And then it turned out I was suffering Major Depressive Disorder the entire time. (By which I mean about 6 or 7 years.) :/
So I took some time to go to a clinic and got some stuff taken care of, and now we're getting back on track. None of that has helped me to not procrastinate with this chapter, because once I got here, I had no idea how to write it. The result is a fittingly chaotic jumble of POV's switching back and forth constantly - even some which don't have names and will never be seen again, because no one person can single-handedly cover all the action properly.
It's very hard, seeing the action in your head for five years, and not being sure how to write it out coherently. Then I realized this whole chapter is chaos, anyway, so why not just go for it? I'm all about multiple points of view in the same chapter, but I've only ever skipped around quite like this one other time before, years ago, in what was at the time the most edgy and daring piece I had ever done. I like to think it has an interesting effect, like in a movie where the action keeps cutting away to different people doing different things at the same time. Reviewers then said it made sense and kept them on their toes. You might just find it jarring, which is partly what I had intended. Let me know how its turned out.
A final fair warning, this is a long one. With words like "time" and "suddenly" and "clearly" being used a little too much for my liking, but whatever. I had hoped it would be more, you know, succinct; but there's just too much. I can't cut it in half, as I would normally do, and I think you'll see why at the end. However, I anticipate it being the longest installment of the entire series, just because of how much I need to cover. I've kind of made my peace with it being as long as it need to be, because sometimes that's all there is to it. You can't rush miracles – otherwise, you get rotten miracles. :)
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Chapter 8: The Jailbreak
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The Central Dungeon was quickly filling with silent, frightened warriors. Cells upon cells were being opened, with only a handful of voices to give further instructions or advice. Some of those voices were those of mere children, fourth class officers who were still years away from real service, let alone a place to give commands. But in that moment of desperation, those warriors couldn't care less who was giving orders. The voices leading them were speaking of a way to escape, and an insane miracle.
If so many voices were to be believed, there were Arin walking freely in the dungeon. The same heroes who had infiltrated the city in years past, returned as fathers and men of deep power. Some had run off in search of lost, captured loved ones. Others had made their way to an armory, glad to equip the rabble for a daring escape.
It seemed a ridiculous choice, in many of their minds. One the one hand, those with voices left to raise were calling them to the far corners of the dungeon, where drainage holes led beneath the city to a moment of freedom. On the other hand, Rowan of Rin was apparently somewhere nearby, and Allun the baker was handing out swords somewhere else. Which way were they supposed to run first? Which would they risk passing up: their chance to escape, or to shake hands with the people who had inspired so much in them?
Without voices to argue over it, it was left up to each of them to decide for themselves. It was a thing Central Control never taught its people to do. The Zebak were already a proud people who disliked admitting to fear or weakness; and so, many were glad they had no voice to say how the idea of acting alone, without a squadron for support terrified them. By now, most had no idea where the rest of their squadron even was, or how many of their original ten were still alive. Every single one of them had spent a moment feeling lost and abysmally alone, as they struggled to decide on their own what mattered most to them.
It never occurred to any of them that the people their heroes came from would have laughed at their hesitation and fear, baffled that their hated enemies could be so unsure of themselves. The Arin might have been amused to see the Zebak brought so low, when they had terrorized the west for so long. Some might have argued that they deserved it. But others might have been humbled and frightened that anything could have such a force reduced to this. And clearly, a precious few had been moved to feel compassion for them.
In their panic, what remained of Central Control had no time to consider any of that. All that mattered was that their heroes had come, as some had fantasized they might, and that they were free because of it. Now, it was up to each of them to make a choice for themselves, for the first time in their lives.
And so it was that many of them ran for escape, toward the manholes they had heard of, praying that it wouldn't lead them headfirst into another trap, but having no other choice. And still others ran back the way they had come, searching for the armory, praying they might bump into a pale, handsome face filled with power on their way.
And in this way, the Central Dungeon was filled with chaos for the very first time.
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The small armory was filling up with alarming speed, as John had feared it might. It had begun as two or three, four or five people darting around at a time, their jewel-colored eyes wide at the sight of him, hands outstretched, silently begging for something to defend themselves with. Now, there was a line outside the door. With only four people handing things out, and only two of them able to speak, progress felt slow. He and his companions were working as quickly as they could, pushing whatever they could grab into those outstretched hands and hurrying them along to make way for the next few. Though each pair of hands went out filled with a sword or a lash, every pair of eyes had left with deep longing for a better look at their rescuers. And the line seemed to go on and on for an eternity.
Every person who came into the armory was still dressed in the previous night's finery. Suits with torn tails and glossy buttons, frilly gowns adorned with ribbons and bows, and many people of sense who had stripped down to their equally frilly underclothes. Powder and khol and rouge were smeared with fighting and weeping on the marked faces of women and girls no older than Star. Men who had slicked their dark hair back for the occasion now wore it in matted, tangled messes. In a way, they looked just like Zan Garased had, when he had been hauled out of a closet so long ago.
Strong John had never seen such fashion before. He had never been able to imagine anything so decadent and petty could exist anywhere. Briefly, he thought back to his wedding day 20 years before, to the nice clothes he had set aside good money for, because it had mattered so much to him. Put away now in a trunk beneath his bed, they seemed like rags beside the suits filing past him. Each outfit was like a work of art, and it was a terrible shame that they had been destroyed like this. He couldn't imagine how much money had been wasted on it all.
He wouldn't have commented on it on a normal day. Without a voice for the moment, it was easier than ever to keep the idea to himself. Beside him, whether they had though of it or not, Allun and doctor Barret were busy calling out instruction to the people in line, and trying to determine through gestures which weapon each person preferred. Once it was decided, the silent girl who had joined them would scurry to find that weapon and pass it forward.
