Peculiar Soul

Chapter 87: Solifuge

Chapter 87: Solifuge

Despite my best aims as a reformer, as a politician, as a champion of rights and the rule of law, the inescapable truth of my relevance is that people heed my words because I am capable of an immense amount of destruction. That said destruction is meant for Mendians enemies is little comfort, for there is still the implicit threat that I may withholdmy aid according to my wishes.

Therefore the rule of the ensouled must always approximate a captor with hostages, for there is no recourse available to the people if the bearer decides to turn their power towards petty and selfish ends. The sole instrument of redress is death for the bearer, but even that does not guarantee a return of the soul to serve the public good.

History has shown us the fragility of individual character where matters of great power are concerned. I am increasingly convinced that there is no place for ensouled in government. Nevertheless I shall not be proposing anything of the sort to the Batzar currently; while my power is unchecked I intend to make good use of it.

- Leire Gabarain, Annals of the Sixteenth Star, 671.

Youre sure? Sobriquet asked. There are other lucigentes-

Michael nodded towards the swirling clouds, lit from below by sharp, glaring light. The luminance flared, then died away, replaced by the dull orange flicker of fire. Its him, he said. Im going to go. Wake the others, have them catch up with me.

He did not wait for Sobriquet to respond, throwing the window open and leaping out. He fell through the restless night air until he met cobblestone with a sharp crack; shouts of alarm issued from nearby buildings. Michael ignored them and began to run.

The streets flowed past him in a blur. They were largely empty save for a few delivery carts and the curious faces of those who were peeking out to see what the commotion was. There were few of those, but they grew in numbers as he sprinted northward down Stahms main boulevard. Soon Michael was forced to slow his pace to navigate between curious onlookers streaming forth from their buildings, crowding close against the fences that set Stahms garrison apart from the town.

Michael gave up on shouldering his way through the press of people, coming to a reluctant halt as the crowd thickened. The north side of town was thick with onlookers. They buzzed with curiosity and breathless fear, enough to make his head swim; he closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments before sending his sight aloft to look at the garrison.

Or rather, what was left of it. The low barracks and administrative buildings had collapsed into themselves, flames guttering amid the rubble. Dim shapes of men writhed within, afire themselves or pinned under the collapse. The acid taste of panic radiated from the camp, a sharp presence even amid the crowd.

His sense of it vanished in an instant as the light flared once more, provoking screams and a hasty backwards shuffle from the onlookers. Their fear slammed into Michael like a physical thing, staggering him nearly to his knees. Yet - the startlement was past in a moment, curiosity once again sending the crowd closer to the fence.

Whats wrong with them? Sobriquets voice buzzed, sounding close to his ear. Ghars bones, are they trying to get killed?

Never been a war in Stahm, Michael grunted, shaking his head to clear it; he used the momentary break in the crowd to press closer to the fence. Why should they think its an attack? The cloud of smoke and dust from the latest assault was billowing upward, showing a fresh scar along one of the garrisons remaining barracks; the roof groaned before collapsing inward.

Lofting his sight higher still, Michael finally saw the silent, still ranks of troops standing on the far side of the garrison. They made no move, only standing still as a figure at their head walked slowly towards the inferno. It was too far, and too dark for Michael to make out a face from this vantage, but watching the man walk provoked icy certainty within him.

It was Luc.

Michaels mind blurred. Those were Institute troops in the back, the same that they had seen in the mountain camp. Yet here was Luc, striding out as though allied-

His thoughts derailed as a voice thundered through the night, accompanied by the high whine of a loudspeaker. People of Stahm! a man said, his voice surprisingly nasal and unrefined; it was obvious that he intended a dramatic effect, from his intonation, but to Michael it sounded more like a child playing at importance. Nevertheless, the crowd quieted and turned towards the source.

We are the Institute, the speaker said. And we have come to discharge our duty to Ardalt. You have lived under an oppressive government, under the threat of arbitrary arrest and assault, for far too long. Today that ends. Today the people take control of their own destiny.

It was odd that the words provoked more fear in the people watching than Lucs attacks, but Michael felt that fear rise as more of the spectators began to grasp the scale of what was happening. This was not some army exercise, nor was it mere lawlessness. Fear shaded into a myriad of constituent emotions; Michael felt anger among them, indignation, terror-

And then, as surely as an ebbing storm, the fear bled away. Michael looked around, confused, as the crowd began to relax. Someone to his left began to applaud; a few scattered cheers broke out.

No more shall the Assembly rule unchecked! the man continued, this time to a rousing cheer. No more shall a soul provide the only measure of a mans worth!

