In Shadows Tall

by roguespirit

As Callie, Marie, Three, and Four try to make the first steps towards lasting peace with the Octarians, obstacles and threats start to appear from unexpected places, including themselves. All of it starts to lead them down a dark road that threatens to turn them into what they hate.

3. First Steps and Stumbles

Sevram Sabbart took his time as he walked up the cracked and worn concrete steps. At the top of the steps, the Grand Temple awaited him.

It was a patchwork structure. Pieces of different temples from across the empire had been transplanted there as one of many efforts undertaken by Octavio to preserve as much of Octarian Cutlure as possible, and assembled together into a whole new building.

It was a living monument to the past glory of the Empire. Despite countless visits, Sevram couldn't help but feel inspired by its majesty. It was such audacious yet meaningful projects that had endeared Octavio to his people and kept him in power as their great and inspirational dictator for over a century.

It hurt Sevram, who had spent his entire life knowing Octavio as his leader and as the prime example of what a takevir should be, fall from grace. Or, perhaps that was unfair. Octavio was well beyond the age most military leaders of the past would have been allowed to stay active. Perhaps the stress and expectations had finally gotten too much to bear. Perhaps the Ravalda should have taken back control long ago. Maybe it was they who had let him down.

He shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to succumb to sentimentality. Octavio was no longer the leader he had been, no longer the one they needed.

"My Lord," a fey-like voice said from behind him. "You really should get your mind focused. You'll hate yourself for weeks if you mess this up."

Sevram glanced back over his shoulder at Dalia, his bodyguard. Despite being two steps below him, they were at eye level. Something of a rare occurrence between takevir and the physically larger and stronger takenam, and Dalia was above average height.

Her dark-purple eyes twinkled and she gave him that bewitching smile of hers that was both compassionate and mischievous. "Come on now, we don't want to keep our company waiting."

Despite his mood, Sevram couldn't help but smile back at her. "Very well, Dalia. As you wish."

At the top of the stairs, several young priestesses-in-training of varying ages were carrying out their daily duties. One girl used a broom made of dried grass to sweep the stones, another was practicing an instrument with strings so worn and rusty that Sevram doubted it could play a proper note. The oldest girl stood directly in the doorway, acting as supervisor and gatekeeper. She bowed with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Welcome, My Lord. How may the temple serve you?"

"I have an awaiting arrangement," he said simply.

The girl, who could not have been more than twelve, nodded and turned around, leading them into the temple.

The temple courtyard glowed crimson under the light of red lamps shining down onto small gardens being tended to by other girls. Sevram noted that one of the girls had a left arm that split just after the elbow into two seperate forearms, each with its own deformed but apparently functional hand.

He felt a pang of sympathy for her. Most of the girls that ended up at the temple either had a great spiritual gift or simply couldn't operate anywhere else in Octarian society, for one reason or another. Obvious physical flaws like that were one such thing. The poor girl would never be allowed to breed with something like that, no matter how fertile she was. Outside the temple, it was unlikely anyone would want to even associate with her.

Near the back of the courtyard, another takevir stood with one of the temple elders. His badge had the symbol of the Ministry of Agriculture: a wagon wheel crossed by a pitchfork and sickle. They were likely discussing the progress of the temple's crops. Sevram silently hoped it was uplifting news.

Inside the temple itself, the girl led them down a long corridor, past the areas for worship and study, into the more administrative areas. The temple, although in remarkably good condition for an old Octarian structure, still suffered from a lack of proper repair and renovation, not helped by its patchwork construction. There were several places where support beams had been reinforced and the floor was badly worn and rotten in many places. It was like a metaphor for the state of the Empire itself. No matter how earnestly they tried or how hard they worked, they simply couldn't sustain themselves anymore with the way things were.

The girl stopped at a small door marked with a red cloth stuck in the doorframe. He nodded his thanks to her and then Dalia moved in front of him, opening the door and proceeding inside.

Executrix Gabralla Sever sat at the opposite end of a squat table, its legs having been long ago sawn in half to provide wood for some other purpose. Behind her stood her aide; although, Sevram couldn't recall her name.