"This young lady seems to want a lash," Allun was saying to the girl, as the woman before him cracked an imaginary whip in front for him. "Bring me another four or five from the stores while you're at it; they appear to be selling well."
"Yes, sir!"
The answer squeaked out of the child before she quite understood it, and her hands flew over her mouth in amazement. The people in line were similarly amazed, testing their own voices and finding that many had returned. All at once, the quiet armory erupted in clamoring noise which no one could make sense of.
But the girl recovered herself expertly and ran to do as she had been told without thinking much about it. She returned with several whips coiled around her arm, as she had been told, and threw them into Allun's arms before running back for more. It was as though she was still under the silence, after all.
The next time she returned and hand over her load, Allun caught her by the arm. "Hey, finally I can ask, what's your name?" he said urgently. To his clear surprise, the girl froze at attention and saluted him stiffly.
"Zumai Adastani, fourth class, at your service – sir! Ready for further orders – sir!" she babbled, half as she had been taught, and half as she was right then and there.
Of course, Allun had never been asked to give orders before. For half a moment, all he could do was stare blankly back at her, unwilling to boss her around like she expected. Thankfully, the doctor placed his hand firmly on her shoulder and pulled her to face him.
"We will be needing more swords in a moment," he told her. "See if there are any left somewhere. Perhaps there is another closet or cupboard nearby. Look around! Hop to it!"
Without another word, Zumai ran to do as she had been told. A moment later, she reappeared with her arms filled with blades. Some were small and some were long, but all must have been sharp inside their sturdy sheathes. She dumped them in a heap between her commanders, then ran back for yet another load. Again, as if she was still silenced.
"I know Star and Forley," she gabbled over the noise the next time she returned. "I know all of them! They're my friends. They've been helping me with my studies – especially with sums. Forley's great at them! I wouldn't have passed this term without his help. Oh, and Alanis – she taught me this amazing new move with my sword, and I got a whole extra point on my exam for it! And Star, and Leah, they're just good friends. They're so good at listening and giving good advice. Third year is always the hardest, and I'd have lost my mind if it wasn't for them. And now you're here! I always knew you'd come back! I knew you wouldn't give up on them without a fight! Not when they're all so much like you."
Hearing all this, John felt his heart filling with pride. The four awkward, mischievous rascals he had known so well had clearly grown and changed since the last time he had seen them. It was thrilling to think that they had done so much good in this unlikely place. Smirking to himself, he wondered if he would recognize them at all if they ran through the armory, or if Zumai would know them first.
He searched himself, and was faintly aware that if he opened his mouth to speak, words would certainly come out. He could raise his voice and be heard, if he wished. But Rowan, Norriss, and Allun had been right. He had needed to hear these people, instead of himself. And he was strangely content to listen to Zumai going on and on about her friends, and her work with the rebellion, and how exciting it was to be alive right now. It seemed a pity to spoil all that by speaking at last. And so he kept his own silence, and tended to his own work.
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Elsewhere, Forley was huddled in a cell with Alanis and Leah held close, too deep in the dungeon to even know that there was silence. That cell was was as crowded as any other, and it had broken his heart all over again to see his sister forced into it. For all the progress she had made in the last few years, her crippling fear of crowded spaces had consumed her. The fact that her spectacles had been shattered and lost in their capture had done nothing to help. Packed into the cell like a fish in a jar, sweating and weeping among so many other bodies, and half blind besides, he had feared she might lose her mind over it in the long night.
At least the three of them had found themselves together in that cell. They had been hauled out of Bhlai House with Zeel and Thora, too, but had been separated from them soon after. Zeel had been taken to meet with the queen; they couldn't imagine that she was still alive. As for Thora, they couldn't guess where she might be now.
Then there was Star, and all of squad C-57. No one wanted to think on what had become of them.
Forley stiffed a sigh – maybe the hundredth so far – and held his dear ones a little closer. Clearly, they were meant to perish together. He had chosen from the beginning to feel no shame or regret over it; but from here, awaiting it in this cell, it was hard to accept. He could vaguely remember Alanis saying that she loved him, and that it would be alright somehow. He thought she had said the same to Leah, as she had cowered and shaken between them while they sheltered her. He recalled insisting much of the same, though he hadn't meant a word of it. It had only been vain noise on his part, words he had been obligated to say as their protector, even though there was no reason for any of it. They all seemed to understand this, and so hadn't spoken a word since. There would only be falseness in it.
When he had been small, he had disliked having a sister when he had wanted a brother, and girls for cousins instead of boys. But his parents had always told him that he should be thankful and get along with them, because they would be all he had someday. Those wise words had never been more true than right now. He didn't even know if Star, the most precious of them, who he had tried so hard his whole life to protect, was still alive. He wished with all his might that he had more time to be thankful for them, and to apologize to his mother and father for ever doubting their words.
Then, with no warning whatever, a terrible grating sound cut through the noise of shouting and wailing around them. A sound of metal on stone, changing the terrible wails into gasps of disbelieving surprise. Somehow, the bars sealing the cell shut were lifting away, and people were spilling out into the passage beyond.
Before they quite knew what was happening, Forley, Alanis, and Leah found themselves leaping from that cramped corner and darting out last of all. In the passage, all the cells had been opened by some unseen means. People were surging out in a frenzy to the main corridor, where a voice was hollering for them to come along and hear what was going on.
