Chapter 16: The Heart's Voice
Yîgeke objected the most strenuously to Kumzu and Ulgî being left behind. The others could see the sense in it. Ulgî was in no condition to travel, let alone fight. Had he not had a talented healer beside him, he would likely have perished by now. And Kumzu's arts would be needed more here than on the path to the Spire of Last Days. Still, it was a tearful parting, and Yîgeke embraced them both tightly before accepting it. Kumzu took the opportunity to whisper to her. "I don't know if fate is ours to shape, or we are fate's to shape; but either way, Yîgeke, you must accept it. Your heart tells you always what you wish, what is right for you. I can hear it, even when you can't. You must let it speak to you."
There was a winding path up the hillside that led from the valley towards the Spire of Last Days, the ruins of the road that once led to the old city. Qemik took the lead as they set out across the pastureland towards the foot of the path. They passed through camps of dozens of Haehînbór, who had come to see the Fifth Spear, and who now were milling aimlessly, simply waiting to see the Sixth. They hadn't planned to join a war for their freedom, and many still didn't realize such a fight was nigh-inevitable. They'd always imagined, from the way the prophecy was worded, that after the Sixth Spear the Ortheri would simply be gone, their works rent unto dust, without any further toil or struggle.
But knowing the true origin of the prophecy, Yîgeke ached at the sight of these people, so innocent of what must come next. Many of these people would die. More would bear injuries that would last a lifetime. Some would kill, which could be a terrible burden to bear in its own way. The thousand warriors to the east were prepared; they bore spears and axes which had already tasted blood. The slaves had no better weapons than the stones at their feet, and had never faced the terror of battle. They had no order, no direction, no leadership. Even when it was clear their choices were to fight or to die, they would mill about, like lost foals, and be cut down on the very cusp of their liberation. It gnawed at Yîgeke's heart. She wondered if it weren't too late to surrender and bring this all to an end, to go back to how it was, just to spare them.
Kumzu's words still buzzed in her ear, and she turned over her choices, trying to let her heart tell her which was the right one. She knew this had gone too far to be stopped. Even if the mysterious figure she'd seen took no more steps, the Haehînbór in the fields would not return meekly to their servitude, nor would the Ortheri accept it if they did, without some grand demonstration. There must be a battle. And if there must, someone must lead it, or the Haehînbór would be slain to the last, dust in their breath.
Every time her thoughts came to this point, her knees weakened, and she felt trapped like a beast in a cage, on the edge of panic. She was, like it or not, the First Hand. But the idea of trying to lead her people to battle was simply beyond consideration. She didn't need Kumzu's words of wisdom to see that she could not be a war-leader, that it was not in her heart to do it. But the need for leadership was inescapable.
Around and around she chased these questions, and when she finally found the answer, she nearly fell over on the stones at the base of the path. Oyana caught her, but before she could ask what was wrong, Yîgeke said breathlessly, "Let us pause a moment and speak on what is to come next."
From here they had a better view of the masses arrayed in the valley. With half the Ortheri army far away preparing to strike the hated Westerlings, and nearly every Haehînbór within a week's journey now here in the valley, they outnumbered their enemy by more than five to one. But five unarmed, undisciplined slaves could offer little threat to an Ortheri warrior. She nearly blanched at that thought, but gathered the tatters of her courage around her like a cloak, and spoke in a voice that was nearly steady.
"Look you upon our people. They march to war, though most know it not. They expect the prophecy to whisk them to freedom without their stir, but we know the truth of the prophecy. This day shall not end but with blood, even if the Sixth Spear be raised." She paused a moment, then, murmuring Kumzu's words to herself, she fanned the spark of her conviction and continued. "Someone must lead them into this fight. I had long thought that it must be the First Hand, and I cannot do it. But that is not what the prophecy has been telling us all along. The First Hand raises the Sixth Spear, up there," she pointed to the Spire above them, "but the battle will be fought here. The prophecy does not demand I command the army; in fact, it insists that I cannot. No, that burden falls to you. Some of you must stay here, to lead this makeshift army."
"What?" Kargöz protested. "No, we must see to the Sixth Spear first. I shall not leave your side."
Her determination was fragile. It was scarcely a month since she would have hidden from any disagreement; and just two days earlier, she still would not have dared to voice a contrary opinion. But that life had ended, and the world had reshaped itself around her. She clung to Kumzu's admonition. "It is necessary. They must be led, and I will be atop the Spire at the moment of their need. I can feel this," she placed a hand over her heart, "to be true. Tell me you do not see the truth in it?"
Oyana's eyes had widened at first, but now they grew bright. "She is correct," she said. "I have been at a loss for what my part in this might be. I've tried to help the First Hand, but part of me felt like I had some other part to play, and could not find what it was. For a time I thought I ought to have been the First Hand, but now it is clear." She put her hands together before her chest and bowed to Yîgeke in a formal pose. "It would be my honor to serve the First Hand thus."
