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“Keep your head down.”
The streets had turned into chaos. People no longer walked; everyone had been running for their homes, and everywhere the doors and window shutters were being slammed shut.
Johannes had started a war.
It was not clear who his fealty was to, having all but flayed his king, but it was a fair guess that it was the ruler holding the Daughter of the Nothing on a leash.
The entirety of his army flooded the Midtrade City, occupying its streets over the course of the next few hours.
Marrat hurried Val through alleys and side streets, through crowds of people where they would not stand out.
“Erl… the Beis knew. He would have told someone about who you are.” He told her as they ran toward the royal’s residence. “Which means Korschey knows that we are here. If Johannes has sworn to him and does not yet know, he will soon.”
“They told us they would give us supplies and horses,” Val reassured him, although her entire body had gone cold. “We can leave with them.”
He nodded. Any plans they had to go north were gone. With the war rolling out in front of their eyes, the state of the kingdoms was no longer certain. If Johannes’ men were with Korschey, the North would face the South in battle, and Sudraj would eventually fall even with all their men. The harsh deserts would be difficult to invade, but it was only so long that the White Cities could hold.
Their only chance was to go West. Nasmeria had been neutral, and it was to all the king’s advantage to keep it that way. Invading the lands surrounded by the dangerous and impenetrable mountains would prove impossible, and a siege on a self-sufficient kingdom would be unwise.
They saw the concealed house ahead, but the guard at the door was gone. At the sight of it, Marat’s face fell.
“Come on.” They burst through the doors. To their dismay, the rooms were empty.
“No…” Val whispered. They’d left. The promises of assistance, of horses, it was all gone. “Please, no…”
Marat’s brow furrowed.
“Get your things.”
He led them through alleys going away from the Cathedral. The state of the streets had only become worse - Johannes’ men rode through them and herded people toward their homes. They had passed Void&Co, and the windows revealed that there was nothing inside.
Theodora must have known something ahead of time: there was no way she moved the merchandise at such short notice - and there was no way she had left the Nothing-touched items behind.
They took a horse from the nearest inn.
Unbothered by the noise, she was lazily swatting flies.
“The people in the city aren’t in danger. It will not be sacked, it is too important to the trade. This is a minor loss for anyone staying sheltered here.” Marat told her, pulling her up behind him, seeing as how uncomfortable Val looked.
It was more difficult to stay hidden on a horse.
“We will not be able to leave the gates unnoticed,” Marat told her, glancing around at the groups of horsemen that passed them by. “It is unlikely that they could shut them; it would take many workhorses to work through the rust of the gates. I don’t think the Midtrade City has ever closed them.” He said.
“Is there any other way?” She held on to him tight, even going slowly, feeling uneasy about the horse. He chuckled.
“Not unless you are willing to dig a very, very deep hole.”
There was still no word. No one knew who Johannes had sworn allegiance to or what they meant to do with the city. The gates were guarded, and soldiers patrolled the streets, but many had left for the military camp on the outskirts to the north for the night.
Marat was sure that the Beis had meant to bring Val in itself, but now, with him gone, it was uncertain whose ear she whispered in. The Hag would try to bargain for her freedom, and what’s a better bargaining chip than the promise of instead chaining a god?
He had to get her out of there.
They had to go west to follow Typhonos and Elena.
“What should we name her?” Val asked, carefully patting the mare’s nose as they waited for complete darkness. She did not trust this horse either, but she liked how it sniffed her hand and allowed her to pet it.
“Don’t name it until we get out of the city.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What should I say, then?” He turned to her, seemingly annoyed - but she saw that it was only at the very surface of his expression. He was worried. So much so that he could hardly keep from his eyes darting around.
“I like…” She thoughtfully considered it for a minute, enjoying the moment that temporarily distracted her from the chaos. “I heard a name; it was here. Someone called their daughter, and I liked it. How about Sao’orze?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He snorted, which took her completely by surprise. “Sao’orze the horse?”
“Feel free to suggest otherwise.”
“No.”
When Val tried to get up on the horse, Marat shook his head.
“You are going in front.”
“What?” She had never ridden that way and felt so much more comfortable and safe being able to wrap her arms around his waist. “Why?”
He sighed hard, dropping his head, making a show of his being tired of the questions.
“What do you think will happen if they see us ride past and they fire arrows, Val?” He looked up at her, and she saw how serious he had been.
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She remained silent. They would hit the rider in the back.
“Listen to me,” He helped her up, handing her the reins, “Out the gates, it’s to the right. But not right off. You go south until you start going downhill. Then to the right. You’ll hit the main road west; they won’t be allowed to patrol it, not without conflict with Typhonos’ men. Do not tell a soul who you are.”
“Marat, stop, please.” She could not handle hearing him talk that way. Now, more than ever before, she needed him. She could not make the journey alone and even think of what came after.
She could not make it alone.
She couldn’t.
“Just remember it. Let’s hope you won’t need to.” He said. “Pull up your hood.”
“More are still on the walls,” Marat muttered as they approached the gate.
The figure of a single man lit up by torchlight was just ahead.
“Stay here.”
She watched him crouch and disappear out of sight. There was no chance she was going to follow.
He made his way to where he could see the sentry. The man stood facing him but looking elsewhere. He was dozing off, leaning too hard on the pillar. Marat crept closer, his hunting knife hanging off his hip, dagger in hand. He could not help but notice that his movement felt free, the way that it hadn’t been in a long time. The nimbleness of his leg, the silent steps, the jump that he knew he could now make. He had every opportunity to return to the agility he once had - a trait that had made him an exceptional hunter.
