Callan reached down and grabbed Halari’s hand once reached the top of her rope, then pulled her up over the lip of the ravine. His arm protested from the strain; a worrying sensation that caused to him wonder if he truly overexerted himself trying to summon the Talons. His very soul felt tired, well, more tired. It had been a long time since it burned bright, but today especially it was dimmed.
I’ll need to rest more once we get back, he thought. It’s pitiful, how little I can do even almost after a month of freedom.
“You ready to get moving?” Halari asked, brushing herself off. “We should get some real lunch once we get back, I bet you’re starving.”
“I’ll definitely need some recovery time,” Callan said. He massaged his temples in a futile attempt to relieve the splitting ache in his head. “With any luck once I do I’ll be able to use the Talons easier. My abilities are like a muscle, the more I use them, the stronger they’ll get.”
“It was still pretty cool already,” Halari said with a shrug. She climbed into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.
“I’m glad you think so,” he chuckled, Callan sat down on to the trawler in the back seat. He wanted to ask if he could drive them home, but he knew she’d turn him down like she did every time they went out on excursions. “You know, one day you should teach me how to drive this thing.”
“Over my dead body,” Halari giggled, getting them going across the black wasteland. “What? You don’t like my driving?”
“Well, you did almost drive us into the ravine,” Callan said, letting his foot drag across the stone while they traversed.
“It’s easy to miss!” Halari reached back with one hand and thumped him on the shoulder. “I bet you wouldn’t even be able to find the ignition on this thing.”
“Probably not,” Callan said, smirking. “I could always throw it where I needed.”
“Don’t you dare!” She thumped him again harder, but he heard the grin on her face even as she scolded him for daring to hurt her precious trawler.
They drove back to the Quarry in good time; the white glare in the sky was just reaching its zenith when they began the descent back into town. At the top of the entry ramp, Callan spotted a strange sight near one of the smithing blocks. Even his perfected eyes didn’t make out distinct faces across the distance, but he sighted a line of people standing close together before one of the buildings.
Wonder what that’s about, Callan thought, squinting. Each people in the line looked like they were linked by the elbows or hands. He got the feeling then that this was something he was going to have to deal with once they reached the bottom.
No sooner had Halari parked the trawler than Captain Dalvo and a couple of his men ran up with concerned looks on their faces. Callan appraised their recently tossed-together uniforms, which were made from tough miner’s fabric. They were black with silver trims painted on to the reinforced shoulder and knees pads. He’d been going for a style from his old army, but like everything in this world, it just looked a bit decrepit.
At least they’ve been armed better. He eyed the freshly-forged blades strapped to their backs, satisfied to see that Dalvo’s looked fantastically maintained as well as his rifle that gleamed darkly in the dim midday. Every day in the last week the man had proven to be a solid choice for leadership; he kept his men active and trained hard with them.
“Something the matter, captain?” Callan asked.
“My lord, we’ve got a kind of situation,” the officer said, saluting sharply. His men followed suit, although their gestures of respect were messier. “They’re demanding to speak with you.”
“Who?” Callan pressed.
“They’re protestors, Great Flame.” Dalvo glanced nervously at Halari. “Religious protestors, sir. They’ve blocked the entrance to our biggest forge and are preventing workers from getting in.”
Halari groaned like something had hit her in the gut. “And lemme guess, my brother’s leading them, isn’t he?”
Captain Dalvo grimaced but nodded awkwardly. “Yes, Lady Halari. He’s the one making demands.”
“That idiot.” Halari pinched the bridge of her nose.
“How many are there?” Callan asked, folding his hands behind his back. The contentedness of the pleasant, productive morning with Halari drifted away, leaving him left with the sense of resolved duty he would need to deal with this tumultuous situation.
“We counted eighteen,” Dalvo said.
“And how many cells are open in the detainment office?” He gave the captain a pointed stare, looking for the constitution in the man to do what he was implying. The officer grimaced softly, but Callan watched him steel himself up, then nod.