Alanis and Forley wanted very badly to run out and hear all about it; but they stopped and turned back when Leah didn't join them. Frozen at the threshold of their cell, finally free in her own way, she clearly had no interest in getting caught up in another crowd of confused, panicking people. The three looked between each other, unwilling to be separated now, but unsure what to do.
"You won't believe it," someone was yelling in the corridor. "The Arin are here! Here, in the dungeon!"
Alanis scoffed and glared toward the voice. "Damn straight we are," she yelled back. "We've been here the whole time, as you all know!"
A friendly face they didn't recognize came pushing through the crowd, filled with joy to have found them so easily. Seeing them alone, he ran forward and grabbed Forley by the arm, dragging him toward the corridor in a fever of impatience.
"Oh, thank the stars, you're all alive," he said, laughing and grinning all the way. "And all in one place, too! What are the odds? Your fathers will be thrilled!"
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Dashing through yet another part of the dungeon, Rowan and Norriss were punching every glowing orange button they passed, as they followed the silent call of pipe song. There was no time to stop and explain to the people pouring out behind them who they were, how or why they were there, or what to do next. Those masses were all of Central Control, and so the two naturally assumed that they would figure it out for themselves. All that mattered was the call which only Rowan could hear, guiding them deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Rowan had feared it overly hopeful, thinking that Zeel might still have the tiny reed pipe that matched his own – if she was still alive to use it at all. She would never have lost it or given it up without a fight; but after all that had happened, who could have known for certain? When he had raised his pipe to his lips for the first time, he had been terrified that no answer would come.
But an answer had come, just as she had always promised it would if only he would ask for one. And so he followed its clear, simple sound in his ear, his heart pounding with fear and longing. Whenever he was unsure of which way to go, he would call again and wait for another answer, then follow the new one.
The way was growing steadily darker, fewer torches to light the halls. More and more often, now, cells were opened like all the rest, and no one came bursting out to run for freedom. In fact, very suddenly, it seemed that the corridors had grown completely silent. With a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach, Rowan realized that the people in those cells had been hauled away and destroyed hours ago.
But the sound of Zeel's pipe was growing stronger, as the light faded. Deep within the dungeon, there were a few people still alive. Being saved for last.
How could the Dragon Queen have guessed that by relishing those prizes, as any victor would, she would lose them?
His strength was fading, and it was tempting to despair over those he hadn't been able to save. What if they had been killed while he crept slowly through the city? Or while he tarried at Bhlai House, recovering his power for this mission? Or while he lost his temper and nearly fainted right here, inside the dungeon? As always, the thought of losing even one was agonizing. And so he stubbornly pushed that idea from his mind, willing all his strength into this final push.
The call was so loud, now. So close. Only a few more twists and turns, and perhaps he wouldn't even need the little pipe any more. And then there would be escape. He would need all the strength he had left.
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In those deepest, darkest cells, squad C-57 had come back to life. Even silent Zamiel had jumped to his feet, watching with anticipation as Zeel led her husband to them. The rest were talking excitedly about what would come next, and cheering her on every time she blew her pipe again. Each time she did, it meant that their hero had come a little closer, and that they were all that much closer to freedom. To one last chance.
In all that frenzied talk, Star also noticed that her friends were afraid. As thrilled as they were to meet their rescuer, it was impossible for them to ignore the fact that they had met before. It was the same man they had held back as they had kidnapped his wife. Remembering the cruel words she had hissed in his ear that night, Zirita had gone into a fit of panic. Zane was fidgeting nervously, recalling that he was the one who had knocked the Titan of Earth unconscious.
And now he was here. It had been easy enough not to think about when they had been so sure they would never see him again. But now he was speeding towards them, intent on rescuing his family. None of them had said so out loud, but Star knew they all wondered if he would bother with the rest of them.
Star couldn't say she blamed them. She had fears of her own. Her father was coming for her, as any father should, and she was overjoyed. What she had thought would be her dying wish was to see him and hold him one last time, and now it was coming true before her eyes. But he would certainly ask for the Earth Sigil back at once, eager to use its power once again. And she would have to explain how she had foolishly given it away and lost it. To the Zebak boy she had pledged her heart to, no less.
For a few moments, he would be glad to see her. Then he would only be bitterly disappointed in her. Perhaps he would never trust her again. If he still did at all, after the way she had run off and stolen his power in the first place. He might never speak to her, or look at her ever again. Increasingly sure of this, she agreed more and more with her friends. She couldn't wait to see her father again. But she was also terrified to face him.
The only one of them who truly couldn't wait for him to appear was Zeel, never taking her eyes off the passage entrance, holding her pipe ever at the ready to answer when he called for her. She had forced herself to stop weeping with joy, to be serious and ready for action; but a tear still rolled down her face from time to time, anyway. It seemed like she couldn't hear the others talking and cheering around her, while she listened so carefully. But she had nothing to hide. Nothing to apologize for. No terrible wrong to try to set right. Her beloved friend was coming, as she had always known he would, and not a moment too soon. She would hug and kiss him again for the first time in years. And all would be well with her in an instant.
At last, there came a sound which they could all hear. An achingly familiar voice, distant but nearby, calling Zeel's name, and Star's, too. Even though it wasn't calling the rest of them, the squad joined in shouting back that they were there, making themselves as loud as they could. Unable to add his voice, Zamiel gripped the bars of his cell and shook them, sending a rattling din like thunder echoing through the corridor.
In her heart, with the parts of deep magic which still coursed through her blood, Star could feel her father approaching, long before she heard his footsteps in the hallway beyond. She could feel him running, following their voices and the strong sense of her own magic. As if he was letting it all tug him forward like a lifeline. His voice and presence were growing stronger, and she was certain she could feel his heart pounding like her own. Perhaps, alike as they were by mystic powers, their two hearts were beating in time.