Dalia glanced around the room and eventually permitted Sevram to enter. Not that either of them expected foul play in the holy temple of all places, but Dalia hadn't gotten where she was by being careless.

"Lord Sabbart," Gabralla greeted him evenly.

"Executrix."

Sevram sat down on the other side of the table. The temple girl shut the door, making sure the cloth was put back in place, then Dalia checked to ensure nobody else was around to eavesdrop. Everything satisfactory she took her place behind Sevram, against the wall. Now, they could begin.

"Let's dispose with any pretense," he started. "Despite how often we've butted heads with the army in the past, we have no real grievances with it in particular. Despite all the accusations of wasting resources, I doubt that you would be doing so on-purpose. And, whatever might be going on, we still haven't been conquered, so we can be thankful to you for that."

Sever's expression didn't change. "But that's not going to stop you from trying to oust Lord Octavio from his position as dictator?"

"It's well within the Ravalda's rights to do so. I realize the circumstances might not be ideal, but they never are. I'm not saying he should simply be cast aside, but perhaps some new blood in the position would help things."

Sever's dark-violet eyes narrowed. "So, you are still planning to have a dictator."

"Given our present circumstances, we have little choice. We've survived this long because we had someone to push through bureaucracy and get things done quickly. The position of dictator was created for just such situations. The fact that the Ravalda's been pointlessly arguing about whether or not to acknowledge and do something about the inkling's offer of reopening diplomatic relations is proof of that. Politics and stupidity getting in the way. Hardly Octarian."

He frowned and folded his hands on the tabletop, looking directly into her eyes. "We're not after a power grab, Executrix, we're trying to save our people. I can't imagine you're terribly delighted with constantly losing soldiers either."

"Of course not." Her tone was harsh and bitter, the voice of someone feeling stuck and frustrated. She was fighting to keep a lot of pent up feelings under control. "However, sometimes, it's necessary. We were able to acquire several zapfish before they were stolen from us, but even that short time was invaluable."

"So I've been told, but has it been worth the cost?"

Sever scowled. "The army doesn't get to decide that. We're just trying to win this war as best we can."

"And you think we can win?"

"Of course we can!" Sever quickly withdrew herself and coughed before she resumed speaking, this time in a much more temple-friendly voice. "We just need, time"

Sevram actually felt sorry for Sever. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself with her arguments as much as him. It couldn't have been easy dealing with failure after failure, having nothing to show for all her planning and hard work. If he could just give her an out, a way to give up the fight without having to admit failure, she might change her tune.

"Time," Sevram echoed. "Time and resources, neither of which we have to spare anymore."

"We have no choice. Only the army has been able to change things, even if only temporarily."

"But you supported investigating the inklings intentions."

"Of course. Information is always valuable, and there's the chance that we've hurt them enough that they're willing to offer concessions that will make our lives better. That doesn't mean we give up."

Sevram nodded, slowly. "I agree on the former point. But the way things are, the inklings are bound to lose patience before we decide to act, and then this priceless opportunity will be lost."

Sever's eyes narrowed dangerously, her guard up. "Just what are your intentions?"

Sevram leaned back, showing complete calm. "I intend to have Octavio replaced as dictator and, hopefully, bring an end to this war so we can focus on rebuilding our society. Frankly, Executrix, we can't afford to fight anymore. We've already given the army all we can give."

"The army can take what it needs from the inklings if it needs to."

"Really? Even under the nose of the Green Death?"

Sever scowled, her expression darkening as her lips twisted into an ugly snarl, with a frightening glare to match, but Sevram had come too far to be intimidated now.

"I'll be frank, Executrix. I don't know much about the circumstances of the war, what's currently happening with it, or even where the front lines are, but just about everyone has heard rumors of this Green Death or Green Demon, whichever you choose to call it. And everyone knows that it's got the army running scared."

