The Vastness Read online

  It was me. The brightest threads upon the bridge were mine.

  Other threads began to disintegrate, and I searched for their vanishing lights. Those that had gone into the water were beginning to drown as they were carried downstream. I looked away from them in sadness, and my sight broadened to those gathering quickly toward us.

  The Hemari and the Warrens’ spearmen had arrived on the bridge, but others were moving, too.

  It was then that the thunder of galloping hooves shocked my eyes open. A wave of yellow-wrapped steel crashed along the bridge toward me.

  10

  Emi

  Purpose

  A man took hold of my arm. I had not seen his light, it was so dim. It was Lieutenant Corwin, and he was alone. Sweat poured from him and he panted as though he’d sprinted the entire way.

  He said nothing, his hand grasping my arm. His eyes were fixed upon the charging horses.

  He was going to sing again.

  The bridge began to rumble from the pound of the horses, and everyone behind us began to scream.

  I closed my eyes and was almost blinded by the fierce threads that extended from Corwin. Touching me had made even his dim light a twin to the sun.

  “Your magic is stronger when you touch me,” I said. “Why?”

  He did not answer. His threads began to swell and vibrate as he got ready to use his magic. They were frayed, though, like they had been stretched too far. Any tighter and they would break.

  “Don’t. You will destroy yourself,” I said to him.

  The charging horses were upon us. Corwin’s hand grew hot upon my arm.

  He began to sing. The verse rolled from his lips and the threads of his magic reached out before us. The charging horses glowed purple and slowed. The yellow soldiers yanked and kicked, but their efforts did nothing as the huge horses set themselves down and went to sleep.

  Corwin’s song became a scream, and his light went out. I tried to hold his threads together, but I could not touch them. His being came apart, and I was splashed with a sick wash of darkness.

  My arm was burned where he had held me, and I fell away from the terrible flames that consumed him. The bridge stones around us were charred black. The tin cups pinged and hissed, while out upon the ship, a single voice cried out.

  “The girl, protect the girl!”

  The yellow soldiers tumbled free of their sleeping horses and kept coming. Every one of them had their eyes upon me.

  A pattering of bare feet moved up behind me, followed by a clattering of kicked cups, but I could not look away from Corwin. He’d died to save me. Not the bridge, nor the people upon it. He’d died to protect me.

  “No,” I cried and wished with all my might that it was me, not him.

  The spearmen charged past me then, trampling over his burning body. They crashed into the tall metal men in yellow and there they died. Heavy swords cut them down like grass, but on they came.

  “Freemen of the Warrens, Charge, charge,” screamed one man. His black skin glistened in the sun and the three fingers wrapped around his spear were not enough to keep it upright. It was Natan! He stumbled to a halt and got a look at me as he worked to right his weapon.

  Natan smiled, but it faded as so many others rushed by to their deaths. “Run, Emi,” he said and moved to take his turn. He ran headlong at the nearest man in yellow and stabbed savagely it at him with his spear. It pierced the giant man’s face and he fell backward, leaving Natan without a weapon as the next metal man came on.

  Still Natan charged, half-naked and unarmed.

  “Run, Emi,” he screamed as he slammed into the man and his sword. The threads of his life came apart, and I screamed at the terrible gush of darkness that sprayed out upon us all.

  I scrambled up and fled as the Warrens’ freemen followed on.

  A pair of Hemari ran toward me as I turned. They were the pair I’d met on Yellow Row.

  “Are you okay?” Benjam asked. He was wounded. They both were.

  I wanted to make their bloody wounds close. I wanted everyone to stop. I did not want to watch the black stink of death blanket everyone around me.

  “Make it stop,” I said.

  “I cannot,” Benjam said. “But maybe you can. Hurry now. We must be away.”

  A great pinging shocked my ears, followed by more screams.

  “That will sort ‘em,” the smaller man laughed. “The archers are back in play. Come, Benjam. We’ll route them yet.”

  “Go,” he replied. “Find your glory. I’ll get her to safety.”

  The shorter man drew his sword, ran toward his death, and screamed, “Come on, freemen. Time for them to do the dying.”

  Benjam hefted me up into his arms and began to trot back along the rail, while the rest of the world went mad.

  I closed my eyes against it, but this only made it worse as my vision took over.

  The freemen’s lights continued to go out ten at a time along the forward edge of the battle, but the big ship had swung around and its archers were killing the men in yellow twice as fast. Gushes of black ink fell upon the rest of us like rain.

  A tingle went through me. The magic I’d felt while I was still on Yellow Row—the wonderful warmth that had saved us from the icy claws—it had drawn all the darkness from the city. Someone in Bessradi had made a magic that washed the black ink from us all.

  I searched the city for those whose threads were the brightest. Many caught my attention but all were pale compared to mine.

  I started to cry. Whoever had done it had left the city—or had died as Corwin had.

  The scream of horses bit my ears. They were beginning to wake, and chaos took over.

  The Warrens did not care. Its pent-up men poured into that narrow slice of hell, and the wave of death began to move back the other way.

