjil? That was a completely different situation altogether.”

“I thought it was quite similar, actually. One leader has taken it upon himself to abuse his power and cause immeasurable harm to others.” Tahrin thought back to the notes he had collected. If he was right, the link back to Cir Nacayjil was not just an intellectually sensible theory, but positively demonstrated. “He may well go on to pose a threat to the rest of our civilisation. But if we react immediately with violence – which we aren’t actually capable of doing, as we don’t have any kind of an army – then we may trigger off something worse, and destroy everything we’ve managed to build since Cir Nacayjil collapsed.”

“How do you know he’s even capable of that? Tiom is Uskele. He’s some obscure idiot who rose to power in the middle of a vacuum in a state that values very powerful leadership and was yearning for something after the death of Ashad Amin. He saw his chance and he took it, and he made full use of inept leadership from the Capillite Ialla to work himself into a position of power. All he’s done since then is make his position worse. He doesn’t have anything like the power they had in Cir Nacayjil. He’s not even been trained. He’s never been near an Academy, and he had all the Ai Ta’Sifradan and the Ai Ta Zurasim killed off, not to mention all the watchers. He’s just a man, just an arrogant man who’s taking advantage of the fact that we persist in being reasonable in a way that he can exploit, because he doesn’t share our values.”

“But how did he get that way, Celik? In a society like ours, where every child is taken care of by a Gadasim, where we make sure we look after everybody and make sure they contribute to society in some way, or at least get the support they need, how did this one man go so far astray, and how did he get into power. There is something else at work here, Celik, and it isn’t just Duum’s political system getting a bit bogged down because they had issues with the South City for a bit.”

Celik frowned at him. “What do you know?” she asked.

Tahrin sighed, relieved that they weren’t going to spend all this time arguing the point. “I don’t know. I’ve just been trying to research what might be wrong with Caro – something you should be helping me with, I might point out – and a few of the symptoms have just… triggered a few thoughts.”

“And that’s why you want to speak to Talija?”

“Yes, that’s why I want to speak to Talija. I wouldn’t have had the chance if you hadn’t gone and pulled all those strings, but now you have, I might as well take the opportunity to discuss this with her.”

“What have you found out?” Celik glanced at the sheaf of papers in his hand.

“I don’t know,” Tahrin said. “And that’s the problem.”

“What d’you mean you don’t know?”

Tahrin ran over his findings from the last few days of work. While Celik had been hurrying around trying to gain support for her protest, he had carefully laid out everything he knew about Caro’s symptoms, from her strange fear of darkness to her survival when the rest of the Dedicated Gap and Academic Infirmary was obliterated.

“That’s the bit I’m having the most trouble with,” Tahrin said. “I haven’t been able to speak with any of the survivors, so I can’t get an idea of what actually happened in there.”

“What do you know?”

“Only what I’ve been able to get sent to me via messages from Kali. The watchers with Caro now weren’t in the infirmary though – I suppose that’s why they’re still alive – but they did describe a few things.”

“What did they say?”

“They aren’t exactly willing to talk about it, and we can’t send a lot of long messages with a dragonlord in flight. I had to stop when the Flight Telepaths were taken up getting the names of the fallen out of Duum.” He shrugged. Celik was staring at him, desperate for more. He realised for the first time that this wasn’t just about the Uskele finding out what happened to their family. This was more personal than that. Why hadn’t he seen it before? “They said…” He stopped. “Who did you lose?”

Celik blushed, and stepped back. “It… It isn’t about me.” She turned away. “This is about the Uskele. They need to know about what’s happening. They need it so they can make proper decisions at their discussions. They need it so—”

“What do you need it for?” Tahrin wanted to reach out for her, but he wasn’t that kind of man. Plenty of men he knew did the touchy-feely thing very well, but there was a wall between him and the world, and he couldn’t reach through it.

Celik hunched her shoulders, and leaned against the wall. She didn’t speak.

“Why don’t you just go in there and ask Talija? That’s what you brought her down here for, isn’t it? It’s not about going to war with Duum or anything so big as all that. Celik, can you really be that selfish? Why didn’t you just send a message up to the T&T in Nas Isca. You know people up there, you’ve worked up there, for Isha’s sake. Just—”

Celik spun around, tears in her eyes. “They don’t know.” Her voice was cold, dead and hard. She kept it low. She stepped close to Tahrin as she spoke. “I sent a message through the field when I first found out. A private message. I sent message after message and nobody knows. They don’t know what’s happened to him.”

She collapsed against the wall, fighting back her own sobs, forcing them back. The tendons stood out in her neck and throat. This time, Tahrin pushed through the wall. He slipped a hand around her wrist, squeezing there until he felt her pulse under his fingers. It was something only a watcher would do. She stared past him into nowhere.

“I don’t know where he is. He’s just off the radar.” She raised her free hand in a gesture of desolation, palm up. “I keep thinking… I keep thinking that maybe I should hope that he’s dead, because if he isn’t—” She broke off, words choked in her throat. “If he’s been taken like Caro was, then… then… then he’s better off dead.”

Tahrin leaned against the wall, breaking into her field of view. She fought against her own emotions, struggling to maintain control. “He might not be… dead.”

Celik looked up at him for the first time, and her expression was fierce. “I know what they do to people in Duum these days. Nobody else might be listening to the rumours, but I do. And I know… what they do is…” She gave up. “There aren’t any words for what they do.”

Tahrin struggled to find something to say. What could you say to turn the tide of such unknowable grief? The doors to the reception chamber opened, sparing him the challenge. One of Rad Ruinn’s Sifradan stood there, about to call in the last of the families. Tahrin took his chance and stepped forward before she could speak.

“Can we get in there for a minute? We won’t be long.”

The sifra glanced between the two watchers, taking in Celik’s tear-streaked face. The younger watcher turned away, shuddering as she roped in her sobs. Hands on her hips, she fought to get herself under control. “It’s okay,” she said. Each word was forced. “They can go in. They’re Uskele. They’re more important.”

“No, they aren’t. They’re equal. We don’t play false modesty here, and we do enough for this world to get a piece of the Ai Ta’Sifra’s time. I’d like to speak to Talija. Now.”

The sifra stepped to the side, surprised at Tahrin’s outburst. He had to grab Celik’s wrist again and pull her into the chamber. Talija sat on a low seat at the centre of the chamber, surrounded by various different officials of the state. Everybody looked exhausted by their long day. By the time they glanced up and saw Tahrin armed with his notes, pulling a reluctant Celik after him, they looked surprised. Only Talija appeared unconcerned.

“Ah, Senior Master Tahrin?” She smiled, disarming him before he’d had a chance to get a word out.

“We need some answers.” All the words tumbled out, but he managed a ragged bow as he spoke. “I need to know whether my theory about Duum is right, and… and Celik needs to know where her… her…” He stopped and turned to Celik, realising for the first time that he hadn’t taken the time to ask the name of the person she was so worried about. In his blustering enthusiasm to play the hero, he’d forgotten the basics.

Celik spared him the embarrassment. She brushed her hands over her face and stood in front of Talija. “I have a confession to make,” she said. “I didn’t start the protests because of the Uskele not being told what’s going on, because I knew most of the lists were being finalised. I… I didn’t ask you to come here for them. I asked for me.”

Talija tilted her head to the side, not a shred of concern on her face. Rules didn’t matter much at her age, Tahrin thought. In her reality, there probably weren’t any rules anymore.

Celik took a long, ragged breath. “I want to know where Sudir is. He was First High Watcher. And nobody can tell me where he is.”

Illegal Infirmary, Lower City, Amin Duum

Muytil 1, 4765

“What now?”