Sevram met her baleful stare unwaveringly. It reminded him of a delinquent child being confronted and admonished for their past misdeeds which they thought they'd gotten away with. Now that it had been revealed to her that one of the army's dark secrets had been exposed, he needed to throw her a lifeline.

"Executrix," he said softly, "you've spent your entire career under Octavio. And, ultimately, the failure of the army falls on him, because you were all following his orders and we all know what a micromanager he is. But while every attempted invasion of inkopolis has failed, resulting in him being captured each time, you have held the army and the empire together under the worst possible circumstances, and you did manage to free Octavio and acquire zapfish last time as well.

What I'm trying to say, Executrix is that the army cannot be held responsible for the poor decisions of the dictator. Ultimately, the army's mandate and when it is employed is determined by the government, not by you. And Octavio was the government. He convinced all of us we could win against the inklings despite our pitiful resources. He was wrong."

Sever relaxed slightly, the look in her eyes softening. Her aide let out a tiny puff of air as she too relaxed.

"What are your intentions then?"

Sebram spread his hands on the table. It has become painfully obvious to all of us that we're losing. Morale is the lowest it's been since the end of the last war, with a single inkling giving every soldier in the army nightmares, and we have troops deserting. Do you understand what I'm getting at? If we don't take advantage of this opportunity the inklings have handed us then grovelling at their feet is exactly what we'll end up having to do. Are we really going to throw away this opportunity to back down gracefully and with dignity?"

Sever's fingers curled into fists, her expression turning sober. "You plan to sacrifice Lord Octavio."

Sevram sighed. "Gabralla," he said, trying to speak as gently as possible. "I know you and most of your officers have a lot of personal loyalty to Octavio, and not without good reason. But the Octavio you swore loyalty to isn't the one who's gotten us into our current mess; not the same one that saved our culture from total destruction. Besides, you also have your loyalty to your troops and the Empire as a whole, to consider."

Sever's body tensed visibly, her fingers turning white. Her eyes unfocused for a moment and he imagined a hurricane of thoughts rampaging through her head. After a few more moments, her body slowly relaxed and her head bent ever so slightly forward in bitter acknowledgement.

He cleared his throat "So, just to clear things, I asked you to meet me here, on neutral ground, so we could arrive at some sort of peaceful compromise, or perhaps something even better. A genuine deal that benefits us both, and sees the nation towards a more prosperous future."

Sever's glare softened slightly, the bitter resentment somewhat replaced with curiosity and suspicion. "Explain."

"Our side of the Ravalda is agreed that Octavio is mostly to blame for the mess we've been in for the past half-decade. Would you not agree the same from the perspective of the army?"

Sever crossed her arms while her tentacles twisted and curled, almost in a sulk. "I don't like the idea of political sacrifices, Lord Sabbart."

"It's not a sacrifice if everything is true though, is it? It is justice and due process."

She compressed her lips and then lowered her gaze in resignation, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "I suppose."

"And, removing Octavio would also mean you would succeed his position and become Lady of War."

Sever perked up at that. She seemed genuinely surprised that he might, in any way, be supportive of that. He could see a certain hunger in her eyes though, one that people got when imagining or realizing the opportunities and power suddenly within reach.

Keeping deliberately cool, Sever intertwined her fingers and stared levelly at him, no longer hostile, now a potential partner. "Just who did you want to nominate to replace Octavio?"

"There is no truly ideal candidate as a compromise," he admitted. "So, we focused on finding the most qualified person we could to guide us out of our current predicament, someone who's appointment should, at least in part, please all sides; although, I'm not sure how the inklings would interpret it."

Sever frowned for a moment, but then her eyes widened as she understood who he meant.

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be. Again, not ideal overall but probably the best person under the circumstances. Given her current responsibilities, I imagine she had some dealings with that inkling legate as well, which will hopefully give her some context regarding them." He shrugged his tentacles, somewhat uncertain but Sever brought a hand up to her mouth, her expression thoughtful.

"I suppose she would be the best one of the job. Of course, not everyone on our side will be entirely pleased, but they may be placated enough. When are you planning on demanding a vote on Octavio being unseated from the position of Dictator?"