Then the sound of running feet were close. Closer. Just outside! In spite of all that would have to be faced, Star and her friends were cheering with joy. And then they all seemed to realize together that something wasn't right in that corridor, which they had thought for so long was only dark and empty. Peering desperately for their rescuers, they could see nothing.
"There it is!" shouted another familiar voice, invisible in that dark void, followed again by the sound of running.
And in a split second, Star remembered. This row of cells, reserved for the most important and wily of prisoners, was sealed shut by more than bars with a simple way out. She knew it well from her last journey to this place; but in all that had happened, there had been no reason to think of it. Only now, too late, she found herself calling out to beware – at the same time as her father.
"Wait! Don't touch the barrier!"
"Norris, come back! Stop!"
But it was too late, indeed. With a booming sound, the other man collided with the barrier, and could be heard crashing to the floor as it knocked him back. Star was horrified. She knew better than to touch things of such terrible magic, and had no idea what it might do to a person. For all she knew, her uncle could be gravely injured, or even dead. To her overwhelming relief, she heard him gasping for air and groaning from his fall; but he sounded no worse for ware.
"Drat," they heard him hiss, also hearing him stagger to his feet. "Another one of these doors. Rowan, where's that moonstone? Hand it to me. I'm sure I can figure it out."
"I don't have it," Rowan answered, exasperation clear in his voice. Star could only imagine the look on his face. It was just so wonderful to hear him again, and Norriss, even if they were frustrated and yelling at each other.
"What do you mean, you don't have it? Where is it?"
"Allun still has it. He never gave it back."
"Allun is here, too? Oh, thank the stars," Zeel blurted out, bowing her head and looking dizzy with gratitude.
"Zeel? Zeel, there you are!"
"Woman, I am loving the sound of your voice right now!"
"We can't open the door from out here. But there has to be a way – there must be! Help us!"
As if he could reach them somehow, Zak stuck his hand through the bars and pointed uselessly at the wall. "Isn't there a magicite? A button? Orange? Glowing? You can't miss it! Just push it and get us out of here!"
"We know that, man, but there's nothing here," Norriss shouted back. "Nothing at all. Wait... What's this...?"
Star heard her father huff in annoyance. "Of course it would be hidden," he grumbled. There was the sound of a switch being flipped, and the barrier shimmered and vanished. At the same time, the bars lifted up and away, and the ten prisoners flew out of those cells like birds freed from a cage.
Star barely got a chance to look at her father and uncle, standing dazzled by what had just happened. Look, she did – but her mother had run to them first. By the time Star saw them, Zeel had already thrown her arms around them both, overwhelmed to have not one, but two of her dearest friends back at once.
"You took your sweet time," she scolded them. "What kept you so long?"
And before Star quite knew it, her father had ducked and woven through the crowd to find her and pull her safe into his arms. It was impossible to be afraid of him, when it was such a joy to be reunited. In the back of her mind, she still couldn't think of how to tell him that his source of power was gone; surely, he would ask for it any moment. But he never did. He asked to just look at her pretty face, seeming not to notice her false mark, and tearfully kissed her with all his love. He checked her over and demanded to know if she was hurt, if she was well enough to take the knife he pulled from his own belt and pushed into her hands. He asked if the rest of the squad was accounted for, and if any of them needed healing before they made a run for it.
He wanted this beautiful moment of reunion to last longer. They both did. But, alike as they were, they both knew there was no time for it. He was being practical, focusing on the things that mattered right now; and Star knew that she would have to be, too. They would hold each other and weep together for as long as they wanted later – but first, they would have to escape.
"Wait, before we go, there is one of us who needs healing."
It was Zeel who had spoken so frankly, the pure joy gone from her face and replaced by fierce determination. She was marching with purpose toward her husband, hauling Zamiel behind her. The silent man was clearly petrified to be pushed so suddenly before the man whose life he had ruined; but with time so short, and with someone he respected so much dragging him along, how could he have prevented it?
"This man's voice has been taken from him by dark powers," Zeel explained shortly. "He is their leader – he needs his voice back, or the rebellion is lost for certain. Rowan, can't you help him?"
The two men stood staring at each other for a longer time than there was really time for. They had absolutely never planned on meeting again, much less like this. And Zamiel had the face of a man staring his own death in the face. But Rowan just nodded simply, his dark eyes wide with amazement, never able to turn away a soul in need. With a short wave of his hand, Zamiel gasped as though he had been suffocating.
As easily as his voice had been snatched away, it had been returned. It would have been just like him to start shouting orders to his squadron. Instead, he went on staring at the Earth Titan without looking him in the eye, awaiting orders he wasn't willing to speak up and ask for. Not when the trouble he had caused this man had sat on his shoulders for so long.
Rowan seemed to understand this, sighing a bit sadly to himself. "There is an armory in this maze somewhere," he said at last to Zamiel. "Can you take us there?"
And, glad to have direction, Zamiel nodded. "I can, and I will."
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At the very same moment, the armory had suddenly become the scene of a battle. A man as bedraggled as the rest had looked John in the eye and begged for a sword, which was handed over at once. John had even found the heart to give the man an encouraging smile, wishing him all the best in his escape. And as soon as he had that sword in hand, that man's pleading face had become a mask of cold fury, and he had lunged at his rescuers with all the malice John had expected from the start.