He continued speaking, but Michael had stopped listening; he had spotted the ensouled among the crowd. Obruors, to dampen fear, and instigators to stoke some other choice emotions. The people around him echoed a heady mix of righteous anger, joy and relief, with any dissonant notes quickly snuffed out.

It was not a large push. Indeed, removing the fear might have been enough on its own; Michael had the sense that the majority of the crowds vigor rose from the speakers words, as unimpressive as his oration was. They were words that the crowd wanted to hear, resonating with easy power until they were reacting to every pronouncement with boisterous cheers.

their rotten decadence to an end! the man continued, improving somewhat now that the crowd was responding well. And if they bring the Assemblys champions, Sibyl and Sever, then they will face the might of the Institutes own. People of Ardalt, I give you - Stellar!

Luc began to shine, his radiance casting a soft glow that banished the flickering firelight from the garrison with the clear white of day. There was no cheer from the crowd; they echoed the confusion that rampaged through Michaels mind as he watched the spectacle.

What- he murmured, cutting short as Sobriquets voice buzzed in his ear.

What the fuck? she muttered. Am I seeing this wrong? I thought Luc hated the Institute.

He does, Michael replied absently, mind churning through possibilities. I cant believe hed work with them, especially not for this - he doesnt care one bit about Ardalt. He turned his sight to look back at one of the obruors infiltrating the crowd, an unassuming young man in drab clothes. They have ensouled all over. Obruors, instigators - Shines too, Id wager. If they got to Luc

Shit. Sobriquet fell silent, then gave a rattling sigh. But it doesnt change what we have to do. Only makes it more urgent.

Michael swallowed against a dry mouth. Agreed, he rasped. His attention turned back to Luc, whose glow had faded away; he was walking back towards the line of troops as the crowd murmured, their enforced fervor tarnished by the appearance of a soul they knew to be exclusively Mendiko.

Do not fear Mendians bluster, the man said, resuming his speech. Their sun has set, and risen anew here in the east; this new dawn is for Ardalt! There was a push from the instigators, and cheering resumed from the crowd; Michael irritably brushed their influence from his mind and focused on Luc.

He was far, but not too far; Michael pushed his sight as close as he could. Lucs features resolved in his vision. He had grown thinner in the short time they were apart, his face sunken and pale. His eyes were underlined with dark circles - though as he turned to look at the man holding the microphone, they sparkled with sharp intent.

Michael summoned Stanza to him, readying himself to attack. Words shifted in his mind until he found a couplet that felt right, that held the shape of what he meant to do. He took a breath-

Then you will have failed in your mission, Luc said quietly. Ardalt will still be under the sway of evil men.

It took a moment for Lucs words to register with Kemper; the directors smile melted away into a stony disapproval. The Institute, he said, is the bulwark that keeps Ardalt safe from the terrors of the world. I was not lying in my speech either; we are discharging our duty, our founding duty to Ardalt in our actions tonight.

And duty, Luc asked softly, absolves evil?

Kemper glowered. Listen here, young man, he said. You came to us, not the other way around. Youre the one that offered to support us, to discharge your debt-

And I intend to, Luc said, raising his hands placatingly. Repaid in kind, yes? For all that the Institute gave to me. Luc dropped his hands - then stepped quickly to stand in front of the director. Before Kemper could move, Luc grabbed the mans throat, ungloved.

Kemper stiffened, his eyes widening as Luc lifted him bodily from the ground. He dangled, kicked - then dropped to the ground in a motionless heap, a trickle of blood issuing from his nose. Luc looked down at him for a long moment, then turned towards the forest.

His eyes settled directly on where Michael was hiding.

Come out, Luc said, tapping his ear lightly. You were very quiet, but I can hear your heart thundering away.

Slowly, Michael stood up and stepped forward into the clear perimeter. He stood facing Luc for an endless moment, the two men watching the other silently. Luc smiled.

Im glad youre here, Luc said. Despite everything, I missed talking with you.

What are you doing? Michael asked, his voice rising farther than he had intended. Ghars ashes. The Institute, this revolution, your speech - I thought you wanted to end war, not stir it up.

Lucs smile remained fixed. I do want to end war, he said. But its nave to think that we can all simply stop fighting, yes? Especially with you around. His face sobered. Ive been wrong about a lot, but not that.

Youve gone mad, Michael sighed, shaking his head and drawing Stanza close. Killing Leire, attacking Saf, now this - whatever this is. It has to stop, Luc. Thats why Im here. He held his soul tight around him, the world fading behind a skein of golden edges; the lines of Lucs face regained their smile.