Zurov, Daira and Maali stood around the table at the southern end of the infirmary, a map of Amin Duum’s three cities unfurled in front of them, held flat by several oil lamps. It had taken them all a while to get used to the lights, the need to fill them, the delicate wicks, the slimy oil on their fingers. Maali longed for lights that ignited on a simple instruction, for globe lights at all. Working in the dark was not proving to be much harder than she had ever imagined.

It was Daira who spoke, opposite Maali with her hands resting on the edge of the map. “We’ve cleared the whole of this level, and we could open it up for business proper, if you want. Except that I guess we’d be asking to be arrested if we do that.” She looked around at them. “What I’m asking is, how are we supposed to get patients into this place?”

Maali didn’t speak. She glanced beyond Daira, to Arandes. He was striding toward them now with a young woman in a long dress tied at the waist, her hair wrapped up in a strange cloth that turned out to be blue when she approached the lights. The watchers looked down at her, her odd costume and now they could see them, her bare, dirty feet. If she noticed their looks, she ignored them completely. Once surrounded by watchers, her slumped shoulders straightened and she was suddenly the most authoritative person at the table – except for Arandes, perhaps.

“This is Lana,” he said, introducing her. Maali twigged only just before everybody else. Lana was Order of Nagrishka.

“She’s been a maid in the Holy Complex, but she’s been working down in the Lower City for a while. She has news for us.” Arandes leaned against the table, folding his arms and waiting. Maali wondered what they’d been discussing on the way over here.

“I’m working for a captain’s family in the Lower City. It’s about as safe as it gets here at the moment,” she said. “And that isn’t very safe.”

“What’s this got to do with anything?” Daira interrupted. “We need to know what we’re supposed to do with this infirmary, now we’ve got it? Or did you want us just to keep cleaning the upper levels as well?”

“Just listen,” Arandes said, nodding in Lana’s direction.

The maid gave Daira a look that clearly conveyed the message that she worked for a far higher authority than Daira could know, and wouldn’t mind if Daira cared not to interrupt when she spoke. “You need to understand the situation out there right now. They regard this as a second Great Purge, but it’s hit harder this time. Ordinary people have been affected and killed, not just the watchers and Ai Ta’Sifradan. People are scared. Tiom has instituted a policy of mutual accusation. If you’re arrested, you have to implicate others. If somebody gets arrested now, everybody they know gets scared that they might be targeted next.”

“Hard times.” Zurov shook his head in disgust.

“Tiom is also cracking down on groups he considers to be inferior, and expanding the definition of people who fall into that category,” Lana said. “There are a lot of people under threat. Then there are problems with sanitation. It’s worse in the poorer complexes, and I understand that there are outbreaks of cholera in parts of the South City. People who show symptoms of a health problem are considered a threat to the regime, are taken away and ‘imprisoned’. They’re probably being killed. Same with genetic abnormalities, illnesses, mental and physical. Any they can enslave they do, but the others are just being killed.”

None of those assembled around the table spoke after this speech. They could not even exchange looks. Everybody stared at the table, at the map, anything rather than look at the young woman in front of them.

“If we are found out, we will be killed,” she said. “But there are ways you can help. You can’t just open the infirmary and let people come in and out as you would anywhere else in Amnar. You have to use this as a place to funnel people out of the city for now. You can treat them to prepare them to go elsewhere. The tribesmen at Amna Tatu and the researchers at Bas Kishri know about this, and they’re ready to help.”

“Amna Tatu? They’re a non-aligned tribe.” Daira shook her head. “They don’t usually have much to do with us other than trading.”

“They’re having their children taken away as slaves by the Tiomke,” Lana said. “It started shortly before the expulsion. They’re keen to have their children returned to them, or at the very least, protect the ones they’ve managed to keep. What we can do here is take people who are under threat and get them out of the city.”

Maali noticed Zoriel had joined their group, and now stood beside Arandes, listening to Lana as she described life in the state of Duum, now that the Amnari had been thrown out.

“So there was a point to your expedition.” She sighed and put her hands on her hips.

Arandes grinned. “Yep. We’re going to have to go out there and bring people back in. Anybody uncomfortable with that can stay back here and take care of the people we bring in until they’re ready to be moved on. We have to work undercover and be very careful. Lana and her friends will scout out families who might be targeted in the near future. Thanks to the wonders of Tiomke bureaucracy, they send out warnings to families before they arrest their members, so we have a chance to take them away to safety while making it look like they’ve actually been arrested.”

“And what do we do when the guards find out we’ve snatched their prey from under their noses?” Daira was quick to see the flaws in the plan.

“We can feed fake documents that make it look as though the person was arrested and dealt with through Lana,” Arandes said. “What they’ve got going on is so complicated not even their army of clerks and scribes can cope with it, so people fall through the cracks all the time. That’s what happens when you remove a decent education from the people but need a whole lot who’re capable of writing just to function.”

“It’s madness,” Maali said, keeping her voice low. “Complete madness.”

“Very little Tiom does makes any sense,” Daira said. “At least, not to us. Maybe to him it’s all totally logical.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m volunteering to go out there. Zoriel, you want to work with me? Can you promise me none of the other warriors have secret girlfriends out there we’re likely to encounter?”

Zoriel shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay back here,” Maali said. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on Nenja. Besides, you’ll need an organiser back here, if Zurov’s going out.”

She glanced at Zurov for confirmation and received it; she knew the watcher wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to get out there into the midst of it all and see the state the city had fallen into since the Amnari had left. She herself would rather not see it up close. Just the brief description from Lana was enough to reassure her that she was better off in the dark, doing her job of treating people rather than fighting them.

“In that case, I suggest we get started tonight. Lana has a list of names for us.” Arandes straightened, and nodded at Maali as she left the table. She stepped down from the podium and crossed the darkened gallery, feeling that lingering longing for light that twitched through her muscles whenever she couldn’t distract herself. From the core of her being, she wanted clear air, sunshine, the feel of freedom on her skin. Until now, she hadn’t realised that freedom was something in the air, something she had felt all her life everywhere else, but not here. It was like breathing foul air. The forces that rippled through the atmosphere were all twisted, and it was spreading like a virus, infecting everything else around it.

Nenja lay unconscious but breathing in her bed. As was traditional and taught in these cases, she had a watcher “watching” over her, Nastasia sitting perched on a stool by her bedside and occasionally making notes on her state of health. Every Amnari had a book that contained their medical history, anything that watchers treating them should know, usually carried on their person, although often the basics were tattooed into their wrists these days. None of those who grew up in Duum since the first Purges had such books. They would have to start them for each patient they brought in here.

“How’s she doing?” Maali asked, reaching the bed.

“She’s not bad. No change,” Nastasia said. “I’m amazed she’s staying that way, to be honest. Should be another day and we can start treating her injuries. So far I give regular treatments to boost her strength, but the forces… it’s difficult to reach a clean area of the spectrum.”

Maali nodded, and took up the seat opposite.

“I’ve had that warrior – Irad – come over a couple of times. He keeps asking if he can just sit with her. I’ve said no so far.” Nastasia gave Maali a thoughtful look. “He must really be in love with her. I didn’t think it happened that fast.”

“I think it was bushua,” Maali said. “You know? They didn’t know they were in love, but they could sense they would be. Then it was taken away and… well, maybe he feels guilty that she was arrested because she worked for us. I can understand how he feels.”

“It was brave.” Nastasia sighed. “Really brave. I mean, we have all the support and everything, but she didn’t know who we were, whether she could trust us. And the cost… I mean, what kind of life is she going to have with these injuries? We can’t repair this level of damage well. Not even Isha could heal this without leaving a scar.”