“All six,” he said. “Three can fit comfortably in each cell.”
“Very good,” Callan said. “Now, lead the way.” Dalvo and his men saluted, then turned and guided them toward the production neighborhood. He heard the trouble before they turned the corner and saw a healthy-sized, very angry crowd of people shouting at the linked line of protestors blocking the entrance of a relatively larger building with three chimneys. According to what he’d learned from Halari, the more chimneys the more respected and skilled the forge. The others around were adorned with one or two, but this was the oldest and most productive.
It also has the most workers, Callan thought, studying the large number of frustrated faces and balled fists. He saw Telero standing dead center in the linked line, offering words of encouragement to his group.
“Callan, I think this might’ve been my fault,” Halari whispered, leaning close so only he heard. He looked at her confused. “Tel and I talked this morning about our… commitments and I think what I said pushed him into this.”
“This isn’t on you, Halari.” Callan met Telero’s eyes across the way as he gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm, then turned to grin at her softly. “I think he already a plan to do this anyways.”
She nodded in understanding, then gave him a worried glance. “What’re you gonna do?”
“Dissuade them from this line of resistance,” Callan said flatly. “Some of them might end up incarcerated, though, are you alright with that?”
She grimaced, head quirking to the side while she thought. It was an increasingly endearing trait of hers, but in this moment he was more worried that she wasn’t going to bless his actions. He’d still do them for the Quarry’s sake, but he almost desperately wanted her at his side.
“Can you go easy on Tel?” she asked.
“I’ll go as easy as he lets me,” Callan said. Then an idea sparked, prompted by her request.
All I need is a way to divide them, he realized, simultaneously cursing his own slowness. Back in his prime, this idea would’ve come as easy as a breath and would’ve been mid execution before the protestors even thought of this little stunt.
“I can live with that,” Halari said, nodding. “Thank you.”
Callan turned away from her with a tight, grateful grin and faced the line blocking the forge. He approached them steadily and as the distance closed, the crowd quieted. Their yells and jeers slipped into silence under his presence. He wished he could summon a dark, thundering storm cloud overhead to follow him as he walked like he used to, but this dreary blank slate would have to do for today.
“Stand firm,” Telero ordered his rabble. “We are protected by the Visionary’s grace. He cannot hurt us.”
“I am told you have demands,” Callan said, coming to a stop a few steps before the line of protestors. “What demands would you make of me?” He eyed each member of the line intensely, looking for weak points in their formation. Who among them looked the most doubtful? The least resolved?
There… A young man, a child really, stood pale and shaking three people from the center. He wouldn’t meet Callan’s stare when it fell on him and sweat beaded on his brow.
“Leave this place, demon,” Telero demanded. His voice was strong and sure, but his tightening grip on his comrades betrayed a hint of fear. “We will not move aside until you are gone from this place.”
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“Then, I suppose we’re at a standstill,” Callan said, “because I have no intention of leaving. We still have so much work to do.”
“I will not see my home turned inside out at your whim,” Telero growled. “Begone from here! In the name of our beloved Visionary, I cast you out!”
Callan raised his brows and made a show of waiting for some kind of divine smite. He even looked up to the sky and frowned. The child in the group, most likely the younger brother of another member, whimpered almost inaudibly.
Callan looked back to the line and locked his glare to the boy. He didn’t like scaring such a young person, but he needed this line to break so the next part of his plan would work. The kid flicked his eyes to him, but just as quickly looked away, terrified.
“I believe in dissent,” he began slowly. “I even encourage it. To oppose the rule is to keep the rule honest, that’s why it’s necessary for growth. A completely unified people is a stagnant people.”
Telero glared at him, posture wavering with unsurety.
“However,” Callan continued, stepping forward. The young boy quivered, but kept looking at the ground even as Callan moved towards him. “I cannot allow such dissent to be expressed as action against the Quarry and its people. What you’re doing here is hindering the livelihoods of your fellows.”