The instinct to draw his own sword had been drilled into him from his boyhood; it had never been needed in all his life, though, and came almost too late to matter. But John had found his father's sword in hand, thrown to block that blow faster than he could think, and it had saved his life. Before he or his attacker could fight at all, the other people who had been in line ahead of him had turned back and rushed to his aid, rather than that of their own countryman. The unarmed people behind him had grabbed the attacker and held him back, while the rest had fallen upon him in a panic.
Only a few blows later, John found that the Zebak had killed one of their own for his sake. None of them had looked pleased to have had to do it, but they hadn't shown any remorse. Shaking with nerves, the woman who had done most of the hacking had cursed and spat on the corpse before her as she re-sheathed her own sword.
"Loyal servant," she had hissed with distaste. "Traitor! Someone get this waste of human flesh out of the way, before someone trips on it."
Zumai Adastani had mumbled an affirmative and rushed to do the woman's bidding, as though she had been ordered to do it personally. For all her youth, the girl had been pitifully unfazed by it all. Even as she had bent to roll that body aside, the most feeling she had shown was indignant annoyance. As if offended that someone had attacked her new friends and rescuers. And then the line had gone on without another hitch for some time. Only one person had stopped to comment on it since.
"Oh. General Kasi," the man had said without feeling, blankly noticing the mangled body. "I had wondered what had become of my master... Are there any lashes left?."
Whether because they were in a hurry or just used to such things, they simply hadn't cared.
Which was more than John could say for himself, or his other companions. Allun had clearly been shaken by how easily the attack had happened, and so was doctor Barret. Who even knew when another "loyal servant" would come in their way, ask for a sword, and try without warning to cut them down?
Still, he suddenly saw these people in a new light. He now saw that they were all fighting for the same things, for the same reasons, and that they were helping each other. They were willing to fight and die for each other, even though they were complete strangers and supposedly natural enemies. Such an unspoken trust would never had sufficed in Rin.
But Rin was far away, he had to remind himself as he passed around another bunch of swords and whips. He was in Habaharan, now, and the people of this vast city did things very differently. What was more, the people of his small town hadn't really had to fight for something in a long time. These people had been fighting for years – thousands of them. And they were willing to include him in that fight, when there was hardly a reason to that he could see. He thought of all this as he worked, and made one of the biggest decisions of his life:
He decided to trust in the Zebak, to whatever end. He suddenly respected them so much, he couldn't help it. They were so strong in all the most important ways, he couldn't see how they wouldn't pull through. And he now longed to be a part of that.
And then came another moment he had been dreading. Zumai returned with only a single sword and a few whips over her shoulder, and began wringing her hands as soon as they were empty.
"That's the last of it," she said simply. "I've looked all over, and there's nothing left. There's one other door... But it's solid steal, and locked fast. I've tried and tried, but I couldn't open it."
John couldn't help feeling dismayed at the thought of turning the rest of the long line away empty-handed. Zumai, herself, hadn't paused to keep something useful for herself, when there had been so many people to be served first. She would be among the hundreds who would have to make do with their wits and bare hands. Maybe, as a mere fourth class officer, she was used to serving her betters first, hoping there would be something small left for her at the end, and making do even if there wasn't. John, however, preferred to think that it was in her nature to care for others first, just because she had a good heart.
It was what he expected from most people he met, so why should it be any different with this courageous young woman? It was what Annad and Rowan would have done, without thinking twice about it – an admirable quality they had both gotten from their father. What if Zumai had gotten it from her own father? It was a charming idea...
From somewhere behind them, there came a sound of crashing and things being thrown around in a hurry, muffled by stone and metal. Looking that way, it appeared to be coming from the other side of the wall. Perhaps from inside the room Zumai hadn't been able to get into. If so, John realized with a thrill of excitement, it meant there was another way into it, and maybe even a lock on the other side.
"There's no time, woman," a muted voice shouted over the noise. "Just grab whatever you can carry and come on!"."
"No! I must find that sword! It was my father's, and his father's before him! I can't face him without it!"
"No, love, there really is no time left! And besides, you've turned the room over, like all the others! It's not here!"
"But it has to be! Where else could it be?"
Those voices were different from what John remembered, but he would have known them anywhere. He left the line behind him to run for that locked door and found it at once. It was the only one that hadn't been flung open and emptied. Feeling as though he would jump out of his skin, he pounded on that door almost as hard as his heart was beating.
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A flock of people had led Forley, Alanis, and Leah into another maze of smaller rooms, filled with all manner of weapons. Swords and whips, lances and bows, and even several magicites of various stones neatly lined the walls and filled drawers and cupboards. The people with them helped themselves gleefully to whatever struck their fancy, for there was plenty for all.
For Alanis, though, there was only one thing here worth finding. She had dropped her father's sword when she had been captured, but she couldn't believe that it had been left behind. It had been too valuable, in her mind – a mind that had been trained for battle by the Arin, who couldn't afford to waste one thing. And what would have been done with such a useful, famous, blade? It would have been picked up and dumped in an armory, with all the rest, for the Dragon Lord's army to use.
And so she had darted through each of those rooms, flinging open doors and drawers and picking through piles, looking for it. Surely, she would turn a corner and find herself standing in front of her father at any moment. He was somewhere nearby, handing out weapons. She couldn't bear to have to tell him that she had lost his treasured sword. She refused to be reduced that.
But they had come to the last room, and the sword was nowhere to be found, and her family was growing impatient with her. Just as she was beginning to panic, someone began pounding on that door from the other side. And with it came the most wonderful sound she could imagine.
"Alanis! Alanis, make haste and open the door!"