“If she wakes up.” Maali pressed her hands between her knees. This is what ran through her mind, over and over. There was nothing she could do now, of course, as they’d already brought her this far, but part of her hoped Nenja never did wake up, never had to recall, to think about, to remember what had happened to her, what she’d suffered, and what she’d decided to do that had brought it down upon her.

“You think she might not?” Nastasia asked.

“She might not. She might not ever get beyond this state.” Maali shrugged. “I’ve never seen anybody stay trapped between life and death like this before.”

“Can’t we force her to wake up?”

Maali sighed. “We could.” She hesitated. “Normally, we would heal what we could on the line, then wake the patient up. But normally, you wouldn’t see these kinds of internal injuries. And… the psychological damage. We don’t know the extent of that yet, either. That’s something we’ve got to bear in mind for all the patients we see here. The damage of living out there, in that world. Living the way they have to live—”

She stopped speaking. In the light that hung above Nenja’s bed, she could discern movement. She slipped off her stool and stepped forward. “Oh holy Isha…”

Nastasia was on her feet in a second, checking the girl’s pulse and breathing. Nenja let out a soft cry, her one eye fluttering open in the mess of tissue around it.

“Hi, Nenja, I am Maali, I’m the Second Servant of the Guardian of the Dragon Realm and you’re safe,” Maali said; “you’re safe, Nenja, you’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you…”

“I’ll get Irad,” Nastasia said, already leaving the cot.

Nenja croaked, and they both paused, staring down at her. “Irad’s here,” Maali said. “I can go and get him. He’s dying to see you…”

Her lips shaking, her voice barely audible, Nenja let out one single cry. “No,” she said. “No.”

Academy, Nas Isca

Muytil 1, 4765

“…They were just coming out of the walls. You couldn’t fight them off with swords, or anything conventional. Then there were the guards. You could fight them, but they weren’t like any guards we’d seen before…”

Pada sat with her leg pressed against Amakhya’s, in a huddle in the quiet room, listening to him speak. She’d lost track of the time, of the protest, of everything else. And for Amakhya, it seemed with every statement, every memory revealed, his shoulders relaxed a little and he grew more confident. He’d related everything, from the moment the Vice Chancellor Dasciel strode into the arena where he’d been training and called for the evacuation, to the terrifying run through the corridors, past the infirmary doors that now stood eerily shut, and finally to the confrontation in the corridor at the head of the canyon, where the shadow things came out of the walls, slithering and sniping at the Amnari as they fought back.

“Even when we got up onto the Plain it wasn’t over. It was crazy up there, too. Maybe worse. The dragonlords were keeping everything back, the guards were scared of them. But they’d keep trying to stop them landing. You couldn’t see anything but fire, it was so dark—”

He was cut off by the sound of the door opening at the far end of the lecture theatre. The sound, so loud in the silence, made them both jump and they turned together to see the Vice Chancellors, Dasciel and Dirka, standing there. Behind them, a gaggle of students sent a wave of chatter ahead of them into the large and empty space.

“Ah, we’ve been looking for you!” Mischa, between the two men, hurried forward. “They’ve got an announcement to make.”

Neither of the two Vice Chancellors spoke, preferring to stride together into the centre of the room while the globe lights above gently ignited and began to glow brightly. All around them, the students shuffled into their seats, muttering to each other. A few glanced in Amakhya’s and Pada’s direction, but most were more interested in what the two Vice Chancellors had to say.

“D’you think they’ve come up with a solution?” Mischa sat down beside Pada, watching the Vice Chancellor Dirka keenly. “I’ve heard that they’ve been upstairs discussing what to do. We obviously had an effect.”

Pada felt as though she’d just been awoken from a dream, reality filtering back into her consciousness only slowly. She couldn’t stop thinking about the shadow things.

“Did you show them the demands?” Amakhya was already steps ahead of her in his return to normality.

“I tried, but they said they had something else for us, and they’d explain it to us now.” Mischa shrugged, and turned her attention back to the centre of the room. Dasciel was preparing to speak, the students sitting rapt before him.

“I am sure my own students know me well enough,” he said. “But to those of you from Nas Isca and Am Rune, I am Vice Chancellor Dasciel of the Duum Academy. I’m aware that you are obviously uncomfortable with our current situation, and want to know what we plan to do about it. I’m aware that you’ve been formulating a list of demands, and that you want some answers.” There was a shuffling around the room. A few of the students now glanced in Mischa’s direction, but she didn’t notice. Dasciel was just too interesting to her.

“We have been upstairs discussing this, and your refusal to study, and we have decided that as future Ta Dasi, and as members of Amnari society, that you should be part of this as much as anybody else. News will have reached your families about what has happened, and it will be carefully handled. Then we will begin to spread this information out to everybody else, in each state, so that they can discuss this in their groups. There may well need to be public discussions, debates and votes taken.”

Pada glanced around the room. Nobody moved; every face was transfixed.

“But the starting point is here. This is our fault. We should really have given you the chance to settle in, to go over your experiences. I have a suggestion for you, all of you. If you agree to it, we will go right ahead with it, and as it will require your time and energy, we’ll ensure that your studies are not affected. We’d like you to go over all the information that you have, and that we have, and your understanding of your world, and what has happened in Duum since the rise of Tiom, and I’d like you to start thinking, together, about what should be done.”

For the first time, Dasciel’s hold over the audience was broken as this suggestion brought a murmur into the audience. A susurration swept through the students as they muttered to each other over what this would entail.

“I think it might be helpful for the Dumke students to discuss with the Nas Iscan students what they saw and experienced. You can arrange this however you like, in groups or pairs. Once you’ve done that, you can begin to look at the history of the situation, and what failed in Duum to give Tiom his chance to take over and dominate the State so easily. I will arrange to have the trainers, watchers and warriors who’ve served in Duum at any time and happen to be here come and discuss this with you. You can start, from there, to work out how we might resolve this crisis, and what we should do should we be able to restore the State to our own system of governance. Are there any questions?”

Everybody glanced about, hunting for raised hands. The watcher who’d expressed concern earlier raised her hand. “I’ve heard that Senior Master Surgical Taguerin will be leaving on another assignment shortly. Will we still get to work with him in emergency surgery?”

“I will speak to him about that.” Dasciel glanced at Dirka, who nodded his answer.

Another hand was raised. “Will the Capillites and Uskele Leadership be involved in this? Will they speak to us? Will they speak to everybody else?”

“We’ll do our best to make sure, as the Uskele Leadership arrive, that they take time to speak to you all, as is their duty. I suggest that you make use of your own organised student groups if you want to make any kind of political decisions, although it’d be useful to know why you didn’t make use of them to stage this protest.”

Pada blanched at this. Just as every Amnari gathered in their wider household and neighbourhood to discuss and vote on relevant issues together, the results aggregating up eventually to the state level, the students all belonged to similar groups where they discussed issues and organised themselves. This time, for some reason, they’d chosen not to. Perhaps it was just too important, too urgent.

“You can also discuss this with the local leadership. We need to make plans for the Dumke students, and as you are the student body who will eventually become Ta Dasi, you must have an influential say in what happens. I suggest you use your groups for this, but add in the Dumke groups as well. It’s important that you get a balance from both Academies. Each group will have an adult assigned to them to help guide them through the process and keep them on track.”

Pada noticed Mischa was making notes on the paper where originally she’d scrawled her demands. All around her, the students were starting to mutter to each other, glancing at the group members they recognised, already preparing to peel off and start work.

“Are there any more questions?” There was some shuffling in response to this, but nothing else. The room wanted to work.