The child bared his teeth and shied away from him, tugging at the hands holding him.
Line’s straining, Callan thought. “Under my new law, a crime such as this can cost days in the stockade. So, I will give those in this line one chance to think about their decisions. You can either move… or be moved.”
“Hold,” Telero said, gripping the people next to him tighter. “The Visionary will prote—”
The child wrangled free of the line and bolted into the crowd, barely even glancing at Callan as he fled. His sibling, a young woman, ran after him in a panic, shouting for him to come back.
And so the line broke.
Callan saw the rest of their resolve waver even as Telero tried to retighten the line. But the damage was already done; the little boy’s moment of weakness infected six more, who all uncomfortably shambled past him to join the crowd or return to their homes.
Eighteen became ten in a matter of seconds.
“Reform!” Telero called. “Have faith, please!” His remaining fellows looped their arms together at the elbows, creating a solid, but much smaller line before the steps of the forge. Callan discretely nodded to Captain Dalvo, who signaled for his nearby men to take positions around the protestors, closing them off.
“To those who remain…” Callan walked back and forth down the line, testing the resolve of each protestor with his proximity. “Those with impressive dedication to their convictions... I ask you this. Will you think of your families? Will they be alright while you sit unable to provide for them in the stockade? Or will your absence cause them discomfort that could be easily prevented?”
He let the last word settle on them like a weighted blanket. After a long moment, it became too heavy for one. He unlooped himself from the others and mumbled an apology to Telero, then assimilated himself into the crowd.
Two others followed, each drifting off with an awkward excuse. Telero glowered after them, but defeat flowed over his face like a sad waterfall.
And so ten became seven. One each for a single militiamen to handle.
“You who remain, who show the most faith,” Callan said. “I admire your will. However, the price for your choices cannot change. For these crimes, I sentence you all to three nights in the stockade.” He turned back to Captain Dalvo and nodded again, this time far more visibly so all in the line and crowd to see.
This was the moment of truth. He needed all to know that the current militia stood at his side and enforced his law entirely.
The officer didn’t hesitate and yelled out orders for his men to surround the remaining protestors.
That’s my boy. Callan smirked softly.
Almost all of the soldiers moved almost as one, some showing more hesitation than others, and moved behind each protestor, then began to separate them. Telero, for his part, made the smart choice in the face of foil and ordered his people not to struggle.
Captain Dalvo gently took hold of Telero himself, then guided him over to where Callan and Halari stood.
“Why am I not going with my people?” Telero asked, staring after his posse with a mixture of worry and regret. But, Callan saw anger deeper within and knew that that this man’s resolve remained unbroken. It wasn’t over.
“Not to worry, Telero,” Callan said. “I have something different in mind for your sentence.”
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Callan stepped into the stockade with Halari at his side. It was a smaller building on the eastern edge of the Quarry and only two or so streets inside the town’s limits. It was oblong in shape and stout, barely tall enough for him to walk inside unhindered.
Inside was just as plain as the outside. The six cells stood side by side only separated by bars. Each came with a cot, a waste bin, a simple toilet and sink, and a slot in the bars where food could pass through. One detainee stood or sat in each cell, looking miserable or disappointed.
Clearly they bought into Telero’s promises of divine protection, Callan thought. He studied each of their expressions though the bars.
“It still kinda smells in here,” Halari said, scrunching her nose. “
“Have you been inside before?” he asked, arching an inquisitive brow at her. “Have I been conspiring with a former convict?”
Halari giggled a scoff and lightly slapped him on the shoulder. He could tell she was trying not to think about her inevitable discussion with her brother, but he wasn’t going to press that. “I had to barter pada out of here once.”
“I have to hear that story,” Callan said. “Later, perhaps over dinner tonight?”
“I’m definitely gonna need some time to rant after I talk with Tel,” she sighed. “I’ll bring the tams.”