"Ideally, three days from now. I want to give you some time to do what you need to do, which includes this." He reached into the inner pocket of his councillor's robes and pulled out a small piece of genuine paper, neatly and crisply folded.

"This is a letter, drafted to the inklings asking for clarification of their intentions. And this –," he pulled out another piece of paper, "is a letter from Lady Protor stating that, as the law currently stands, you, as executrix of the army, have the authority to establish communication with the inklings if there is a lack of official diplomatic channels. Basically, it's one of the Army's responsibilities since the domes. And with the letter drafted by members of the Ravalda Imperium, all proper channels have been gone through and you are free to deliver the letter and receive subsequent messages from them."

Sever carefully accepted the letter and read it over, frowning, probably over the complicated language in the letter. After a cursory look; however, she seemed satisfied.

She took the diplomatic letter and eyed him. "And who can we trust to deliver this?"

Sevram opened his hands. "Well, you know who you can trust, Executrix; however, I have a feeling we both know that there's really only one ideal candidate."

Avrika never thought she would miss the hot air and musty smell of her old command centre, especially after having experienced over a week back in the central domes, but she found it oddly comforting.

She stood staring at the camera feed on the largest monitor, the one that faced the pass carved into the ridge that represented the border between Inkopolis and Octarian territory. Just out of view was the headquarters of the New Squidbeak Splatoon.

Behind her, a cardboard message cylinder stood on the table. Dark spots stained its surface, the outer skin torn in places from age and use; and the lid had to be secured with adhesive strips to keep it on. Nevertheless, within that battered old container was something more precious than any rare material: the first official correspondence between the Octarian government and Inkopolis since the end of the Great Turf War. It was even written on paper – itself a rare material in the domes.

The problem is, how do I deliver it without getting myself shot or captured again?

The ideal situation would be to wait until one of the agents was spotted on patrol and then intercept them; unfortunately, the agents weren't known for making their movements easy to track. The only place she could go where she knew she would meet one of the inklings was their headquarters, but that would likely mean running into Captain Cuttlefish, who had proven to be less… receptive to their presence, nor had he been particularly pleased that she and her troops had been set free. The irony that it had been her own people that had imprisoned her was not lost on her.

"Ma'am, is everything alright?"

Avrika glanced to her left as Novem–Altern Latria made her way around the table to stand beside her.

"Everything's fine. I'm just thinking."

Latria stared at the viewscreen with bright-yellow eyes, her matching tentacles curling with thought. Avrika knew she was trying to guess what she was thinking. She thought, perhaps, she should try to strike up some casual conversation to dilute the awkward tension but Latria spoke first.

"It's good to have you back, Ma'am. I was really worried about what happened."

"It's good to be back," Avrika replied, and she meant it. Even the stuffy and hot confines of the command centre was preferable to imprisonment, and the familiarity of her troops and officers had been sorely missed.

"Has anyone else returned?"

Latria shook her head regretfully. "Nor have I heard anything. They transferred in the survivors from Polip Prison to try and compensate for the loss, but, honestly, they're not in particularly good shape. I have to prod them with sharp sticks to get them to do anything." She sighed. "Maybe that's not fair, considering what they've been through. I imagine if you and the rest hadn't been captured and then returned, they would have been court martialed for surrendering."

"A waste," Avrika muttered, "but I'm afraid I can't help you much there. I'm supposed to have only minimal contact with the troops here. For morale purposes."

Latria huffed. "I think that if the troops knew there might be peace talks, it would raise morale, if anything."

"Not in the way the army would like." Avrika crossed her tentacles. She was trying to keep as many of her personal feelings from showing as possible, but after a week of aggravation and indignity, she was struggling.

"Regardless of whether they know or not, it's up to me to try and make the next step in beginning those peace talks; I'm just not sure how to do it. Like us, not all inklings are enthused about the idea of peace."

"As long as the demon is on the peace side, I can deal with that."

"From what I was able to understand, she is. Honestly, I'd rather deal with her than the person I know is in their headquarters right now."