“In that case, I’ll let you get started.” Dasciel spread his arms and bowed in the traditional lesson ending of all Academies everywhere, and the students stood and bowed back, before hurrying out of their benches and into their groups. The lecture theatre filled up with excited voices. This was better than sitting around, refusing to do the one thing they really wanted to do. This was proactive, this was learning.

Mischa nudged Pada, then looked over at Amakhya. “D’you have a group?” she asked.

He nodded, and scanned the room. A few warriors were heading their way already. “They’re just coming.”

“You guys can join our group.” Mischa was obviously determined to be the chief organiser. “Why don’t we go somewhere else and talk about this. It’ll be too loud in here.”

Trainers, watchers and warriors who’d survived Duum, and many from Nas Isca besides, were edging into the room. Clearly, they weren’t going to be left to gossip without some guidance. Many of those from Duum were still bearing the fresh physical, and no doubt psychological, scars of their experience, limbs trussed up or limping along. A few sported facial wounds, livid cuts in the process of being healed, bruises at the very least. Pada wondered how Dasciel had managed to organise this so quickly.

“Who d’you think will work with us?” Mischa studied the incoming adults with interest.

Pada, facing the other way, could already see who’d chosen to work with them. Dasciel himself strode down from the lecture theatre’s podium and greeted the group as its other members joined it. They had no time for greetings, as the Vice Chancellor was already upon them.

“I take it this is all of you?” he asked. “Nas Iscans and Dumke?”

They looked at each other and then back to him, nodding in unison.

“And you’re planning on working elsewhere?”

“I thought maybe we could work in the dragon anatomy library,” Pada said. “It’s always quiet in there.”

“That sounds like a fun place to hang out.” Amakhya smirked.

“That place is kind of creepy.” Mischa shivered, then saw Dasciel staring at her. She blushed. “But it’s great, Pada. You’re right. It’s very quiet.”

“I can’t wait to see it.” Amakhya nudged Pada.

“Lead on.” Dasciel gestured to Pada, and with flushed cheeks herself, she guided the large group out of the lecture theatre and down the corridor. Despite Mischa’s feelings on the matter, Pada loved the dragon anatomy library. There were books, of course, and they were fascinating, but the exhibits and specimens were what held Pada’s interest. Dragon anatomy was one of her favourite subjects, and the strange organs and tissues, sitting in their preservative juices, had long ago lost any kind of fear or revulsion for her.

The chamber itself was vast, with many suspended wrought iron galleries and glass chambers, a gigantic skeleton of a dragon, much smaller than a dragonlord but still spanning the entire ceiling, hanging on wires from the stone vaults above. Its bony face gazed down upon row after row of bottles, jars and cabinets, all neatly labeled and maintained by a man who looked, as it seemed so many librarians did, as though he wasn’t long for the formaldehyde himself. As usual, he perched on a high stool, cataloguing, an occupation that appeared to take up most of his time. He twitched a flamboyant and oddly curled moustache at the students as they passed his desk, heading for a meeting area at the far end. Here, surrounded by the hearts of many different creatures all suspended in gently yellowing fluids, they took up chairs in a circle, and began their work.

It was Amakhya who broke the silence. “I’ve already told Pada most of what I saw that night.” The other warrior students around him nodded. Their faces were filled with an odd mix of tension and excitement. Pada realised for the first time that this was what they had all so desperately wanted. Amakhya, though, addressed himself directly to Dasciel. “The thing is though, sir, I can’t explain what I saw that night, at least, not all of it. And I don’t know how to deal with that. I know they didn’t come with us, but I’m still seeing those shadow things. I can’t get to sleep at night because of it.”

The other warriors nodded, relieved that somebody had spoken for them.

“So I think, whatever we decide to do, we have to find out what those things are and stop them, because I think they might be coming here next, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”

The Nas Isca Academy Complex, Nas Isca

Muytil 1, 4765

“How long are we going to be here?”

One of the watcher students from the infirmary spoke up from the floor. Since refusing to attend any of their classes, and gathering all the senior students they could find from the infirmary, the group had settled down in the corridor outside the main lecture theatres. Pada sat with Mischa and Amakhya on their makeshift podium, default organisers and leaders. Pada was exhausted, in need of sleep, but buzzing with a fresh burst of adrenaline after seeing the Capillite Icaan withdraw so hastily at the sight of their protest. Down on the floor around them, many of the students had decided to make use of the time by working together through classes without the help of their teachers. Even now, they weren’t prepared to miss out any time on their learning.

“How long are we going to be here?” The watcher student repeated her question. “Only, we’ve got advanced anatomy and crisis surgery all day today and we don’t really want to miss out on it.”

Pada looked at Mischa and Amakhya. They’d been working on a list of demands to present to the Capillites. They glanced up at the student.

“As long as it takes,” Mischa said. “I’m sure they’ll put on the classes again if you miss them. It’s not like anybody’s going to show up for them anyway.”

“Yeah, but we’ve heard Taguerin might be leaving soon. Somebody said he was going off to Nas Trinitar or something.” The watcher students exchanged looks. “If he goes before we get a look in on one of his surgeries. I mean, everybody knows Taguerin’s one of the best surgeons in Amnar.”

“Perhaps we should add that to the demands.” Pada pointed at the list between Amakhya and Mischa. “They have to provide extra classes so that we can catch up with our studies.”

“D’you think they’ll accept that?” The watcher didn’t look convinced.

“We’re all going without classes because of this,” Amakhya said, making a valid point. “Look at all of us from Duum. We’re supposed to be preparing for graduation next year, you know? We’re missing out on everything now, because there’s nowhere to teach us properly.”

The watcher student looked unconvinced, but chose not to speak, turning back to her studies instead. Pada leaned over and looked at the list of demands. “What else are we asking for?”

“We want a clear decision on what’s going to happen to the Dumke students now we don’t have an Academy; then a clear message about what’s going to happen about Duum and whether we’re going to go back into the city again.” Amakhya read through the list. “We want reassurances that they will consider the people of Duum and what’s been said about their suffering when they make their decision.”

“That sounds good.” Pada looked over the list. It seemed very short to her.

“We’re trying to think of other things, but that pretty much sums up what we’re here for,” Mischa said. “Unless… we could ask for them to ensure that the Tiomke send back the bodies of the dead from the expulsion.”

“Um, yeah.” Pada nodded. She thought about the idea of her father’s body being brought back. Would it make any difference? It was a body, it was empty. The bit of it that was her father wasn’t there any more; it didn’t make any difference whether they had his body for a funeral or not. Her father, always a practical man, had made it very clear that his body was to be used for medical research and teaching once he’d died, which meant that they’d only be shipping it out for the watcher students sitting amongst them to cut up and study anyway.

“I’ll talk to some of the others and see what they say.” Mischa took the paper and left Pada and Amakhya alone, giving Pada a nudge as she went. Pada rolled her eyes at her, suddenly keenly aware that being left sitting next to Amakhya was making her uncomfortably warm.

“Hey.” Amakhya shifted over to sit beside her. “I was meaning to have a word. Mischa said your patta died in Duum during the expulsion. He was working down there?”

“Yes.” Pada nodded, and swallowed. She found staring at her knees much easier than looking at anybody else. “He’d just been made First High Warrior.” She shook her head at herself. “And I was pissed off because they didn’t tell me he’d gone back there until a couple of days ago.”

“Really? Your Zoriel’s daughter?” She could feel Amakhya staring at her in surprise, and she blushed.

“Yeah.” What else was there to say?

“I saw him.” Amakhya’s words punctured her heart, a perfect blow. “On that night. I saw him.”