“Wonderful,” Callan said, already tasting the bitter fruit on his tongue. He refocused on the detainees. They stared at him angrily or sorrowfully, but they all stayed quiet as if silence was there freedom. The guards stood at either end of the walkway at full attention, waiting for orders.
He approached the one closest to the entrance, who saluted proudly.
“I want them fed and watered well, three ashbud canisters a day, each,” Callan commanded. The soldier nodded in understanding. “And make sure they have blankets and toiletries.”
“Yes, Great Flame,” the guard said. Callan walked down the line of detainees. The first stared at the floor, the second looked right at him from where he sat at the end of his cot.
“Where is Telero?” he asked. “What have you done with him, Betrayer?”
Callan stopped before his cell. “Your ringleader is… home. Under house arrest.”
The man blinked in surprise. “What?”
“While you sit here in this dingy stockade away from your families,” Callan said, coming closer to the cell, “Telero is lying in his bed, eating his own food, hugging his father and mother.”
“W-why?” the man asked. “How did he get that while we…”
“All good questions,” Callan said. “Ones you should discuss with him in three days.” He turned away from the man and made for the entrance. Keeping Telero at home while his followers received far less hospitable treatment was a perfect wedge. He left the man to wonder in his incarceration. Did Telero sell his men out? Did he use his status as Halari’s brother? Why didn’t he do more for his gospel?
He was a step from leaving the building when a new voice called out for him.
“Great Flame, Great Flame, wait up, please!” it sounded desperate. Callan crooked his head and glanced at the origin, a young, lean man with a mop of black and blonde hair. “Please, just hold on a minute.”
“Speak, detainee,” Callan said, turning slightly.
“Can we see our families in here?” the man asked, voice strained with worry.
“For safety’s sake,” Callan said, “civilians are not allowed in the detainment center.”
“My lord, please.” The man rattled the bars lightly and leaned against them, causing both guards to stiffen and brandish their blades. “Please, my girl’s sick. She needs my help.”
“I gave you an out,” Callan said. “You should have considered this when you remained in the line.”
“I thought- Tel told us we would be ok...” the man stammered, slumping to the ground. Callan approached him and loomed over his despairing figure.
“What is your name, detainee?” he asked.
“Galiar,” the man mumbled.
“Your daughter will be cared for in your absence, Galiar,” Callan said. “I will personally make sure of it. However, perhaps this entire situation might make you rethink your… faith going forward.”
Galiar looked up at him, tears brimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry, really, Great Flame. Just please let me see her.”
He heard Halari’s breath catch behind him. She really was an empathetic person for all her aloofness. Callan crouched down to Galiar’s level and spoke softly.
“Do you truly want her to see you like this?” he asked. “In three days, you could walk back to a loving hug from your daughter who’s excited to see you home. Or you could ruin that now by having her brought here while you remain less than you are.”
Galiar’s face fell even more, but he nodded.
“You have my word that she will be cared for,” Callan said, extending his hand out the man. “Do your time, then do your damndest to make sure you are never separated from her like this again.”
He saw the moment Galiar made his choice, or rather, the moment he realized that there was nothing else he could do. Galiar took Callan’s hand and shook it lightly, then pulled away from the bars and sat on his cot.
Callan rose and turned back to Halari, then gestured for her to follow out the exit before any of the detainees saw the vulnerability on her face.
“Are you alright?” he asked once they were away.
“Yeah, just…” She sighed heavily and shook her head to clear it. “Did we do the right thing with this?”
“That question will eat you alive,” Callan said while they walked back to the Temple. “I can tell you why I think it was the right call, but you have to decide whether and why you think so yourself. Try not to dwell on it too long.”
Halari nodded, a small frown on her lips while she contemplated.
“Ugh, I need to get home,” she said after a moment. “Meet you for dinner, later?”
Callan nodded and smiled. “I’ll bring the protein paste.”