Chapter 13: Rising Up
Reaching the edge of the city hadn't been easy, but it hadn't been as hard as Oyana expected. Everywhere they went, they met other Haehînbór amongst whom they could hide. In doing so, they learned how word of the Fourth Spear, and those before them, had been coursing through the Haehînbór population like a sandstorm through a forest. And in its wake were murmurs of rebellion. Had the day come? Must they make ready to rise up? Ought they be rising up already? She heard some discussing where to obtain improvised weapons, others advising caution or simply fear, and more than anything, slaves discussing who amongst them could go to the memorial to the Ortheri Rhîs, so they could see if the Fifth Spear would take place as foretold.
At first, the other Haehînbór did not recognize them, and Oyana thought it would be best to leave it that way. In a city this large, the slaves would not all know one another, so a group of unfamiliar Haehînbór would be assumed to be slaves from a remote quarter. But when Qemik, fool that he was, started to proclaim "Make way for the First Hand!" Oyana groaned and nearly struck herself out of frustration. She should have seen this coming and tried to prevent it.
Even here in Caras Lithgweth, rumors had arrived of the sightings of the first three Spears. Some had even heard tales of the First Hand. While no one here knew Yîgeke on sight, what little told seemed to fit her appearance. And she was being seen amongst them just as the Fourth Spear had been witnessed, in a fashion no one had ever expected, a most extraordinary fashion. The sort of thing that could only be explained by the hand of fate itself. Thus, few doubted Qemik; instead, they cheered them as they passed, and offered to aid them, to clear a path for them, to rise up and follow them to battle. Despite that there were yet two Spears to be seen, some seemed to want to follow the First Hand to the palace to slay the Ortheri Baugcaun with their bare hands that very moment.
By encouraging these erstwhile followers to help them pass, Oyana was able to lead her company to sight of one of the gates, without a fight. Each time they'd seen guards they could simply melt into the crowd of slaves and pass, or wait while eager-to-please Haehînbór created a distraction. But while this was enough for the sand-white avenues, it wouldn't get them through the gate.
It was true that the Ortheri were in disarray. Some were scrambling to figure out how a ballista had been commandeered and fired on the very palace of the Ortheri Baugcaun. Others were recalling the massed army of thousands of warriors on the plains outside the city, who'd been making ready to march, to join their fellows invading the west. And the Ortheri had all seen the same remarkable events as had the Haehînbór. Oyana couldn't guess what they thought they meant; did all the Ortheri know the prophecy's true provenance, or only some? Either way, these signs would be baffling and alarming.
But notwithstanding all these distractions, it only took a few warriors to man one of the well-designed gates and prevent a few unarmed slaves from escaping. A short Haehînbór with bulging eyes was proclaiming to Yîgeke, and a dozen other slaves nearby, that they should rush the gate to make an opening by which the First Hand and her companions could escape the city. Oyana was trying to argue against this. She didn't wish to see these bystanders perish needlessly on the spears of the gate-guards in service of a hastily-conceived plan, without at least trying to think of a way to get by without needless bloodshed. It was one thing to lead her people to battle in the uprising she felt more and more sure was coming, knowing many would die in brave sacrifice for the freedom of their children. That was the sort of thing she felt she could do better than Yîgeke ever could, why she should have been the First Hand. But it was another to see a dozen tired men and women die for her, right in front of her, because she hadn't had time to think of a better tactic.
But events were moving too quickly. Qemik was in his element now, rallying people and inspiring them to act. That they were going to seize the first action that occurred to them, rather than one chosen wisely, was why Qemik must never be allowed to lead without someone wiser at his side. Before she could marshal her will and make her voice heard, a hunk of wood, broken off of a market stall's tent-pole, was being hurled at the guards, and there was screaming and running. Blood was already falling onto the shining white boulevard, where it pooled, as the sandstorm-winds that formed the streets refused to absorb it.
There was nothing else to do but brandish the spear she'd stolen from a guard earlier, and charge forward, trying to keep Yîgeke safely between her and Kargöz. Ahead, Ulgî was roaring, with Kumzu on his shoulders, counting on Ortheri guards to hesitate just a moment before standing in the way of a behemoth like him. And at the vanguard of it all, Qemik was drinking up the sheer chaos, the enthusiasm of those he was leading, probably to their deaths.
When at last the city was behind them, Oyana turned to make sure none of her company had been left behind or badly injured, but she tried not to notice how many slaves had fallen to purchase their escape. Ortheri warriors were brave and fierce, known to throw themselves into berserk, senseless rages; they were well armored and bore spears, axes, and bows with which they'd trained assiduously. The Haehînbór were many in number; with so many Ortheri away in the wars in the west, the Haehînbór easily outnumbered their captors. But they were barefoot, unarmed, untrained, and unprotected. A man in armor could hold off a dozen of them and take no injuries if he did not blanch. Though she tried not to, time and again Oyana saw Haehînbór blood, and she finally gave up and took it all in. There were at least four who'd died, and many more were injured. One of these, Ulgî was carrying, and Kumzu on his shoulders was leaning over his head to bind the wounds even while they trundled forward.
They couldn't linger even here. Even if the Ortheri hadn't realized who they were, the mere fact that they were runaway slaves, who'd been involved in an act of insurrection, would be cause enough to chase them. That one of them was being hailed as the First Hand would make the hunters all the more determined. Oyana thought to suggest a direction, then changed her mind. She turned to Yîgeke. "Do we make way towards the Fifth Spear, Yîgeke?" she asked.
There was a moment while the others paused, drinking in the fact that Oyana had just deferred to Yîgeke. For a moment she thought Qemik might start insisting on a course of action, and then Kargöz would oppose him, and Yîgeke would let the argument decide for her, or grind the whole fellowship to a stop. But instead, Qemik nodded. "Indeed, shall we? I think we should, but I will follow where you lead, First Hand," he said. And Kargöz, by his posture and his silence, seemed to agree as well.
It took Yîgeke only a moment to answer. "I do not know if, when we arrive, we shall be trying to cause the Fifth Spear, or prevent it from being averted, or if we go merely to witness it. I would welcome your thoughts on this matter. But whichever it may be, we must make haste. The hounds will be on our trail. More than that, our people will soon be hurling themselves into untimely rebellion. Whether prophecy tells us this dooms us or not, it's senseless for them to die needlessly. If they have some sign to witness, some First Hand to follow, at least that may check their fervor, hold their strike until a better moment."
Oyana was surprised at how decisive this was, but as they loped towards the distant slope from which, amongst frail pines, rose the statue of the long-dead Ortheri Rhîs, she found herself also surprised to realize how clear, just below the surface of her words, was Yîgeke's reluctance to lead, to fight back. Even when she took a stand and spoke with clarity and determination, it was in the service of avoiding her fate, of seeking quiet. She had, perhaps, started to accept her role as First Hand, but only to use it to diminish that same role.
As they ran, Qemik, Kumzu, and Kargöz discussed amongst them what might cause or prevent the Fifth Spear, or what it could even mean – if the sky itself would cast it, what could anyone do to make it happen, or not happen? But Oyana did not enter into the discussion. Instead, she stared into the stormy skies ahead, and frowned. If there was to be a rebellion, and it seemed more likely every passing hour, how could it triumph if the First Hand was still turning away from difficult choices? If the Haehînbór might win their freedom, it would be bought with much blood. If she was reluctant to spill it when needed, they could not hope to ever be free.