"Then you're a braver takenam than I am, Ma'am."

Avrika finally smiled, albeit ruefully. "Kind of you to say, but I'm not really any braver than you or anyone else, I just have a different perspective, and a different mission." She let out a heavy breath. "A mission I've been putting off far too much. I don't like it but I can't wait for an ideal situation. Time isn't on our side."

"I could arrange an escort for you, ma'am."

"No, no escort. I have to go alone. Besides, from what you've told me, that might be asking a bit much from your current troops."

Latria's face twisted into a scowl and she gave a small nod of acquiescence, mixed with no small amount of guilt and frustration. She could hardly blame her. No commander liked having potentially unreliable troops under their command. Not that it really mattered. Even competent troops were incapable of standing up to the Green Demon, which made her mission all the more important.

"I'm heading out. If something happens, don't send anyone after me, merely report what happened to Command."

Latria's tentacles twisted and her hands balled into fists but she gave another nod, and Avrika made her way out of the command centre.

It was nice to be on the surface again, under a blue sky with scattered white puffs of cloud; however, it was colder than she remembered and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself to try and stave off the chill.

Her eyes searched the century-old piles of rubble around her, actually hoping one of the agents would ambush her. It was hard to believe that much of it had been buildings at one time. Just finding a wall still standing was remarkable.

Before the war, it had been an Octarian border town. She didn't know the name of the place but she had seen pictures of it as a child and during military indoctrination. Those pictures showed streets packed with shops selling delicious foods, octarian performers, and large crowds. Those crowds had not just consisted of Octarians, but other species as well, like crabs, jellyfish, and even a small number of inklings.

She recalled hearing a story that Inkopolis had seen the town's rapid growth and prosperity as a direct threat and that had been their motivation to start the war. Avrika now doubted the story.

While there was certainly enough rubble to make her believe that the town had been a prosperous one, with some large buildings and wide streets, she doubted the inklings would have felt threatened by it when Inkopolis itself could literally be seen from where she stood, a range of tall, gleaming towers lording over a wider city with a population of hundreds of thousands. If anything, the inklings would have felt stronger about the border being so close to their capital city in the first place, but that couldn't have served as a war trigger, could it have?

As she climbed the incline through the pass in the escarpment, she felt a chill as she recalled that horrible ambush gone wrong. Her eyes wandered to the tree she had been near when Agent 8 had attacked them from behind, ruining what little chance they had at defeating the agents of the New Squidbeak Splatoon.

Maybe that saved us in the long run. In hindsight, it seemed obvious the agents had known their ambush was there. Agent 3 and 4 had arrived well ahead of Agents 1, 2, and the liberated prisoners. If not for Agent 8's involvement, Agent 3 and 4 might have been less inclined to use non-lethal ink. They certainly had no qualms using it at Polip Prison a short time prior.

Avrika waited at the top of the incline. Her tentacles swayed about slowly, as if searching for something instinctively, and her eyes scanned the area ahead. She didn't want to be too cautious however. That would only make her look suspicious and that wasn't something she wanted right now.

Get it together; everyone's counting on you.

Avrika resumed walking, doing her best to fight the instinct to check her flanks. She just had to keep walking until she either reached the inklings shack or-.

A multicoloured shape burst from the bushes up ahead and pointed an old bamboo tube in her direction.

"Halt, Octarian. You're in inkling territory now!"

It was the old inkling, Captain Cuttlefish. The doddering old squid stood on legs that shook unsteadily without the support of the cane pointing at her. She wasn't surprised to find it doubled as a weapon.

"I am not here to make trouble," she said in her best Inklish, "I am here to deliver a message."

"We don't take ultimatums or Octavio's mail," he barked.

"This is neither. It is correspondence from the Ravalda Imperium."

Cuttlefish held his gaze, his weapon now waving quite significantly as his arm tired and he lost the ability to hold it steady. She remained very still and waited patiently for the inevitable.