“You did?” She looked up before she could stop herself. “You saw him?”

Amakhya moved closer, his arm brushing hers. His voice was low when he spoke. “We were all brought out by Dasciel, after the infirmary was attacked. Well, if you want to call it that. It was weird. They couldn’t tell us anything but there was blood… blood in the corridor.” He shook his head as though clearing it of some painful memory. For the first time, the brash warrior was replaced by a much darker creature, somebody who had seen things that cut him deeply. He straightened, taking a deep breath. “Then…”

“You don’t have to tell me, if you’re not up for it.”

“No, it’s OK. I haven’t talked about it to anybody. None of us have. It’s easier not to.” He paused. “But it’s important you know. He fought for us. I saw Zoriel, and some of the other warriors. They were overwhelmed. There were guards everywhere. And all this… stuff. It was like the shadows in the walls came alive.”

Pada stared at him. Drained of colour, he raised his hands as he tried to describe what he’d seen. “Alive?”

“Alive. It was… I thought I was dreaming. It was like being in the middle of your worst nightmare. Only we were awake. We were awake and watching everybody die.”

He stopped speaking. Pada couldn’t stop staring at him, chewing on the inside of her mouth, biting into the flesh until it hurt. She ate up every word. Amakhya turned away, his jaw clenched. Confused, Pada reached out a hand and rested it on his arm.

“Sorry—”

Amakhya pulled away, wrenching himself off the seat and striding off through the seated students and heading off down the corridor. Pada stared after him, wincing as he slammed some distant door, cutting himself off from everybody else. Several of the other Dumke students looked up, glanced at Pada, but none of them spoke. One of them gave her a sad smile before she lowered her head again and went back to the book she’d been reading.

“What was that all about?” Mischa sat down at Pada’s side. “I thought you were getting on rather well there.”

“I don’t know.” Pada frowned, then stood up and followed him. She didn’t fancy listening to Mischa and the protest anymore; there was something more important, more immediate here, and she couldn’t resist it. None of the other students had shared anything of their experiences on that night, as though they were keeping some kind of terrible secret or just didn’t care. This was the first time Pada had even contemplated the idea that one of them might have known what happened to her father. And that mattered more than anything else.

She hunted down the corridor until she came to the only closed door. It led into a typical lecture theatre, a circular room with many desks and chairs around a central platform. A crystal globe, supported by a chrome stand, stood at the very centre, used by anybody leading a class to illustrate points with the use of forces. Now it was nothing but a glass bubble, its contents invisible to the naked eye. Around the walls, diagrams of the anatomy of dragons and dragonlords, collections of bones and navigational maps clustered beneath a domed ceiling decorated with a map of the heavens.

Sitting in the middle of the room, Amakhya rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at his feet. Occasionally, he raised a hand and brushed harshly at his face, as though wiping away dirt. For a long time, Pada stood at the edge of the theatre, watching in silence and wondering how to approach him. She didn’t even know how to cope with her own feelings; how was she supposed to deal with anybody else’s?

She must have made a sound, as he looked around at her at last. Now they stood staring at each other, Pada still struggling to work out what to do. She’d followed him in here, now she didn’t know why, nor what she was supposed to say. All she knew was, she didn’t want him to be left alone. Just as she didn’t want to be left alone. Taking a few nervous steps, she crossed the gap between them, and came to the front of the room. He watched her progress, until she sat down beside him.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have walked off like that…”

“It’s all right.” She leaned forward, clutching the cushioned bench, as though holding herself down to the ground. “When I first found out about Papa… I went and tried to get the dragon I’ve been working with. I thought I’d just fly down there and get him out… I don’t know.” She shrugged, her voice strangely loud in the big room.

“I hadn’t talked about it with anybody until then.” Amakhya shrugged. “It’s easier not to, you know?”

Pada nodded. “It’s just… too big.”

“That’s why I like doing this. I mean, like you going to get a dragon. It’s easier to do something. Because… well… nobody’s saying anything or explaining anything. And there’s so many questions. How’re we supposed to know what’s going to happen?”

Pada looked at him. “I think they don’t know. And that’s very scary.”

“Tell me about it. Who’d have thought I’d ever see Dasciel backing away from anything.” Amakhya shook his head and let out a single, mirthless laugh. “They won’t even tell us what we saw. I mean, what were those things in the shadows?”

“Have you asked?”

“I tried… when we first got here. And the trainer I asked said he hadn’t seen anything. He said maybe I was imagining it. Which isn’t an answer. I know I didn’t imagine it. They were all freaked out. All the warriors who were defending us, everybody. Whatever got into the infirmary that killed everybody. That wasn’t just guards. That was something… else.”

“Huh?”

“They haven’t told you, either?”

Pada shook her head. “I just thought the guards attacked the Holy Complex.”

“They did. But that’s not all that happened.” Amakhya took a deep breath. Grief was put aside for a moment, distracted by relating his story. “I guess you want to know how your father died. I didn’t see that. I’m sorry, but I didn’t see it. I saw a lot of things, but they’d evacuated us. I just saw him fighting.”

“I understand.” Pada bit her lip. She wanted to know and she didn’t. Hovering between knowing and not knowing, there was at least the possibility of some kind of a miracle. That he was there, somewhere, safe. Unharmed.

“He was a hero, Pada. I mean, what we saw down there… I don’t think I could stand up to that. I’ve seen what we fight on the line, and whatever was let loose in the Holy Complex in Duum makes that look like a cakewalk. I don’t think I’d be able to stand up to that. Swords wouldn’t be any good against it.” He swallowed, lowering his voice as though worried about being overheard. “See, I get why we’re doing this, that we want something concrete. That’s just what we’re like. But really? I don’t know if we can beat this. I really don’t. I saw through the infirmary doors. I saw the bodies. And I saw those shadows. I wasn’t imagining anything. I don’t know what that was but it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t ever want to have to see that again.” He paused. “And I do. I see it everywhere.”

Holy Complex, Nas Isca

Muytil 1, 4765

“I don’t think we’ve ever had to deal with anything like this before.” Icaan, along with several trainers and other interested parties, sat at an oval table in one of the seminar rooms of the Academy. One chair sat empty, where Anarya should be. Nobody could find her, despite Icaan sending all the messengers he could find to scout around the Holy Complex for her. Alongside Apsilar and Dai Inaar, there were the Vice Chancellors Dirka and Dasciel, some senior tutors, Gadasim for the student ringleaders, all looking uncomfortable.

“Have they issued any demands?” Apsilar asked. He looked around the room. “I just heard from the Senior Master Watchers that the advanced watcher students have now joined in the protest and are refusing to show up for their classes and practicals.”

Dasciel, sitting back and the only one of them looking remotely as though this wasn’t a desperate situation, narrowed his eyes. “Does that affect the running of the infirmary?”

“Not really. Students will just miss out on a day of study. Assuming we can get this sorted out in a day.” Apsilar shrugged. “I am assuming that if we pay attention to what they say and then give them some reassurances, they’ll be fine.”

“They haven’t said anything yet, other than that until we confirm what we’re doing about Duum, they refuse to do any more learning.” Icaan looked around the room. “Until Anarya is back, and we are able to gather all the Capillites and Uskele Leadership, we cannot possibly provide them with a firm decision on Amin Duum. It’s too early to say. We can’t let them go without studies until then.”

“Where are all the people who have to attend whatever meeting you need to have?” Dasciel still appeared unfazed.