Im not your enemy, Michael, Luc said, spreading his hands. Im only trying to keep-

Michael struck out with his soul before Luc could finish his thought, speaking old, familiar words. Halt. Be bloodless. Wither-

His voice caught as his soul failed to gain purchase upon Lucs body, finding an unnatural resilience there; Michaels eyes flew wide. Potens? he muttered.

Luc tottered backward, passing a hand across his face; his eyes were wide, shocked. They settled on Michael, full of hurt. I - I didnt think- he mumbled, his face flushing. A moment later, though, a small, pained smile returned below tear-stained cheeks. Somehow I thought it wouldnt come to this. Another thing Ive been wrong about.

Michael took a breath, the light in his chest flaring bright. Clair, Leire, Vincent, more still that were nameless and faceless to him. The world shuddered; the wind stilled. The reflections in the ice bent and shivered, showing more than the silent tableau before him.

HALT.

The world complied. The air hung cold and rigid as iron. Stillness wrought its grip upon the mote of resistance that was Luc, his potens soul warm and defiant - and utterly outmatched. Michael felt his will slip into the lines of Lucs form and opened his mouth to finish it.

Light burst from Lucs eyes, desperate and wild. It slammed into Michael, setting light to his clothes and glaring from exposed skin; a moment later it twisted downward to rake across the ground near his feet. There was a dull thud, a burst of steam and loose soil that rattled through Michaels chest like cannonfire. The bursting ground threw him backward into the woods, the tatters of his clothing flapping sadly until he arced back down into a tree.

Michael picked himself up, stripping off the remnants of his smoldering shirt. His sight came up to locate Luc again; the other man was fleeing back into the camp, shouting.

Its Baumgarts son! he cried, his voice echoing across the camp. Hes killed the Director!

Ghars fucking- Michael swore, crouching and jumping with all of his strength. He sailed upwards towards the camp and crashed down through a large tent. Something wet yielded under his feet; Michael looked down and saw red seeping through the thick canvas. Other shapes began to stir under the collapsed tent; he felt the influence of other souls around him, exhorting the quiet legions in the camp to stand and fight.

He jumped again towards where he had last sighted Luc, coming down in a clear area near the center of the camp. Here Michael paused a moment to cast around with his sight, finding no trace of his quarry. Luc had ducked inside somewhere; Michael sent his sight into the nearest tent, and the next.

A bullet caromed from the side of his head, breaking his focus. Another followed; Michael yanked his sight back to see ranks forming and men kneeling to fire their rifles with mechanical coordination. More bullets bounced ineffectively from his skin, a distracting storm of lead and billowing smoke.

A beam of light flashed out to strike him - but it shone harmlessly, flashing sweat to steam with a quick pop. The lesser lucigens responsible ducked away behind a tent; another attacked from behind. The blades of a scalptor came from somewhere to his left, lashing him more painfully than any of the rifles. Beyond the infantrymen, Michael saw the glitter of metal dancing from other soldiers hands; those would be the artifices.

Michael scowled and tensed to jump again, throwing himself clear of the crossfire that had formed. It gained him a brief respite, but every part of the camp was already thick with soldiers. They were back on him in moments, a nearby squad of men leaping towards him with bayonets fixed.

He pushed the first away; the next two grabbed his arms, seeking to immobilize him. Michael shook his head and jumped once more. The soldiers came with him, the shock of landing tearing their hands free and sending them unceremoniously into the frozen mud. Bones cracked. An agonizing moan came from one soldier; the other lay dead.

There were fewer men where he had landed, and in the brief time he had bought himself Michael cloaked himself in darkness, sending his sight upwards once more. Soldiers swarmed like ants, rushing through the night towards his lightless refuge with no thought of self-preservation. Most couldnt harm him, though the artifices sent a little shiver of disgust through his gut; the image of Galen writhing against the metal invading his throat was not one he would part with anytime soon.

Michael could not afford to ignore the men in pursuit of Luc; he was not invincible. Yet - any delay afforded Luc the chance to disappear once more. It was likely too late already, as the Institute shook itself fully awake. He sized up the forces arrayed against him, imagining Stanza reducing the oncoming men to dust; he weighed subjecting what was left of their minds to Spark. Of wading through them with force alone, listening to the pop of bone and gristle for hours as blood turned to ice.

A dull weariness took hold. The injured soldier near him gave another piteous groan. He had summoned conviction enough to kill Luc, earlier, but now, stained with red-tinged mud-

How many men would you kill? With your soul pressed close against their dying flesh, listening to their hearts falter-

He shook Leires voice from his head and jumped again, sailing up and away from the swarming men; when he struck the ground again he began to run back towards Stahm.