  The metal men fled all at once, and the roaring of the freemen drowned out the screams of those who had paid for the victory.

  Benjam did not slow as he carried me away. He was crying. He was in pain.

  “Be well,” I said, and wiped his eyes. “You, at least. Be well.”

  “It only hurts when I run,” he said and laughed as he hurried me farther from the danger.

  “Did you know Corwin?” I asked. “The man who made the horses stop?”

  “I did,” he replied. “A proud man of the north. He died well?”

  “How is dying ever good?”

  “Would you rather die a slave?”

  I wanted to tell him about the stinging black mist that we swam through, and how Corwin’s death had multiplied its horror.

  “No,” I replied instead. “I would not.”

  We got beyond the charging spearmen and joined the mass moving back into the Warrens. Heads were up and many were smiling. Some sang.

  “I can walk the rest of the way,” I said, and Benjam stumbled to a halt. He eased me to the ground and took my hand. His wounds, whatever they were, were worse than he was letting on.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I searched the crowd for a friendly face. The girls from Yellow Row were nearby. I waved to them, and they cheered when they recognized me. Franni was with them, being helped along. She managed a smile for me, and the rest of the girls crowded around us. I asked one of them to help Benjam.

  He squeezed my hand and we walked on.

  “What am I?” I asked him. “Some have called me magical. Do you know?”

  “No one else can do the things that you do, as far as I know, young miss.”

  “You can call me Emilia.”

  “And a pleasure it is to meet you, Emilia. I am Captain Benjam Moy.”

  “You don’t look like a captain,” I said.

  “Who is to say what a captain or a goddess should look like,” he said and saw my shock as he used such a word to describe me. “Don’t go getting hung up on titles, though. They tend to go as fast as they come. I’ve only had mine for a day myself.”

  “Who gave you yours?”

&nb
sp; “Lord Rahan did, after I reported to him the count of the Warrens you told me. He gave me a hug, I think, though I do not remember the moment very well. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

  “Would he know what I am?”

  “No. He was as mystified by what you had done as I was. No one knows, perhaps, but the men from the north know more about magic than the rest. There are many like Corwin up there. A few more in Bessradi, too, of late. Many are saying that magic is coming back into the world.”

  “Did it get lost?”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. It is just what they say.”

  More and more of the crowd fell to singing as they walked along the bridge. For a moment, the crowd sang a verse together and the entire city must have heard them.

  * * *

  And on and on we go,

  and on and on we go.

  Today is done.

  Tomorrow will come.

  And on and on we go!

  * * *

  Everyone cheered and hugged and marched on.

  The defeated yellow soldiers could only watch our backs.

  “What next for me?” I asked Benjam.

  “How do you mean?”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Others will have ideas, but that is up to you. You saved the Warrens and the city for us today,” he said, but then stole a glance at me. “I would be obliged, though, if you could do the counting for us for a while. It is a tough business scouting rows and streets one at a time.”

  Blood ran down his arm and into our hands. He made to let go, but I squeezed his big hand as hard as I could.

  “I’ll count for you,” I said. “I’ll count everyone in the whole world.”

  He cried more as we walked on, but he smiled.

  So did I.

  11

  Emi

  Healers

  Everything changed in a long blur as I left my eyes closed to hide from those who stared at me.

  The plaza vibrated while my thin dress strangled me. A sea of faces waited below my tall riser for me to open my eyes, a milling mass a half million strong. They swayed and whistled for my attention. I kept my eyes shut tight instead and bathed in the twinkling lights and gossamer strands of their souls. The knit between them was a solid thing, a blazing ball of stone compared to the thin soup of souls on Yarik’s side of the river.

  Each day they wanted my voice, my gaze, my magic. I wanted them to be well and for the count of them to stop going down. I did not like their attention. I could not look them in the eye.

  I’d not moved from the plaza since the rebellion began. We slept under Master Pickesh wagons waiting for Captain Benjam to return. Each morning the crowds gathered in great numbers to find food and work and feel the blue glow of healing magic. It was the twelfth morning of our freedom, a number I could not help but hear in the chatter of the crowd.

  “Can’t believe it. I’ve not eaten twelve days in a row my entire life.”

  “You’re the fattest girl Gatehouse Road has ever seen, I wager.”

  “What comes next?” a third voice asked.

  “After twelve? Thirteen, you idiot. Don’t let our goddess hear you fooling with numbers. That’s where her magic comes from.”

  “Ohh, look. She’s wearing linen. Did they find a Yentif to marry her?”

  “Piss on the royalty. She is a god upon this earth, like Bayen before her. The Yentif are beneath her.”

  I looked down the long steps of the fresh-built riser toward the wagon where I might hide, only to have the crowd in that direction yell and cheer as if I’d blessed them.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Dame Franni said but I could not. The yellow linen hugged too close, and the morning’s moisture and warmth made it cling. The man who had presented it to me claimed that it was the softest linen in all of Zoviya, but if this was what rich people wore, they could keep it. It rubbed my entire body every time I moved.

  “Big crowd, today,” she said. “I don’t know that the plaza could fit any more. How many are they?”