“Well, all the Uskele Leadership are flying here to discuss Duum, so we have to wait at least two weeks, maybe a month before they all arrive,” Icaan said. “And then Isaka and Irica as well…”

He glanced at Dai Inaar, but he remained silent, for now. Since his grand announcement about opening negotiations with the Tiomke State, he had had nothing else to say on the matter. Now he merely glowered at Dasciel, a man for whom he appeared to have some festering hatred. Dasciel, for his part, was either doing a very good job of ignoring the Capillite’s cold stares, or he was genuinely oblivious.

“Where’s Anarya?” Beraka, Padalexis’ Gadasim, glanced around the table, and fixed her attention on the empty chair.

“She’s…”

“Disappeared.” Dai Inaar poured the full force of his scorn into the one word, and for a moment, everybody stared at him.

“We haven’t been able to locate her since yesterday,” Icaan said. He didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t have any choice. “I assume…”

He trailed off. Standing at the door was a young man, dressed in a neat black Zurasim uniform, his tunic marked with the gold and red patterning that indicated he was a member of the Order of Nagrishka. Icaan beckoned to him, but he was already crossing the floor, approaching with the aplomb of a man who knew his place in the world and that it didn’t involve doing what Capillites asked of him.

Icaan thought he might address the room, but instead he bent at the waist and spoke only to the Guardian of the Dragon Realm, almost conspiratorially. “I have a message from Rad Ruinn,” he said. “The Capillite Anarya will be returning shortly.”

Despite the low tone, most of the room heard the message. “Rad Ruinn? What’s she been doing there?” Dai Inaar was the first to speak.

“How did she get there?” Apsilar asked. “It’s at least ten days on a dragonlord from here, in good weather. How’s she getting back ‘shortly’?”

The room stared at the young man, waiting for an explanation. He offered nothing, but merely bowed to them all. “I apologise for the inconvenience her absence has caused, but her presence was required in Rad Ruinn to assist the Ai Ta’Sifra Talija Nagrishka in a matter of some urgency.”

As a body, the room sighed and exchanged looks. Only Dasciel nodded in understanding, the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth revealing his amusement at it all. “Looks like she was needed elsewhere,” he said. “How long till she’s back?”

“I expect her to return in about an hour, sir,” the young man said. “I will inform her that you wish to speak to her.”

“We have an issue that we need to resolve now. If she can get back instantly then she should be here.” Dai Inaar thumped his fist on the table.

“Technically, she isn’t vital to this meeting, although it’s always nice to have her view, of course,” Apsilar said. “I mean, she’s Guardian of the Lesser Mortals. She’s probably best suited to dealing with the Rad Ruinn protests anyway.”

“And what if they spread here? If the students can do it, they could spread it around the whole of Nas Isca.”

“Dai, having a political opinion and wanting to make a statement about it isn’t a communicable disease.” Apsilar sat back in his chair. “I suggest that we talk to the students and reassure them that everything will be done to secure at least the Holy Complex.” He paused, and looked at Dai Inaar. “Unless, of course, your contact in the city has their own proposal?”

Under the spotlight, Dai Inaar flushed. He worked his jaw, lost for words. “I… We haven’t discussed the exact details yet.”

Dasciel leaned forward, and for the first time showed some interest in the Capillite. “Did I hear that right? You’ve been in contact with the Tiomke?”

Dai Inaar glanced at him, tensing under the Vice Chancellor’s glare. “I have spoken to a representative of the Tiomke State Authority and they tell me that they are prepared to discuss a settlement after our breach of the Tatu Agreement. Obviously, they are very angry—”

“Our breach? From what I’ve heard the Tiomke attacked first.” Dasciel was uncompromising. Whatever authority the Capillites once held over the general populace of Amnar had no effect on him. “This is bullshit. I’ve spoken to people who had to fight off guards who were trying to kill our youngest students. Watchers and warriors had to defend the kids to get them out of the city safely.”

“That isn’t what the Tiomke State have told me.” Dai straightened in his chair, a peacock with his feathers ruffled.

“And you’re going to believe the Tiomke State over our own Ta Dasi, are you?” Dasciel leaned forward. His prey was on the run, and he could smell blood.

“They have been egged on by Arandes—”

“Oh don’t start.” Dasciel stood up, his fist resting on the table, the stub of his missing arm pointing at Dai Inaar. “No excuses. I’ve heard about what happened in Duum and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were working for them.” Everybody in the room fell silent, waiting to see what would happen next. Icaan tried to think of something conciliatory to say.

“Now, if the room has a moment to spare, I have an approach to these students that just might work.” Dasciel straightened, and addressed them all. “At Duum, we don’t sit around listening to each other talk, we learn by doing. I suggest that we put a proposal to the students that they gather to debate the issue, not just with us but with each other, to hash out the various options in front of us at this time. This is as much their world as it is ours. They’re the ones who’re going to have to deal with this if we don’t. And they’re the ones who’ll end up dead if we fuck this up.”

“That sounds good to me.” Apsilar, and then Dirka, nodded in agreement. “I’m sure we could build some projects around how to handle the fallout from dealing with Duum as well. I’m informed that they are having problems with diseases we haven’t seen in Amnar in centuries.”

“Who wants to put this to the students?” Icaan sat back, relieved that Dasciel had decided not to press Dai Inaar on his involvement with the Tiomke State. It conjured too many dark thoughts and he wanted this dealt with amongst the Capillites, rather than amongst the senior Ta Dasi. Looking at Dasciel, he realised that he wasn’t going to get much choice in this. The Vice Chancellor would be discussing this with all the Ta Dasi as soon as he could, and the Capillites wouldn’t get a look in on that.

“I think that should be our job.” Dasciel looked around the room, waiting for dissent. Nobody spoke. “In that case, Dirka and I will approach the students and suggest that the best way to resolve this is for them to debate it. We can join them and see how it goes. And if the Capillites would like to join us, they can see how we actually get things done while they’re busy reading books and prevaricating.”

Holy Complex, Rad Ruinn

Muytil 1, 4765

After the cold of the mountain state of Nas Isca, the heat of Rad Ruinn was at least familiar, if not comfortable. Since the Dawn Bell rang out through the Holy Complex, Anarya had hardly had a chance to stop moving. For the first time, she had an insight into the life of the Ai Ta’Sifra Talija, and it was a surprise. She imagined that after all these many thousands of years, Talija would at least give herself a moment to rest, but the woman was absolutely tireless.

So far, they had managed to get a list of every person believed to have been working in Duum’s Holy Complex. Talija occupied the official meeting chamber of the Ai Ta’Sifradan of Rad Ruinn, and sitting in the throne of the Ai Ta’Sifra of the city, she collared the First High Warrior and Watcher to go through the names with her. Outside, parents and relatives from all over the state gathered, waiting for information. In the heat they sat on the floor, sharing food supplied by the Complex kitchens.

“Are there any students missing?” Talija looked at the First High Warrior. She handed over the scroll. “Were they all evacuated?”

“I’ve had a message from Dasciel this morning to say that all the students were evacuated.” The First High Warrior glanced at the scroll. “There aren’t any student names on here that I recognise. We lost a few of the trainers, apparently, but they got the students out in time.”

“What are they planning to do with the students? Were there young children there?” Talija’s interrogation continued without a pause. All Anarya could do was sit and listen. She had arranged for the kitchens to provide food and water, but Talija had taken over the work of identifying the missing and the dead.

“Dasciel’s told me he wants to keep all the students where they are. None of the youngest were at the school, and he’s going to arrange that they are transferred to the Nas Ashca. They have enough space to take them on, I believe.”

“Thank you. You’re very helpful. Where’s the Vice Chancellor of Rad Ruinn’s Academy?”