Cuttlefish groaned and let the end of the old tube fall to the ground with a dull clack that made Avrika grimace. She couldn't imagine treating an octoshot so roughly. At least she'd managed to disarm him, in a way.

"Fine," he grumbled, extending a shaking hand. "I'll take the cursed message."

Avrika calmly handed him the tube and he quickly withdrew his hand and waved his tube- cane at her. "Now get out of here or I'll sic one of the agents on ya.'"

"As you wish." Avrika turned and walked away, somewhat tense as she half expected the old inkling to shoot her in the back, but as she listened, she could hear the old squid totter in the opposite direction.

She was starting to wonder if she had done the right thing, handing the message to him. He seemed quite proud, but perhaps that was just how old warriors were. Not enough Octarians had lived to become elderly for her to find out.

Perhaps, if she saw one of the agents on patrol, she would go ask them if they received the message. That would be the most prudent course of action, she believed, but she dearly hoped it wouldn't be necessary, because if Captain Cuttlefish became an obstacle to their attempts at peace, things could go wrong very quickly. But surely even someone in that position would fulfill their duty and deliver the message to his superiors regardless. That's what an officer was supposed to do. It was what she had done. An officer's duty was more important to their personal feelings. That was just how things were.

Captain Cuttlefish managed to haul himself into the cabin. He was out of breath and his old limbs ached, but he also felt proud. Despite his advanced years, he'd been able to get the drop on the young Octarian officer and send her packing, but he felt so tired. Lately, he had been getting tired faster and more easily.

He looked at the letter she had given him. What prompted this? What were those octos up to now? Agents 1 and 2 had something to do with it, no doubt. Those two had been tricksters as children and now, as they became full adults, they were downright scheming. But they were still young yet and they needed to be taught that even the best laid plans rarely go your way.

The outcome of the last war, the Octarians trapped between ruin and total destruction by the Treaty of Venci, still haunted him, because he had felt powerless to stop it. The Assembly wanted the Octarians to cease as a threat but they didn't want the burden of destroying a country and culture on their consciences. He had tried to tell them they couldn't have it both ways, not like this, but they hadn't listened. Their solution was to keep the Octarians in a permanent state of poverty and hardship, too busy trying to survive to be a threat. How shortsighted and foolish they had been.

He knew it wouldn't work. None of them knew the Octarians like he did. And so, here he had been, in this shack or another similar to it, trying to keep Inkopolis safe from the consequences and mistakes of their own leaders.

The cylinder creaked in his shaking hand as he squeezed it. He had wanted the Octarian menace erased. Not geonocide, of course, but the elimination of the culture that had cultivated a nation of self-serving, ambitious tyrants. Octavio had actually been the most reasonable among them. He had been. Now he was as bad as the rest.

Tearing open the lid of the container, he leaned heavily on his old bamboozler and glanced over the contents of the letter inside. His Octese wasn't as good as Callie and Marie's but he could read enough. What he read just filled him with disappointment, because he'd seen and read it before.

He crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the nearby waste basket, not bothered about reading the rest of the letter.

"Peace," he grumbled. "Like they didn't try tricking us with that a hundred times." There had been a saying among the inkling forces during the war:

"When an Octarian offers peace, get ready to stop the new offensive." He hadn't said those words in years but they came naturally to him. No, the Octarians were just stalling until they could come up with some new weapon or train more troops or something. He was wise to their tricks; he'd been around too long to be fooled by them now.

Well, the threat had been dealt with and he was so tired it wouldn't hurt if he took a quick morning nap. Not because he was old; certainly not. Even a young inkyar would be exhausted after what he had been through. No, this was just a flaw of being mortal. Marie nagged him about not getting enough sleep anyway.

"Every bit like her mother," he grumbled as he hobbled to his humble old cot. He was glad the younger agents treated their elders with more respect.

As he settled in to sleep, he glanced one last time at the collection of monitors on the wall, just in time to see the Octarian officer make the turn around a marked rubble pile to return to their surface outpost. Feeling relieved, he closed his eyes and reluctantly let darkness claim him and take him back to a time before the war, a time before his wife died.