  She was trying to distract me and it worked. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and count the bright dots of their souls. Thirty-four bluecoat priests from the Warrens and 109 girls from Yellow Row stood with me upon the riser, a tight ring of 3,253 spearmen protected us, and a milling mass of 522,941 freed people packed the plaza.

  “Lots,” I said.

  She said something else, but I did not hear it as I began to study the stories of the crowd. The priests were not as divided from us as they had been the day Rahan’s conscripted them. One had burst into a cloud of black ash when his greed convinced him to touch my arm, and the rest tried to flee. Rahan’s spears and the promise of power that came with being near me kept them coming back. They’d made a few friends since judging by the way they connected to individuals in the crowd across the Warrens. The crowd similarly had come to love Master Pickesh and his wagoneers, while and the girls from yellow row were rapidly pairing up with our spear carrying freemen—though I heard more about that from the gossip around the wagons each night.

  I could also tell from the shade of their souls how much they had suffered since Lady Soma had pulled the darkness from us. I hoped she would return to us soon. Every death and misery added back the stain and Bessradi was a master and making us suffer. The threads of the priests and freemen had already gone gray, and there were a few black specks amongst the remaining 1,203,064 souls in the Warrens.

  “My goddess,” a freeman said, “Every road and way are clear as you asked. Everyone who could make it here had come. We will do better today, I vow it. We have studied the maps, goddess. Tell us where to go.”

  I kept my hands on my eyes, and tried to guess what the rest of the healthy people of the Warrens might be doing. Along the river a group of freemen were on patrol. Inside the buildings along most rows, dames and girls worked wash tubs and hot kettles. Out by the wharfs, lines of men moved the food that fed so many. And in the neighborhoods inside the west wall, easterners gathered in large numbers to work the white stone everyone was talking about.

  But these healthy people were not the ones I was looking for, and the absence of the crowds in the streets allowed me to see the wounded that could not make it. I searched the dark spaces, found a group whose dim threads joined with nothing, and matched my vision to the map we’d memorized.

  “Along Amber Road, down Tongue Row. Fifth or sixth lodge—around a bend.”

  A dozen freemen sprinted toward them, while I found and called out group after group. A comet darted toward each, until I used up half the freemen and all that was left for me to search was the wide bowels of the Warrens. It was hard to distinguish with so few freemen patrolling the walls, and the greasy hairball of alleys inside were not a place anyone willingly stayed. It was as deserted and nothing more than a dark smudge.

  Smudge?

  “Oh, no,” I said and freemen below the riser clamored in response. “All along Black Road. So many. Why are there so many left? Every lodge ... the children ... they were left behind. I can barely see them. Run. Get them. hurry!”

  The freemen roared in response and poured liked glowing water down the twisted ways. The crowd hushed. It would be time soon.

  I began to tremble despite the warmth. Someone wrapped a blanket around my shoulders but it did not help.

  I had missed them. In the glow of so many, I had missed the smudge left by a thousand dying children. How many had died because of my blindness?

  The sun continued to rise and the light disturbed my vision. I covered my eyes with my hand.

  “Here,” a man said. “Hold still.”

  A soft cloth covered by eyes and ears. The man tied it tight and my vision steadied.

  The freemen did not slow and they did not fail me. They searched every lodge along the twisted rows. Each time a child was found the great threads of those men wrapped tight to the dying lights and bore them to me with all speed.

  “Hurry,” I whispered an
d wet the blindfold with tears while the sun threatened to start the day without us. The great crowd needed to be moving. I’d kept them waiting, but never this long. A murmur rose.

  The freemen began to return from Black Road and soft sounds were replaced with gasps and screams. The crowd recoiled away from them and their threads divided against us like spider weds retreating from a wash of bright flame.

  The road widened and they began to enter the circle.

  “How are they still alive?” someone shouted. “What plague is this?”

  The crowd’s cries grew louder, and the circle of freemen began to call out orders and close ranks. Several of the priests swore oaths to Bayen and their threads severed from mine.

  I untied the blindfold and let go of my vision. The smell of the children’s sickness filled my nose before my eyes could focus. It was the stink of old death. I blinked and wished I’d left the cloth in place.

  The bodies laid below the riser were twisted and small, black from scabs and wet from seeping boils. They were missing limbs and hunks of their bodies. I’d watched bailiffs drag away the sick my whole life. The greencoats had purged them from the Warrens, but someone was still delivering the sick to Black Road. The children could not have survived twelve days in their condition.

  My head swam and buzzed.

  I would find those who did it, and they would burn.

  I hurried down to the children and Franni yelled at the priest to follow me.

  “We are close enough,” one of them said. Another made a run for it and was jab with a spear. He tumbled down the stairs toward me while the freemen herded the rest within a few paces of my place near the children. Everyone began shouting.

  “Do not make me touch them, goddess,” the wounded priest said. “Please, mercy.”

  “Impress her with your magic then,” Franni said.

  With the urgency of fat pigeons they sat down around me. The nervous crowd followed them down, and I hurried my blindfold back into place.