“He’s gone out to Sadat Vashir. They’ve got students starting Bala from the Guilds, and he couldn’t postpone it. He’ll be back this afternoon though.” This was the first time the First High Watcher had spoken. Anarya knew them both well, and they seemed to have taken the intervention of the Ai Ta’Sifra in their stride.

Anarya sat silently and listened. However efficiently the Amnari system absorbed the blow of the expulsion, however hard these people worked to make sure the Uskele didn’t suffer, they couldn’t keep working like this forever. Could they really keep running around like that, every time Tiom struck another blow against them, picking up the pieces and fixing as best they could? She left the chamber, and stood at the door, her presence alone providing reassurance to the people gathered outside.

They showed such inspiring patience, sitting together in large groups, sharing food and water and chatting with the Holy Complex staff while they waited for Talija to prepare herself. Parents of students chatted about how proud they were that their children were becoming Ta Dasi, others mentioned how close their children were to taking their Bala, and the atmosphere had lightened to the point where it seemed more like a party than a collection of families and others affected by a massive political crisis.

Feeling at a loose end, Anarya made her way down to the infirmary attached to the Holy Complex, looking for Tahrin. She found him in his research office, crouched over a microscope. The rest of the lab was deserted, the equipment standing untouched and glittering in the sunshine from the huge windows looking out onto the green roofs of the city.

Anarya approached him, glancing out of the window rather than looking directly at him. “Looks like it’s going to be a good harvest this year,” she said, referring to the roof gardens.

“I’ve got a bumper mango crop.” Tahrin didn’t look up from his microscope, making notes instead. “I’ve heard from Kali. She’s slowed down. Caro’s getting a lot sicker. She’s having to stop at every research station on the way to get her checked out.”

For the first time, he looked up at Anarya. “Celik’s stirred up a lot of trouble, hasn’t she,” he said.

“It’s been educational.” Anarya was diplomatic. “The Uskele need to be told. What’s happening up in Duum is serious.”

“We’re going to go back in, though, right?”

“I don’t know, Tahrin. I don’t know.” She silently wondered if Tahrin was aware of the steady leak of watchers from the Rad Ruinn infirmaries to serve Arandes’ project in Duum, and what he’d think if he knew. She sighed. “I’m going to have to get back to Nas Isca to sort this out. Will you let me know when Caro arrives?”

Tahrin nodded. “If she’s still alive.” He stared out of the window, pensive. “I can’t find anything in my books that would explain what’s happened to her. I would give a great deal to speak to the people who saw her in the infirmary. There isn’t anything I can find that might have caused her symptoms. Unless… unless there’s something in Duum that’s triggered it. Something they did. It’s not as though we have a lot of experience of the effects of whatever they do to people in their prisons.”

“There’s a lot going on in Duum we don’t have any experience with,” Anarya said. “There is going to be a very steep learning curve for all of us.”

She glanced at Tahrin. He pursed his lips, staring out across the rooftop gardens, his mind fixed on something a long way from both Rad Ruinn’s harvest and whatever lay under the focus of his microscope.

“I’ve given up on our medical textbooks,” he said, his voice lower now. “Whatever’s wrong with Caro, it’s not in any of them. I’ve been relaying back and forth with the watchers caring for her on the way down here, getting more information on her symptoms. Anything I think it might be, there’s one symptom that’s out of whack, and so out of whack as to dismiss the diagnosis.”

Anarya watched him speak, saw the frustration in every clenched motion of his hands, his face. Now he paused, as though he was aware that he was reaching some kind of a precipice in his mind, and wondering whether to step off.

“They did say one thing that might be useful, though.” Once again, he paused. His hand clutched the bench, as though holding on for dear life. “They said that in Duum they were struggling to use the forces to treat people, and that they couldn’t do anything with Caro at all. Everything they do has to be purely physical.”

“I’m not a watcher, Tahrin. How is that useful?”

“It’s useful because I think it means that what they… what was done to her in Duum, when she was arrested, involved forces. Involved some use of something.” He looked at Anarya. His face was filled with fear. “They can use the forces. They have access to the wider field.”

Anarya didn’t know what to say.

Tahrin licked his lips. “I really don’t want to go there,” he said, lowering his voice still further. “I’ve heard rumours about what happened in the Nas Ashca at the beginning of the month from some of the others. I don’t want to think about what it might mean for us.”

Still, Anarya did not speak. Tahrin was not just looking at her but staring, studying her, judging every response.

“I hate to wonder this, Anarya, but I’m wondering if right at the top, there is more known about what’s happening in Duum. If they can access the forces, and worse, if there is a wider field they can access. A source. Then we need to know. And in that case the protests are right, because we have to stop that before it destroys everything.”

“You’re starting to sound like Celik,” Anarya said. She struggled to keep her voice steady.

“I’m scared.” Tahrin spoke honestly. “I’m about to take on a case I don’t know how to treat, with symptoms that fit nothing I’ve ever seen before, or even heard about at the Academy. Now I’m hearing rumours about something happening in the Nas Ashca that pretty much blew everybody’s mind. And Talija shows up at the drop of a hat to sort out the protests herself.” He hesitated. “And Capillites refusing to tell me anything at all.”

“I know as much as you,” Anarya said stiffly. “Honestly, Tahrin, if Tiom is somehow capable of using forces to that degree that he’s got his own source, then I don’t know it.” She paused, noticing a messenger standing in the doorway of the lab, holding a piece of paper. She beckoned to him, and he strode over to her.

“Urgent message from Nas Isca, mistress,” he said, adding a bow. “You are asked to return to Nas Isca as soon as possible to discuss the situation in Duum. Apparently, they have a problem with protests there, too.”

Illegal Infirmary, Lower City, Amin Duum

Muytil 1, 4765

Maali propped a glowing lamp on the bedside table, and leaned over the body of Nenja again. Nastasia, standing on the other side of the bed, could barely breathe as she watched the Servant work. None of the few patients they’d recovered since they arrived bore any comparison to the ravaged body now stretched out on the narrow cot. They at least could walk a little and talk. Nastasia was amazed that Nenja wasn’t already dead; by rights she should be. After scouring the canyon floor around the sites of the bonfires, they’d found only bodies left for the crows and the vultures to pick at. Only this one girl had somehow managed to escape death, although she’d probably be better off if she hadn’t.

“You don’t mind if I observe, do you?” Nastasia asked, keeping her voice low. Somewhere beyond the boarded windows, she could hear guards shouting, and some kind of parade underway. For the first time, she was keenly aware of how close they were to the enemy. They all were. “I’ve never seen a case like this before… I’d like to learn.”

Striding past on a tour of the ward, Daira made a clucking noise in the back of her throat. “This isn’t a teaching infirmary, you know,” she said. “Servants don’t have time to stand around giving lessons. We’re in a war zone.”

Maali, checking Nenja’s pulse again, glanced up at Nastasia. “Sure, no problem. How much emergency medicine have you done?”

“I was on EM and T&T when Arandes asked me to come here.” Nastasia felt more at home discussing the routine qualifications and expectations of a young Senior Duty Watcher. Maali apparently decided to ignore Daira, and went about her work regardless. “I’d only done a couple of months. But… well, you’re never going to see anything like this in a Rad Ruinn infirmary.”

Maali made a face. “Hopefully not,” she said. She stepped back, into teaching mode. “What’s the first thing we should’ve done that we couldn’t do here?”

Nastasia felt that surge of nerves at the need to get the right answer, and hesitated. “You shouldn’t have moved her. Assessment in severe trauma should always take place on site, in case of spinal injuries.”