All thought of the sword suddenly flew from her mind. She left her search behind and ran for the door, searching it all over for a knob or a latch. She knew that Forley and Leah were beside her, also searching; but all she could think of was that this door was the only thing left separating her from her father, and that it must be opened.
Except, from what they could see, there was no knob. No latch. Nothing at all. Anxiety replaced the joy that had filled her.
"We're trying," she shouted back, beating on the door in frustration. "Oh, blast it, there has to be a way! Just give us a moment – we can find it. I'm sure of it!"
"There's a full store in here," Forley hollered over her. "Nearly untouched. And good stuff, too. Powerful stuff! If you've still got people waiting to be armed, tell them to be ready for a bounty!"
While they went on scrabbling at every crevice they could find for a way out, Leah happened to look up, and she gasped with excitement. She left them to run her fingers over a fixture set in the wall near the door, peering desperately at it without her spectacles.
"I think this is it," she mumbled, fiddling blindly with whatever she had found. Alanis barely got to see what she did with it – whether she pulled or pushed or twisted it, or what else she might have done. But the door suddenly swung open under her weight, and she found herself falling forward –
Right into her father's waiting arms. She knew there was no time for it, but she let him hold hold her with all his might, and she held him right back. Elsewhere, she heard heard Forley and Leah rushing out after her to run for their own father, all of them tearfully crying out to see each other again, so much louder than she and John could ever have been.
It seemed a dangerously long time had passed before he finally released her and silently pulled a sword from its sheath in his belt. And there it was – their family sword, returned to its rightful owner, after all. He also took her hand, pulled the familiar ruby magicite from his pocket, and placed it in her palm.
"A noisy little bird said you might be needing this."
As it often was with the two of them, nothing more really needed to be said. The moment behind them, she gripped his arms and spoke to him as a warrior.
"Father, there are whole rooms full of things back here, as Forley said. Are there any other people waiting to be armed?"
"Yes! A long line of them, I'm afraid."
"Well, haul them over here! We've got work to do!"
And that was the end of it. It seemed to Alanis that her father was just now finding his voice, somehow, as he began barking orders to people she couldn't see. A skinny man she didn't know, and a girl she knew very well began herding the long line of people toward the open door. Seeing this, Forley ran back into those rooms and took charge, organizing the people who were already there. Allun also ran past her, dragging Leah by the hand behind him, and playfully punched her arm as he passed her. It was all the greeting they had time for, but she was glad of it.
She could barley believe he had dared to return to this place. But then, it was hard to believe her father had come here at all. Surely, she would never bother being surprised by anything ever again.
The long line was quickly re-routed into the rest of the armory, far larger than the one corner they had been in before; and with several more pairs of hands to pass things around, the line was moving quickly. Alanis wondered how things had been going before the iron door had been opened. Her father looked incredibly pleased by it, as if he could finally do his part well.
"There are ways out of here, into the sewers," he mentioned shortly as they worked. "We have them on a map, from a friend of yours. Do you know where they are? Have you seen them?"
"We passed by one of them, yes," she answered, just as shortly. "Some people with us took that chance on our way here, but the rest wanted to be able to show off their swords and say they got them from Strong John of Rin. I hope they're satisfied with what they got."
"Is the exit nearby?"
"Yes, very near. Just around a corner. The hole isn't even covered, we left it wide open for others to find after us."
Hearing all this, Allun huffed without looking up from his work. "We are much nearer the center of the dungeon than I thought, then. I can't believe it's been right here the whole time! We have the map, of course, but I've barely bothered looking at it for some time. We've been a little busy, as you can see. Have you any idea where Zeel and Star might be in all this mess?"
"We do, in fact," Forley answered right away. "I've been there, myself. Its deeper in, though, and they'll have a time getting out on their own."
To this, his father laughed lightly. "Not if Rowan of Rin has anything to say about it!"
Before they could think on that wonderful news, an angry blaring noise sounded through the dungeon. All the marked people around them began to panic again, and many abandoned their places in line to scramble for the exit beyond. The rest were pleading to armed faster, and nearly tripping over each other in their haste to get out.
Alanis knew what that sound meant, and couldn't blame them.
"What is that?" he father demanded over the noise.
"We've been hearing it all night. Every time that alarm sounds, it means the guards are coming back. They take a legion or two at a time and haul them off. They've finished with the last bunch and are coming for the next, but instead they'll find... This!"
Hopefully, by now, there were no cells left unopened to be emptied. Those guards would storm in to carry out their orders, only to find their victims running for the exits. They would summon reinforcements, and then there would be a battle. Perhaps the exits would be discovered, and the city in the sewers with them. The last refuge in Habaharan would be overrun, and the rebellion's last chance would be doomed.
And there was nothing any of them could really do but continue pushing arms into people's hands, hoping they could get a decent head start. Time was running short, indeed.
Leah dropped what she was doing and stumbled back toward the door, feeling for the stone that had unlocked it. There was no time to ask what she was doing or why; but she was prying at the metal plate that held the stone in place, throwing it aside, and fiddling with the wiring behind it.
"I think I can jam their communications," she announced over her shoulder. "I can see it all well enough this close, if I squint. At least they won't be able to call for backup. I just need a few minutes..."
It was impossible to tell if they had a few minutes to spare; and on her own, hardly able to see, the minutes they did have didn't seem like they would be enough. Alanis could only hope that when the guards came through, the prisoners would be able to overpower and stop them before they got far or caused much damage. It would be the only way, now...