Kargöz looked ever the more troubled. "No!" he protested. "We will all be needed to reach the Spire. I say again, I shall not leave your side, Yîgeke!"
"It will do us no good to reach the Spire if our people simply wander into slaughter," Yîgeke explained patiently to Kargöz. "The prophecy cannot guarantee that merely raising the Sixth Spear will cast the Ortheri down, until not one grain stands atop another. All the more so if the prophecy is false. Nor can we assume our mysterious benefactors will intervene; how could they lead the people to victory? We cannot even be sure that is their desired outcome. The time is now for us to take our fate into our own hands."
Perhaps unconvinced, or perhaps driven by other thoughts, Kargöz shook his head. "I shall not leave you. Let Oyana be the spear cast by the First Hand; it shall not be me." His eyes made plain he would not be deterred from this; this is what his heart had told him must be, and so, as Kumzu would have had it, Yîgeke accepted it.
All three turned to Qemik, who had been strangely silent. There was a battle going on within him, and it was plain on his face. He started to speak, and stopped, and started again, but no words came out. Before he could find something to say, he was spared by the sudden sound of footsteps coming from both sides. Alertly, Kargöz and Oyana both took up their spears and turned to meet the danger. From above them, coming down the hill, was a group of six, no, eight, Ortheri, clearly meaning to capture or kill them. Axes and spears were at the ready. But from below, two dozen Haehînbór had seen their approach and were charging up to meet them; they might have been unprepared for a war, but they were certainly ready to defend the First Hand.
It was a brief battle, but a bloody one. Oyana immediately began to give orders, and when the Haehînbór seemed unsure whether to follow them, Yîgeke took the opportunity to make clear that Oyana led with her blessing, as her general. The effect was immediate; no one questioned Oyana for an instant, and soon they were moving in a coordinated assault. Small groups of slaves would keep an Ortheri on the move, separating her from her fellows, until another few could overwhelm her.
When the fighting was done, four were dead, two on each side, and many more injured. Several of the Haehînbór were limping, or being carried, to Kumzu's camp. But the remaining Ortheri had been disarmed and rendered helpless, being borne out to the valley to be held as prisoners of war. Their weapons and armor were being portioned out; to Yîgeke's relief, none of the armor fit her slender form, though she did end up wearing a small knife. She saw the blood from the fallen and fought not to cry, but her people seemed heartened by the victory, and soon, a cheer was passing from camp to camp, heralding the First Hand. Oyana rode that wind through the valley, both rallying the people and organizing them.
Having shed his share of Ortheri blood in this battle, Qemik was breathing hard, leaning on a spear, as Yîgeke stepped up to him. She looked up to catch his eye, and when he made to speak, seeing the struggle still in his eyes, she lifted a finger to his lips to silence him. "I see that you feel you ought to match every protestation of Kargöz to swear yourself by my side, but I see that, more than that, you yearn for the glory of battle, to join Oyana in becoming a part of the history of our people winning at long last their freedom." He seemed to want to protest, but she did not permit it. "You do not need to best Kargöz. Your heart tells you what you wish, what is right for you. Go, with my blessing. You will always be dear to me, but it was never really me you wanted; it was the chance to make a mark on history, to do deeds that will be sung for centuries. Today is your day, just as it is mine, just as it is for all of our people. Guide them to triumph." Again, he seemed to want to object, and her eyes grew stern. "I need you to do this," she said. "Oyana is wise and strong, but she is also cautious. There shall come a time this day when our people need your daring, your unfailing courage. Go, follow your heart."
When she finally stepped back, he stared into her eyes a few moments, then simply nodded, turned, and hurried down to join Oyana, without another word.
Kargöz and Yîgeke were alone now, for the first time since the night of the First Spear, and the look they exchanged was as the full moon reflected on a wind-stirred pond. There weren't any words, and after a time they stopped waiting for any. With a breeze at their back they started up the path. Ahead, they could see the glint of armor and shining Ortheri axe-blades waiting for their necks. The prophecy offered no promises; these might well be their last moments in the world, and there was no one left to save them. But while that made her heart race with terror, that was nothing to the dread that accompanied the weight of being the First Hand. Even if they survived the road to the Spire, there would be thousands of eyes on her, thousands of souls depending on her. Fate bore down on her shoulders with the weight of mountains until she could not breathe.
When Kargöz took her hand in his, she was jolted from these thoughts. His hand was warm, and there was something in the feel of it there that seemed to say more than a thousand songs. But the road was treacherous and the wind up the hillside threatened to toss them aside; he was probably just trying to steady her climb. She swallowed and continued to pick her steps, trying to shrug off the weight of destiny. As the Spire hove back into view around the last turn in the path, and the shine of spear-points greeted her, they came to a sudden stop. It was at that moment that he turned, drew her into his arms, and kissed her. More to her surprise, she returned the kiss.