“Good. So, we’re already learning something.” Maali shrugged, and her teacher stance faded. She was speaking to Nastasia as a colleague now. “In all seriousness, even in a lot of irregular places you’d probably be able to do a bit of assessment. But it was dark out there and we just don’t know what the situation is. You need warriors to keep you up to date and informed. All we can do is hope when we move them that it doesn’t kill them.”

“That sounds… depressing.”

Again, Maali shrugged. “There isn’t much we can do. Your survival rate is going to go down very steeply here. We have no surgical facility, so the other vital things she needs we can’t do for her. We can’t repair her hands, nor her face. If she lives, and part of me hopes she doesn’t, she’s going to have to live with these deformities for the rest of her life. In Amnar, not a problem. Here? She’s probably going to struggle to survive, even if she makes it back onto her feet.”

Nastasia swallowed. “They won’t… support her? Find her somewhere to live?”

Maali shook her head. “She’ll be lucky if they don’t hunt her down and kill her. They were trying to leave victims alive as a ‘lesson’ to everybody else.”

“That’s… harsh.” Nastasia looked down at Nenja. “I can’t imagine what she’s been through. I don’t think I could survive anything like it,” she added, her voice even lower now. She leaned on the footboard of the bed. She couldn’t meet Maali’s eyes. “Sometimes I think I made a mistake coming here. I keep looking at her and wondering how I’d cope if we were caught. If I was… tortured.”

“You’d do what you had to do,” Maali said, and reached out for Nastasia, touching her hand. “You don’t have to put on an act because of Daira and Kia. Be yourself. You’re here because you have talent and it should be nurtured. Once upon a time, they were in your position. All they’re doing is putting on the tough guy act because this is the most terrifying thing they’ve ever had to face.”

“They’re not scared.” Nastasia shook her head. She bit her lip. “They’ve been in this mess before.”

Maali stepped closer. “No, they haven’t. None of us have seen anything like this unless they’re the warriors who came down here to bring children out after the last fight we had with the Tiomke. Right now, you focus on doing your job. Keep obs on the patient until I’ve had a chance to speak to Arandes. I’ll be back in a bit to see how she’s getting on. Do what you’d do with any trauma patient in any trauma unit. For now, that’s all you can do.”

The Servant patted Nastasia on the arm, and strode off into the gloom of the main gallery.

“Are you sure you can trust her?” Daira stood waiting in the ample shadows at the far end of the ward. “I mean, she’s got no T&T. Not to that level.”

“She’s got to get it somewhere.” Maali strode on. She didn’t want to get involved in whatever ugly business Daira and Kia were plotting against Nastasia, but she could feel they were keen to drag her into it. She had a choice, now. Either she stepped in and said something and possibly made the situation worse, or she let it unfold and probably split everybody into cliques within a few weeks. She stalked to the far end of the gallery, to the table under the statue of Isha, briefly glancing up at the ancient marble figure before she turned to face Daira. She folded her arms.

“You know what position I hold in this infirmary?” she asked.

Daira took a step back, surprised. “You’re… Senior Master?” It was a guess, but a reasonably good one.

“Right. So we’re in the middle of an emergency zone with limited resources, a sound and light restriction, and not enough irregular watchers to do the job at hand. What would a Senior Master expect from all of their watchers at this particular time?”

Daira didn’t speak, her jaw working. She glanced around, looking out for Kia, presumably for moral support.

“You’ve been an irregular, working in dangerous areas for years,” Maali said. “What’s the first thing a Senior Master Watcher in this situation would require of all staff?”

“A… high level of skill,” Daira suggested.

“And?”

“Extensive technical knowledge combined with an understanding of the political or social environment.” Daira was starting to sound like somebody who’d learned this out of a book, rather than an experienced irregular. She should know better than this.

“And?”

Daira did not reply.

“Perhaps ‘teamwork’?” Maali leaned back against the table. “We’ve only been here a day and I’ve already seen the way you’ve treated Nastasia. What’s the issue here?”

Daira raised her arms. “She’s not one of us,” she said. “She’s never been in a war zone, she doesn’t even know how to deal with cases like this one. I mean… how can she stand there and ask you to teach her? She should know this stuff. You don’t have time to teach her. You’ve got to save that girl’s life.”

Maali nodded. “Go on.” She pulled herself back so she could sit on the table, and gave Daira her full attention. “What other problems are there?”

Daira looked relieved at the chance to express herself at last. “You can’t have regulars somewhere like this. I don’t know how you’ll find the people to do this, maybe we just have to work small, but this is no place for anybody who hasn’t been thoroughly tested in the field. They need to know how to cope with violence, how to deal with… the crap that people can do to each other. You don’t see that in a standard infirmary. People in Amnar are too bloody nice. On the edges life is cheap, and it’s too much of a shock.

“I saw her face when she looked at that girl. She can’t deal with it. All she can think about is us getting attacked and her having to be tortured. If she can’t put all that aside, how’s she supposed to cope when it gets really tough down here? When there are lots like that girl?”

Maali nodded. “So, for you it feels like you’re having to work with somebody who really isn’t qualified to do the job at hand.”

“Yes.” Daira glanced at the office, where presumably Arandes was busy with other matters. “I just don’t see how he can bring regulars down into a place like this.”

“It’s not like anywhere else, that’s for sure,” Maali agreed. She gazed down at her hands before she met Daira’s gaze again. “Arandes and Cosai and I have been working on this for a long time, and I know a lot of the irregulars were desperate for us to set this up. When we started, we knew it would be tough on all of you. This is like nowhere else on the edges, in Amnar, anywhere. We don’t have enough irregulars to keep all the unofficial infirmaries we have open. Other places are already suffering because we’re doing this. Right now, I’m worried that this whole thing is going to fall apart because I have people who can’t work together well. That bothers me.”

She kept her eyes on Daira, waiting to see what she would do next. “She’s young, isn’t she?” Daira said. She wasn’t ready to give any ground, yet.

“She’s very scared. I don’t blame her. What they did to the people they tortured that night was an atrocity as bad as the purges. That’s not something I can forget easily, which is why I’m here. If our patients survive, they face a very difficult life. They’ve grown up in a world with very little tolerance and justice, and they might have to learn how to cope in another world with lots of different rules they don’t understand. And they’ll carry the memories of what happened to them for the rest of their lives.”

Daira sighed.

“D’you remember the purges?” Maali asked.

At this, Daira shook her head. “My mother was caught in it, she told me about it. I could see she was scared. But I was still at Am Rune. It was all very… far away.”

“I was here,” Maali said. She looked around at the infirmary. “I remember dealing with the survivors, coming down here, getting people out. I’ve never seen people so afraid. I’ve never seen such… rage. Such pointless rage. The guards tore this place apart.”

“I saw the bodies.” Daira sounded strangled, her throat tight. Suddenly she couldn’t meet Maali’s eyes. “We’ve just spent all the time since we got here clearing it up. I can’t think… about what they did.”

“You bury that kind of stuff and it’s going to destroy you one day,” Maali said.

Daira nodded slowly. “She’s just a kid,” she said, stepping nearer to Maali. They were speaking as colleagues for the first time. “She’s just a kid who’s always been a watcher and always thought the world worked in one particular way. She’s never seen what people can do to each other in the darkest places of the world.”

“You’re giving her a taste of that?” Maali wasn’t harsh, just curious.

“She’s got to be tough. We can’t show how much this hurts or we’ll break.”

“You’ll break if you don’t. You know that. You’ve been irregular a long time. But there was a time, a long time ago, when you were just like her. She could probably learn a lot from you. She’s keen, and so were you. You could really make a great watcher out of her. The kind of watcher who never goes back to regular. Wouldn’t that make all of this worthwhile?”