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Very nearby, now, squad C-57 and their new companions were also startled by the alarm. Rowan and Norriss, however, didn't stop to ask what it meant; they just seemed to silently understand that it meant danger was approaching, and hurried to match pace with the other warriors. Or, most of them. Star glanced over her shoulder as her brave, brilliant father found himself straggling behind with short Zione and weak Zirita. Now that she looked at him, Star realized that he was tired, nearing the end of his strength.
"How much farther?" he asked between gasping breaths.
"I have no idea," Zirita answered without looking at him. "Zamiel knows the way. I'm just following."
"My step-father should be there. Forley's father, too. If we could just get there..."
He had spoken to Zirita, but also loud enough for the rest to hear. Clearly he had done this on purpose, to give them all a reason to keep going. If only out of curiosity, of course they wanted to meet Rin's other heroes, and the fathers of their friends, and some of the people who had inspired their rebellion in the first place. Star, herself, was thrilled to see her grandfather and godfather again. It seemed to her that their whole company had found a great burst of speed to push them forward.
Not that there was anything or anyone before them to get in their way. All the cells and corridors around them were empty. The people who had been in them had either been freed and run off, or had been hauled away hours ago. It reminded Star terribly of her last journey through this maze – only this time, rather than cries of despair all around her, the blaring siren was warning of a menace approaching from behind.
What if those guards were coming at last for the prisoners in the deepest, darkest cells? They would be shocked and furious, indeed, to find those cells empty. What on earth would they do, then?
As if fulfilling that fear, shouting voices and stamping feet were growing louder behind them. But Star could guess easily at what was chasing them – another swarm of ten inhuman men in old fashioned gray uniforms, armed with simple whips which Central Control had been taught to fight well against. The only trouble was that the swarm sounded to be gaining on them with supernatural speed. In what seemed only seconds, Star found that she could hear their words clearly, just around a corner.
She was far from the only one to notice this. Zamiel skidded to a halt and looked back the way they had come, prompting the rest to do the same.
"We will have to stand and face them," he decided. "Tend to your posts, friends! Just as we've always practiced."
"But we've no weapons," Zach Rivan protested.
"We've our teeth and bare hands, man. That will have to be enough."
The only one of them who didn't seem doubtful about the situation was – of all people – Zirita. She was timid and weak-willed by nature, but she was also the only one of them with any skill in hand-to-hand combat. In fact, she had chosen to specialize in it. And so she had squared her shoulders and moved into a fighting stance at the head of the company, looking ready to face what was coming. With the torn gray and brown skirts of her habikule hanging around her in pieces, and a defiant sneer on her face, she looked like a real warrior for the very first time.
Otherwise, Star and Norriss both hand knives in hand, and Rowan had unclipped the whip from his belt. The rest glanced longingly at it, wishing they had something in hand they could use. It was hardly much, at all.
As the ten monsters came charging around the bend toward them, Star found herself charging right back at them without thinking twice. All the long months of training and crusading took over, and thoughts of Zan with them. The desire for vengeance that had grown in her in the night consumed her. There was no room for error or mercy this time. Today, against these unnatural creatures, she knew she had to kill. She was so focused, so intent on causing pain to those who had hurt her so badly, she could have been standing to face them alone.
One of the monsters was quickly shocked to find her borrowed knife slashing across its chest. No doubt, it hadn't expected so much trouble from someone so much smaller and wearing a torn dress. It had only been one blow, hardly more than a scratch; but, to Star's amazement, the thing she had attacked appeared to evaporate before her eyes. With a puff of sickly gray smoke, the thing's heavy, empty armor clattered to the floor in a disgusting heap.
The rest were being dispatched similarly all around her. A swift kick to the jaw from Zirita. A crack of Rowan's whip. Even a bite from Zak, when he had been grabbed and pulled too close. None of those hits were enough to really hurt anyone. For all these beings' impressive strength, though, these puny touches were enough to disintegrate them.
These monsters didn't just serve a dark magic. They were made of it, as surely as Star, herself, was made of deep magic. And they had been made cheaply and hastily, to be replaced as easily as they were destroyed.
Enraged to see its fellows falling so easily, another monster bellowed and lunged after Star, snatching for her wide sleeves. Instead, with a thrill of fright and anger, she found it had caught her by her hair and was pulling her back. In what seemed like a flash of light to her, she whipped around and slashed with her knife at her attacker – and straight through her own hair.
The monster dissolved, and its empty clothes tumbled to the floor like all the rest. In a daze, Star watched as her long, lovely mane tumbled with it. Between the rush of battle and the sudden loss of so much weight, she felt lightheaded. It felt like she had come out of a trance, and only now looked around to see that two creatures had fallen by her own hand.
She knew she should have been horrified with herself, but she felt little. Not even triumph over their small, decisive battle, as the last monster was slain. Not even shock over her hair, as both her parents watched her carefully, waiting for her to say something.
All she felt was the urgent need to keep moving. And perhaps to lay more monsters to waste on the way. She had never felt more dead inside... But she had also never felt so alive.
So she shook herself, tugged her last skirt back into place, and stalked without feeling to stand with Zamiel. She was so ready for another battle. For once, she craved a plan and orders to follow, as the siren went on warning of a danger that had been neutralized.
"Is everyone alright?" he was asking over the noise. "No losses? No injuries? Did anyone see one of them call for reinforcements? No? We should consider ourselves lucky, then. If all our intelligence holds true, the armory and our escape are nearby. We go with all speed. Leave this garbage for the collectors to deal with."
With that, he kicked scornfully at the husk of a monster and turned away, leading his people down the corridor. Star walked with them, rather than her own family, with the strange sensation that she was filling Zan's place among them. She could never hope to replace him, of course; but at least squad C-57 was that much closer to being complete again. With a start, she found her father's hand on her shoulder as he gazed at her in concern.