When it was taken from him, it took his purpose in life as well.
The man’s head nodded, catching himself and looking about, but his eyes could not seem to stay open. He was young. He wore no helmet and only the breastplate that all the soldiers wore outside of battle. But, something had caught Marat’s attention. A crest, painted atop a shield leaned against the post - a black three-headed dragon against the background of a red sun. This was not Johannes’ man. This was Korschey’s. The North’s.
And just like that, it became clear.
The traitorous general had aligned himself with Korschey. And so, it had become twice as dangerous for Valeria there. One would know her face, the other who she was. If they did not make it through the gates, there was no telling what the next day would bring.
He saw the sentry’s head drop again, and in that moment Marat had crossed the walkway, pivoting and ducking behind the guard. His forearm slammed against the man’s mouth - keeping him from screaming. At the very same moment, the dagger slid into the back of the man’s head, where it met the neck. His death was fast, and his body heavy as Marat carefully lowered it to the ground and against the pillar.
He ran to the horse, hoisting himself up and urging it forward.
At the sound of riders suddenly appearing at the gates at full gallop, three archers atop the walls rushed to the baluster.
The first arrow whistled by them, so close to hitting the mare that even Marat’s stony face tensed. The second arrow did not come close but hit the ground in front of them where the horse’s hoof had crushed it in its stride.
The third arrow grazed Marat, but they were already too far into the darkness beyond for the men to reload.
They did not stop for a long time, and when they did it had been brief.
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“Marat?”
“Yeah?”
“...where are we going to go if they do not let us into Nasmeria?” They sat at the small fire away from the road. The chill was sharp and biting their skin, winds picking up and threatening bad weather.
“I don’t know.” He truly didn’t. He’d had a plan nearly every step of the way - whether it worked out or not. But, if the previously open arms of the West had been closed to them, and war rolling through the states, there were very few places that they could go that he knew Valeria would be safe.
What Theodora had told him about Val, that she had not been rendered barren, it ate at him. Had she known?
Surely not. On one hand, she deserved to know. On the other, it would make her position much more dangerous to be in. He didn’t know if she would attempt something like the knife again.
And there was guilt there, too.
He knew how dangerous it was, this playing with infernal fires and testing fate. One accident, one misstep. But, in those moments that she looked at him, her soft hand would brush against his skin; he did not care about the world. No worry, no matter how big or small, crossed his mind; it was just her. The rest just fell away, and it should not have. He should have been more careful.
Wars were fought over and over to seize control of a god-child. His name would bring the divinity of the All-Father with it, for better or worse. And it was almost always worse.
He was surprised that Typhonos had a god-child. Upon meeting Dimos, he felt his faith shake. It was just a child. The promise of holy fire and the songs of the heavens all seemed just bardic embellishments.
Marat put a hand on his leg, the one that had not been there just a couple of days ago. It was under Typhonos’ roof that he had regained it.
The god-child had given it back to him.
Val sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, hugging them, her chin resting on her forearm. In the span of the last twenty-four hours, she had killed a man and witnessed one crucified upon the walls of the Cathedral.
“You killed that man…” she muttered, her eyes resting on the fire, avoiding looking at Marat. She thought of the young soldier at the gates. She had not expected to see what she saw.
“I did.”
“Have you ever killed anyone before?” She asked, realizing at once it was a stupid question, “I mean, not in self-defense?”
“It was not self-defense, Val. I think, on some level, you know that. I could have let Amir live.” His words had twisted her insides. She’d tried so hard not to think about Amir.
In Marat’s world, before the death of his father, murder was not common. There were those young men with bloodlust and they would seek out problems. But, at a young enough age their fathers would put a sword in their hand and send them off to practice war arts or hunt. But then they grew up and realized the hollowness of it.
Although some, like Johannes, never did.
Marat was one to fight, but he had never killed a man before Amir.
He had been angry and violent even as a young man. He wanted to feel that he was establishing order and bringing justice to those he felt deserved it. But he knew that in reality, he’d just been a hot-headed man instigating violence to avoid the reality that he was no one. He was not a duke’s son. He was not the finest hunter in the East. His identity was lost, drowned by his father’s desperate attempts to stay afloat.
“I wish you hadn’t.” She said sadly.
“Last I recall, as of this morning, we are at war.” He told her crossly. “But it was before that - that you had driven my hunter’s knife through a man’s eye.”
She shot him a look of disappointment. He knew full well the circumstances of the night.
That thought again… The Beis whispering in her ear… No. Not now.
“I’m sorry.” He relaxed again. “I know. I know it is not the same thing. You have to understand. I had to.”
“I’ve never seen a dead man before. Before the Beis, before the king, before that guard.” She admitted after a pause. “Only peacefully, in their sleep.”
“Hm.”
“Is this what it will be like from now on?” There was hopelessness in her voice. “Dead men, running, always only a campfire to keep us warm - only dirt to sleep on?”
“Not in the West.”
She didn’t say anything or look at him. They sat in silence for a while longer.
“Valeria, I have something to tell you.” He said finally, feeling his throat tighten. He had no right to keep it from her. It was not his to keep.
She didn’t look at him, and he was grateful for that.
“Theodora. The doctor. She told me. She told me that you hadn’t made yourself barren.”
To his surprise, she did not stir. Did not look up.
“I know.” She said finally.
“What?”
“I know.” She repeated. “The Hag… she told him I was with child.”
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