"Star, are you alright?" he asked impatiently, worry in his face.
Itching for another fight and unready to face him, she shrugged him off. "I'm fine," she said flatly, and more coarsely than she had meant to. As she had half expected, he didn't press her. His hand slid away, and he said no more. She knew she had hurt him, but there was no time to dwell on it. She would have to apologize another time, whenever it came.
Turning a corner, they were met with an almost comic sight. Before them, a trail of warriors was filing as quickly as they could down a hole in the floor, like ants returning to their nests. With the alarm still blaring, those warriors looked up in fright as squad C-57 came around the corner, expecting to be caught by monsters. Seeing who it really was, they all relaxed, and many cheered to see their fearless leader and his men.
Needlessly, they directed the party back the way they had come, telling them to follow the line they had formed. Hands reached out to clasp theirs as they passed, just happy to see them alive. To Star, their happiness seemed terribly out of place. She did her best to at least smile and appear grateful for their faith in her; but she was still antsy, feeling empty and yet ready to explode at the same time.
They must have been halfway down the line, glad to be nearing the armory and to see so many rebels still alive. Many of the squad were thinking on what weapons they hoped were still available. Star heard her father commenting that he could sense his sister nearby. For herself, she was looking forward to finding a bigger blade, and to sassing her grandfather by hugging her godfather first. It almost brought a smile to her face, almost soothed the rage that had filled her heart, almost made everything alright again.
And then a tall, bristling figure stepped out of the line ahead of them, blocking the way. It had been easy to overlook, bedraggled and sulking in line with everyone else; but now that it revealed itself, Star was beyond disbelief with herself. How had she not seen and known that horrible face from a mile away? As the rest of the squad gasped in alarm and lurched to a halt, she knew they were all thinking the same thing:
How could they have not known their own master?
Brandishing a sword that had certainly come from the armory, Zared Azan was striding after them with rage in his face. Star could see his mouth moving, but could scarcely make out what he was saying. In fact, her friends and family clamoring around her sounded muffled and far away. Faintly, she was aware that the fallen general was wasting time mocking them, and that they were wasting time talking back to him.
Pleasantries. Petty pleasantries, that was all. They made her blood boil, and she gripped her borrowed knife so tight she felt her fingernails digging into her palm. This man was the start of so many of their troubles. He had abused the man she loved. He had tried to seduce her mother. He had owned her friends. He had turned them over to the Dragon Lord.
He was the reason Zan was dead.
This thought flashed through her mind like lightning, and set something ablaze in her. In a part of herself she hadn't known existed, and couldn't name. Suddenly, all she could see was a blur of red. A scream of anguish and cold fury rang from her heart and out of her mouth. Her knife held high, she darted ahead of her companions, only vaguely aware of her own actions.
The moments that followed remained unclear to her for the rest of her life. The only things she would ever recall with any certainty was the sound of her small, sturdy knife against the general's sword, and the sharp pain of that blade in her arm. In that moment, however, pain alone could do nothing to stop her. All she knew to do was to go on slashing and slashing, stabbing and stabbing...
It felt like she blinked for the first time in years. She blinked again, and again, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She was peering down at her own hands, but she couldn't be quite sure they were her own. They didn't feel like her own, as if they weren't attached to her body. They were covered in blood – some hers, some not – and trembling with nerves. She turned her hands over and over, staring without really seeing, as the blaring siren went on and on, muddling her senses together.
The sight of blood. The smell of blood. The taste of blood. The feel of it on her skin, and the very sound of it in her soul. She was covered in it, and couldn't have escaped if she had really wanted to.
Dazed and confused, she looked down. Beyond her bloody hands, she saw the hilt of the knife her father had just handed her. It was buried in the chest of a mangled body, whose face she barely recognized.
Zared Azan was dead. By her own hand. The gray monsters, empty creatures of darkness, were one thing; but this had been a living, breathing person of flesh, blood, and bone. And she hadn't just killed him – out of vengeful rage, she had hacked him to pieces.
Star hardly had the time to feel horrified, or as deeply ashamed and filthy as she truly was. The realization of what she had done came over her like a wave, and she felt that same new, unnamed, unknown part of herself that was so filled burst asunder. As suddenly as she had felt so dead and so alive at the same time, all she felt was deep, empty darkness.
After that, she knew no more.
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Afterthoughts...
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WHEW
These last few months have been a bother, to say the least. I'm BEYOND sorry for this chapter taking a whole summer to complete; but then, my summers have developed an uncanny pattern of being the whole year's badnesses crammed into what's supposed to be vacation. After five years of this trend, I should have known better...
What happened was, in July, I decided to quit foodservice for a while and try the sale biz. I'm currently writing this last bit after not loking at it for a month, very much under the influence, after what is probably my cue to quit while I haven't caused any irreparable damage and can go home with some semblance of professionalism still intact. I really don't think I could sell my soul if I tired...
So, yeah. I got kind of drunk and finally figured out how to get to this point! This ending moment has been in the works for yeeeeears. At just over 10.5K, it is as I predicted back in June – the longest installment of the whole damn thing. Pft, I took wine instead of medication tonight and got it done. I don't care.
PS, don't do what I did tonight. PLEASE, don't do what I did tonight. This is just sad. And my life is a lie. Halp.
Now that this is done, my hope is that the rest comes together a little more gracefully. I do actually know how the next few chapters play out, and its fairly smooth sailing. I suppose we'll see...
In the meantime, content yourself with Zared Azan being stabbed 27 times in the chest. :D
